taeeflwrr

[taeeflwrr]

my faves🥹🥹

cookie day | mark lee

synopsis: there was a time when the highlight of mark's year was celebrating his birthday — until he became a father. now, just one day after his own birthday, mark can't wait to celebrate his little girl finally turning one!

pairing: girl dad!mark x female!reader

genre: fluff, domesticity, marriage!au

word count: 2.5k

contains: daughter doesn't have a name, but he calls her "cookie". you don't have to read the other girl dad!mark & cookie parts but there are a few things mentioned in here, that have also been mentioned in previous parts but it only adds to the lore, so you can read this as a standalone. mark getting the usual blues about cookie growing up. just best husband and father!mark, marriage, fluff, jaemin and haechan.

author's note: happy belated mookie day, everyone! i love these two so much, this is literally my family ૮ ྀིo̴̶̷̤ ˕ o̴̶̷̤ ྀིაmeelings are open (as usual)!

more dad!mark & cookie: MASTERLIST 🍪

©️ KONGJJEN 2024 - 2025. all rights reserved. do not copy, translate or repost any of my works.

Ever since he was a child, the highlight of Mark’s year was celebrating his birthday. Growing up in a loving family filled with kindness and positivity gave him the best memories — birthday weekend celebration at the beach, family holidays planned around his birthday, each summer doing something great that was set to also involve his birthdays celebrations. He can still remember the time they went to Thailand when he was ten, all the food he ate and the entire day spent at the aqua park.

Childhood traditions became steady habits, and with you in his life — adapting and adjusting to this small but important tradition, birthdays became even more special. 

Birthdays have always been special, he felt incredibly loved and showered with praise by people, he sometimes got to see his grandparents or extended family, he received amazing gifts that he still keeps around his childhood bedroom at his parents’ house.

Great gifts, but none can compare to the greatest one he received last year, just one day after his birthday. His daughter, Cookie. Sure, you made sure to get him the princeps edition of The Borgias that he’s been eyeing for a while, but no princeps edition of any book or any item can ever be as precious as his little girl.

Cookie, who’s been filling his days with so much unconditional, restless love. He loves you, he loves everything about your marriage and nothing has changed between the two of you ever since you had your daughter, but he can’t imagine life without his Cookie. 

Handprints of chubby, oily hands smudged on all surfaces of your house, he loves to actually look at the ones on the windows facing the back garden, during every single morning spent sipping on his coffee while reading the news in the kitchen. 

Giggles that fill the air every time he comes home to find you playing and cuddling her, squeals he hears when you give her a bath and you blow some bubbles in the air, making them fly everywhere around your daughter. 

There’s a new scent lingering in the air. Every household and every family holds a specific scent, and between your own scent and his clean one that is so specific to the two of you as a family, now there’s Cookie’s scent mixing perfectly with yours. Baby powder mixed with the sweet scent of milk and the delicate aroma of the products you use on your daughter’s fragile skin, Mark can’t believe he led a life without these scents overflowing around him, filling his senses and his chest with warmth. 

This is the first year he’s not celebrating his birthday. And how could he even think of doing that, when this is Cookie’s first birthday? 

He was all in for a big celebration. While you wanted to keep it simple with a cake and some balloons, he could never agree with you, not on this. 

“She’s still so little for a big celebration, babe,” you let him know, trying to spoon-feed your daughter the abysmal butternut squash purée from her cheetah bowl, “She won’t remember it,”

“Yeah, but we will,” he huffed, giggling as soon as he saw your daughter spitting the purée on her bib, “We will take lots of pics and I’m sure my dad won’t mind filming around,” he tried convincing you, bringing his dad up and his undying tradition of filming family functions just to have something to go back to during rainy days, sometimes in the future.

You threw him a look, but just a quick one since you were too busy making sure your daughter’s grabby hands weren’t going to flip the bowl in your hands — like it had happened before, especially when Mark was the one feeding her. But just that quick glance made Mark realise you were already sold.

“I guess you’re right,” you sang, not looking at him anymore, too busy with the small and pink silicone spoon while making sure you gathered every bit of purée from your daughter’s chin, “It is a very important moment for her,” you concluded, nodding, and you missed the way your husband’s eyes sparkled while looking at you, “And for us as a family,”

Mark chuckled, looking at you briefly, right before getting a surge of cute aggression while looking at your daughter’s chubby cheeks moving around the spoon you fed her with. 

He kisses her cheeks and the tip of her small nose, “You heard that Cookie? We’re gonna throw a party for you!”

That’s how Mark decides to skip his own birthday celebrations, too busy being excited for his little girl’s party, too busy looking around at all the stuff she has outgrown and everything she doesn’t use anymore. Like the cute cheetah onesie he used to dress her up with all the time when she was three months old — it is now a tiny piece of fabric that would now only fit his daughter just on one half. Or the pacifiers — Mark thinks there have been a total of about twenty that you used for your daughter right before she refused to take them any longer, preferring her thumb instead.

For the past few months, Mark got incredibly emotional holding all these items in his hands, and seeing his daughter crawling around the wooden floors of the house makes a knot tighten in his chest. It felt like just yesterday he was holding her to his chest, all red and wrinkled, and it seemed like he could still hear her first cry the moment she took her first breath. 

And today you see him being in his head, keeping your daughter to his chest like they’re glued to each other and inseparable, in their own bubble. You’re waltzing around all the guests, all your family members, all your and Mark’s friends, and you’re thankful Mark is keeping your daughter by his side, because everyone seems to want to talk to you this evening.

You guess it might be fate, right? Giving birth to your daughter just one day after your husband’s birthday and them being so close. You’re so grateful to be navigating all this with Mark, because he really wanted a family, and like that time in which he promised you there’s nothing to worry about if you ever become parents — and that he’ll always be the best version of himself as a father — he kept his promise. 

Cookie is his shadow. If he’s walking away from the living room in order to get a glass of water from the kitchen, she crawls right behind him. If he’s at home, she’ll only nap when he’s the one lulling her to sleep. Their bond is obvious to everybody, and you count your blessings every day — knowing that you really are the happiest with Mark as your husband and the father of your child.

“Peek-a-boo! Peek-a-boo Cookie!” Haechan’s high pitched voice makes your daughter get all giddy, and Mark looks at her gummy smile while she keeps her thumb in her mouth, “Where’s uncle Hae?” Haechan asks, holding onto Mark in order to keep his balance, hiding behind his figure, “There he is!” He pops up over his friend’s shoulder, making Cookie laugh.

“Ever thought I’d be making a fool of myself for a baby?” Haechan asks, already spent from all the back and forth while playing with your daughter. Seeing Mark opening his mouth to talk, he interrupts him immediately, “Actually, don’t answer that!” He frowns, reluctant to hearing any degrading statements about himself, at least for today, “I would never mind making a fool of myself for this cutie right here!” He pinches Cookie’s chubby cheek, and she shies away from him, hiding in the crook of Mark’s neck, grin still plastered on her face. 

“It feels like just yesterday I attended your guys’ wedding,” Haechan mumbles, lost into thought, “And just like a day prior I saw the cctv footage at the record store,”

“Oh my god, shut up,” Mark rolls his eyes, bringing one hand to Cookie’s feet to feel their temperature.

“No, wait, let me finish! It’s actually crazy, it feels like time went by too fast! Feels like it was yesterday when you brought her home and I came to visit her the first time,” Somehow Haechan’s words feel like a knife to Mark’s chest, and he holds your daughter a bit tighter to his chest, all protective.

And in all honesty, Mark feels like time has passed way too quickly. Like his little girl is turning one today, but she’ll soon be four, five, ten, seventeen, and he actually feels like he’s about to hurl all the finger sandwiched he basically inhaled just twenty minutes ago while hiding in the kitchen with one of his younger cousins. 

Soon the baby powder and milk scents will disappear, and she’ll ask for a proper perfume, a proper identity that will not involve you or him whatsoever. The cheetah onesie will be forgotten in favour of a bridal gown one day. He’ll have to live and see the day he actually gives her away at the altar, or the day he becomes a grandparent, and Mark feels like he’s not in control of his own emotions — or the passage of time — any longer.

He’s grounded hearing your laugh somewhere in the background, and then he hears Jaemin right before he can see him. Walking right behind you as you lead the way to your back garden where everyone is, Jaemin’s talking to you about the importance of being a healthy mother but still keeping your identity, for the sake of your wellbeing, as well as the baby’s!

He’s holding a white teddy bear in his hands, and the moment his gaze lands on Cookie being all cozied up into her daddy’s arms and chest, Jaemin pouts trying to fight his cute aggression.

“You’re growing up so fast!” He uses his babying voice on her, and she shies away from him just like she did with her uncle Haechan. But Jaemin’s warm personality is like a magnet, and he somehow manages to snatch Cookie away from Mark.

Mark feels like someone snatched his whole heart away from his chest, but he knows Jaemin is such a good presence for Cookie, and she enjoys her uncle spoiling her too.

“Are you okay, baby?” You ask him, and your gaze follows his. He’s looking at the way Jaemin is manoeuvring the white teddy bear around, changing the timbre of his voice to interact with your daughter.

Mark hums, still lost in thought, “It’s just…” he starts, trailing off as he takes a few more moments to gather all the right thoughts, “She’s our baby, but it feels like she’s growing up too fast. Does that make sense to you?”

You sigh, and you pout while looking at him, “I thought I was the only one thinking of this!” You yelp as you hug him, forehead sticking to his figure, “I’ve been feeling this way ever since she started crawling,” you confess, voice muffled but he hears you nonetheless.

“Are we ever going to survive all these changes?” He sighs, wrapping his arms tighter around you, “I’m not ready to have her move out and away from us,”

“Move out?” Your voice cracks with amusement as you retract yourself from his embrace, hands steady on his chest as you look up at him, “She can’t even walk, Mark,” you laugh, and the way he doesn’t join you makes you understand that he’s really deep into this whole overthinking about the future. “Hey, look at me,” you instruct, and surprisingly he unglues his gaze from his friends entertaining his daughter — the birthday girl — and looks down at you, “There are so many more things that are going to happen before that! Don’t get lost into your thoughts about the future, or otherwise you’ll miss living in the present and enjoying every moment by her side,”

And you’re so right, like you always are. 

Mark is thankful for your love, for you being his wife, for the family you built with him. He’s thankful for all the years you’ve spent by his side, as girlfriend or as his wife, because you know him best, more than he knows himself. He’s thankful that you brought the most amazing gift he could have ever received into this world, a human that’s carrying the best from both of you in her small self. And he’s thankful for your love and for all the support you show him, with your words always grounding him when he feels like he’s losing a bit of himself due to all the thoughts he has.

You kiss him, and he pinches your back slightly — like he always does when you’re around him and he wants your attention. 

“You better get our baby away from Jaemin before he actually convinces her he’s a better parent than the two of us combined,” you joke, stepping away from him, and Mark doesn’t need to be told twice.

Mark’s heart feels like it might give in when he sees Cookie making grabby hands as soon as she spots him, but takes the white teddy bear away from her uncle Jaemin’s hands, carrying it with herself. 

Mark feels like the most accomplished man in the world. He really does have it all. A loving wife, a successful career which he loves, a healthy and loving child with the woman he loves. He always imagined things would be great between the two of you for as long as you were going to be together — even when children weren’t a priority to the two of you, but now he genuinely feels like his life is perfect, and that he wouldn’t change a single bit of it. Not the lows, not the highs, and certainly not the uncertainties that made the two of you indestructible even after all the years you’ve been together.

With his heart full, and his ears full of his daughter’s giggles as he smothers her with kisses, his chest fills with pride and emotion when he sees you walking towards the two of them, singing along with everybody else. 

Maybe Cookie can’t make a wish right now, she doesn’t even understand why so many people are gathering around her and her daddy as mommy is holding a cake right in front of them, but Mark can definitely make a wish — he always does. 

Yet just by looking at you, glowing and beautiful as ever, and then looking at your daughter who’s clinging to him like he’s the safest place for her right now, Mark is not sure if there’s anything more that he could be wishing for. 

[taeeflwrr]

stab me please i beg i wanna die that would hurt less than this

⭑ haechan is the best boyfriend ever

haechan stirred the moment the alarm shattered the hush of morning. the sound was sharp, jarring in the stillness of the room, and he cursed under his breath the second he heard you shift against him. he should’ve remembered to turn it down.

his sleepy eyes fluttered open to find you nestled perfectly into him, your face tucked into his chest like it was made to rest there. your breath was soft, warm against his skin, arms looped lazily around his waist in a way that made leaving feel like a betrayal.

blinded by sleep, he fumbled toward the nightstand, smacking his palm around until his fingers wrapped around his phone, silencing the alarm before it did any more damage. a sigh escaped him—quiet, guilty.

he dipped his head and pressed a tender kiss to your hair, his lips lingering there as if they could coax you back into the dream he just pulled you from. his hand ran slowly up and down your arm, a gentle lullaby of touch.

“shit…” he whispered, almost to himself, because he knew exactly what came next.

there was no painless way to escape you. you clung in your sleep like the warmth of sunlight through a windowpane—soft, gentle, but impossible to let go of.

still, he tried.

haechan moved carefully, inch by inch, easing your arms off of him like he was untangling silk. he cupped the back of your head, lowering it gently onto your pillow. and just when he thought he’d succeeded—

your fingers found his. even asleep, your body reached for him, tucking his hand beneath your cheek like it belonged there. because to you, it did.

his heart throbbed.

“baby,” he whispered, voice full of laughter and helpless adoration, “you’re making it really hard for me to pamper you.”

he tried again, slower this time, slipping his hand free like a secret. you murmured softly but didn’t wake.

finally untangled, he stood by the bed for a beat, watching the way you curled into the sheets, hair mussed and skin glowing with sleep. it was unfair—how you could look like a dream without even trying.

but he had boyfriend duties to attend to.

haechan brushed his teeth with military speed, used the bathroom, and practically sprinted to the kitchen like a man on a mission. cooking wasn’t exactly in his arsenal—not yet—but he’d learn every damn dish in the world if it meant making you smile.

you had the day off. he didn’t. and it didn’t sit right with him, leaving you alone in a quiet apartment with an empty stomach.

so he hummed a soft melody under his breath as he moved around the kitchen, preparing your favorite toast, brewing iced tea just the way you liked it—light, simple, just enough to keep you nourished. he made a plate for himself, ate quickly, then plated yours with a protective cover like it was treasure.

but he wasn’t done.

haechan opened the drawer and grabbed his arsenal—sticky notes and a pen. one by one, he poured his affection into little squares of paper, scattering pieces of his heart across the apartment so you'd feel him everywhere, even while he was gone.

on your nightstand:

“good morning, love. had to go to work, but i’ll be home early.”

on the bathroom mirror:

“remember to do your skincare like me!”

(you always forgot. he always did too.)

on the hallway wall:

“i’m so lucky to have such a woman in my life.”

on the kitchen counter beside your breakfast:

“did a light breakfast today, so you better eat it, future ms. lee.”

on the fridge:

“i forgot to do the groceries, but i’ll get them delivered, so you won’t have to lift a single finger, my queen.”

on the living room wall:

“hope you have a nice day, baby!”

on the coffee table:

“please have lots of fun, whether it’s with your friends or just relaxing alone.”

by the door:

“when i’m back, i’m taking you on a date. wait for your dechanie!”

and lastly, the one he placed gently on your laptop:

“and the most important: i love you with all my heart, my queen.”

when you woke and found them, you smiled like the world had stopped just to give you this moment. the sunlight through the curtains painted golden stripes across the room, warm against your skin. everything smelled faintly of toast and iced tea, of love left behind in yellow squares and careful details.

with haechan, everything always felt lighter. like the world took a breath when he was near. he loved like a breeze through a spring garden—soft, sure, and always full of life.

and for him, loving you was the easiest thing in the world.

he’d spend his whole life proving it, if time allowed—one kiss, one note, one breakfast at a time. because he knew without a shadow of a doubt that you'd be there to receive it, every single time.

skye is typing... i'm so sorry for the late reply anon 😭😭😭 but i'm working on all requests nowww 🥳🥳

🏷 @spacejip @lyvhie @sinisxtea @jirsungs @polarisjisung @chenlezip @ayukas @leleszn @mystverse @hibernatinghamster @kj-kts @nctrawberries @peterm4rker @ant-onie @cupid4hae @lovesuhng @haechanahceah67 @jeonghansshitester @hyusun @ncthoe69 @dawntyun @snowyseungs @bunnysoonie @haechansssun @n0hyuck @nahyuckers @zhapire @dinosaurtoothbrushwithninjasauce @mrscreampie

[taeeflwrr]

oh baker haech..... *sighs dreamily*

Haechan rolls his eyes, because he knows he has to fix Jeno’s mood or otherwise he’ll spend the whole day sulking. 

I LOVE JENO HE'S SO SULKY PLEASE🥹🥹 though he would argue he's not sulky he's just being gaslit...

You’re so bossy with him, he doesn’t know what’s going on and how you two have managed to get so comfortable with each other, but he’s more than happy to realise that you’re not so shy or afraid when you’re with him. 

i KNOW haechan loves her bossy it's literally canon

THE WAY OF THE BAKER | lee haechan ─ part 2

SYNOPSIS: haechan — former gangster, but also.... baker? — really wants to settle down and retire from the criminal world. this is the story of a beloved baker who finds love and, subsequently , manages to settle down, much to his former gangster friend's delight — the one who's now known for being the perfect househusband.

PAIRING: baker!haechan x female!reader

GENRE: fluff, strangers to???

WORD COUNT: 3.6k

CONTAINS: haechan's a LOVERRRR he's a yearner, down bad terminal yearning of the sweetest kind. clueless haechan, brief mentions of haechan's past as a gangster, language.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: needed to post this to motivate myself with my other drafts </3 i mentioned that parts might not be in chronological order but this and the previous one are. also, 3.6k words to make up for part 1 that was short <333 heelings hours are OPEN <333. link to the masterlist at the end of this post. not proofread (yet), enjoy! <3

©️ KONGJJEN 2025. all rights reserved. do not copy, translate or repost any of my works.

Seven attempts. Seven failed attempts at making the perfect custard tart for the grannies. 

That’s all it took for Haechan to nearly lose his mind, because while the bakery isn’t open yet, he’s still working on perfecting the recipes and deciding the final menu. But at least he has a set opening date, and this is the last thing he’s working on. The damned custard tart.

The first two times, his custard didn’t set properly during the baking process, and while the top was beautiful and appetising, the moment Haechan cut into the dessert it almost spilled — the inside of the tart too liquid that it was almost disgusting, making him nearly throw up by just looking at it. Both ended in the bin.

The third time, he overcooked it, burning the top and making its consistency almost buttery and difficult to cut into. Somehow it disgusted him even more than the two liquid and failed attempts.

The fourth and fifth time, he failed to mix the starches properly, ruining the custard’s consistency. And the last two times, he didn’t stir the custard properly, he did it either for too long or for too little, making it seem more like a grainy, too lemony, too sweet semolina porridge that he personally found atrocious.

So he binned them all before actually losing his mind and setting the whole kitchen on fire out of pure spite. His apron is a mess, he’s hungry and incredibly irritated, and he usually chased people down the streets as a stress relieving activity — but now he has to take a big breath in, shake his head a few times, and grab the keys to his bakery before heading out.

He’s so frustrated that he needs to take a mental health walk around the neighbourhood and maybe stop by the coffee shop around the corner to have a quick espresso. 

The summer air is hot and humid, his hair is sticking to the back of his neck, and his work crocs squeak with every bored step he takes. That damned custard tart is ruining his life, but he feels like he can’t give up just yet. Your words echo inside his head like a siren’s call, “You’ll just need to win the grandmothers over, and I know for a fact they’ll love anything with custard,” you told him when he met you for the first time. And yes, he has custard for croissants, krapfens, and other desserts, but he really, really wants to surprise the grannies so they can warm up to him, and make the custard from scratch instead of ordering it from a supplier. 

And a whole custard tart? That should be the perfect way to do so — the only thing in his way is the fact that he keeps fucking it up in some way and he’s well aware of what he does wrong, yet if he tries correcting it he ends up messing something else.

And of course, there’s you clouding his judgement a bit. Every time he stirred the custard he remembered your words, every time he smelled the vanilla extract he was reminded of the sound of your voice. Which was absolutely insane because he only spoke to you once, and maybe you did it out of kindness yet he’s here daydreaming and deluding himself in plain sight. 

He keeps replaying your interaction over and over again in his head, and there’s an odd feeling pooling in the pit of his stomach. Haechan is not a man to express his feelings in the open, sometimes he doesn’t even know how to control or express his feelings, how to navigate them. 

It’s so odd to him that he hasn’t seen you around ever since that day at the park. You knew about him and his bakery, yet he doesn’t know anything about you, and he can’t seem to spot you in this small town either. He spots the same grandmas who still throw him some judgemental looks, he spots the usual kids who run on the streets, he spots Jeno more than he’d like to admit.

But there’s no trace of you, and Haechan’s head is full of thoughts about you every time he recreates the muffins you liked. He’s sure you have to be from around here, otherwise how did you hear of him from the streets, and how did you know the grandmas so well? Including their dessert preferences?

“Haechan?” Someone calls his name, but with the state his mind’s in right now, it might as well be in his head, “Haechan! What’s wrong with you?” The same voice calls after him once again, this time more upset, and it snatches Haechan out of his own thoughts.

He halts his steps, turning on his heels to look behind himself. Jeno’s standing a few feet away from him, four dogs on leashes surrounding him, and one look at his friend’s face tells Haechan he’s not in the best mood.

Maybe it’s his fault, with him being in his own head and all. Or maybe it’s your fault for flooding his mind when he least expects it. 

“Where are you off to?” Jeno’s sulking, looking at his friend’s outfit. Dirty apron still on, there are smudges of batter — or whatever it might be, Jeno doesn’t know, he’s no expert in such things, — cover Haechan’s white t-shirt and pants. “You’re so busy you can’t even say hi?”

Haechan rolls his eyes, because he knows he has to fix Jeno’s mood or otherwise he’ll spend the whole day sulking. 

“Sorry,” He touches his chest, like that’s supposed to show Jeno he’s being genuine. He takes a few steps towards his friend, “Was thinking about someon- something,” he corrects himself on the spot, but he can already feel hotness creeping up his neck.

“Mhmm,” Jeno hums, trying to seem convincing. A look at Haechan and there’s no need for other words, he’s incredibly embarrassed about being caught lacking in front of Jeno — of all people — and seeing how his friend is trying to avoid eye contact is finally making him chuckle.

Haechan licks his lips, still avoiding Jeno’s gaze, and looks at his feet instead. 

“Who are they?” His tone is low, sombre, and he’s trying very hardly not to bicker with Jeno — not after successfully, and unintentionally making him stop being sulky. 

“Oh, yeah. Right,” Jeno mumbles once his laughing subsides. “These are Charles and Dickens, they’re brothers,” Jeno points at the pair of very similar Cavaliers looking up at him as soon as he says their names, and Haechan sees Jeno smiling right back at the two, like there’s a silent way for them to get along and communicate. “This is Milo,” he points towards the Beagle, “And this is Hazel,” he points his head towards the last dog that had previously been left unnamed, a Cocker spaniel.

Haechan is not sure how Jeno manages to feel so happy and fulfilled being around all these different dogs, with all the barking, all the panting, all the chew toys squeaking. But one look at Jeno’s calm self and he realises there’s not much that can manage to bother him — except for Haechan not seeing him and saying hello, of course.

“Where are you off to?” Jeno resumes the previous question, no sulking in sight now.

“Grabbing a coffee,” Haechan points his thumb over his shoulder, pointing towards the end of the street where his favourite café is situated. It’s his favourite because it’s near his bakery, they make good coffee, and for some reason the granny running it is the only granny in town that accepts him, “Wanna join me?” 

Jeno shakes his head, “Need to get them home,” he starts taking a few steps backwards, “But I heard Mark’s coming by tonight, so I’ll see you then?”

And with a thumbs up as a response and nothing more, they part ways. Haechan’s crocs start squeaking on the hot pavement once again as he makes his way towards the café, and it isn’t a surprise that there are no customers at this hour in this afternoon, with the fucking heatwave taking over the town. He’s even more surprised that Jeno — responsible pet lover, allowed the heatwave to catch him on the streets at this hour in the afternoon. 

“Long time no see, young man!” The granny behind the bar greets him, arranging cups and teaspoons back to their place, “Not a soul outside, just you roaming these streets,”

“I couldn’t resist the temptation, thinking of your espresso,” Haechan winked as he approached the bar counter, placing his forearms on it.

The granny behind the counter laughed, shaking her head but picking up a small cup, perfect for the espresso Haechan loves so much. 

“You might want to give up having espresso on days like this one,” She warns, making an allusion to the torrid days the town has witnessed during the past week.

Haechan opens his mouth to defend himself, but someone walking inside the café interrupts him and his thoughts. And that someone is you, greeting the granny who was just getting ready to prepare the espresso.

“I brought you the flowers you wanted!” Your tone is cheerful, and Haechan’s head snaps in your direction to look at you. “Heachan!” Your tone becomes even more bright, or maybe it seems so due to Haechan’s delusions, “Hi!”

“Hi, Y/n,” he replies back, not moving from his spot, afraid that if he moves an inch to the right you might disappear. 

“Y/n! You know Haechan?” The granny seems surprised, and Haechan doesn’t know how to take this. What does this mean? Is he not worth knowing around town? And then again, everyone is aware of his past, yet granny still befriended him. 

“I’m surprised you know him,” you accentuate your words, chuckling a little after looking at the grandma, “Of course I know him, granny! Do you know he makes the best desserts? Oh my god, the custard he makes is just to die for!” You exaggerate your words and motions, but Haechan appreciates you going out of your way for him. 

If only you didn’t lie just now.

“Custard? What kind of custard?” She inquires, leaning on the palms of her hands. 

“Ah!” You wag your finger, and Haechan sees a shadow of a scowl on your face, “You’ll have to see for yourself once he opens the bakery!” You defend him, and he feels like a damsel being rescued. 

He wouldn’t have minded telling a bit about the custard, if only he succeeded making it in the first place. He’s doomed to spend his days trying to make that damned custard tart.

The granny squints her eyes at you playfully, but then chuckles and asks you what you are having.

You look at Haechan, “What are you having?”

“Espresso,” both him and granny reply at the same time. 

You smile at him, “Then I’m having what he’s having,” you finally put the flowers on one of the tables in the café. 

After placing the small cups in front of your standing figures, granny moves around the counter to grab the flowers, thanking you once again for delivering them and disappearing for a bit in the backroom, where both you and Haechan are certain she’s looking for a vase.

“You shouldn’t have told her about the custard,” Haechan tried whispering, which he realises was a very lousy attempt. 

Looking at him confused, you whisper back, “Why not?”

“Because!” He points at his apron and at the smudges on his white t-shirt underneath it, “I fucked up about seven attempts at making it and it’s been driving my insane,”

“Is that why you have custard in your hair?” You ask, gaze fixed on one strand of hair.

“What?” He barks, touching the right side of his head, inspecting his head. The dirty strand’s on the left, and your gaze is still fixed on it, and you try your best not to let out a bark of laughter seeing him panicking. 

So you extend your hand, grabbing the dirty — now dry strand of hair between your fingers, and your free hand grabs his, bringing it up to his head.

He lets out a whine as soon as his fingers register the dry custard, and he turns on his heels to face the counter once again, resting his elbows on top of it and his head falls in his hands out of embarrassment.

The custard is ruining his life! Almost an entire day spent making it, it almost made him burn down his bakery — and thank god he has never been one to sympathise with arsonists — and now he’s making a fool out of himself in front of you!

“You know, you shouldn’t be so hard on yourself about this,” you suggest, and he looks so pitiful that you want to pat him like you’d pat a puppy abandoned on the side of the road.

“Yeah?” He asks sarcastically, turning once again to look at you, and you fight every urge in your body not to let your eyes fall on that strand of hair once again, “I own a fucking bakery and I don’t know how to fucking make some fucking custard. I’m a fucking loser,”

“But you make the best muffins I’ve ever had in my entire life!” You try to encourage him, “And maybe this is your lucky day, you know?”

“How so?” He sighs, throwing you a look. You’re so beautiful it makes him want to sit down and call granny over so she can splash some water on his face. You’re so fucking beautiful and he looks like a fucking wet rat — sweaty, smudges of batter and ruined custard here and there, hair basically a joke — he’s not sure how you’re still finding it in yourself to look at him.

Days and weeks spent to think about you, only for you to probably think he’s a loser. Then again, he basically admitted to being one.

“It’s your lucky day because one,” you raise one finger up, in between the two of you, “I’m basically a custard expert. And two,” you raise a second finger, “I’m willing to help you out. If you want me to, of course,” 

His eyes become the size of saucers, and the slumped-over-the-counter position he was in before is suddenly replaced by a straightened one. You throw a quick look around his face, inspecting his features. 

“You’d do that for me?” He whines once again, but he’s excited, and you can tell by the sparkle in his eyes. 

He’s so adorable, especially in this moment right now, when his cheeks aren’t rosy out of embarrassment anymore, they’re instead pretty and colourful with hopefulness.

Sure, you talked to him once before — this being your second time — and sure, you’ve heard the rumours surrounding him and his friends. You also know of Jaemin, because everyone around town knows him — you can’t call yourself a local if you claim you’ve never heard of him. And you know that while Jaemin and their other friend are pretty accepted and trusted in town right now, people are still reluctant to being welcoming with Haechan.

Which you really don’t understand why it’s happening — because, the truth is, you’ve never felt safer in this town, than right now, with him roaming the streets. 

“I hope your bakery has AC,” you huff, placing a hand up to your forehead to cover your eyes from light in order to see him better. He’s leading the way towards his bakery after paying for your espresso, and his crocs are squeaking in this hellish heatwave, which only makes him even more adorable in your eyes, “And that it fucking works!” You complain, already feeling droplets of sweat forming on your back.

He turns around to look at you, surprised with hearing you swearing in front of him. “What?” You ask, squinting your eyes due to the sunlight, “It’s hot as fucking balls out here and I’m not going to hover over a stove!”

“See for yourself,” he opens the door for you to enter, keeping it open with his figure as he gestures for you to walk in, and you let out a content sigh as soon as you walk into the bakery, cool air welcoming you. 

“Happy?” Haechan asks, seeing you standing right under the AC.

“I haven’t been this happy since eating your muffins,” you mumble nonchalantly, and his heart takes a leap after registering your words.

You look like you’re being honest, like you’re not being sarcastic or playing with him, and he appreciates it. It is surprisingly easy to talk to you, and Haechan needs someone to dissect this with. Maybe he should drag Mark in a corner tonight, tell him all about you — about everything, but he stops and reconsiders because it doesn’t take a genius to realise that Jaemin is the one to go to when it comes to… everything and anything.

Haechan places all the ingredients on the worktop for you to use, and he has his notebook ready on the sidelines, ready to take notes about your miracle making powers.

“Do you know what you were doing wrong?” You ask while waiting for the milk to heat up, working separately on the sugar and cornstarch while you see him separating the egg yolk from the whites, giving you a hand.

He hums, cracking a second egg against the bowl, “Every time I tried fixing it, I ruined something else,”

You nod in understanding, and checking the milk’s temperature has you rotating on your heels to look at him. He’s holding the bowl containing the eggs and he’s looking at you, like you’ve just caught him red handed.

“Listen carefully. This is a recipe my grandma has kept in the family for a long time and she never failed,” you instruct, “You mix the yolks to the sugar and starch right before you mix them with the milk, and then you stir. You never stop stirring, Haechan, otherwise it will either stick to the pan and have a smokey smell and taste, or it’s literally going to separate or curdle. But I bet you know that already,”

You mix everything into the pot, and with your free hand you drag him closer to you and to the stove, “Mix. You’re the baker here,” and Haechan looks at you like you’ve just hung the starts and the moon in the fucking sky. 

You’re so bossy with him, he doesn’t know what’s going on and how you two have managed to get so comfortable with each other, but he’s more than happy to realise that you’re not so shy or afraid when you’re with him. 

The muscles in his hand and forearm are starting to hurt, “It’s getting thicker,” he mumbles to himself, but you hear him nonetheless.

“Now we add butter and vanilla, and you keep mixing,” you pat him sympathetically on his back. Two simple pats that have him forgetting about the soreness of his muscles.

“It has absolutely no lumps,” he checks the custard when it’s finally done, “It didn’t separate,” he adds to the list, “It doesn’t look like it’s becoming cottage cheese! Thank you, Y/n!” He laughs, playing with the custard and looking like he hit the fucking jackpot.

“Do you need a job? Let me hire you,” He smirks your way, slumping against the worktop, now relaxed thanks to your saving the day. 

“Are you offering me a job because I just gave away my grandma’s custard recipe?” You giggle, imitating his position against the worktop. 

“Seriously though, how can I repay you for this?” He asks, and you’re suddenly aware of the comfortable silence between you two that needs to be interrupted by your answer.

You giggle, a silly thought crossing your mind, but you don’t avoid his gaze and you don’t shy away from saying it out loud, “Maybe,” you start, and you seem pensive for a moment before continuing, “If this custard will be a success, maybe you can take me out for coffee… or lunch,”

“Or dinner…” he completes your sentence without even realising he’s speaking out loud. He smirks once again and shakes his head at you, tongue in cheek as he turns to look back at you, “Is this your way of flirting with me?”

Your facial expression gives nothing away, “Is it working?”

“…Maybe,” he mumbles, and who the fuck is he kidding? He’d take you out right now, on the spot, if it weren’t for the fucking dried custard in his hair.

“Then maybe I am,” you match his tone, and Haechan can’t believe that you’re standing in his bakery, helping him out and blatantly flirting with him, when just this morning he was thinking of you — replaying your first meeting in his head over and over again.

And maybe Haechan isn’t fully aware, doesn’t fully understand what’s going on right now, or maybe it’s you who doesn’t see how you matched each other so perfectly for the whole time you spent together.

But for Haechan one thing is for sure, the custard just saved his life!

→ masterlist

TAGLIST: @starsungwrld @sunooluver @eliasoir @f6llsun @leleszn @barkbarkseungmin @holyhaech @sapphickenma @nahyuckers @httpsxnox @dinonuguaegi @jisungs-asteroid @haesluvr @nmhzone @zuzuzuzuriririri @gomdoleemyson @haertattack @jaehyunsroses @squeezingmycheese  @inthearcade @balthyss @sunflwrluverr @remtrack @jmjify @prettymoles @olembe @bren00na @cinnayomiroll @luvhaeli @txtsoobean @edrychan @sunshineha3chan @luvvhaechan @hyuckluvr-com @ciscachenh @the3rdwoman @yewshi @yuthabitz @nenie223 @kyungsooislifeu @yuthabitz @hyuckmoon @luvlyjaemin @ikykyuno @frankielou02 @hibernatinghamster @xikskrrrs @sunghoonsgfreal @neojaehours @worldwidecutiemaya @taeeflwrr

[taeeflwrr]

i loved this!!!!!!

You looked around his chambers, trying to see if it was all in your head. But seeing how his stateroom trunk wasn’t in the far corner of the room, seeing how his shirts and leather shoes were missing, some of his books were nowhere to be found — you knew that it was not in your head.

i can feel her (my?) panic omg

Jaehyun looked at you, and you could see you were exasperating him. With his jaw set, he took his sweet time to calm himself before he opened his mouth to give you an answer. 

i feel like i need to piss him off all the time🫦

He reminded you of Jaehyun, with his peaceful and unbothered personality and you still remember how you closed the door to Jaehyun’s library after yourself, your back touching the cold wooden door as you looked at him setting his fountain pen down, looking at you with curious eyes in the dim lighting around the room. He smiled at you, like he knew you would ask him a silly question, one dimple on display as he nodded your way, and you relaxed a bit knowing he was paying attention to you. 

why can i so clearly imagine him here the imagery and description is SO vivid🤭

He pushed his chair back and away from his desk, manspreading as he extended an arm towards you — and you knew he was inviting you into his embrace. 

i have too many thoughts and not enough words so i have to leave it at this. for the sake of my reputation.

He watched you while you ate, and his heart felt content. He missed the way food felt inside his body, inside his stomach, — how the winters brought him an appetite for meat, yet fruits always tickled his tastebuds during summers. He craved it, he was yearning to be able to feel the joys of being alive at least once again, and looking at you doing all the things he couldn’t do anymore, it brought him joy. He was living through you. 

awww🥺 this so cute and romantic he loves us so much

Not sure how I will manage to be away from you for what already feels like might last an eternity, but please look for me, until we find each other again.

this is actually so suspicious why do you wanna play hide and seek with me all of a sudden???? come back home wtf???

Jaehyun played the piano in your house’s parlour while you observed him, sitting in your father’s armchair. His movements were gentle, comforting, and looking at him brought you peace. Jaehyun played your favourite pieces for you to relish in, and he gave in so easily when you asked him about his own favourite pieces, that you knew he was dying to be asked about. His eyes sparkled while he explained what they meant to him, his dimples were on display every time a fond memory popped up in the middle of your conversations, and your heart took a leap every single time the calmness of his voice graced your hearing.

visuals

Jaehyun extended his hand, calling for you to get closer to him, and with no self preservation instinct, you followed his instructions. Your head was filled with doubts, with worries, with theories that you thought about once in a while, but you shook them off every single time thinking you were being silly. But now the truth was laying bare in front of your eyes, and it looked tempting and like something between life and death.

"with no self preservation instinct" sorry im just a girl💔💔💔 and jeong jaehyun is shirtless and reaching out for me what do you think i'll do???

Your gaze finally met his, and he could hear your heartbeat picking up, “You’re playing again,” he muttered, but his whole being was so proud of you. He loved you.

kill me bring me my man back he's served enough😞 will may 2026 come sooner please

“I want to learn this for you,” he wanted to learn the piece so he could lull you every time you felt down, nostalgic, melancholy taking over you at the thought of your loved ones that you found missing some days more than others, “Let me do this for you,”

IF HE WANTED TO HE WOULD!!!!!!

Not with your ankle so enticing, so warm to the touch, smell so sweet that it flooded his nose. He wrapped his hand around your calf, moving your leg around so he could bring your foot to him — teeth grazing the skin of your sole, his plump lips caressed the softness up to your pulse line, and he playfully bit into it. It was going to be the last time Jaehyun had you like this — warm, pulsing, alive — and he couldn’t pass on the occasion of worshipping your body the right way.

...freak (but im afraid this is just the real-life canon biblically accurate jaehyun 😔)

Yet Jaehyun still chose to leave you behind, despite the love he claimed he carried for you, he took off, abandoning you and making you live without him like you were exiled away from his love. 

omg circling back to this after learning the context and extent of their relationship made it hurt so much worse but I'm so obsessed with it from a writing perspective it was such a smooth transition into present day without having to actually physically take a break

You then suspected he got tired of you. He mentioned he was living through you when you were still a mortal, and then he turned you, only to then leave you behind when he made sure you could survive with your new condition and the burden of knowing you would have to go on with living for many centuries, lacking his presence.

this would be such an asshole move from him but i trust my man there's something suspicious happening

You went from wearing fur, to waring jeans and sneakers, from writing letters to phones. You went from creaking wooden floors, to tiles and soundproof systems around your houses and windows. 

this was such a cool transition from the past to the present im so obsessed i love it so much

But you never married, you never dated, because your heart kept itself tormented and yearning after one man. One man that exiled you, discarded of you, and that was the hardest part of it all. Like you had never mattered to him. You roamed the earth for more than a century trying to find him, although not deliberately. Every place you moved to, you couldn’t help but wonder if he was around there as well. Decades spent in the same places yet you never heard from him, or sensed him in the air. 

this was so devastating why didn't i mean anything to my man 🥀

And there he was. Jaehyun, pictured in all his glory. Sparkling eyes staring right back at you.

crazy how he left me to be in a 90s boyband...

“Hi, welcome!” A friendly voice rings like an echo around the empty store, covering Michael Jackson’s singing voice heard throughout the ceiling speakers. It’s high in pitch, but you can sense the kindness dripping off it, “I’m sorry, but we don’t allow beverages in here,” he gives you a remorseful little smile, “We don’t want unfortunate events involving our vinyls,” he goes on with the explaining, as if he’s apologising for the store’s policy.

hmmm haechan?

His face is adorned in moles, pouty lips chapped as he runs his tongue on them out of reflex at your attentive eyes on his figure, feeling like a deer in highlight in front of you, and he seems familiar. 

OMG HAECHAN LOML

You don’t return to the record store, thinking it’d be too dangerous to face that man again. Haechan, you checked his name as soon as you arrived home. He has the same sparkling eyes, the same hair colour, yet now it’s longer than what he sported in the 90’s. 

I WAS RIGHT MY LOVE its so cute how he's running a record shop just like he said from the gbttf story universe commentary🥹

“Listen,” you start, pushing the cart away and walking towards the two, “You two act like internet archives aren’t a thing, like wikipedia isn’t a click away,” you sigh coming closer to the two, “One century from now and maybe, just maybe people will overlook the fact that you two look exactly like two rockstars who died in 1994,” you bark at them tiredly, not in the mood to beat around the bush when you know exactly what they are, and you’re sure they know what you are as well, “I thought your maker was smarter than this,”

omg clocked them this was actually so bad bitch left them speechless

You’re greeted by Jaehyun, looking exactly the same as he did the last time you saw him, hair black and on the longer side, like he’s been here the whole time, like he didn’t make an appearance in a newspaper thirty years ago, sporting short, platinum hair. And he’s playing that Schumann piece.

why is he breaking in and trespassing this is MY mansion now

“I told you I’ll learn this for you,” he smiles, eyes still focusing on his moving fingers.

i would actually slap him wtf is wrong with him i hate men he better have a proper explanation for all this

“Then Muhammad will come to the mountain,” you complete the saying, still in disbelief of the personal attack he just launched on you. “Is this all you have to say?” You accuse, eyes squinting at his stupidly handsome face, “After all you’ve put me through, you choose these to be among the first words you tell me?” You bark at him, your voice dripping with hurt.

EXACTLY OMG I HATE HIM im so so glad she isn't putting up with this and being lovergirl with rose coloured glasses and like falling into his arms CALL HIM OUT FOR BEING AN ASSHOLE

“You let me roam the earth, alone and scared, just to show up in a place you knew I’d take refuge in?” You accuse him once again, and you feel like you’re losing your mind. Did this man ever love you like he claimed he did?

all men do is lie, cheat, deceive, and betray🥀🥀🥀

“I heard you were going to rebrand,” he explained, bringing his arms behind his figure, “You gave up,”

“But you didn’t find me,” he whispers, and you feel like you don’t recognise him. Centuries might have passed, but you never thought Jaehyun’s way of thinking would ever change.

im actually going to murder him he's testing me oh god

You start crying, not caring about the bloody tears, “And the moment you feel me giving up on you, you come exactly where you know you’ll find me? Like you never did before!” You punch his chest, and he allows you to do it, still keeping his arms behind his figure. 

that's actually so very messed up poor baby:((

“I can’t believe you thought I was running away from you,” he seems in disbelief, and a look into his eyes and you can tell he’s hurt.

girl what else was i supposed to think?????

“My love,” he starts, and your stomach flutters at the words that leave his mouth, having missed them, “I love you, and eternity by your side is all I’ve ever longed for,” 

okay i think im forgiving him now.... 😅

You bite his lip as a warning to keep it down, because you’ve never heard him so vocal and desperate for your touch. You guess this is what a century of yearning does to a man.

i love to see it #bringbackyearning #ilovemymendownbadandpathetic

“You learned Schumann’s piece for me?” You ask, your question distorted by the way he’s still keeping you against his skin, cheek squished against his shoulder, and all Jaehyun wants is to kiss your pouting lips.

asking the most important questions only duhhh

this was actually just me live reacting to the fic lmaoo

I really think this was so well written and the concept was well executed!!!!! i just wish that the whole reunion and resolution were a bit longer because I felt the end was a bit abrupt (actually I just let my emotions get the best of me I was ANGRY at jaehyun 😭😭😭 so I wasn't calm enough for the reunion) but otherwise I really loved the structure and the way this was writtennn (maybe insatiable drabble some time in the future to see how they're doing now??)

INSATIABLE ✶ jeong jaehyun

SYNOPSIS: "can't close my eyes when i'm with you — insatiable, the way i'm loving you."

after promising you eternity by his side, jaehyun suddenly disappears — leaving you behind, lost and alone. you wander around, spending centuries looking for him, fuelled by the love you carry for him, or maybe is it just for... revenge?

PAIRING: vampire!jaehyun x vampire!reader

GENRE: smut, angst, lovers to enemies!au, historical! & modern!au

WORD COUNT: 21.3k

FEATURING: nct 127, new jeans's minji

CONTAINS: afab reader, a bit of gore, mentions of tragedies and deaths, minor character deaths. orphan reader, mentions of wealth. pandemics and diseases, historical content combined with modern content, many flashback scenes. schumann's fantasie op 17 (which i highly recommend listening to), unprotected penetrative sex, nipple play, biting, bulge kink, feet, blood (trust the process!), dry humping, riding, creampie. some historical accuracies (dates), physical altercation. inspired by insatiable by darren hayes.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: i love this fic so much my heart literally hurts! also, listen — i know romantic things didn't go this way in the 1800's, but for the sake of the plot we'll have to overlook a bit of the inaccuracies <3 thank you to everyone who waited patiently for this fic to drop, i love all of you and i hope you enjoy reading it! <3

©️ KONGJJEN 2024 - 2025. all rights reserved. do not copy, translate or repost any of my works.

You’ll never forget the day you woke up in bed, your heart clenching in your chest without an apparent reason. You’ll never forget the way you walked your way out of your chambers with uncertain steps, curious yet fearful of finding out something you weren’t sure you wanted to find out.

You’ll never forget the way your stomach dropped the moment you checked Jaehyun’s chambers looking for him, and not finding him there. Because you felt like something was wrong, but you never thought Jaehyun would disappear like the earth split and swallowed him whole, leaving no trace of his existence up to that point. 

You wanted to tell Jaehyun about the feeling you woke up with, looking for his loving reassurance that it was all in your head, or just one of your usual hunches you usually got even before you were given a reason to have one in the first place. It was like a premonition, a gut feeling so strong that you wondered what was going to happen during said day, — that you still had no idea about but you knew something was going to pop up.

And Jaehyun was nowhere to be found. With the curtains open, the gloomy light from outside bathed the room in greyness, no ray of sunshine in sight on the white sky, so concomitant with the turmoil inside your head, stomach, inside of every fibre of your being.

You looked around his chambers, trying to see if it was all in your head. But seeing how his stateroom trunk wasn’t in the far corner of the room, seeing how his shirts and leather shoes were missing, some of his books were nowhere to be found — you knew that it was not in your head.

Your feet were quick to take you downstairs before you could even register what you were doing. You were still in your night gown as you entered the kitchen, where you found your female maids preparing breakfast, and they all shuddered as your hurried entrance took them by surprise.

“Norma,” you called your senior maid, the most loyal woman in your service, “Did you see Master Jaehyun?” Your tone was fearful, worried, and it trembled with emotion.

You saw Norma straightening her posture, putting her wooden spoon down, “I haven’t, Mistress,”

You looked around the kitchen, not knowing what needed to be done next, or who you needed to talk to.

“But I can talk to Jeger, to see if he knows anything,” she offered, drying her hands on a cloth found around on the counters. 

“Please do,” you instructed, leaving the kitchen to go back to your chambers upstairs.

How and when during the night did Jaehyun manage to get out of a house full of people? The servants in their respective chambers, the handyman’s own room downstairs by the foot of the stairs, the old wooden floors and stairs creaking even when the wind blew a bit more forcefully, so you wondered just how did he manage to walk around unnoticed. But most importantly, why did he leave?

You knew who Jaehyun was — most importantly, what he was, — and it took you months of convincing him to turn you into one as well. You remember how adamant he was at the time, so much that every time you insisted on it, it lead to a fight. “You’re too young,” and “You still need time to live,” were his excuses. Excuses that had you moaning at him and that ended with you picking up a fight with him every single time, of course.

“Tell me one good reason why not?” You barked at him, moving your hands around yourself, making your gown’s pliers shift with your gestures.

Jaehyun looked at you, and you could see you were exasperating him. With his jaw set, he took his sweet time to calm himself before he opened his mouth to give you an answer. 

That’s how you knew he was trying to maintain his composure with you. He always took too long before answering every single time you asked him something that made him uncomfortable or that was pushing his buttons. 

“You need to live, Y/n,” he explained, combing a hand through his hair. “To live more, that is,” he corrected himself, avoiding your gaze.

You scoffed, “What makes you think I won’t be living if you transform me?” You asked him, your voice not above a whisper. 

“Please, Y/n,”  he pleaded, closing his eyes. “I love you, I really do,” he started, like this should have been enough of an answer for you to drop it, “And you’ll live if I transform you, but you won’t be alive,” he tried to make you come to reason, “I need you to stop asking for this. If I ever feel like it’s a good idea, you will know it,” and with that, he exited the dining room, stairs creaking under his heavy steps.

Jaehyun was not one for confrontation. He liked peace, he liked silence. Maybe it was because of his overly sharp senses, but he knew everything going on, he heard whispers and rustling, he smelled a person from metres away, he smelled disease before people registered something was wrong. 

He was lonely, he found his own peace by being in a luxurious manor house, with a few people around to help him with all the chores and matters around the property. 

Norma, the most amazing and loyal woman you have ever met. She was loyal to Jaehyun at first, and consequently to you as well, once you moved in. She took care of the house, of every other woman in your service, disciplining and training them to accommodate with the requirements of her precious Master Jaehyun. 

Jaehyun was a good person, he never denigrated anyone in his service, but he liked things a certain way, and Norma was the only person around the house to really understand Jaehyun without him having to tell her anything. A slouched back meant that Master Jaehyun’s muscles hurt, furrowed brows meant he needed time alone in his library, talkative Master Jaehyun meant he was at peace with a decision he had taken. 

She was what Jaehyun already started to consider as family, he could lift a finger for her to notice and she would understand in a heartbeat what his message for her was, bring me my shoes, or get me a cup of tea, tell Jeger to get the horses ready. She loved Jaehyun as if he were her own child, she dedicated her life to be in his service, and she never imagined herself in any other household, for the only family she was going to service was Master Jaehyun’s, for as long as he was going to allow her.

Then there was Jeger, his handyman and the only other male around Jaehyun’s estate, he took care of all the handy work around the house and garden, on top of managing the horse stables outside. He was a calm man, he wouldn’t speak unless asked something, but in his silent state he knew everything going on around, he heard the gossip first, he knew what had happened around town way before word got to the very well trained ears of the ladies. 

He reminded you of Jaehyun, with his peaceful and unbothered personality and you still remember how you closed the door to Jaehyun’s library after yourself, your back touching the cold wooden door as you looked at him setting his fountain pen down, looking at you with curious eyes in the dim lighting around the room. He smiled at you, like he knew you would ask him a silly question, one dimple on display as he nodded your way, and you relaxed a bit knowing he was paying attention to you. 

“Is Jeger…” you started, and Jaehyun’s gaze didn’t give anything away, prompting you to go on, expression still as relaxed as before. You gulped, looking around the room, suddenly too aware of your surroundings, “Like you?” You whispered, and you remember thinking at that time, that Jaehyun had only been able to hear your question thanks to his sharp hearing. 

He snorted, shaking his head, and you knew he had the ‘silly girl’ remark on the tip of his tongue. He usually called you this whenever your very rested mind came up with theories and all sorts of questions — which you pestered him with. He admired how driven you were, how interested you were about everything he was, everything surrounding him and his real self. 

“No,” his answer was simple, curt, cut to the chase. His smile was warm, despite the shiver sent down your spine as you watched him leaning back, more comfortably in his chair. 

He pushed his chair back and away from his desk, manspreading as he extended an arm towards you — and you knew he was inviting you into his embrace. 

Your steps were calculated, careful, and you moved gracefully around his sitting figure, folding the pliers of your dress so you could take a comfortable seat on his lap. 

“Why would you think that?” His tone was low, but still gentle, because that’s how Jaehyun was — a gentle soul with a darkness no one could ever find out about. Your gaze met his, his dark irises sparkling even in the dim lighting of the room, as he looked at you. 

“He fits the criteria,” you whispered back, sliding your arms around his neck to embrace his figure better.

“The criteria?” He laughed, nose scrunching up as he shook with a silent laughter, and you felt silly once again. 

“I don’t know, it’s just-” you started, looking around the dimly lit room, “Doesn’t really matter,” you changed your mind, not wanting to let him inside your mind — at least not right now. 

Jaehyun could do a lot of things. He could smell someone very far away from him, he could tell health from disease, he could hear the steps of people walking outside the gates of his mansion — and their heartbeats, — he could hear the foxes laughing in the neighbouring mansion’s bushes. But he couldn’t read minds, or hear thoughts, and you were always grateful for this. 

Because you knew that it would have driven him insane if he got a preview of your thoughts and the million questions lingering inside your mind every time you looked at him. And you also knew that it was for the best, because knowing that someone could be inside your head, uninvited? It made you shudder in horror. 

Jaehyun’s cold touch lingered on your face, playing with a strand of your long hair. 

“Are you cold?” He inquired, voice barely above a whisper, and he looked at your luscious locks between his fingers. “Go tell Jeger to take care of the fire in your chambers, you need to stay warm,” he instructed, and you did exactly as he said.

Jaehyun could never feel the cold, he let you know when you were freezing — teeth chattering and goosebumps all over your body, and he was absolutely fine. This was one of the downsides of being like this, he had to be very aware of everyone around himself, paying attention to their body language to see if they were cold or not — because otherwise he wasn’t able to really tell, and it could give him away, or at least it was going to raise some question marks. 

And another thing you noticed before he turned you was that the room got cooler the moment he stepped in. Fires burning in almost all chambers, yet his presence was still making everyone shiver slightly, but only for a bit, their bodies accommodating to the feeling immediately, unsuspecting that their Master Jaehyun was some sort of dark creature many thought to be fictitious — or extinct.

Jaehyun could be sleeping close to a fire yet his flesh remained pale and freezing. His freezing touch woke you up every single time he caressed you when he spent the night in your chambers, but you learnt to live with it, especially after dropping the whole trying to convince him to turn you into a vampire as well. 

Jaehyun didn’t need much sleep. Even when your exhausted self hit the comfortable bed, he would simply lay next to you, quiet as ever as he spent the entire nights watching over your sleeping figure. He usually slept on alternate days, making everyone around the house think that he was ill, with Norma taking extra care of him — and him nibbling on her food like usual. But you knew. You knew his nibbling wasn’t because he got sated easily, he craved something else, something to really calm his appetite down.

He watched you while you ate, and his heart felt content. He missed the way food felt inside his body, inside his stomach, — how the winters brought him an appetite for meat, yet fruits always tickled his tastebuds during summers. He craved it, he was yearning to be able to feel the joys of being alive at least once again, and looking at you doing all the things he couldn’t do anymore, it brought him joy. He was living through you. 

And during that terrible morning, you were left suffocating as you stood at the foot of your canopy bed, your mind kept wandering to the past to try and find an answer to your unanswered questions — looking for anything, a hint that might have led up to this moment, up to Jaehyun leaving you behind like he tore your chest open and took your own being along with him. 

Your night gown floated around your figure as you took rapid steps down the stairs once again, this time going to the only other chamber Jaehyun had ever claimed to be his sacred space, his library. Jaehyun might have relished into silence and unspoken words and agreements between the two of you, but you knew he had left something behind for you to find.

With Norma nowhere to be seen, somewhere outside with Jeger, you entered the library, and the first surface you checked out was his desk. Books scattered around, his favourite feather pens placed neatly next to each other on the side of the desk, exactly how he liked keeping them. No item was really misplaced, nothing that could be giving away a reason for his leaving. 

Yet your eyes skipped to the small drawer under the desk, that was now ajar, and you pulled on it to have full access to its contents. 

And like something was making your freezing body suddenly heat up, although impossible, your eyes landed on a piece of rag paper, on which Jaehyun’s pretty and neat handwriting was scribbled down. Your hands trembled as you reached for the letter, and your breath hitched in your throat as you read the first line.

“My dearest Y/n. 

The fountain pen feels heavy in my hand, and the ink staining my skin burns through every fibre of my flesh as I write you this — only a minuscule part of all the unspoken words I have never told you, a minuscule part of what I would be dying to let you know, if that was physically possible. Although I cannot feel it, I am certain my heart feels heavy right now, and I would love to be able to feel this one more time, including the consuming love I carry for you. You, through whom I have lived for so long up until this point.” Your eyes were brimming with tears, yet you paid them no attention, and your patience started running thin — with every fibre of your being itching to latch onto every single word of his. 

“My love for you cannot be sated, for you have always been my sole priority and desire, and being with you has always felt like the life that was once stolen away from me has returned back to me. Whenever you breathed, my lungs did too, whenever you slept next to me, my mind rested as well. The candy sweetness scent of you — it bathes my skin, I’m stained in you — for every time you showed me love, I felt alive once more, for sure. I am leaving you behind today, but not our love, for I am certain that we will find each other some day, again. With the hope of seeing your pulchritudinous eyes once more some day, I am leaving everything that is mine to you, as I am sure no amount of time apart can make us forget who we are and what we represent to each other. I shall wander for centuries looking for you, if it meant I would be once again feeling your ardent love, and we shall meet again if we are meant to be with each other until the end of times, the way I promised to you. I can barely close my eyes when I am with you — insatiable, the way I am loving you. And I shall not rest until we meet again. 

Not sure how I will manage to be away from you for what already feels like might last an eternity, but please look for me, until we find each other again.

Forever and only yours, Master Jaehyun.”

Your lip quivered as you read his note once more, hoping to find something different, a different ending, different sentences laced with love and devotion but this time for it not to be a farewell.

You looked at his name, the detail and soft precision with which he signed his name down, and you grabbed the page, bringing it to your chest. You were short of breath, and you felt the room spinning, the words you just read finally sinking in.

A screeching shout escaped past your lips, and you fell to your knees, bending forward as you kept the page to your chest, forehead touching the wooden floor.

In the midst of all your crying and screaming, ears ringing, in the midst of all the suffering, in the midst of all your sorrow — you still heard hurried and heavy steps approaching the room you were in. 

“Mistress!” You heard Norma’s voice, you acknowledged it, yet you didn’t move an inch. You heard the rustling of Norma’s skirts as she grabbed them with urgency, right before you heard a thud, someone plunging next to your aching body, and you knew Norma fell to her knees by your side. 

Worried out of her mind, she grabbed you by the shoulders, lifting you up a bit, “Oh, dear heavens!” She exclaimed with horror, seeing your tears. She was making her way around the house looking for you, not knowing how to break the news to you — one of the carriages was missing and Jeger couldn’t find two horses. But judging by the room she found you in, and your state of despair, she knew you were aware of what was going on. Master Jaehyun had left.

She overlooked the red tears flowing down your pale cheeks — landing on your white night gown, staining it, — she overlooked your freezing body as she grabbed you and brought you to her chest.

 “It’s okay, my child!” She consoled you, kissing your temple as you kept shaking in her arms, cries of despair still leaving you like a poor hurt animal.

 And that’s exactly what you were, a creature that lost its maker, someone who you loved more than you thought was possible. You felt dead, despite who you really turned out to be thanks to Jaehyun, this was the first time you really felt death seeping through you. 

Your head fell heavy on Norma’s chest, accepting her touch and love, because she had just become the only person you could rely on.

You first met Jaehyun at a soiree in your hometown, a town far away from his own.

He was dressed nicely, like a real gentleman. Dark hair on the longer side, combed through and styled with grace, he carried himself like he was the most impeccable person on earth and the most important person in that room. And he actually was. 

Ladies whispered as he walked his way around, grinning and hiding their crass expressions behind expensive hand fans, — but you noticed their eyes, the vulgar way they looked at him, and then your gaze landed on him, noticing how unbothered he was, like they weren’t even there.

In all honestly, you wish you never went to that soiree. The youngest daughter of a nobleman was playing the piano in the corner, trying to show off her skills, only to have her fingers stumbling over themselves, messing the melody. You were mortified looking at her crimson cheeks while she tried to keep her calm, knowing that many pairs of eyes were on her like vultures on an agonising body right before becoming a corpse. 

The sole heiress to the fortune your late parents left behind, you went to the soiree hoping to make new friends, perhaps meet the piano teacher many people talked about around town. Word travelled fast, and apparently there was a new piano teacher in town, of extremely advanced competences — fingers floated gracefully on top of the keyboards, seemingly barely touching them, sharp precision mesmerising anyone who heard the melody, and you wondered if there was truth to it — your interest was definitely piqued.

The day you lost your parents felt like a part of you died as well. You were their only child, they showered you with love, and while your mother raised you to be a great woman, your dad introduced you to the beauty of arts. 

He paid the best teachers, and if the ones he found around town weren’t good enough in his eyes, he sent your household’s servants to the neighbouring towns as well, promising carriage rides and good pay to whomever satisfied his needs for a competent teacher for his daughter. Only the best teachers crossed the threshold of your house, and taught you literature, the art of painting, and music. Your talent for playing piano was described as being innate, your piano teachers quickly realised what they had on their hands, the pieces escalating quickly to the hardest ones. 

You were your father’s pride and joy, and you were quite famous around town — known for your abilities in music. Piano meant the world to you, music carried you, inspired you, motivated you into hoping you would be tied to it in the future, that you would become someone whose whole being revolved around music and piano.

And when the world was ready to bow at your feet, as you had embarked on a new, staggering journey with an even more competent piano teacher, tragedy struck, ruining all your plans and your life all together. 

By losing your parents, the great loves of your life at that time, you also lost your passion for music — you lost your identity, your love for the subject. Grief consumed you, and it made you give up on your talent. Burying two parents as a young woman made something shift inside of you, the cold shower of the reality of being an orphan washing over you like freezing water. You were supposed to make a name for yourself, albeit you knew it was going to be hard — but not impossible to do so; you were supposed to live life alongside your parents long enough to have your father decide whom you should have married. And it was all taken away from you. 

A wrongly pressed piano key made you shudder with horror, but it was enough to take you out of your own thoughts. You found it very easy to lose yourself into the memories of the past, happier times — the ones in which your life was peaceful and orderly.

You looked around yourself, looking for the silhouette that had the whole ballroom exchanging glances, but he was nowhere to be found. Another wrongly pressed key made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, and you knew you had to gracefully save the poor lady playing the piano.

Your steps were careful, your hand fan closed as you got closer to her silhouette in the corner of the ballroom, and you touched her back, making her jolt in her seat at the unexpected contact, interrupting her playing.

“Miss Y/L/N!” She exclaimed excited, standing to her feet. “Did you want to play?” She asked you, tone full of airy innocence as she pointed at the piano next to her.

Did you want to play? No, you actually wanted to save her from a future disastrous performance as she got deeper into the piece laid in front of her eyes.

A few people you knew well from around town started amassing around the two of you, their ears perking up at the mention of you playing the piano, but you kept your focus on the young woman in front of you.

You shook your head, smiling at her, “I actually wanted to compliment you for choosing this piece! It’s a hard one!” You complimented her, because you knew how hard the piece she chose could be for someone at her level, skills not fully developed yet. You really knew you were saving her from embarrassment, because the piece was going to become progressively more demanding, and she was already tired — yet you still hoped you didn’t come across as phoney for doing so.

“Thank you, Miss Y/L/N,” she blushed, smile slowly creeping on her face, “I aspire to be like you one day!” She whispered, averting her gaze, not knowing if the words that impulsively got past her lips were going to touch a nerve. 

You smiled at her, somehow fluttered at her words. “Thank you, Lady Mirabella,” you grabbed her hands, giving them a quick squeeze as you took her shyness in.

“Miss Y/L/N!” Lady Mirabella’s father was the one calling your name, taking a few steps amidst the crowd surrounding you and his daughter, and he shook your hand in greeting. “Please play something for us! It would be an honour to have you playing Mirabella’s new piano, and it shall be auspicious to her learning!”

You looked around yourself, and then you looked at the piano. You nodded slightly, not being able to refuse the nobleman — a good friend of your father’s — and just the thought of him made you think of the piece you used to love the most.

It had been two years since your father perished, and two years since you didn’t even bother throwing a look at the piano sitting in the parlour of your mansion. You learned this piece for your father, because you knew it was a hard challenge for you to take onto, and you wanted to make him proud. You were glad that he got the chance to hear you play it a few times, at least.

You took a seat at the piano, careful with your beautiful rosy dress that complimented the pallor of your skin and the blushing of your cheeks. 

Dead silence surrounded you, with everyone holding their breaths as they observed you — the town’s piano prodigy, making a comeback after years of not playing. Some were new in town, curious as ever to hear you play and see for themselves if the rumours were true, others knew what to expect safe for the piece you were going to play.

Closing your eyes and taking a big breath in, the gracious movements of your fingers lulled the melody around the room, reaching everyone’s ears and hearts. 

Even as one of the hardest pieces to have been discovered in the last decade, you knew it by heart. No music sheet needed, your muscle memory was strong, and the melody transported you a few years back, imagining what life used to be like when you were at your peak with your talent — when your father sat in his armchair next to your piano in the parlour, listening to you.

The hairs on the back of your neck raised, and a freezing breeze ran through you, covering your skin in goosebumps, yet it was so brief that you blamed the emotional turmoil inside of you, caused by this melody.

You opened your eyes, gaze fixed on your working fingers, trying to remain inside your own bubble and focus on the moment. The tens of pairs of eyes that were fixing you didn’t matter, yet you felt someone’s gaze piercing your whole being. 

You raised your gaze briefly, eyes pointed directly where you knew the keen pair of eyes following you with ardent curiosity were situated, and then you saw him. Jaehyun was looking at you, eyebrows slightly furrowed as he heard the melody that graced his hearing, intrigued by your technique. 

But you didn’t pay attention to him any longer, your attention returning to the task at hand, and it didn’t take you much longer to know it was time to end the show. You appreciated having taken on the offer to play for a bit, but you couldn’t keep everyone busy for about half an hour to play the entire piece, and when you felt like it was a good moment to cut it off, you did.

You thanked everyone who complimented you, exchanging courtesies with everyone who approached you briefly, but you decided it was time to actually leave, sending word for your carriage to pick you up.

Wearing your matching paletot on your shoulders, you exited the hall, fingers still wrapped around your hand fan as you waited for your carriage to appear. And then you felt it again, the breeze seeping through your body for a brief moment before going away completely.

A silhouette appeared next to you, and a quick glance with the intention of greeting the gentleman next to you, and you realised he was the stranger from before, the sensational main attraction of the soiree, the very man who stared at your soul while you played.

“Are you perchance a pianist?” He asked, tone low but gentle, laced with curiosity and anticipation.

You gave him a sheepish smile, and you were sure blush was creeping up your features as you looked at the side of his face. His profile was mesmerising. Sharp jaw contouring his face, full lips tempted to let countless other questions past — and he turned his head, locking eyes with you, the pearly irises piercing into your curious ones.

“Am not,” you answered to him, turning your head to look in front of you at the empty and dark street.

“You must be,” he retorted with seriousness, yet the underlying softness in his voice made you look back at him, “That is the hardest piece of piano, not even the greatest pianists can play it fully just yet. But you seemed like you knew it perfectly,”

“I learned it a few years ago,” you explained, not sure why you were even doing so, “I have not played it in a long time,” your voice was soft, barely above a whisper, and you hated how you opened up to a complete stranger after not caring about socialising for the past few years, relishing into your loneliness.

“You are very modest for being one of the greatest pianists I have ever had the pleasure of listening to, Miss Y/L/N,” a soft smile stretched across his features, and dimples formed in the plush of his cheeks. 

You threw him a look, suddenly realising just how many times the word ‘pianist’ had been thrown around in the span of a few minutes, and you remembered about the new pianist in town, and wondering who that might have been. You were sure you were laying your eyes on him in flash and bones, right that moment.

“Are you a pianist, perchance?” You were positively sure he was, but you asked out of courtesy nonetheless. 

“I am, indeed,” he smiled your way, looking down at your curious self, holding his hands behind his back, “I will be Miss Mirabella’s teacher for the summer, thus I will be seeing you around,” he explained, and you found tonight’s act to be a horrifying orchestration against Mirabella. You were almost positive her father made her showcase her abilities in front of everyone just so the new piano teacher could assess her promising talent, not thinking about the difficulty of the piece or how disastrous it was going to end when his daughter was inevitably going to get tired and mess everything. 

“It was a pleasure meeting you,” his words snatched you out of your own thoughts once again, as he heard a carriage approaching, and he knew it was yours. 

He moved around your figure, reaching your right side as the carriage stopped in front of you, and he made a gesture to the footman, moving his hand to indicate he wasn’t needed. Jaehyun extended a hand towards the carriage’s door, opening it while extending his free hand to you, offering his assistance to get you safely inside the vehicle.

You looked down at his hand, and your warm hand touched his, but his touch almost made you retract your hand. It felt like touching ice, the contrast between your body temperatures astonishing and terrifying at the same time.

He smiled at you one last time before you departed, and you managed to thank him just in time, fearing he wasn’t going to hear you — but little did you know at that time, Jaehyun heard you loud and clear, your voice rang inside his ears for a few more moments as he watched the carriage going farther away from where he was standing. 

That was the night you first met Jaehyun, and he made a great first impression on you.

Making your way around town, followed by your maidservants, you spotted Jaehyun a few more times before he started making conversation with you. Things started off slowly with questions about your passion for piano, and then he wanted to know a bit more about other pieces you knew. 

Jaehyun managed to crawl under your skin, making you feel at ease even through all your solitude. As summer progressed, you convinced him to play the piano for you. You had given up on the practice long ago, and even if during that night at the soiree it was proven to you that you still had your talent and had kept all your abilities still, you didn’t feel comfortable playing again. Yet you would have loved to have someone playing for you, and Jaehyun took onto the opportunity, agreeing to your proposal as soon as the words left your mouth.

Little by little, you felt more and more comfortable around Jaehyun. Little by little, you opened up to him, talking to him about your past, about your love for the arts, for the piano, letting him know how much playing had always meant to you. 

Jaehyun played the piano in your house’s parlour while you observed him, sitting in your father’s armchair. His movements were gentle, comforting, and looking at him brought you peace. Jaehyun played your favourite pieces for you to relish in, and he gave in so easily when you asked him about his own favourite pieces, that you knew he was dying to be asked about. His eyes sparkled while he explained what they meant to him, his dimples were on display every time a fond memory popped up in the middle of your conversations, and your heart took a leap every single time the calmness of his voice graced your hearing.

No amount of meet ups with him could prepare you for the freezing air you felt around yourself every single time he walked into your house, or a room. No amount of scorching summer days briefly interrupted by a fleeting cold shock through your body could explain the phenomenon to you. You remembered how you felt it that night at the soiree, as well as the moment when he came outside to keep you company while waiting for your carriage, and then every single time you met him, coincidentally or planned. 

Yet you never raised a brow, you never questioned him about it. You couldn’t explain the phenomenon, and at some point you thought that it could mean you were falling in love. Maybe it was an effect of falling in love with Jaehyun? But then other circumstances weren’t matching up with this theory. 

Jaehyun became a constant in your life, and you in his. Jaehyun felt more alive when he was with you than he had ever felt actually being alive one hundred years ago. With the body of a twenty-two year old man, and the soul nearing a centenary, all Jaehyun wanted was for you to accept him and be by his side for eternity.

Did he want to tell you what he was? Yes. Did he want to eventually turn you as well? Not really, at least not at first. 

You were one of the strongest people he had ever met during his very long time roaming the earth, and he knew a few things about knowing people and relocating every twenty or thirty years as not to raise suspicions. He couldn’t take the joy of living away from you, for he knew that he would have wanted to have lived with you for as long as life itself allowed the two you to, but under normal circumstances. Instead, you were alive, literally the sun hanging in the sky, and he was a freezing pale creature that feasted on other humans, — something inside of him told him it was wrong to take the joy of living away from you.

Yet Jaehyun wanted to be selfish for once, and he decided he would eventually turn you if that was what you wanted. If he couldn’t have normality with you, he was going to have eternity by your side — one way or another.

And as the summer passed, the fleeting looks and lingering affectionate touches led to Jaehyun not being able to let go of you. By the time his time as Miss Mirabella’s teacher was up at the end of the summer, he took you away with him, back to his town.

Surprisingly to him, you didn’t need too much time to get talked into doing it, because he knew that for a young woman like you were, with the great wealth your parents left you, moving in with a man that wasn’t your husband wasn’t normal or socially accepted. But Jaehyun didn’t mind actually marrying you, for he was sure you were the only one for him, but you didn’t even let him finish telling you his plans for the future. 

So you took your belongings, your wealth, you locked your house, and by the time the middle of autumn reached, you had already moved in with Jaehyun in his manor house.

The cold touches, the breeze you felt when he walked in a room, they all started to add up in your head. You noticed how he knew you were walking up to him from the highest floor of the house, down to his library on the ground floor, he knew if you faked sleeping, you swear he knew what the maidservants talked about in the other room. 

But it didn’t actually click in your head until winter came, when you had to leave for a few days to go back to your family’s mansion, and you took Jeger, Norma, and the three other maidservants with you, leaving Jaehyun alone.

Coming back was horrific. Carrying venison and other foods your friends from back home gifted you, you and everyone else were exhausted from the long journey. With the weather outside being one typical to January, with strong and freezing winds, occasional blizzards and heavy cold rain, your body was begging for the warmth of your house. 

Except the house was dark, the fire in every room was dead, and the air around was freezing, almost worse than it was outside. You expected to find Jaehyun frozen to death somewhere in the house, yet your quick steps took you upstairs to his chambers, only to find him sleeping peacefully in his bed, bare torso touching the silky sheets like the whole ordeal was all inside your head. 

“I heard you coming home,” he smiled, moving his head to look at you. You didn’t know he was awake, but you also didn’t know how he managed to sleep in a house that made the point of your nose and your fingertips freeze.

“Where you… sleeping?” You gulped, closing your cloak up to your chin and squeezing your gloved hands together. 

He hummed, showing you a lazy smile. It was time you two had the so long awaited conversation, it was time he let you know. 

Jaehyun heard your voice as soon as the carriage came down the street, up to the gates. He knew you were coming home and you were going to find a freezing house, yet he didn’t bother getting up. It was too late to do anything, anyway. When you left, you said you were going to be away for a few days, up to a week, so he didn’t know when you were going to be home, and in his defense, Jaehyun really had the fires popping in every room of the house, as always. But Jaehyun had also spent the last three days sleeping, not differentiating days from nights, so the fires had died long before, without Jaehyun bothering keeping them alive. He didn’t feel the cold, anyway. 

“How,” you gulped once again, this time taking your gloves off, “How did you manage to do so?” 

Jaehyun extended his hand, calling for you to get closer to him, and with no self preservation instinct, you followed his instructions. Your head was filled with doubts, with worries, with theories that you thought about once in a while, but you shook them off every single time thinking you were being silly. But now the truth was laying bare in front of your eyes, and it looked tempting and like something between life and death.

“Promise me you’ll listen to me,” he pleaded, holding your hand as you sat down on his bed. 

You gulped, breath hitching in your throat, yet you nodded, prompting him to start talking. 

Jaehyun’s voice was laced with emotion and sincerity. At that time, you didn’t know if lying was one of his abilities, but the Jaehyun you grew to love would have never lied to you. 

Every single moment of your life in the months up to that point, you had spent it with Jaehyun, like you couldn’t breathe if you didn’t have him around. Days passed faster with him by your side, nights were slower while he devoted every fibre of his being to you, and you only. You grew to know him very well, even if at that time you weren’t in possession of any of the abilities he, for one, had. 

The image of the two of you discussing right in that moment was funny, you were sure. Jaehyun was naked on his bed, and you were wrapped inside layers of fur and warming fabrics, cloak buttoned up to your chin and every single inch of your body covered. The contrast was visible, and terribly shocking — for if it were for Norma walking in right that time, you were sure she was going to black out.

The more Jaehyun talked, the more he searched your eyes, looking for a sign of just how horrified and full of terror you were. But he found none. As his story progressed, your eyes became warmer, and because Jaehyun couldn’t read your mind, he didn’t know if you were on the brink of passing out, or if you were truly accepting him for what he was. 

He heard your heart beating erratically as he explained to you the circumstances that allowed him to still roam the earth. He heard your heartbeat calming down, steadying itself the more he progressed into his story, and he heard it nearly stop the moment he confessed his deepest feelings to you. Because you knew he was fond of you, you knew he loved you, but he never explicitly said it to you, words waltzing off his tongue with grace, but the look in his eyes glinted with fear. Fear of you running away from him.

His story was complicated, long, but never dull. 

The night he confessed to you, he admitted being almost one hundred years old. Youngest, and only son of a family of ten members, he lost his entire family during the 1780 plague that annihilated his hometown village — and when him and his aunt were the only ones to survive the family that had perished, she made him leave in hopes he found refuge somewhere over the steep hills, inside an abbey.

“I was twenty years old at that time, and she made me promise I would fight tooth and nail in order to survive. I was the only son to be born in my family after generations of daughters, so they always made it clear who their favourite was,” he explained as he walked naked around his chamber, putting a log into the fireplace so you could start getting warm again. 

“Father was the first to die, and then two of my sisters followed. Mother tried quarantining us away, but she fell sick soon after, and her sister had to take me and my other sisters in,” he went on, helping you get off his bed, making you sit down on the armchair by the fireplace. “Then my sisters fell ill and perished two by two, but they had already infected my aunt’s family, and eventually it was just me and her left. She had this leather pouch she prepared for me, with two knives and a bit of bread and cheese to survive off of, and she made me promise I would find the abbey, and that I would lie to them about my origins,”

You nodded, understanding his aunt’s concerns, “They weren’t going to take you in if they knew your village had been infected,” your brows furrowed while looking at the fire.

Jaehyun smiled at you. You were so smart, and he loved you. “It took me a few days, and the hills were surprisingly steep,” his tone was dripping with amusement, nose scrunching while recalling his adventures from decades ago, “But I made it to the abbey, and they took me in,”

“And how did you…” you didn’t finish your sentence, but Jaehyun understood what you meant, nonetheless.

He let out a huff of laughter, “You’re so impatient, my love,” he caressed your cheek, eyes sparkling in the dim lighting of the room. 

You puckered your lips out of embarrassment of being called out, but Jaehyun smiled fondly as an answer, and you relaxed into your seat. He was beautiful. The light coming from the fireplace made his features sharper, eyes darker, skin even paler, and you understood you overlooked the signs until that moment, because they were all in the open for you — and anyone else — to see, yet you chose to focus on the wrong suspicions, — like why were you always cold when he made his appearance into a room?

Jaehyun looked exactly like what he was, a vampire. Not that you had met any other up to that point, but the tales, the superstitious stories you had heard suddenly made a lot of sense.

Jaehyun’s cold touch on your warm cheek made you shudder, pulling you out of your thoughts. 

“I lived inside the abbey for a few weeks, until the plague reached us there,” he explained, clearing his throat, and you knew it brought bad memories back. “One of the monks inside turned me when he realised the others were dying one by one. I don’t know how he managed to live there so long without anyone being suspicious, but when the plague wrecked havoc inside the abbey I was the only mortal still uninfected by the disease. Monk Noel did me a favour that time, and we burned the abbey down so they wouldn’t know the number of survivors,”

“Where is Monk Noel now?” You whispered, curiosity taking the best of you. You weren’t going to ask about him, but your mouth spoke on its own.

“I don’t know where he is right now, he’s a pretty old creature. If still alive, of course,” he mentioned, biting on his bottom lip. His eyebrows were furrowed, and he seemed like he was thinking about his past. 

“You’re the only person I have opened up to, you’re the only person who knows me to the fullest, right this moment,” he rasped, and if you didn’t know who the man in front of you was, you would have been terrified of the look in his eyes. “Do you think you can accept me for what I am?” He inquired, because it was really eating at him.

Jaehyun opened up to you in hopes it would take a bit of the burden off his shoulders. He wanted to come clean to you ever since he met you, but you were a mortal and you deserved to be allowed to live your life, with no undead creatures interfering.

“Are you going to turn me into one, as well?” You asked him, and the question took him by surprise. But he didn’t let any turmoil of emotions betray him with the way he was looking at you. 

“Do you want me to?” He rasped back to you, tone low but lacking any menacing undertones to it. 

You nodded immediately, because you didn’t need another five years to know you would spend an eternity by Jaehyun’s side. “Yes,” your tone was curt, getting right to the point.

But Jaehyun didn’t like you answer at that time. How could you have been so sure you were really willing to give up your life, your title as a mortal, and a beating, blood-pumping heart? How could you give yourself up so easily?

And after that night, the subject was inapproachable. Jaehyun skived every time he heard your words, sometimes he only needed a good look at you approaching him in his library to know what you were going to talk to him about. 

Jaehyun wanted to transform you, wanted to be with you and teach you everything there was to know, and he wanted to help you fit into a new world, but it had to happen on his terms. He wanted you to taste foods for a bit longer, he wanted you to sleep the nights and dance during the days, for a bit longer. He wanted you to feel the cold and the warmth for a bit longer. 

He was selfish. He was going to let you enjoy mundane life until he decided you were ready to be transformed, not letting you advance too much into your life so your health couldn’t decline because of you nearing your thirties — which at that time meant you were already past the half of your lifespan — and he was going to have you to himself until the end of times.

He wasn’t giving into your pressuring, which drove you insane, yet at some point — you were not sure when — you dropped the incessant asking. Not because you didn’t want him to transform you, but because you realised there was no point in trying to convince him to do something he wasn’t sure he wanted to do. 

You were dying to be let into his world, but you had no power over him and his decisions, so you went on with your normal and boring life.

Days were filled with you and Jaehyun reading to each other. He played the piano for you, squinting his eyes at you every time you made an observation about his technique, but then laughing it off. He kissed your hands every time you sewed his shirts, he kissed your ankles every time you allowed him to become one with you during restless nights.

He spent painfully long times with his head in the crook of your neck, cheek pressed to your collarbone as his nose was glued to the skin of your neck, smelling the sweet scent of your flesh and listening to the way your heart pumped blood. 

With you knowing who — or what — he was made it easier for him to be around you, easier to roam the earth. Knowing about him made it easier for you to help him, to get on his side, to help and protect him. You made sure no accidents involving put out fires were going to happen again, not as long as you were there to take care of it. You made sure you found good excuses every time Jaehyun needed his daytime sleep, or maybe the occasional three days in a row locked in his chambers while resting. You found excuses for Norma not to worry about her precious Master Jaehyun, making her focus more on you and your needs — albeit you had never asked her before, but you needed to keep her busy and unsuspecting. 

Little by little, your passion for music came back to you. You spent time looking over music sheets like you were reading some great pieces of literature, but it took you some time to get back to playing. 

And when you did, the piece you chose was the one dearest and closest to your heart. Your fingers waltzed on the keys as you played your favourite Schumann piece, the one you played the night you met Jaehyun. 

And there it was, the shiver down your spine and the goosebumps across your skin, not even two minutes into the piece. You smiled, eyes still closed as you enjoyed the melody, the memories of the past that were brought back to you.

Jaehyun couldn’t believe his eyes, couldn’t believe his ears — you were finally playing something, and it was the hardest piano piece you could have chosen. The one who held a special place in your heart.

He sat on the armchair facing the piano, the one he set up for you so you could stay with him every time he played,  so that you could watch the way his fingers moved.

Your gaze finally met his, and he could hear your heartbeat picking up, “You’re playing again,” he muttered, but his whole being was so proud of you. He loved you.

“I miss my father a little bit more, today,” you whispered back, eyes back on the keys, not because you didn’t know where to touch, but because you were mesmerised by the way your muscles still remembered the motion.

Jaehyun felt anxiety pooling in the pit of his stomach. He knew your story, he knew the reason you had stopped playing. And the reason you gave him for playing once again made every fibre in his body hurt for you. 

You were so beautiful, wearing your silky, ivory dress, rosy cheeks on display, lips pouting with concentration that were literally begging to be kissed by him. But he stayed silent, he observed you, he admired you from his seat, and then he spoke up, breaking the silence between the two of you.

“I want to learn this for you,” he wanted to learn the piece so he could lull you every time you felt down, nostalgic, melancholy taking over you at the thought of your loved ones that you found missing some days more than others, “Let me do this for you,”

Jaehyun spent a good part of his time on earth trying to learn piano. His rules for surviving his condition were simple — stay in a place for twenty years, then move away somewhere else, rebranding his life and career. Up to that point, Jaehyun had spent three separate lives rebranded as a piano teacher, in different states. He spent half his lifetime on this earth trying to learn as many languages as possible, trying to read as many books as he could. But his love for music was always consistent.

 He never transformed anyone else up to that point, no one knew who he was. But no one else managed to have him bewitched, so foolishly in love, either. So Jaehyun’s chest tingled while still watching you, knowing that it was time. 

And that night, spending time nuzzling your pulse line turned into lingering touches, cold fingertips making their way up your body — reaching your chest and, small and controlled pecks turned into hungry and possessive kisses.

Jaehyun’s cold body never bothered you, especially when it was touching your burning one. Your body felt on fire every time he moved his hips in between yours, your heartbeat picked up its rhythm every time you heard him grunting with pleasure, motions slow and calculated, deliberate. His cold touch felt like a blessing, there to remind you the lengths of the pleasure you felt, yet grounding you every time you felt like it was becoming too much to bear. 

Jaehyun never felt the coldness or the warmth of a room, but he felt how your body was on fire under his. Sliding in and out of you was easy, and he took one of your legs, angling it up and supporting it with his shoulder. His cold hand reached down in between your bodies, tracing its way to your lower stomach, applying gentle pressure, and your whine filled his ears like that was the sweetest melody he had ever heard. 

Looking down to where your bodies met, the way you were taking him so well and obedient — it had Jaehyun lost in his own thoughts. Calculated motions of hips became more forceful, more intense, and the hand pressing on your lower stomach gained possessiveness. 

Jaehyun felt you squeezing around him, felt your warm inner pulse on himself like it was pumping blood into his own body. He felt the spots his length reached inside of you, the palm of his hand felt like it was burning while his shaft moved inside of you. And the feeling of it had Jaehyun nearly losing his mind. Your skin was coated with a thin layer of sweat, and the scent of you exploded around his sharp senses, driving him insane as he was getting lost into you. 

He could hear, he could feel, he could smell the blood pumping through you, the pulse on your inner ankle right next to his head made his ears start ringing. Long strokes found it harder to move as your walls prepared Jaehyun to climax, but he knew he wasn’t ready to get there just yet.

Not with your ankle so enticing, so warm to the touch, smell so sweet that it flooded his nose. He wrapped his hand around your calf, moving your leg around so he could bring your foot to him — teeth grazing the skin of your sole, his plump lips caressed the softness up to your pulse line, and he playfully bit into it. It was going to be the last time Jaehyun had you like this — warm, pulsing, alive — and he couldn’t pass on the occasion of worshipping your body the right way.

He bent down to reach your lips, leg still on his shoulder, his hips finding a new angle inside of you that had you melting, pressure building up like fire into your lower stomach,  — which Jaehyun made sure to keep his hand on. 

You moaned into the kiss, and the way Jaehyun could feel you around himself made him snap with something animalistic, a primal need to see your sparkling eyes like a predator did to its prey. He broke the kiss, bringing the hand that was resting on your abdomen up to your lips, fingers tracing your lips that got swollen from his kisses, from his teeth pulling on them.

Jaehyun looked into your eyes, your breath was getting heavier, more desperate, small whines were  leaving your lips as he was helping you reach your release — and he felt his skin tingling just thinking of the way you were going to feel around him, of the way you were about to wrap yourself around him so perfectly. 

Your eyes were droopy, but Jaehyun could see his reflection into them when you looked up at him. They were warm, loving, so accepting of him, and Jaehyun let go of your leg, guiding it around his waist, the motion having both of you moaning as he kept moving in and out of you. His lips made their way up your neck, and the moment you felt his teeth — sharper — pressing on your skin, you moaned his name.

“You still want this, my love?” He asked, not slowing down when he felt the both of you so close. 

You didn’t answer, moaning his name instead, the anticipation of something you had wanted for a long time making your walls squeeze around of him. 

“I need an answer, love. Now,” his rasped, tone low and menacing, panting as he tried to maintain his composure a bit longer. He needed to hear you say it.

“Yes, Jaehyun,” your loins suddenly felt like burning as you felt yourself melting around his shaft, “Please,” you managed to mewl, and Jaehyun didn’t need any more words to come out of you.

With your blood pulsating in his mouth, and your cunt pulsing around his shaft, Jaehyun came exactly like he wanted. Inside of your warmth, feeling every last bit of life dripping out of you. 

Adapting to the new life wasn’t easy, but Jaehyun was there for you, guiding you through it all. You were astonished when you realised temperatures didn’t matter anymore, finally understanding how Jaehyun managed to sleep and live absolutely unbothered by the climate or by the temperature in a room.

But the most shocking thing was waking up to a head full of voices, and the smell of Jaehyun’s skin flooding your senses like that was the only thing you were supposed to sense.

“Jaehyun,” you jumped off the bed, both hands on each side of your head, covering your ears. “I can hear them, all of them,” you whispered, but you knew you were panicking. You couldn’t even hear the thoughts inside your head because you heard Norma scolding someone around the house, loud and clear. “Make it stop!” You pleaded, bending over Jaehyun’s bed. 

Jaehyun pitied you, because maybe he should have prepared you before effectively turning you. There was nothing he could do to help you or take all the new things away from you, but he could guide you to learn how to live with it.

“I can’t,” he let you know, looking to you from his spot on the bed.

“What?” You screeched, squinting your eyes. You thought you heard him through the many voices in your head, but you hoped you heard him wrong.

“Make it stop. I can’t make it stop, my love,” he explained calmly, unmoving.

Your bottom lip quivered, eyes quickly brimming with tears, and that’s when you saw Jaehyun jump off the bed, reaching you in a millisecond, grabbing your wrists to bring your attention on him.

“No, no my love! You can’t cry!" He seemed like he was panicking, and you looked up at him, eyes meeting his, “You will cry blood,” he explained, squeezing your wrists.

Your breath hitched in your throat and you gulped, yet you blinked the tears away, scared of the piece of information he had just dropped on you. 

“What?” Your voice was barely above a whisper, and with the way your ears were ringing and head was full of other voices from servants around the house, you weren’t sure you even spoke up in the first place.

“If you cry, they’ll be stained tears. Never cry, at least not in front of others!” He definitely should have told you all the downsides of being a vampire before he turned you into one, out of impulse. 

Why didn’t he tell you all this when you were begging him to transform you?

But you never regretted anything, you never regretted agreeing to become a vampire. Never. 

Eventually, as the weeks passed, you learned to tune other voices down, and peace and quiet was back into your head and ears, only focusing on other people’s voices when you chose to. 

Jaehyun taught you how to hunt, how to survive among mortals. How to fake your appetite for normal food, because albeit the fact that you could still eat food and feel its taste — although a little insipid and faded on your tastebuds, — there was nothing as delicious and nutritious as human blood. Animal blood was thicker, with undertones you weren’t particularly fond of, which left a weird aftertaste in your mouth — and it felt more like a snack, not like a proper meal.

Human blood, on the other hand, was sweet and tasty. You were surprised by the newly acquired sense of smell that allowed you to sense disease, to differentiate someone who was healthy from someone who was at the beginning of growing an infection inside of them, by a discreet sniff only. 

Nights were the hardest, because neither you nor Jaehyun could really sleep, and you had to tiptoe around not to raise suspicions among your servitude. But at least you had one another, getting lost into each other because you were the only one who could understand Jaehyun’s condition, and vice versa. 

You loved Jaehyun, and not once did you regret your new life by his side. Not even when you woke up like your body wasn’t yours anymore, — skin a bit paler, eyes and hair a bit darker, pulse nearly gone, with your heart only pumping blood one time per minute, — and certainly not when you realised how many things had changed in your life. You only needed blood, a safe space in which you could disguise your existence as being a normal one, and Jaehyun.

Yet Jaehyun still chose to leave you behind, despite the love he claimed he carried for you, he took off, abandoning you and making you live without him like you were exiled away from his love. 

The letter he left behind for you to find didn’t explain why he left, but you suspected his need to rebrand and change from monotony, but that wasn’t a plausible explanation to you — for he had told you countless times that you were going to be spending eternity by each other’s side, and you were going to rebrand every single time he did, or vice versa. 

You then suspected he got tired of you. He mentioned he was living through you when you were still a mortal, and then he turned you, only to then leave you behind when he made sure you could survive with your new condition and the burden of knowing you would have to go on with living for many centuries, lacking his presence.

One year after Jaehyun’s departure, you had to bury Jeger — who died of old age, already having reached fifty years of age. The servitude left one by one, others died from colds and others from lung disease, but Norma stayed with you.

You knew Norma was a mortal. At the beginning, when Jaehyun explained to you that you would eventually grow to understand from a sniff or cocked ear who was a living being, you were adamant, looking at him like he was messing with you. You could hear Norma’s heartbeat, you could hear the murmur of her heart as it was pumping blood throughout her body, you could hear the dulcet pulsing of her arteries — but never, not even once, were you tempted to take her life just to sate your appetite.

Norma was the closest to a mother figure you could get after your own mother perished. You found a great friend in her, nothing was taboo between the two of you, — which, during those times, it really showed how close you two were, — and it was only normal to be this way, as she was the only person left that you could trust entirely. Bonded together by the love both of you carried for Master Jaehyun, — yet of course, each of different nature, — Norma never spoke about him in front of you, not wanting to upset you or disrupt your peace. 

Jaehyun was like a son to her, his kindness towards her, the gentleness he carried around himself, Norma loved taking care of him, cooking for him, she was devoted to him. And after he left, she remained devoted to his household, and consequently to you, because the day Jaehyun brought you home, you were so shy to become the new mistress of the house, often going up to Jaehyun to ask for things instead of going straight to the servitude. It was easier to ask the man you loved and with whom you were comfortable, because you didn’t want to bother anyone, and you knew Jaehyun did never bat an eyelash.

Being around the house with Norma felt like routine, you sewed together, you helped her out with whatever you could, because taking someone new as servitude was very risky, not knowing to what extents they could be trusted — and if they could be, in the first place.

“Mistress,” Norma tried one evening, approaching you in Jaehyun’s library, “May I speak to you about one of my concerns?” She asked, and you put the book down right that moment. 

You were worried, because Norma had never expressed any concern for as long as you had known her. You nodded, prompting her to go on.

“I have a niece, a brother of mine has left this world, leaving her behind,” she started, and you had a faint idea of where this conversation was headed to, “Would it be possible to take her in, to help around the house? I shall do my best to instruct her accordingly,” 

You could hear Norma’s heartbeat going crazy inside her chest. She wasn’t frightened, you would say she was more embarrassed than scared, facing you with such proposition. But you didn’t find her proposition to be a problem, knowing that help was indeed very much needed around the house, and with her being Norma’s niece, this girl was probably worth trusting.

Minji was nice, very shy at first, but the more you had her around yourself, the more comfortable you grew with each other. She helped Norma around, and with her being her niece, Norma guided her around like she was a sergeant and your house was training camp. 

“I need you to be aware of everything that needs to be learned about Mistress and her household! One day I will be gone, and hopefully you will be allowed to remain,” You heard Norma whispering from downstairs, her tone condescending. 

“What if she doesn’t want me around when you’re gone?” Her niece asked, and the thought of her being so untrusting saddened you. 

“Mistress has a heart of gold, never forget that!” her tone seemed offended by Minji’s concerns, “Master Jaehyun loved her a lot, and that itself was the only sign anyone needed in order to see what an amazing woman she is,” Norma scolded her, her angry whisper scaring you — so you couldn’t imagine Minji’s reaction. Norma’s whispers were somehow too loud for you to hear anything else besides them.

“You will be taking care of her, and I know she will too,” Norma concluded, and you heard steps approaching your chambers, knowing their discussion was over.

And you tried showing Minji how grateful you were for her being around. Thanks to your behaviour, and you being more open to her whenever she was around, it helped the two of your getting closer. 

But good things were never here to stay, at least not around your household, and tragedy struck again. 

Norma fell ill one day, out of a sudden. No epidemics had been announced, you weren’t aware of any viruses going around, and Norma only ever left the house once a week with Minji, the two of them in charge of getting food for a whole week. 

So when Minji came up to your chambers crying, panicking, you knew things were bad. Norma was barely breathing, sweaty, in pain. You heard her heart struggling to keep up with everything going on inside of her, the infection spread in her body. She was delirious, seeing and talking to every single person she had ever loved, seeing them around the room, Jaehyun included. 

You panicked, thinking that he was back without you sensing him, but the corner of the room towards which Norma was looking at while barely able to speak — claiming she was speaking to her Master Jaehyun, — made you realise how bad it was. At that time, even a cold could take one person’s life, so Norma’s condition was serious, and it was rapidly taking her away from you. 

“What should we do?” Minji sobbed, hands trembling, and every fibre of her being was panicking. Her heartbeat was going crazy, her pressure going through the roof after realising the situation at hand. 

“Minji, listen to me,” your voice was stern, but you needed her to be calm for whenever Norma was going to huff her last breath. “You need to stay away from her, don’t cross the threshold of the door, I don’t want you to catch anything,” You instructed, pointing towards the door, but your eyes were on Norma, who seemed to have come back to her senses while on her deathbed, hallucinations gone and she was once again looking at you with her usual loving gaze. 

“What if you catch something, Mistress? Please, let us go find the physician,” Minji rambled, eyes sparkling as she panicked while looking at Norma’s figure laying helplessly on her bed.

“Minji!” Your tone made her jolt, raising her glossy eyes to look at you, “I won’t catch anything from her,” your voice was suddenly heavy with emotion. Not once did you think of transforming Norma, not once did you think of opening up to her. You thought that if Jaehyun didn’t do it in the first place, why should you? What if Jaehyun had his reasons, and you were going to make a mistake? 

Looking at her struggling and aching body made you realise it was too late, anyway. She was too sick to be transformed, and even if you bit into her flesh, her body couldn’t recover to have enough force to survive.

“Mistress…” Norma’s whisper surprised you, not thinking she was mentally there, with you and Minji. Her eyes were glossy, lost, sporting the same look they had when she was having hallucinations. “Do not cry,” she instructed, trying her best to sound authoritarian, but her soft spoken tone made your eyes brim with tears. One look at Minji let you know just how devastated the poor child was. 

Norma raised one hand, painfully slow, and made a gesture for you to get closer to her. Minji kept her distance, but her puffy eyes were on her aunt, looking over her tormented figure. 

“Mistress, I know,” she started, and you felt her heart slowing down a bit, “I know what Master Jaehyun was,” she whispered to you, and your breath hitched listening to her, “If you ever see him again, give him my love,” she cried, lip quivering, but her gaze became lost once again, and aimed at the ceiling, and that was where it remained.

“Norma?” You sobbed, eyes once again full of tears. But Norma was laying still, barely breathing, eyes now close, lost in all the agony she felt in that moment, “Norma!” You screamed, shaking her, because it wasn’t supposed to end like this, not when she admitted that she was aware of everything going on inside the house, with all the tears you had spilled in her presence when you had been left behind. 

Norma wasn’t dead, she was unresponsive instead. Her body was warm, but her skin was covered in sweat, the stench of death slowly bubbling inside of her. 

Climbing on her bed, you took her figure into your arms, exactly like she did countless of times when she picked you up from the ground, every time you suffered after Jaehyun’s departure. Not caring about the circumstances anymore, your tears started flowing, staining their trail down your cheeks, down your neck as you sobbed and lulled Norma’s body in your arms. Her heartbeat was slow, heart struggling to pull through whatever was going on inside of her body, struggling to give her a chance of survival. 

A few hours later, Norma died in your arms, and you can still recall the time when her heart stopped beating in her chest. The 1881 cholera pandemic took the last person connecting you to your past, away from you, leaving you alone in this cruel, cold world, in which everything was unfair and everything moved too slowly for your liking. 

Having to explain your bloody tears to Minji came easy, as you were already exhausted by the events in your life — and it seemed like Minji wasn’t surprised of what you confessed to her, having already picked up a few signs, and you imagine yourself a few years prior, finding excuses for all the signs that were laying up in the open for you to see, yet you were blinded by the love you carried for Jaehyun. 

With the cholera pandemic taking away many lives on the daily, Minji trusted you enough to let you save her, from that one and from future pandemics and disasters alike. 

With Minji’s turning into a vampire, with all the training she had to go through — just like it happened to you, — and with the virus spreading fast, you took your life into your own hands, and Minji’s too, as she was too scared to be in this world all by her new self. 

And with your leaving Jaehyun’s mansion behind — with every possession of his as well as yours still inside, — you also left that part of your life behind, and all the memories the two of you had shared, locked in there.

Navigating your new life with Minji was fun, but difficult. Not because she was difficult to have around, on the contrary. 

Minji looked up to you. You were her creator, and she was your only creation, for you had never had the desire to turn another mortal into what the two of you were. She looked at you like you held the truth to all mysteries of this world, and you did — to a certain extent. And not Minji’s presence, behaviour or decisions were the difficult part, but the events you had to go through in order to survive.

Using Jaehyun’s rebranding method, you effectively managed to keep both your and Minji’s identities hidden, infiltrating yourselves in communities, villages, rebranding every twenty years and changing your lives completely.

You moved across countries, states, towns, you lived your life to the fullest, meeting people and making friends — that you had to leave behind always, every time traces that could lead to you and your secret life needed to get lost. 

You went from wearing crinolines and corsets, to wearing miniskirts, pearls and heels. You went from long hair, to rocking a very short bob, to having long hair once again, just like the trends dictated. You went through pandemics of all sorts, natural disasters, you survived wars and famine — albeit there never was famine in your case, only for the poor mortals.

You went from wearing fur, to waring jeans and sneakers, from writing letters to phones. You went from creaking wooden floors, to tiles and soundproof systems around your houses and windows. 

You even went to university when it became popular, and you loved every single bit of it. It felt exciting, remembering the tough times during which you were born, and you still made it out to live through the modern times in which women made a name for themselves, and they slowly gained more freedom and the power of identifying themselves, attending schools and making a living by themselves. You went from being called ‘mistress’, to ‘miss’.

But you never married, you never dated, because your heart kept itself tormented and yearning after one man. One man that exiled you, discarded of you, and that was the hardest part of it all. Like you had never mattered to him. You roamed the earth for more than a century trying to find him, although not deliberately. Every place you moved to, you couldn’t help but wonder if he was around there as well. Decades spent in the same places yet you never heard from him, or sensed him in the air. 

The love you carried for Jaehyun back in the day, was still alive, the flame of love barely there, but still burning in your heart nonetheless. And how could you ever think of loving someone else, when Jaehyun was the only man you yearned for? And with all this, with all your love and yearning for him, you couldn’t shake the sadness and the betrayal you felt every time you were reminded of him, rage flooding you and every fibre of your being like a hasty virus. 

Maybe not finding him was for the best, because you weren’t sure how you would have reacted if you found him a few feet away from you. Were you going to kill him? What other options did you have, to make him hurt just as he did you?

Everything you became, your existence, you owed him every single minute spent on this earth, but you couldn’t help but wonder what life could have been like if he was by your side, had he never left you.

And then, it was February 1994.

Coming home from your job at the art gallery downtown, you took your heels off, swollen feet thanking you for finally freeing them. Newspaper folded under your arm as you carried unnecessary groceries back home, you threw everything you were carrying in your arms, on the kitchen table of your small apartment. 

Out of all the decades you had lived in throughout all your life, the 90’s were your favourite thus far. The phones, the fashion, the busses and subway, the cabs, the music and the films. You could go to the movies every single night, if it weren’t for your job that you liked keeping, despite your and Jaehyun’s huge fortunes you still carried, hidden. You weren’t in need of a job, yet you loved having one — it was more like a hobby, especially if it involved the arts.

So you picked up your newspaper, your body tingling with excitement as you couldn’t wait to see what films were going to be out that week. Yet your eyes stopped on the headline for a few seconds, written in huge, bold letters. ‘LOVED BOYBAND, KILLED IN CAR CRASH LAST NIGHT, read more on page 36’, it read, but you didn’t really care.

You only wanted the local cinema’s schedule, but then curiosity really started eating at you. What boyband? What if it was one of your favourite artists? 

So you turned to page thirty six, eyes scanning the page for all the information about the car crash. Nothing suspicious, it seemed like the manager, also the designated driver that night, fell asleep and everyone in the car perished because of his mistake.

 Your eyes fell on the bottom of the page, where all the members had their individual portrait pictures sitting nicely, as a posthumous homage to their fame and glory. 

And there he was. Jaehyun, pictured in all his glory. Sparkling eyes staring right back at you.

With the newspaper placed on the table just under your nose, your tea had run cold while you lost track of time thinking about his picture. Sure, it was still on page thirty six, plastered there like you were finally meant to find him. 

But it had to be just a macabre coincidence, right? Seeing his face after decades, centuries, made your stomach drop and your heart felt heavy with the mix of emotions battling through you. You weren’t sure of what you were going to do — given you found him — thinking you were going to take your revenge on him, but the moment your eyes laid on his picture, and all the beautiful features you once loved, the emotions within you became unbearable. And so did the thoughts.

Had he always been out there giving hints of his existence for you to find, or was this just a consequence of a miscalculated rebranding plan, in which he never took into account the possibility of being outed to the public and, most importantly, to his lover that had been searching for him for centuries after being promised eternity by his side? 

It had to be a sick little game of destiny or maybe real death, because you know Jaehyun never made mistakes. 

“Mistress!” The familiar voice called you, heels clanking on the marbled floors of the Parisian-style café.

Minji. She still liked using the nickname she was so accustomed to, from all those years back, and she never tried to hide her excitement when using the title now turned nickname. 

“You’re very pale,” Minji’s eyebrows furrowed while looking at you, “As if that’s possible,” she joked, eyes sparkling and she bit her lip trying not to laugh out loud at the obvious joke between the two of you. But your lack of sense of humour made her smile drop, and her eyebrows furrowed once more.

“What’s wrong?” She whispered, leaning in from her spot across the table. 

You looked at her for a fleeting moment, and you sighed before raising your elbows and snatching the newspaper from underneath them.

You pushed the folded object towards Minji, who was confused but still intrigued, yet she kept her hands under the table waiting for you to instruct her.

“Go to page thirty six,” you brought one hand to your mouth, biting on the nail of your thumb. You see her making slow, calculated movements, like the ones you always do with absolutely no rush in order not to make any unwanted mistakes in this world that evolves at full speed, not wanting to give away the fact that your soul and being are more than one century old — which you learned from Jaehyun, so it was only normal to pass everything you knew down to the only person you transformed.

 “Tell me what you see,” you instructed, looking at her features, and the way she was so carefully reading the headline and then how she inspected the page.

“Seven men?” She asked, not knowing if that was what you wanted to hear, “They were kinda handsome,  though,” she joked, a tilted and barely contained smirk creeping in the corner of her mouth.

“Mhm,” you hummed, straightening your posture, anxiety making its way through your chest, “Now read the names. Carefully,”

She took a moment to look at you, sensing hesitation, fear, but also impatience?

She cleared her throat, looking at the names below the pictures. “Johnny Suh, drummer,” she made a pause before continuing the makeshift eulogy, “Lee Haechan, bass and voice. Mark Lee, guitarist. Nakamoto Yuta, guitarist. Kim Doyoung, synth and voice. Lee Taeyong, manager. And-” she suddenly stopped, head snapping back to look for your gaze, “And Jeong Jaehyun, vocalist?” She asked incredulously. 

Your gaze bore into hers, and she was like a deer in headlights waiting for you to answer. It was either the most fucked up coincidence, or Master Jaehyun just outed himself. 

“Is this… Master Jaehyun?” The whisper made your ears start ringing, and you averted your gaze. Minji never saw a picture of Jaehyun, because you remembered having one in his library, but it disappeared the moment he himself also did. “Why is he so handsome?” She seemed starstruck, but she snapped herself out of it as soon as she remembered the whole situation, “And why is he in a newspaper? Did he want you to find him?”

“I don’t know,” you sighed, closing your eyes trying to elucidate this mystery in the next thirty seconds. “I also don’t know if I want to really find him, you know?” 

“What?” She slapped your arms playfully. “This can’t be a coincidence, Y/n. It’s either this or he’s just really stupid for believing he wouldn’t make it on the news if he got famous and died,” she stopped her rambling, her mind pausing on one thought, and she bit her lip before opening her mouth once again to talk to you, “Did he really die?”

You shook your head, but there was a lump in your throat nonetheless, “Don’t think so, this could be his rebranding with a good excuse to disappear and start a new life,” you voice was full of uncertainties, it trembled with unspoken fear as Minji’s words sank in, “But what if he really died?”

“What does your hunch say?” Minji pushed, knowing you were going to start crying blood tears at the thought that from that moment on, you were going to roam the earth with no purpose.

“This is the first time I don’t have a hunch,” you gulped, scratching your temples, “It’s logical to rebrand, but he’s not this stupid. He knew he would be on the news and that everyone could see his face,”

“Maybe he was just careless,” Minji didn’t want to use the term stupid on someone as handsome and important as Master Jaehyun.

“Minji,” you warned, your patience wearing thin, “Everything I taught you, I learned from him. There is absolutely no way he did this on purpose,” you poked the newspaper on the table, repeatedly with your index finger. “I think he’s gone. For good this time,” you nodded, your eyes flooding with tears, and you brought a tissue to your eyes to cover the bloody stains about to start rolling down your cheeks. 

The heart barely beating in your chest felt like it was breaking, like the last grams of Jaehyun that you had been carrying inside of you since he left, were gone — and that half the heart he had left behind to beat for him, waiting to be reunited with its other half he’d successfully taken away, had finally been snatched away in that moment, the memory of him fading like his presence.

Thirty more years pass by, and you rebrand again. New city, new house, new profession. 

You’re now a piano teacher, even if it’s hard to live all the memories of the past as soon as you touch a key when you teach the kids. Memories of all the moments you spent with Jaehyun, the image of your moving fingers on top of the keys fading with an hallucination of seeing his. Your fingers always move with fast precision, and you envision his fingers playing instead of yours, too many times to keep track of.

Up until today, you never made peace with the thought of not being able to see him ever again. In the past, you were fuelled by the anticipation of meeting him again, making him pay for leaving you behind, hurting him, loving him. But now, the thought that you won’t be able to be in the same room as him ever again, made you suffer like a poor dying animal. 

In your head, it was just not possible to come to terms with the fact that you’re alone. You still only have Minji, who now lives one hour away from you and has a loving human boyfriend, but you miss him. 

Thirty years went by with you devastated and trying to come to reason, thirty years went by with Minji having to keep you in check more times than you’d like to admit. 

At some point you thought you should just keep looking for him, but you stopped about twenty years ago, realising it was driving you insane. You knew Jaehyun too well, and you knew that headline in the newspaper wasn’t him escaping his old life. Too many people were involved in that car crash for him to do this as part of his plan, and you knew he wasn’t cruel enough to take away lives of innocent people.

So instead, you’ve been spending time trying to numb all the heartbreak, all the flooding memories you finally managed to suppress — safe for the piano lessons, during which they all came back to you like cold waves to the burning shore. 

Mourning the mortal times you lived is something you picked up on the way, because while you have to find new things to think about that are not directly linked to Jaehyun and his condition, it seems like all your existence is tied to his.

You’re only now regretting the decision, the vehement convincing you tried to do so many times on Jaehyun. Because if it weren’t for your decision and how much you loved him, you weren’t going to live much longer. Life expectancy was so short compared to the modern times, the current lifespan of a person being more than double of what it used to be in the nineteenth century, when you were born.

And maybe this is his punishment for you. You wanted this so much, against his advice and against your better judgement, that he gave in just to make you happy, yet at the same time damning you to roam the earth living like him, but without him. Like you wanted this so vehemently, and he gave it to you, but he punished you for wanting to become this way.

Because had he not transformed you, you were bound to remain a mortal, die soon of a disease like everyone else around you did, and you would have been spared the heartache of living your life without him by your side, damned to survive all humanity for centuries to come.

No amount of interactions, no amount of loving what you do, — still gifted and a piano prodigy, — can take away the lingering pain that follows you like a shadow. 

Maybe you should have looked for him with more ardour when you had the chance, when you knew he was still around. Maybe you should have spent more time trying to trace him down, and even if you resented him, even if you wanted to hurt him, have him killed, to torture him, you should have acted on time. Because now it’s too late, your racing thoughts are in vain, the recurring pain is just a reminder of how wrong your life went.

You made your research, looking into the last known trace of Jaehyun’s existence on this earth. He was in a successful band, they made great music, and it was a shock to you seeing his decision of using his real name instead of a new one, unlike all the things he instructed you not to do. 

And then the mini van he was in crashed and burned, and only burned bodies were found among the charred remains left behind after the fire was extinguished. And you know Minji wanted to ask you if you really think they’re dead, but you also know that she kept her mouth shut not to upset you — upset you even more, that is. 

You know they are. Jaehyun, the man you loved, would never hurt others on purpose. He managed to survive in a fast evolving world as a creature characteristic to the undead category, so you just know — even if you lost your hunch about this matter long ago. It’s like the moment you realised he died, when your stomach and heart dropped, your hunch also did.

So for the first time ever, you live your life following a routine, you wake up, go tutor kids, skip your lunches because frankly you don’t need them anyway, then you call Minji on you way home, and you go hunting late at night when people are into the deepest of slumbers.

There’s so much beauty in this world, so much literature and music you can’t help but mourn how Jaehyun chose to run away from you, when you could have lived through all the changing times and decades, with him holding your hand through it all.

And you suppose your love for music needs to be fed as well, with you visiting record stores frequently, concerts, pubs, while also becoming slave to technology, like a dog on a leash for music apps. If anybody told you when you were a little girl, that times would come to change this much, you would have laughed and called them a lunatic. Times in which you bathed at candlelight were changed for times in which people panicked during a blackout. Winter’s cold that everybody used to keep food cold while preparing canned foods and jars during summers, thinking of the heavy winters that were ahead, were exchanged for fridges and freezers. Sometimes it’s hard for you to wrap your head around all the changes and evolution of the human race.

So like usual, you stop by the record store on your way home after your last tutoring session, this time stopping by an antique store to check some vinyls out, because they have always been your favourite, even if you traded them for cds or playlists on music apps to have everything more simplified for you.

The place is huge, and it smells like old paper, the type of store you know has sold the greatest and most authentic pieces known to man judging by the smell of the store alone. The air is cool, air conditioning blowing at full speed — and you can recognise the smell of it. While you can’t feel heat or cold physically on your body, you can sense the smell. And outside is a torrid, rotting smell of a heatwave that has you nauseous after passing mortals on the street.

“Hi, welcome!” A friendly voice rings like an echo around the empty store, covering Michael Jackson’s singing voice heard throughout the ceiling speakers. It’s high in pitch, but you can sense the kindness dripping off it, “I’m sorry, but we don’t allow beverages in here,” he gives you a remorseful little smile, “We don’t want unfortunate events involving our vinyls,” he goes on with the explaining, as if he’s apologising for the store’s policy.

“It’s okay, really,” you tell him, looking at the tall glass of iced americano in your hand, shaking it a bit, the ice cubes making noise as they hit each other. You only ever drink coffee because its strong taste overpowers the disgusting smell of humans sweating outside, skin overheated in the heatwave, “I totally understand! I wouldn’t want my stuff to get destroyed either,” you reassure him, walking towards the cashier desk where he’s standing, “Can I leave this here?” You shake it in front of his figure, before setting it on the desk.

“I’ll keep it safe,” he nods, and one first, very attentive look at him, and his gaze seems to be holding yours with prying attention. 

His face is adorned in moles, pouty lips chapped as he runs his tongue on them out of reflex at your attentive eyes on his figure, feeling like a deer in highlight in front of you, and he seems familiar. 

A face like his doesn’t go unnoticed, so you wonder the premises of a possible encounter you might have had in the past, a fleeting moment passing him by on the street — anything, really. Because you know you’ve never been inside this record store before. 

You give him a small smile, already eyeing other corners of this store, not because he makes you feel uncomfortable, but because you don’t want to make him feel this way as you try to understand the reason  he’s so familiar. 

Your fingers are fast as you navigate all the amazing music they have. This is indeed the greatest store you’ve entered, and you wonder who curated the inventory. 

“Isn’t it torrid outside?” The young man asks you, the only customer at this time in the afternoon, so you nod and hum, acknowledging him and his question, but your mind still blown by the fact that they’re selling a rare Queen vinyl for twenty bucks. 

“I suppose,” you sigh, too lost into your own thoughts, and you freeze on the spot, your mind registering the words you just let out. 

“You suppose?” He laughs, showing you a perfect row of white teeth. “You just came in a few minutes ago,” he pouts, pointing at the entrance door like you’re an idiot.

Maybe you are an idiot, because why did your mouth open without your consent? This man doesn’t need to know that you don’t feel temperatures.

“I meant that,” you pause, turning to look at him as he’s slouching over the cashier desk, “I moved here a few months ago and this is my first summer here, so I wouldn’t know how to compare it to last year’s,” you try to dodge the bullet, and he seems like he buys your bullshit excuse after mulling your words over.

You try focusing once again on the piles of vinyls sitting in front of your figure, but you feel his intent gaze on your figure, lingering on your pale skin to the point you feel paranoia seeping through your pale skin. 

You try to remember why he seems so familiar. A traffic light in town? A student’s relative? Perhaps you threw him a fleeting look while walking down towards your table in a restaurant? You’ve been in this small town for about six months already, but you can’t seem to be able to allocate a place or occasion to his face.

You sharpen your hearing, trying to focus on him, and then it seems like your sharp senses fail you, even abandon you. You don’t hear a heartbeat, you don't hear insides churning after the lunch he’s had today, you don’t hear blood pumping through his arteries. 

And then it hits you like a truck at full speed. The newspaper thirty years ago — his black and white picture was plastered there, just a bit above Jaehyun’s, and you can still remember the same sparkly eyes he had in that photo — with which he’s looking at you right now. 

You approach the cashier where you left your drink, and you wrap a fearful hand around the tall glass.  His gaze bores into yours, and then he smiles at you like a child would, like one of the kids you tutor would try to persuade you to dismiss him earlier. 

“You’ve been eyeing me,” he accuses with a playful tone, “Have we met before?”

There’s an urge inside of you that makes your insides burn, like you’re ready to jump this man in front of you, and you wonder if he’s playing with you right now.

If you recognised him, you’re sure he understood what you are as well, hence the question about the heatwave taking over the small town yet you’re dry as a bone, no droplets of sweat clinging to your skin. But if you recognised him from that damned newspaper you still keep in the attic of the small house you bought, you’re sure he doesn’t know who you are. You can link him to Jaehyun, but he can’t do the same to you.

“I don’t think we have, no,” you whisper after a painfully long time, eyeing him like you’re ready to put a wooden stick through his chest if he blinks one more time. “Actually,” you squint your eyes a bit, tilting your head, “You seem oddly familiar,” you retort, taking a few steps back, but you don’t wait for his answer — yet your eyes never leave his.

You throw your coffee in the first bin you find on your way back to your car, and you pick up your phone. 

If his band member, who was supposedly dead, is still alive and running a record store in the small town you’re now living in, that means Jaehyun is still out somewhere, and just the thought of him having fooled you makes you choke with betrayal.

You don’t return to the record store, thinking it’d be too dangerous to face that man again. Haechan, you checked his name as soon as you arrived home. He has the same sparkling eyes, the same hair colour, yet now it’s longer than what he sported in the 90’s. 

You spend the entire summer looking around yourself like a anxious paranoid freak. You know it’s all in your head, because you would actually feel it if anyone followed you — by using your hearing or trying to smell who’s in your proximity, — but you can’t help but spare looks left and right as you come home everyday, as you go to work, as you welcome your students at the entrance of your studio. 

But there’s no sign of Jaehyun, Haechan, or any of the band members you made sure to memorise all the facial features of by looking at their pictures. Thank god for the internet, because you could find all the archives of their activities as a band. 

“Maybe you should visit the record store again,” Minji suggested on the phone one day, making you scoff.

“No, thank you,” you let a humourless laugh escape you, eyes squinting as you inspected a box of crackers at the supermarket. “Actually, Minji,” you start, throwing the box in your cart and proceeding to grab a pack of sweet bread, “I’m thinking of rebranding,” you mumble into the phone, aware of the fact that it will mess the timeline you established for both Minji and yourself.

“What?” She screeches into the phone, and your sharp hearing is too sensitive to the sound of her voice, “So soon? But Master Jaehyun is still alive, and possibly he’s somewhere around you,”

“That’s precisely the reason, Minji,” you explain, pushing your cart around, reaching the meat section, and suddenly you’re thirsty looking at the blood-dripping liver packages sitting in the display fridges, “He said we’ll find each other if we’re meant to be, and I feel like I’ve been looking for him yet he’s the one running away from me,” 

And truth be told, besides being paranoid out of your mind, you spent time mulling some things over. Some things like the fact that Jaehyun hasn’t made one single effort to find you, or how he went to extreme lengths like faking his own death that he knew would make the headlines, given his status at that time. And then there’s the fact that that man, Haechan, knows you’re around, yet no one has ever reached out to you. So you came to the conclusion that Jaehyun doesn’t want to find you, because he could have done so until now, so many times. 

It’s disappointing, realising that you spent eternity looking for him only to be met with an empty promise. And honestly you’ve reached a point where you really don’t want to meet him again. You’re fearful, you’re embarrassed after making a fool of yourself, but you know you did so because you loved him. And you’re sure you’ll go on loving him for a long time, but you’re the one who has to get away right now, the mere thought of having to face a man who made you suffer for absolutely no reason until now is making your insides churn with anger. 

Centuries spent in misery only to realise you were playing his game all along. Plying a game of cat and mouse, if you will, — and you’re tired.

“Come live here,” Minji suggests, “Everyone knows I have a sister, so it will be easy for you to rebrand here,” she tells you, her sweet voice bringing you comfort. Because she’s all you have, and maybe you should have turned Norma into a vampire as well. You wouldn’t have been so lonely and miserable if you did.

“I’ll think about it,” you smiled into the phone, but this time you feel like you’ll have to go even farther away. 

You’re snatched out of your thoughts the moment someone’s cart bumps into yours. 

“Ah! Miss Queen News of the World Fortieth Anniversary edition! What a coincidence,” the same mellow voice greets your hearing, yet this time he’s not alone. You recognise the other man to be the drummer of the band, Johnny Suh.

Extremely tall, very well built, Johnny seems to be someone that came out of a picture. Muscles defined like someone draw him with the finest pencil, clothes sitting impeccably, hugging his perfect body just the right way. 

But you’re not impressed, you’re actually upset he bumped into you.

“Haven’t seen you in a while! Someone bought your vinyl a while back,” Haechan’s voice interrupts your glaring towards Johnny’s direction, “Throwing a bbq party?” He laughs, pointing at your cart half full of red meat.

For some reason, you’re beyond pissed by his cockiness.

“Is there a reason for your bumping into me here?” You ask, elbows resting on your cart as you look at the two of them uninterested.

This is just another way to confirm your suspicions. Jaehyun knows you’re here, and you’re sure he didn’t spend centuries looking for you. Running away from you, on the other hand… 

“Listen,” you start, pushing the cart away and walking towards the two, “You two act like internet archives aren’t a thing, like wikipedia isn’t a click away,” you sigh coming closer to the two, “One century from now and maybe, just maybe people will overlook the fact that you two look exactly like two rockstars who died in 1994,” you bark at them tiredly, not in the mood to beat around the bush when you know exactly what they are, and you’re sure they know what you are as well, “I thought your maker was smarter than this,”

But you don’t wait for their reply, leaving Haechan’s annoyingly radiant face behind, smugness now wiped away by your words. 

And you don’t bother finishing your shopping, or driving home, or calling Minji to tell her of the unpleasant encounter you just had. You drive away, and with sleep not being a problem to you, you know exactly where you’re off to.

It takes you ten more hours to reach your destination, and you park your car in one of the designated parking spots. 

You look at the mansion that had been your home for so many years, and even if you wanted to go to your childhood home instead, you’re keeping that option viable for your next rebranding, that you’ve decided will come sooner than previously anticipated. 

Jaehyun’s mansion was unkept for a long time after you left town with Minji, and a few decades later, when you made sure no one remembered your faces, you made Minji buy it, not having the heart to lose it — and everything inside, — to complete strangers. After a few more decades, you made the purchase, for it to then be left unkept by the city hall, and then you bought it again at the beginning of your rebranding, a few years ago.

And now you feel like it’s finally over, like there’s no reason to keep it and go out of your way to buy it every few decades to make sure no one sees how suspiciously you act. Maybe you’ll fake your own death as well, and it all ends tonight with this mansion burning down to the ground alongside all the boxes inside.

Your pace is fast, feet moving rapidly inside and past the gates, and a gentle breeze blows, carrying a melody to your ears.

You stop in your tracks, looking at the old mansion and the unkept garden around it, the entrance where Jeger parked the carriage to wait for you, the fountain and its rim — the one you used to sit on while Jaehyun read to you during sunny summer afternoons.

And then you sharpen your hearing, thinking you hallucinated and heard the sound earlier, yet another breeze blows and the melody reaches your ears — this time louder and clearer.

Judging by the piece being played on a piano, the meaning behind it, and the importance it has to you, you know who’s the one playing. And your feet move on their own, your brain freezing while you take quick steps over to the entrance, and all around the ground floor of the mansion, all the way towards the parlour where you knew the piano was, and you stop in your tracks for the second time in the span of ten minutes, a lump forming in your throat.

You’re greeted by Jaehyun, looking exactly the same as he did the last time you saw him, hair black and on the longer side, like he’s been here the whole time, like he didn’t make an appearance in a newspaper thirty years ago, sporting short, platinum hair. And he’s playing that Schumann piece.

“I told you I’ll learn this for you,” he smiles, eyes still focusing on his moving fingers.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, and it sounds like you’re being strangled. 

“Well, if the mountain will not come to Muhammad…” he trails off, like he’s mocking you in some sort of way.

“Then Muhammad will come to the mountain,” you complete the saying, still in disbelief of the personal attack he just launched on you. “Is this all you have to say?” You accuse, eyes squinting at his stupidly handsome face, “After all you’ve put me through, you choose these to be among the first words you tell me?” You bark at him, your voice dripping with hurt.

He halts his movements, the melody coming to an abrupt halt, and his beautiful sparkly eyes look into your raging ones.

“You let me roam the earth, alone and scared, just to show up in a place you knew I’d take refuge in?” You accuse him once again, and you feel like you’re losing your mind. Did this man ever love you like he claimed he did?

“I heard you were going to rebrand,” he explained, bringing his arms behind his figure, “You gave up,”

“I gave up?” You shout at him, tone full of anger and disbelief, “I’ve been looking for you since the day you left, and you still managed to run away farther, and farther each time!”

“But you didn’t find me,” he whispers, and you feel like you don’t recognise him. Centuries might have passed, but you never thought Jaehyun’s way of thinking would ever change.

“And you did?” You lurch towards his figure standing next to the piano, and you push at his chest, “Did you ever look for me, Jaehyun? You promised me eternity and then you left, asking me to look for you! And I did!” You push at his chest with every accusatory sentence that you let out, “ Yet you never looked for me!” 

You start crying, not caring about the bloody tears, “And the moment you feel me giving up on you, you come exactly where you know you’ll find me? Like you never did before!” You punch his chest, and he allows you to do it, still keeping his arms behind his figure. 

“You left me behind and I lost everyone and everything all by myself, when you promised you’d stay with me forever,” you sob, but your tone is full of venom as you spit accusations in his face.

He grabs your wrists, having enough of all your punches to his chest, “I love you! Never, not even for one second, believe I don’t love you, or that I didn’t in the past! I looked for you with no success, I moved countries and continents and you were nowhere to be found! So never, ever, accuse me again of running away from you!” He rasps, accentuating every single sentence. His eyes are dark, menacing, angry at your accusations, and while it should make you back down, it only fuels you more.

“And whose fault is that, Jaehyun?” You retort through your teeth, wrists still wrapped in his firm grip, “You ran away from me that day, leaving a letter behind like that was supposed to hold all the answers to my questions! I had to bury Norma, Jeger, everyone else, all by myself! And the only thing you kept telling me in that letter was how much you loved me and that if we’re meant to be together, we’ll find each other again! You said you loved me but you left me behind like a kicked puppy,”

“And I’ll regret that forever!” He spits, now angry. “I’ve been yearning to be reunited with you even as soon as I left, but I had to do it! The priest started getting suspicious of me and I wanted to protect you! Taking you with me and leaving the mansion behind meant we were on the run from all accusations that priest was going to bring upon us, and I thought it was going to be easier for you to call my supposed death and erasing traces of my existence in this town, instead of you running away with me, and us possibly becoming a subject for history books!” 

“What?” You ask incredulously, the information too much for you right now.

“I never ran away from you except that one time, and I came back here looking for you every single time I rebranded in the vicinity of this zone, hoping you left clues behind, clues of where you could be! I spent centuries in agonising pain trying to finally find you,” his voice breaks, it thickens with emotion as he tries to gulp away the tears.

“I can’t believe you thought I was running away from you,” he seems in disbelief, and a look into his eyes and you can tell he’s hurt.

“Then how do you explain the obnoxious presence of your band members around the town I rebranded to?” Your tone still dripped with anger, adamant to believe him.

“Haechan recognised you because of this,” he pulls a locket out of his pocket, “I always kept you with me, all these years,” he opens it with long and slender fingers, showing you a now blurry picture of yourself from 1875, “He told me about you, and how it seemed like you recognised him as well, that one time at the record store. And I knew I could find you there, yet somehow it was like the earth swallowed you whole, like every time I was getting near, you disappeared into thin air,”

He gulps, trying to control his trembling voice, “Haechan heard you might rebrand, and I thought our house could be a place you would want to visit in the next few days, so I came here just to wait for you. And I started playing the piano the moment I sensed you parking outside the gates, hoping you’ll hear me,”

His hands are suddenly on both sides of your face, squishing your cheeks as he looks into your eyes for a sign that you believe him, or that you don’t, or maybe for a sign that you still love him. A sign of anything. Give him the smallest of signs and he’ll grip to it like a drowning man looking for someone to pull him up again. 

“My love,” he starts, and your stomach flutters at the words that leave his mouth, having missed them, “I love you, and eternity by your side is all I’ve ever longed for,” 

You grab his wrists, pushing yourself up to reach his lips, and the moment his lips touch yours it’s like you can feel temperatures once again. They’re burning as they move on top of yours like flaming hot honey, tasting just as sweet.

He moans into the kiss, his slender fingers now making their way up in your hair, one hand reaching the back of your neck to bring you closer to the armchair by the piano, the one you used to sit in every time he played for you. And he didn’t have to take you after him, because you would have chased his lips nonetheless.

Dragging you on top of him, he never breaks the kiss. Your hands make their way up in his hair, pulling at the dark strands to elicit something out of him, and he pleases your unspoken request with a rumbling groan coming from his chest, like he’s finally relaxing knowing he found the only thing that allows him to go on with living. 

“You don’t know how long I’ve waited to have you like this again, how long I’ve waited to taste your sweetness again,” he mumbles against your lips, feeling your hands travelling down his abdomen to his belt. 

His hands are all over your body, gripping at your thighs, pulling at your dress, squeezing the flesh of your arms and hips, travelling up on your abdomen to your breasts. 

He’s insatiable for you, too desperate to make up for the lost time, too desperate to feel your lips on him, too desperate to be one with you once again. 

His big hands wrap around your breast as your fingers travel south of his happy trail, impatience making both of you messy, teeth clashing and tongues swirling in an eager battle of dominance, — and he pulls back a bit, giving you the reins and surrendering to you. He lets you set the pace, and even if he still feels the need to devour your lips and kiss you the way he’s craved for, for such long time, he lets you guide him so it feels good for you. 

His senses are flooded by your smell, the sweetness he’s daydreamed of so many times until now, and it doesn’t have to be a memory of the past. You’re right here, your bare chest touching his, and with your clothed cunt causing friction on his already hard bulge.

You bite his lip as a warning to keep it down, because you’ve never heard him so vocal and desperate for your touch. You guess this is what a century of yearning does to a man.

Feeling Jaehyun so eager for you gives you so much power, so much control, he’s at your mercy but his eyes are looking at you like he’s on the edge of snapping, like he’s putting all self control into supporting your weight on top of his clothed cock, trying not to pay too much mind to it or otherwise the friction alone might make him release on the spot.

You moan his name when the friction feels too delicious, making your clit burn with anticipation, “Tell me what you want,” you look down at him, half naked under you, with his eyes glinting the moment he hears the way his name rolls off your tongue so easily, so eager, “Just say it,”

“You,” he huffs trying not to focus on the way you keep moving on top of him, relentless, “Just you,” he breathes on your neck, hands keeping you in place on top of him, “Ride me, my love,” he pleads, and it doesn’t take you too much time to do as he says.

His fingers travel between your bodies, moving your panties to the side, to impatient to let you get off him to slide them down your legs, and as you sense his movements and understand his actions and what he means, you fingers move to his boxers, pulling the elastic band away from his abs, his cock slapping against his abdomen as soon as you free it from the uncomfortable tightness of the fabric. 

You squeeze it in the palm of your hand, grip travelling to its tip, and Jaehyun sucks air through his teeth, “Don’t play,” he lets out a whimper when you give it one final squeeze, before your free hand pushes him away from your neck.

He rests on his back, as much as the armchair allows him to, and you keep him into place with your hand, the other one busy lining him at your entrance.

The moment you sink down on him, you both release a sigh. With your eyes closed, you fail to see the way Jaehyun is looking up at you, eyebrows furrowed and eyes glossy, — the way you’re squeezing and pulsating around him makes his breath halt into his throat, jaw setting while looking down between your bodies at the way you’re taking him in so easily, moving your hips in a sinful motion. 

The sting of the stretching fuels the burning you feel in your lower abdomen, like you’re ready to snap anytime already. It prompts you to plant the soles of your feet flat on each side of Jaehyun’s hips, and the motion has him hitting a new angle inside of you, one that has you seeing stars and your cunt squeezes him hungrily as you move up and down his cock.

The obscene squelch of your cunt taking all of him with ease is arousing, and your hands travel on his chest for support, touching his nipples and getting a whimper out of Jaehyun, one that you’ve never heard. He’s sensitive, both south of his loins and on his chest, and he has to fight and set his jaw not to release into you.

“I’m close,” he warns, and the sounds you make are enough to make his dick twitch inside of you, “Won’t be able to last any longer, my love,” 

“I don’t want you to,” you let out a breathy moan, your hand travelling between your folds to rub circles on your clit, giving yourself a helping hand, “Just let go,”

And the moment your release hits you, cunt squeezing around him like a vice — thanks to your motions on your fingers, — Jaehyun groans, spilling strings of his own release inside of you, melting in the way you keep pulsing around him, milking him for all he’s worth.

Keeping him inside of you, you fall on top of him, knees on each of his sides, and your face touches his shoulder, resting against it. 

“You learned Schumann’s piece for me?” You ask, your question distorted by the way he’s still keeping you against his skin, cheek squished against his shoulder, and all Jaehyun wants is to kiss your pouting lips.

“That’s all you remember from the past half an hour?” He squints his eyes down at you, but his tone is playful.

You grab his chin, pushing yourself up to reach his lips, “Your technique is rusty, but you have some more centuries to learn it!” You giggle, hand falling back in the crook of his neck, and you let out a content sigh.

You’re exactly where you were always meant to be, both you and Jaehyun, sticking to each other, ready to navigate eternity hand in hand.

[taeeflwrr]

Emily Skaja, from a poem titled "No, I Do Not Want to Talk with You on Linkendin," featured in Brute: Poems

[taeeflwrr]

i usually don't rb fics that aren't completed but this one's turning out to be so interesting and i have so many thoughts soooo

06 ; spaces between us | l.jn

pairing: dad!lee jeno x f!reader (ft. na jaemin)

genre: angst, slight fluff

synopsis — three years after divorcing jeno, you've found a careful rhythm in co-parenting your son jun. the old fights about his work schedule and emotional distance have faded into polite exchanges and shared custody arrangements. but when small moments of connection start to feel like second chances, you begin to hope that maybe you could try again. though, it all falls apart when jeno asks to introduce jun to his new girlfriend. suddenly, you're forced to confront a devastating truth: the man who claimed he "wasn't good at relationships" during your marriage has apparently learned how to love properly—he just needed someone else to do it with.

a/n: i can't believe we're already at chapter 6 :")))))) i'm writing this after a long day of workkkkkk so please go easy on the grammar mistakes if any! i'll proof read again when i'm awake! lowkey this chap sucks… hfdjskss but as always, thank you so much for all the love and support~ see you guys in chapter 7 <3

sbu m.list | previous | next chapter

jaemin was scrolling through his phone when the quiet rustling of fabric pulled his eyes up. you were stirring, slowly peeling yourself up from the couch with your eyes still half-lidded, your hair tousled from sleep. you blinked blearily, scanning the living room that had mysteriously been cleaned and your two friends passed out in exaggerated positions—chen le flat on his back like a crime scene outline, renjun curled up with a cushion under his chin.

you scratched your head groggily, letting out a tiny sigh. then, with a soft, determined noise, you started to rise, only to sway backward unsteadily.

jaemin was on his feet in a flash, catching you by the waist with one arm and bracing the other hand just above the small of your back. “woah—where are you going?” he asked in a hushed whisper, the corners of his lips tugging up in amusement.

you blinked at him, confused for a second, before gently pushing past him like you had a mission. “need to get covers... for le le and renjunnie…” you mumbled, your voice going high and sweet with sleep, like a sleepy child trying to sound serious. the sudden shift in your tone caught jaemin off guard—soft and unbearably cute. his heart tugged unexpectedly.

you stumbled again, and he was there once more, steady hands wrapping around your arm and shoulder. “okay, okay,” he whispered, half-laughing. “i’ll help you.”

you didn’t protest, letting him guide you down the hallway, your fingers still clutching onto his sleeve like a lifeline. in your room, you grabbed for the duvet covers from the closet, only for jaemin to gently take them from your arms, careful not to jostle you too much.

“hey i can do it.” you frowned.

“i know, but let me help you do it.” he said simply, voice warm and steady, looking down at you with that half-smile you didn’t quite know what to do with.

jaemin moved quietly, gently draping the covers over chen le first, then renjun—tucking them in like someone who’d done it before, who knew how to care even when no one was watching. they didn’t stir, lost to the haze of sleep and soju, soft snores filling the room.

he turned, ready to cover you too—only to find the space by the sofa empty.

his gaze shifted, and there you were, crouched by the full-length window, your arms loosely hugging your knees. the silver light from the streetlamps outside spilled across your face, illuminating the tired lines under your eyes, the deep crease in your brow. your lids were heavy with sleep—or drink—but your gaze was somewhere far, far away. he didn't need to ask where. he already knew.

his steps were slow as he came to sit beside you, close enough to offer warmth, not so close as to crowd. “are you not tired?” he asked gently, his voice softened by the late hour.

you didn’t answer at first. just hummed a vague, tuneless melody under your breath, the kind that sounded like it had lived in you for a while.

then, in a voice so quiet he almost missed it, you whispered, “i saw her today.”

your lips pressed together, forming a tight line, eyes still locked on the small backyard beyond the glass. the garden you always said you'd fix up but never did. the plants were withered, hanging limp in their pots. maybe from neglect. maybe from the weight of things unspoken.

jaemin didn’t ask who. he didn’t have to. he already knew.

and though it wasn’t his place—though he had no right—he felt it anyway. that flicker of quiet hurt on your face lodged somewhere deep in his chest.

“she’s han soomin,” you whispered, voice hushed like you were sharing a secret with national security implications. “as in the people we’re going against.”

your breath smelled faintly of beer and mint, and your brows were furrowed in such intense seriousness that it made Jaemin smile. not in amusement, but in soft disbelief—at how small the world was, and how tangled yours seemed to have become.

his lips parted slightly. “really?” he whispered back, leaning in just a little, matching your tone like you were both conspiring under the watchful eye of fate itself.

“yes,” you nodded, dramatically, as if confirming the final puzzle piece of a great mystery. you leaned your head against the cold glass, another sigh slipping from your lips, long and heavy. “she’s... her.”

jaemin didn’t answer right away. he just watched you in the dim light—your breath fogging a little patch on the window, your fingers drawing circles on your knee. then he crouched a little, trying to meet your gaze. “then all the more reason to win the case, don’t you think?” he teased, a slight lilt in his voice.

you puffed your cheeks out like a child caught between determination and drowsiness, your head wobbling slightly as you nodded. “yes. i have to,” you said, voice firm… or at least, as firm as someone half-drunk and fighting sleep could manage.

jaemin smiled—soft, fond, knowing. you’d forget this conversation by morning, most likely. 

and just like that, your head slipped onto jaemin’s shoulder—slowly, softly—like gravity had been waiting for the perfect moment to pull you toward him. this time, you didn’t stir or speak. your breathing evened out, lashes fluttering once before settling, and he knew you were truly asleep.

jaemin let out a quiet huff, somewhere between disbelief and a smile he didn’t mean to wear. “unbelievable,” he muttered under his breath, eyes glancing down at you—at the way your lips parted slightly, your brows no longer furrowed in worry.

he adjusted slightly so your head could rest more comfortably, then ran his fingers gently through your hair, tucking a loose strand behind your ear with all the care in the world.

“you really don’t make this easy,” he whispered, barely audible, more to himself than to you.

you looked peaceful like this—unguarded and soft in a way jaemin didn’t often get to see. and the thought crept up again: jeno never truly deserved you. not with how he let you slip through his fingers. not when there were people in the world who would’ve chosen you every single day.

like this, with the weight of your head on his shoulder and the city lights spilling gently onto the floor beside you, jaemin decided he’d stay a little longer. just like this.

you were awoken by the unmistakable sound of sizzling—followed by the soft thud of a cupboard closing. your brows furrowed, still half-asleep, but then the warm, savory scent of bacon hit you like a gentle slap. you shifted under the blanket, groaning quietly as the echoes of last night pulsed behind your eyes. one eye cracked open. then the other.

the second cupboard slammed shut, and you jolted upright, hair a mess of stubborn strands and pillow creases. rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you noticed renjun and chen le already awake, crouched like cartoon spies behind the wall that opened into the kitchen.

you stumbled over and joined them wordlessly, your head still foggy, and there he was—na jaemin. in your kitchen. barefoot. sleeves rolled up. flipping bacon like he belonged there. and beside him: fully plated grilled cheese sandwiches, fluffy scrambled eggs, toast slices stacked with almost concerning perfection, and a mug that had steam curling from it in soft spirals.

chen le leaned in, voice barely a whisper. “he can cook…?”

renjun looked like he was watching a scene from a drama. eyes wide, one hand clutching the wall. “what can he not do?” he breathed.

jaemin, completely unaware of the silent audience he’d gathered, hummed softly as he gave the pan one last flick—golden-brown bacon landing perfectly in line with the rest. the sizzle was crisp and satisfying, like something out of a commercial. you blinked, once, then twice—still half convinced your dream hadn’t ended yet.

and then he turned around, catching all three of you watching him from the hallway with the kind of slack-jawed awe usually reserved for celestial beings descending from the heavens.

“staring is rude, you know?” he quipped, lifting an eyebrow in amusement.

startled, chen le and renjun scrambled to the dining table, pretending they hadn’t been spying like kids in a cartoon. you, still groggy and unsure if this was a fever dream or not, made your way slowly into the kitchen. jaemin, without missing a beat, handed you a mug of steaming black coffee. plain. exactly the way you liked it.

you blinked at the mug, brows furrowing. you were pretty sure you ran out of coffee beans three days ago.

then your eyes scanned the kitchen—grilled cheese, scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, juice. nothing in that spread looked like it belonged in your usually barren morning pantry. your frown deepened. “where did you get all of this?”

“the grocery store,” he said simply, like it was the most obvious answer in the world.

“you went to the grocery store?” you asked, still in disbelief. jaemin looked far too fresh, too put-together for someone who had supposedly gone shopping, cooked, and somehow also kept the house from burning down. did he even sleep?

truth was—while the three of you were snoring away, limbs flung in various directions across your living room, jaemin had quietly texted his assistant to do a grocery run. everything was delivered before sunrise, and he’d spent the early morning hours stocking your kitchen like it was a five-star Airbnb.

you opened the fridge, eyes going wide at the sight. fresh milk—the expensive kind from Hokkaido. neatly arranged packs of strawberries, blueberries, and shiny apples. a bundle of fresh spinach. and at the very back, a bright yellow box of Honey Stars peeking out like a guilty smile.

“you… stocked up my fridge?” you gasped, turning back to him in shock.

jaemin only shrugged, pouring orange juice into mugs for chen le and renjun. “i hope you don’t mind. i stocked up on jun’s favorite honey stars too. he told me he loved them, and that you rarely buy it for him.”

“yeah,” you muttered, sighing. “because he tends to finish the whole box the second i’m not looking—and it’s heaty for him.”

jaemin glanced over with a smirk. “then i guess you’ll just have to look a little more often.”

you opened your mouth to respond but found yourself at a loss for words. and jaemin—he just went back to plating breakfast, like refilling someone’s entire pantry was just part of a normal Saturday morning.

at the han river campsite, the morning was calm and crisp, with golden sunlight slipping through the trees and dancing on the water. jeno had kept his promise—he took jun on a morning cycling trip while Soomin stayed behind to prep breakfast. they rode along the winding paths by the river, laughter echoing as jun pedalled with all his might on his little bike, the wind catching his giggles.

now, they were resting under a tree near the edge of the riverbank. jeno leaned back on his elbows, catching his breath as jun sat cross-legged in the grass, happily plucking wildflowers and stringing them into a tiny, uneven bouquet. in the bicycle basket sat a plush toy—an oddly charming little green dinosaur with button eyes and a slightly crooked smile.

jeno’s brow furrowed in curiosity. he knew every single one of jun’s plushies by heart—from the ones he bought him to the ones you sewed yourself. but this one? this was new.

“junnie buddy,” he asked, nodding at the toy, “where did you get dino-nim?”

jun didn’t look up. he was busy giggling at a bug that had crawled onto his finger. “at the carnival,” he said with a bright, distracted smile. jeno sat up straighter. “the carnival?”

“mhm!” jun nodded enthusiastically, brushing the bug onto a leaf. “uncle jaemin brought mommy and me to the carnival. we got dino-nim from playing basketball!"

jeno blinked.

the image came fast and uninvited—jaemin, beside you, tossing a ball into the hoop, winning your son a plush toy. winning him over. the kind of memory you used to make with jeno.

jun giggled again, proudly holding up his half-finished flower bouquet, petals sticking out at odd angles. “should we give this to mommy?”

jeno smiled, but it barely reaches his eyes. “yeah… let’s do that.” he crouched beside jun, gently resting a hand on his small shoulder. “and how about we make one for aunty soomin too?”

he said it lightly, but the suggestion wasn’t casual—it was careful, deliberate. he was trying. trying to bridge something he could feel but not fix. Because he’d noticed it—how jun still kept a polite distance from soomin, never quite melting into comfort the way he had with uncle jaemin.

that name had rolled off jun’s tongue so easily. so often. like jaemin had become a part of the scenery, part of you.

and jeno hated how tightly that lodged in his chest.

it made something hot crawl under his skin—the thought of another man stepping into the quiet, ordinary moments he used to share with you and jun. a plush toy from a carnival. a memory that wasn’t his.

he looked down at jun, who had moved on to picking another flower, humming contentedly to himself.

jeno swallowed hard, keeping his hand steady on his son’s shoulder, even as his pulse betrayed him.

later, back at the campsite, the soft clatter of breakfast prep filled the air—cutlery clinking, birds chirping faintly overhead. soomin stood by the picnic table, flipping through the breakfast trays, when jeno returned with jun trailing closely behind him.

“soomin,” jeno called gently, a small smile tugging at his lips. “jun’s got something for you.”

jun clutched the bouquet of wildflowers tightly in his little hands, but when soomin turned around, his steps faltered. he looked up at jeno with uncertainty, then back at her, then quickly stared at the ground, chewing his lip.

jeno bent down a little, his hand resting lightly on jun’s shoulder. “it’s okay, buddy. you can give it to her.”

jun stood frozen for another second, then finally, with slow steps, he shuffled forward and held out the slightly squashed bouquet. his eyes didn’t quite meet hers.

“for you,” he mumbled, barely audible.

soomin blinked in surprise, then knelt down to take the flowers with a warm, gentle smile. “oh, these are beautiful. thank you, jun.”

jun gave a tiny nod, then retreated quickly, hiding behind jeno’s legs again.

jeno gave a quiet chuckle, smoothing jun’s hair, before glancing at soomin. “he’s not usually this shy. he’s just... still getting used to things.”

soomin met his gaze with a soft expression and shook her head. “i get it. really. i’m just happy he’s trying.”

jeno said nothing when he dropped jun off at your place on sunday. just a quiet “hey” when you opened the door, and a clipped “bye” when he turned to leave. not once did his eyes meet yours—like the hug you shared, the fragile peace you two made, had all been scrubbed clean from memory. like it never happened at all.

and that stuck with you. the way he’d built his walls back up in record time, higher than ever, locking you out again without warning. and god, you hated it. not just the silence, but the way it made your heart ache—like losing something twice that was already half-gone to begin with.

you arrived at the courthouse a full thirty minutes early. the nerves wouldn't let you sit still, so you wandered the marble halls, hoping movement might settle the storm in your chest.

then, a familiar voice stopped you in your tracks.

you turned towards courtroom 3B, the doors slightly ajar. through the narrow gap, you saw him—na jaemin, standing at the center of the courtroom like he owned the ground beneath his feet.

he stood with one hand tucked in his pocket, the other holding a file as he addressed the witness. the courtroom was silent except for his voice—measured, confident, cutting clean through the air like a blade finding flesh.

"so just to confirm," jaemin said, stepping closer to the center of the room, "you approved the transfer without verifying the originating account?"

his tone was calm but sharp enough to draw blood. the witness shifted in his seat, fingers drumming against the wooden armrest like a nervous tic.

"i assumed the documentation was legitimate—"

jaemin tilted his head, brows raised in mock confusion. "you assumed?" he let the word hang in the air like a noose. "could you kindly point out which section in your company's compliance protocol lists assumption as an accepted standard for financial verification?"

"badgering, your honor," the defense attorney shot up, already unraveling at the edges.

jaemin turned to the judge without missing a beat, smooth as silk. "i'm challenging a sworn statement that reeks of gross negligence, not badgering—unless the facts are suddenly too uncomfortable to sit with."

"sustained," the judge said, firm but clearly intrigued. jaemin nodded as if even that ruling worked in his favor. he stepped back, composed, already ten moves ahead while everyone else was still figuring out the game.

murmurs rippled through the gallery. the opposing counsel tugged at his tie, visibly rattled.

jaemin walked to the evidence desk, setting the file down with deliberate care—a final piece sliding into place on a chessboard he'd been controlling since opening statements.

"your honor, let the record reflect that the witness acted outside company protocol, directly contradicting section 12-b of their internal fraud prevention framework."

he turned toward the jury, voice unwavering. "in plain terms—this wasn't an oversight. it was carelessness. and when carelessness costs millions, it's not an honest mistake. it's corporate liability."

the defense lawyer moved to object, but the judge raised her hand. "overruled. counselor, proceed."

for the briefest moment, as jaemin stepped back and the courtroom held its breath, he glanced towards the door. you froze behind the narrow crack, certain he'd seen you. but he didn't linger. didn't falter. he turned back to the stand with the same razor focus that had just gutted a witness in broad daylight.

"i have no further questions, your honor."

the gavel hit. the trial wrapped. jaemin had won—undeniably and effortlessly, though you're not surprised. after all, the courtroom is jaemin's arena and in here, he didn’t miss. every question, every objection, every pivot—calculated. ruthless. and manipulative. judges leaned in when he spoke. juries followed him like he was narrating a thriller. even the opposing counsel watched him like they were waiting for the storm to pass.

but jaemin was the storm.

he didn’t raise his voice. he didn’t need to. his confidence wasn’t loud—it was undeniable. the kind that made even the most seasoned attorneys second-guess their notes. in this courtroom, jaemin wasn’t just the best lawyer in the room.

he was the standard everyone else failed to meet.

you stepped into the corridor, still catching your breath when a voice slipped behind your ear.

"i thought i saw you earlier."

you jumped. "jaemin! can you not sneak up on people like that?"

he smirked, annoyingly pleased with himself. "couldn't resist. how'd i do?"

you rolled your eyes, arms crossed. "fine."

"only fine?" he clicked his tongue, mock disappointment dripping from his voice. "can't wait to see you later."

the reminder hit like ice water down your spine—your trial was next. and this time, it wasn't just any opposing company.

it was her company. han soomin's. jeno's girl. you wondered if jeno even knew yet. that you were the one leading the charge, the one coming for everything his lover's company had refused to settle over.

you were flipping through your file, eyes scanning your notes for the hundredth time—highlighted points, cross-referenced statutes, every loophole you intended to close today. the courtroom buzzed faintly around you, but your mind was locked in, laser-sharp.

jaemin had disappeared into the corridor five minutes ago, called away by his assistant for something “urgent.” you checked your watch. fifteen minutes till trial began.

you stood and scanned the room, heart rate picking up. renjun was supposed to escort your key witness, miss seo, through the back entrance—away from press, away from prying eyes. you looked for his familiar figure in the crowd—

—and then you saw her.

soomin.

walking past you with her legal counsel, poised and composed. her heels clicked confidently against the marble floor. she didn’t look anxious—not in the way a person should when facing a trial that could cost her company to go bankrupt. no, she was smiling. a slow, smug, knowing kind of smirk that curled at the corners of her lips as her eyes met yours and drifted down your frame. your gut twisted. something wasn’t right.

then you heard it—“y/n!”

renjun came barrelling through the hallway, panting, eyes wide. your blood ran cold when you don't see miss seo with him.

you rushed forward immediately, grabbing ahold of renjun's shoulder like your life depended on it. “where is she?”

renjun doubled over, catching his breath. “she’s—she’s gone,” he huffed. “i went to the prep room, and—her stuff’s gone. bags, coat, everything. she’s not answering her phone.”

you stared at him, stunned.

"they bribed her." renjun spat, frustration heavy in his breath.

and your heart dropped like a stone.

you’d expected dirty tactics—but not this. not the key witness vanishing minutes before the trial. not soomin walking in with that smile like she already knew the outcome.

and jaemin was still gone.

you sat in the hallway, the courtroom doors towering just a few steps away. your mind raced, flipping through every possible backup plan, every argument you could still salvage without miss seo’s testimony. but it was like trying to finish a puzzle with the centerpiece stolen.

you refused to back down.

this case had already cost you too much time, too much sleep—and you weren’t going to let soomin walk into that courtroom with a smug smile and walk out untouched. not after what their company had done. the lives they've destroyed. not after they rejected the settlement like they were untouchable.

you clenched your jaw, fingers gripping the file tighter. there had to be something. anything.

“y/n.”

you turned sharply. jaemin had returned—his tie slightly loosened, hair wind-swept from moving fast. but there was purpose in his stride, something sharp and burning in his eyes. without a word, he took your hand in his and pulled you with him.

“jaemin, what—”

“just come.”

he led you into a side prep room, shutting the door behind you. you were still catching up when he finally spoke.

“jewel corp became my firm’s client,” he said, voice low, almost apologetic. his hand still wrapped around yours, like he wasn’t ready to let go. not yet.

your breath caught.

“wait,” you said, eyes narrowing as the pieces began to fall into place. “they’re your client now?”

he nodded once, jaw clenched. “it was confirmed an hour ago." you pulled your hand away slowly, your chest tightening with the slow, creeping dread of understanding. “which means… you can’t represent me anymore.”

jaemin didn’t answer. he didn’t have to. the silence was confirmation enough. your gaze dropped to the floor, brain racing. you were legal counsel on this case—but jaemin had been your anchor, your strategist, your backup plan. now he was legally bound to the enemy’s side. and it wasn’t coincidence. not with soomin walking into court like she already knew the outcome. not with her smirk. not with your witness disappearing right before trial.

“she planned this,” you said, voice sharp with disbelief. “she knew we were coming for them. so she took out our witness and bought your firm.”

“we need to delay the trial,” jaemin said, eyes darting toward the courtroom door. “if they’re playing dirty, we buy time and prepare for it.”

“how?” you asked, voice tight. “we’re five minutes from start.”

“i called in a favor from an old friend. he's submitting a motion for continuance on your behalf right now—based on grounds of witness tampering.”

your eyes widened. “renjun said it out loud. that she was bribed. if we argue that the disappearance of your key witness was the result of interference—intentional obstruction—then it compromises the fairness of the trial. and that’s enough to request a postponement.”

you stared at him. “won’t that raise flags? if you’re on their payroll now…”

“which is exactly why i’m not filing it myself,” jaemin said, firm. “you’ll use a temporary solicitor. just for this hearing. i’ve already got someone briefed—someone who owes me.”

you exhaled slowly. your stomach was still a knot, but your mind was already recalibrating.

“so if we push this… what then?”

“then,” jaemin said, “you build the case without me. and you come back stronger. but for now—we buy time. that’s the only way to beat them at their own game.”

you sat at the plaintiff's table, posture stiff, heart pounding behind your ribs. the courtroom buzzed softly—papers shuffled, whispers exchanged—but your ears were tuned into only one thing: the ticking of the clock on the wall.

the courtroom settled into a hush as the bailiff called the room to order, the sound of the gavel ringing sharp against the wood.

you rose to your feet.

jaemin wasn’t next to you anymore. but his absence didn’t shake you. in his place, you stood tall, fingers brushing down the front of your blazer to steady yourself, clutching the folder of evidence like armor.

you glanced once toward the defense table, meeting soomin’s eyes. she sat perfectly composed, hands folded in her lap, wearing a navy suit that probably cost more than most people's monthly rent. her expression was unreadable—not smug, not worried, just... neutral. like she was watching a mildly interesting television program rather than facing a lawsuit that could topple her company's reputation.

then you turned to face the judge.

"your honor," you begun, “the plaintiff would like to request a motion for continuance.”

the words landed with the weight of a bomb. you could feel the shift in the room's energy—the way reporters leaned forward, the way the defense team's confident posture faltered slightly.

the judge looked up. “on what grounds?”

the opposing counsel leapt to their feet. “objection, your honor—this is last-minute and highly irregular. we’re ready to proceed—”

you didn’t flinch. didn't even glance in his direction.

“our key witness has disappeared under suspicious circumstances,” you said firmly. “as of this morning, she was accounted for. fully briefed. scheduled to appear. and now—she’s vanished. no message. no trace. and all of her belongings have been removed from her apartment.”

that brought the room to a near-freeze. “we have reason to believe this may constitute witness tampering.” gasps rippled across the courtroom like a dropped pin in a tomb. the judge’s eyes sharpened. “do you have documentation?”

you nodded once, and handed over a printed, sworn statement from renjun, detailing the timeline and witness disappearance. along with a copy of the hotel’s security log.

the judge read in silence. when she looked up, her expression had changed.

“i’ll grant the continuance.”

you exhaled—but it felt like coming up for air and you were ready to throw up. the defense immediately objected, slamming a hand against their table. “your honor—”

“you’ll have your trial,” the judge cut in, voice harder now. “but not today.”

// to be conitnued

taglist: @chaoticstrawberryland @bbykaixx @strawberrytyong @desiree-lee @mybearcollective @dilflover44 @kangshinwoolovin @kgneptun @firydst @httpsxnox @justineasian @sunflowerhae @huangberryyy @stelleduarte @luvleenono @ccoristu @gomdoleemyson @tinted-skies @dior-15 @socollectionmoom @blackberrywonie @dinonuguaegi @merakicafee @jenzyoit @haechsauce @lorena-mv33 @taeeflwrr @chocojiji

[taeeflwrr]

this was such a good sequel

Late to love you P. ll.

Haechan x f!reader, hogwarts!au

Warnings: fluff, lots of angst, classic she fell first he fell harder, yearning (like a lotttt), language, jealous haechan (regretful bastard), drinking/partying, spoiler they kiss

Notes: long awaited! Thanks so much for your patience yall, you guys were hounding me for part 2 (thank u for supporting me it means a lot and keeps me accountable🥹) I’ve been really in my yearning era I.E. watching a lot of pride and prejudice/jim and Pam edits on TikTok so…this one is gna be juicy lmfao. also yall were wanting me to really make haechan suffer and honestly tbh..maybe I took it too far bc haechan really crashes out in this my bad. I just crave angst and sadness idk I have issues.

Playlist (ofc cause I’m me) (but fr yall I don’t play about yearning music so give it a try!!)

2/2, Previous, Masterlist

The air in Eldhollow always smelled different after winter break—crisper, like the snow had bleached the scent from the stone paths and old trees. Students filtered back onto campus wrapped in scarves and cloaks, dragging trunks behind them, some still pink-cheeked from travel, others bleary-eyed from a week of last-minute essays and spell revisions.

Haechan sat across from Jeno in the corner of Witch’s Brew & Co., nursing a still-steaming cup of butterbrew and watching the way the snow melted against the enchanted windows. He liked this café—too much, probably. But after nearly two weeks away, something about being back in its soft lighting and clove-sweet air helped quiet the static in his chest.

“Well,” Jeno started, the spoon that occupied his tea swirled around the rim of his cup on its own, creating an ambience that sounded closer to nails on a chalkboard, “you look like someone who got fat off of sweets and neglect.”

Haechan snorted into his cup. “Thanks. That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me all day.”

Jeno leaned back in his chair, accidentally kicking at Haechan’s boot. “How was your break?”

Haechan shrugged, eyes still on the frost that crept along the glass outside. “Fine. Loud. Spent most of it at home trying to stop my little brothers from turning the cat into a footstool.”

Jeno laughed. “Did they succeed?”

“The cat is now… wary.”

It wasn’t entirely a lie. There had been chaos, as always—his younger siblings were walking explosions of magic and sugar, and his mum was constantly ten seconds from combusting. But beneath the noise had been something quieter. He didn’t want to admit it aloud, not even to Jeno, but he’d spent too much of the holiday thinking about her.

Y/N.

She’d said she needed space. Had thanked him for the party, then disappeared before he could find the words to make things right. And he had respected that—tried to. Tried to pretend he didn’t see her in class (one might call what he did staring, but that’s beside the point). Tried not to wonder what she was doing, who she was with. Tried not to read into every dream that still started with her voice and ended with him waking up too warm and annoyed with himself.

“So,” Jeno said casually, as if passing comment on the weather and not practically reading Haechan’s mind, “I heard Y/N might be seeing someone.”

Haechan’s heart stopped, but he didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. Just brought the mug to his lips and took a slow sip, like the words didn’t sink like stones in his stomach.

“Really?” he said, voice flat with practiced indifference. “Where’d you hear that?”

“Mina mentioned it, said she got it from someone in her advanced potions class who was friends with y/n so… rumor, probably. But still.”

Haechan hummed low in his throat, noncommittal. He didn’t say more.

Jeno watched him over the rim of his glass. “You okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Haechan said lightly. “It’s not like I ever dated her.”

“No,” Jeno said, slow and careful, “but you’ve been different since that party, so I wondered.”

“She said she needed space,” Haechan said, finally turning his gaze from the window to his friend. “So I gave it to her. What else am I supposed to do?”

Jeno didn’t answer right away. He just tilted his head a little, studying him the way only someone who’d known him for years could. “Maybe not nothing.”

Haechan didn’t reply. He didn’t think he could even form a sentence if he tried, because it wasn’t just that she might be seeing someone—it was that someone else might be seeing her. Her laugh. Her weird little rants about ghosts and magic theory. The way she curled her hair behind one ear when she was nervous, or how her voice got sharp when she talked about something she loved. The fact that she’d once looked at him like he was her whole world… and now might be looking at someone else the same way.

It burned.

He knew he didn’t have a right to be jealous. She didn’t owe him anything—not after the way he’d treated her at that party. He’d panicked; Fumbled every chance he had with her. Now he was alone, watching the price of that cowardice play out - having to get updates about her from fuckass Jeno of all people.

Still, the idea that someone else could be close to her now—could be the one she reached out to when she was upset or excited or bored—settled in his chest like a curse. In her own words, she’d once wished he saw her; now that he did, he was terrified he was too late.

As Jeno wandered off to place another order, Haechan sat in silence, fingers curled around the warmth of his mug, letting the rumor echo over and over again in his head.

Y/N might be seeing someone; and even worse —it might be true. And if it was, he wasn’t sure how he’d stop himself from crashing out entirely.

—-

The lecture hall buzzed with quiet tension, the kind that came not from the professor’s voice — which was calmly explaining magical jurisdiction clauses — but from the weight of what she’d just announced; the thing that caused y/n’s heart to pound in her chest so loudly she feared others around her might catch on.

“The Department of Experimental Magic is looking to take on four students for a six-month internship,” Aldwych announced, pacing slowly in front of the chalkboard. “They’ll be hand-picked from this course, based on your written thesis proposals and your demonstrated skill. This is not the time to coast. I repeat—four.”

She sat two rows behind Haechan, though she wasn’t thinking about him - not consciously, anyway. She was too busy imagining what it would feel like to be chosen. To finally be seen for more than what she seemed like. To be recognized for what she was — sharp, quietly clever, resilient.

But still, every time he shifted in his seat, every time he tilted his head to whisper something to Mark beside him (who was not enrolled in this class mind you, just came for some emotional support so haechan didn’t stare at y/n), her eyes flickered to him on instinct like a compass drawn north; Stupid compass.

She was supposed to be over it.

After all, she’d spent winter break curled up in a too-small armchair by the fire, pretending she wasn’t haunted by the memory of Haechan’s voice in that kitchen. You’re all I think about. As if it had meant something. As if it hadn’t been followed by days — weeks — of silence.

He hadn’t reached out once. She knew he was trying to respect her request of space, but really when had Haechan not done what he wanted? If that was the case, y/n deduced he simply didn’t want to reach out, so she decided to match his energy and move on.

So why did it still ache?

Professor Aldwych dismissed class with a flick of her hand, the words “Start thinking seriously about your proposals” echoing through the hall as students gathered their things and filed out. Y/N took her time, not really in a rush to face the biting wind outside. She finally managed to leave the lecture hall, starting her walk to find something to curb her hunger, when she felt the presence of someone falling into step beside her. Tall. Warm. Familiar.

“Hoping you don’t apply so I have one less person to compete against,” Haechan said lightly, his voice smooth like sunlight on the edge of a storm.

Y/N stumbled in her reaction, turning to see him standing now just a half-step behind her. He was dressed in a warm caramel jumper and dark slacks, one hand shoved in his coat pocket, the other rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly like he hadn’t expected her to actually stop and subject him to such an intimidating gaze. His hair was swept back haphazardly, a little tousled, like he’d run his fingers through it on his way here.

Her breath caught. “What?”

He offered a crooked smile, his boyish charm still peaking through despite his clear apprehension. “For the internship.”

“Oh.” She forced a casual shrug. “Yeah I’m applying. Obviously.”

“I figured,” he said. “You were always good at this stuff.”

She frowned, but stayed quiet. Instead, she just turned and started walking again, trying not to act like she cared if he followed or not; he did, of course. The two stayed quiet for the moment, listening to the ambiance of the institute around them as they walked together in beat. Y/n couldn’t deny that it was nice to walk with him; to pretend everything was okay, if only for a moment.

They reached the top of the stairs, students pressing around them in both directions. Y/n stopped again, this time further to the side as to not bother her fellow students going about their lives. She turned to face the man that refused to leave her head, and for a moment — a brief, too-quiet moment — the crowd seemed to fade. Y/n hated that even now - even as she was so angry with him and confused by his actions - he still had the ability to make her tune out the rest of the world; to make her so vulnerable with just one glance.

Haechan ran a hand through his hair. “I wanted to say hi earlier. In class. But…”

He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t have to.

Y/N nodded, staring ahead. “Yeah.”

He looked over at her, his voice quieter. “You’ve been on my mind, you know. Even over break.”

She still didn’t look at him, but she wanted to. It was easier for her not to look at him, though; to pretend he didn’t make her stomach drop everytime he gave her a smidge of attention.

“Like a lot,” he added, and for once, it sounded like the truth. She finally gave in and glanced sideways — and his eyes were already on her, Unflinching and wide as he stared at her side profile like he was trying to memorize it.

“I thought you forgot about me,” she said. She meant it as a joke, but it was cold and quiet - she knew it didn’t land like one.

“Never.”

And then, just as something fragile started to crack open between them; just as y/n fully turned her body and haechan inched forward, maybe a bit unconsciously-

“Y/N!”

Giselle’s voice rang sharp and bright from the foot of the stairs. She was weaving through students with purpose, her long coat billowing behind her and her eyes set on her target with determination.

Y/N blinked, stepping back instinctively. She wrapped her arms around herself to self soothe, her face red with embarrassment at being caught. Haechan didn’t move - it was as if nothing between the two changed. He stayed in his spot, his eyes on y/n, his brow was furrowed and his gaze held something in it that made y/n ache for him - he looked at her like she held his heart in her hands. She tried to ignore the sick feeling it gave her, and turned towards her roommates figure that closed in on the moment.

Giselle arrived with a small grin, hand slipping through Y/N’s bent arm like she belonged there — like she was entirely oblivious to the strange, simmering thing happening between the two of them. Haechan ached at the sight, longing to be so carefree to wrap his arm in hers, even just once.

“There you are,” she said, giving Haechan a quick, unreadable nod before turning back to Y/N. “Did you still want to stop by the archives before they close? We’ll have time if we leave now.”

Y/N hesitated. She didn’t have any plans with Giselle right now, but knowing her roommate she probably saw y/n and haechan and came to “save the day”. It endeared y/n, but also upset her in a way she couldn’t quite explain. She didn’t blame her friend, of course, but a large part of her was sad she no longer had a reason to talk to Haechan; to be in his presence and burn under his stare. Her feelings about him came in waves, one after the other. She felt like a child again, and that itself scared her too - he made her feel unlike anything she’s ever experienced. She looked at Giselle - her eyebrows sat raised on her expecting expression as she started tugging y/n the opposite way from the evil, bad - hot - guy who broke her best friends heart before even having claim over it. Y/n submitted, letting herself slowly get dragged away as she caught Haechan’s eyes one more time. He didn’t try to stop her, but he didn’t leave either. His tall frame looked smaller as his shoulders hung heavy with his hands shoved in his pockets. He gave her a look that made her feel like she was breaking something by walking away.

Y/N swallowed, her voice low. “I’ll… see you around?”

“Yeah,” he answered dejectedly, accompanied with a half-smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Good luck with your proposal.”

She nodded, turned, and let Giselle lead her down the hallway.

Behind her, Lee Haechan stood alone, one hand still tucked in his coat pocket, the other now taken out to drag across his face in silent desperation. He watched her go like he already knew he was losing something he didn’t know how to ask for, a sigh escaping him as he finally turned and went about his day.

—-

Y/N’s flat smelled like incense and burnt sugar — courtesy of the kitchen candle Karina had tried to charm into smelling like caramel and instead singed halfway to the ceiling. A couple of half-melted candles flickered on the windowsill now, doing their best to compete with the warm glow of the fireplace that danced across the room. It was late — the kind of late that only came after laughter had stretched too long into the night, and the world outside had quieted into a hush of winter fog curling along the windows.

Y/N sat curled into the corner of the couch, a wool blanket over her lap and a warm slice of cheesy garlic bread in one hand. Giselle was sprawled upside down across the other armrest, mumbling instructions at Yangyang, who was rapidly failing to defeat one of the bosses of resident evil on their secondhand Muggle gaming console.

“This is a horror game?” he said flatly, eyes wide. “Why does it feel like I’m being hunted by a vengeful bug?”

“It’s the mouth,” Xiaojun chimed in from the floor, his knees pulled up to his chest as he munched on seaweed crisps. “No villain can be taken seriously when bugs fly out of their mouth.”

Giselle groaned. “Would you two shut up and let me focus? Ethan’s basically my boyfriend at this point.”

Karina snorted from the kitchen, where she was levitating another round of butterbeer into mugs. “Giselle, you break up with Ethan every time you reach a cutscene.”

“Commitment issues,” Yangyang mumbled. “Tragic.”

Y/N laughed — a real one, breathless and warm. For the first time in weeks, the ache in her chest had dimmed to something dull and distant. It was nice, she realized, to not be thinking. To not be dissecting every word, every glance, every breath Haechan had taken around her like it was part of a riddle she’d been solving since she was eleven.

But even now, in the haze of pizza and laughter, his name found a way to crawl back into the room.

“So,” Karina said, not-so-innocently, as she passed a mug to Y/N and took the spot beside her. “Speaking of commitment issues…”

“Oh no,” Y/N said immediately, shrinking into the couch.

Giselle rolled onto her stomach and scooted closer to her roommates like a shark smelling blood. “You and Haechan.”

“There is no ‘me and Haechan.’”

Karina raised a brow. “No?”

Y/N took a sip of her drink. “No! We only met a couple of times, honestly. It’s not like we kissed or anything.”

The room went silent.

Yangyang accidentally drove Ethan right into the villain and died instantly - not noticing as his attention was focused directly on y/n.

“You haven’t kissed?” Giselle hissed, whipping her head around. “What the hell have you two been doing this whole time? Playing Wizard Chess with your feelings?!”

“It’s complicated!”

“No it’s pathetic,” Karina corrected. “Beautiful, tragic, deliciously slow-burn — but also pathetic. You like him. He likes you. And you’re both just… stewing.”

Y/N groaned and dropped her head into her hands. “You’re acting like I planned this.”

“You kind of did,” Xiaojun said gently, tossing her a cushion. “You had, like, an eight-year crush. It’s giving… long game.”

Y/N peeked through her fingers. “What am I supposed to do? He had years to notice me. And now that he has, it’s like… it’s too much. I don’t know what’s real.”

Karina’s voice softened. “You’re scared.”

Y/N didn’t deny it.

Because how could she explain the way it made her dizzy to be seen by someone like him? Someone who had always been golden and loud and unreachable. Now that he was looking — really looking — it felt like the floor kept tilting beneath her feet.

“I need to pee,” she mumbled, rising from the couch, blanket still tangled around her ankles as she shuffled toward the loo.

The hallway was quiet, the only light coming from a dimly lit scone on the wall. Y/N closed the bathroom door behind her and sat on the closed lid of the toilet, pulling her knees up.

She breathed;

In.

Out.

The questions started to return — soft and cruel. What does he want from you? Why now? Are you just something new? The truth is maybe y/n was being sensitive and insecure, but she couldn’t trust him. They barely knew each other, after all. Y/n got used to staring at the back of his head for years, usually paired with a girl next to him. Haechan had always been untouchable to her, and it seems no matter how much time has gone by, old habits die hard.

A soft knock broke the spiral that quickly formed. Then, “It’s me.”

She cracked the door open to see Xiaojun leaned against the frame, a little crooked smile on his lips. “You good?”

Y/N nodded, then hesitated. “Yeah. Just overwhelmed.”

He nudged the door further open and stepped in, settling onto the edge of the tub across from her. “Want some unsolicited advice?”

“Always.” She managed with a halfhearted laugh and a scoff thrown in.

He held up two fingers. “One: Don’t let your fear make decisions for you. Two…” He paused. “There’s this guy I know. From home. He’s sweet. Works at a bookstore. Really into magical theory and mushroom soup.”

Y/N blinked. “This is a setup?”

“I’m just saying — if you ever wanted to stop waiting around for Haechan to figure his life out, there are other people who’d be thrilled to take you on a date.”

She tilted her head. “You think I should move on?”

“I think,” Xiaojun said gently, “you’ve been standing in the same doorway for a long time. Maybe it’s time to walk through. Or close the door.”

The silence stretched. Y/n has never tried to move on - she hardly considered it moving on in the first place, for that would imply you once had something to lose. Y/n never had Haechan, not like how she wanted. She wondered internally if she even had the ability to move on from him - which scared her.

Xiaojun smiled. “I’ll tell him you’re thinking about it.”

He stood, ruffled her hair, and let the door click softly shut behind him. Y/n was thankful for her best friend now, because he always knew when to comfort and when to leave. She sat still, staring at the tiles beneath her feet. The house had gone quiet again, like it was holding its breath; waiting for something to sigh about. Y/n wondered when she would give up on this fantasy she had; When she would stop being the mouse that runs around to give the cat some amusement.

—-

The tea house was trying too hard.

It was called The Silver Thistle—a cozy, upscale café in the center of old-town Eldhollow, wedged between a wand boutique and a tailor’s shop for enchanted robes. It had floral wallpaper that changed with the seasons, velvet booths that refilled your tea cup without prompting, and harp music that played softly from nowhere in particular. All very charming. All very exhausting.

Haechan had been here before, but never for this reason.

He sat across from a girl whose name he should’ve remembered—but didn’t. Something with an L? Leah? Liesel? She had a high laugh, glittering earrings, and a voice that had now spent twenty uninterrupted minutes explaining a disagreement she’d had with her roommate about who stole whose gillyweed-infused conditioner.

“I told her,” the girl said, pausing to twirl a curl around her wand, “just because your hair smells like lakewater doesn’t mean it’s yours, babe—obviously.”

Haechan nodded. Or at least, his body did. His mind, on the other hand, had long since checked out.

Y/N would’ve hated this place.

Too frilly, too staged. He could almost hear her voice now, dry and unimpressed: It’s trying to look whimsical, but the whimsy feels bought. She’d roll her eyes at the music, flick her spoon at the ceiling charm in mock rebellion, and call it “tea for people with too much disposable income and too little taste.”

God, he missed her.

He missed how quiet she was at first, how it made you lean in. He missed how she got passionate about odd things—like ghosts and monsters alike. He missed how her lips twitched before she laughed, like she always had a secret that she would never let you in on.

Now she was a secret again.

He’s barely spoken to her since the start of term; the thought makes him sick. That awkward conversation after class had been their only moment, and it had ended with someone else pulling her away and the silence growing larger than ever between them.

And now here he was, sitting in a shop that annoyed him just for existing, across from someone who wasn’t her. He laughed silently while thinking that if she were here with him, he’d probably hate it less - he hoped his date didn’t notice the misplaced chuckle.

“—and then she said I was being toxic, which is so rich, because if anyone’s toxic, it’s—”

Nope. He zoned out again while staring at the table. Honestly, it pissed him off how much she had changed him. The haechan before y/n wouldn’t have hated this place, he probably wouldn’t care because he’d be too focused on the girl in front of him. The haechan before y/n would have made this girl feel special, would have remembered her name and made a point to mention is so that she knew he knew - because he cared about that stuff. Before y/n, Haechan cared about a lot of things; now all that mattered was one thing - something he couldn’t have.

He could sit here and get mad and cry about the fact that he changed, but really it didn’t matter to him. He wanted to change, he wanted to be a better person - for her. Even if they didn’t work out, Haechan wanted to be someone who she’d be proud to say she almost had something with.

A hand landed on his wrist, pulling him out of his daydreams with a startle. The girl had leaned forward, her fingers sliding boldly up his arm like she’d done it a hundred times before. Her smile was syrupy. Practiced. “You’ve been awfully quiet,” she said, batting her lashes. “You thinking about me?”

He opened his mouth. Then closed it again.

Because no - he wasn’t thinking about her.

He hadn’t heard a single word she’d said.

His mind had been drifting to Y/N’s eyes—the way they went soft at the edges when she was deep in thought. Her laugh, quieter than most. The way she pulled her sleeves over her hands when she was nervous. The little mole just beneath her ear. Her voice in his head was louder than the girl sitting directly in front of him.

He pulled his hand back, gently but firmly. “Sorry,” he said, voice cracking like an old broomstick. “Was just… distracted.” At least he didn’t lie.

The door to the shop opened behind him with a faint chime. He didn’t pay it any attention at first—not until he saw the girl across from him suddenly glance toward it, then blink and look down quickly, like she’d seen something awkward.

And then he felt it; A shift in the room. A little electric charge beneath his skin. It was as if his body just…knew.

He turned, and there she was.

Her coat was slightly damp from the cold mist outside, curls falling loose from her braid. Her cheeks were flushed pink, probably from the chill—or maybe, he realized with a jolt, from seeing him.

Their eyes met for a fraction of a second.

Not long enough to say anything. But long enough for everything to rise up inside him—regret, want, a pain that ached like a bruise, and his lunch. Her wide eyes stared at his for less than a second, yet he felt everything in them. He used to roll his eyes and scoff when lovebirds would say that time slowed down when they locked eyes, but he gets it now. It seemed that lately whenever he looked at her, time just didn’t exist. There was her, there was forever. He couldn’t tell if she felt the same way, frankly he hoped she didn’t because it hurt so bad to break that eye contact, he’d hate for her to experience it - he tries to ignore the fact that she has probably felt it tenfold when it comes to him.

She said nothing, of course. Just broke the eye contact as quickly as it came, turned, and walked back out. The bell above the door chimed again as she left, this time much too loud.

“Who was that?” the girl across from him asked, blinking at him, puzzled. “Friend of yours?”

Haechan didn’t answer. He was already standing up.

The velvet booth squeaked beneath him as he pushed out of it too fast, nearly knocking over his tea. The girl gasped, “Wait - what’s going on? Are you leaving?”

He paused. Was he about to - what - chase after her? What good would that do? Haechan realizes that every time he opens his mouth, he makes the situation worse. Besides, he knows he would look stupid. And while he doesn’t really care about looking stupid when it comes to her, it would make him feel like shit later when he ultimately gets rejected and confused even more - when he feels desperate and alone once again. And nevermind all of that, haechan would rather feel all of that and be able to say they at least talked, than sit here dumbly and feel like shit anyway. He would still have chased after her - if it didn’t affect her; If it didn’t clearly upset her even more. The truth is, ever since their tiff in the kitchen, one sentence y/n said had chased haechan, finding him in the darkest corners of his life. “I used to wish you’d just look at me” How much had she suffered because of him? How much had she felt alone? In his heart, haechan knows it’s not his fault, and yet - he can’t stop the guilt from consuming his senses. So, he’ll let her walk away; he’ll let himself stare at her back as she retreats, wishing she’d turn and look at him again.

He slowly sat back down.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, jaw clenched tight. “I thought I saw someone I knew.”

The girl narrowed her eyes. “Right…”

But he didn’t care what she thought.

Because all he could see now was Y/N’s back as she retreated. All he could hear was the echo of the bell. All he could feel was the fire spreading through his ribs, lighting every nerve in his body with dread and longing.

And, of course, she had seen him with someone else.

Of course it had been too late - again.

—-

The share house sat at the edge of the village, tucked behind a crooked lane of lantern-lit homes and hovering broom racks. It belonged to one of the older students—a Transfiguration major named Minsung who always hosted these gatherings when his roommates were out of town. The house itself was sprawling in that charmed, nonsensical way: walls rearranged themselves to accommodate new guests, rooms stretched or shrank depending on the crowd, and the kitchen door insisted on teleporting you directly to the back garden if you weren’t paying attention. Warm, golden light poured from every window, shadows dancing against the grass as laughter and low music pulsed through the walls.

Y/N knew Haechan would be there. She’d known before she even accepted the invitation, because Xiaojun had warned her - casually, almost in passing - that the mutual friend he wanted her to meet was “in the same circle as Haechan, by the way. But I swear, it’s chill.” And she’d smiled then, playing it off with a joke. But after that chance encounter at the tea shop - Yknow, the one where she watched, heart in her throat, as yet another girl leaned in too close to the boy who consistently stressed her out while making her feel like the only girl in the world (obviously a lie) - Y/N had made a decision.

Tonight, she would not be haunted by someone who had every chance to know her and didn’t. Not again.

The living room was crowded but cozy, with enchanted string lights drifting lazily above everyone’s heads, twinkling in time with the beat of the music. There was a floating tray of pumpkin cocktails gliding through the crowd, and near the fireplace, two students were having a mildly heated argument over a wandless levitation technique—each attempting to prove their theory by lifting increasingly heavier objects off the table, until someone lost control and a couch pillow combusted into glittering smoke. No one seemed to care.

Y/N stood near the bookshelf with Xiaojun, who wore his usual easy grin and held two cups of chilled cider. He handed her one and nodded toward the tall figure across the room.

“That’s him,” he said. “Kai, stormy disposition, but hilarious. You’ll like him.”

She didn’t get the chance to answer before Kai spotted them and made his way over, his eyes kind and curious, his energy warm. The conversation started slow but natural—he complimented her charm necklace, she teased him about his shoes—and soon enough, they were laughing in tandem, their words tumbling over each other like old friends reunited. It felt easy. Not at all like the quiet, suffocating emotion she’d felt standing next to Haechan in the hallways the other day.

But still, she could feel it; That weight. The invisible string stretched taut across the room, pulling at her spine. She didn’t need to look to know he was there. She could feel his stare like a spell grazing the back of her neck. And when she did finally glance, just for a second, over Kai’s shoulder—she saw him.

Haechan stood half-shadowed near the kitchen archway, drink in hand, smile gone quiet. Jeno was saying something to him, gesturing animatedly with his arms, but Haechan wasn’t really listening. His eyes were locked on her.

He’d been fine when he arrived. Better than fine, even. Mark had joked that he was finally over his weird little crush, and Haechan had laughed it off, pretending it didn’t ache to hear it said like that. He’d greeted his friends, complimented the music, tried a sparkling sage cocktail that Renjun swore by. He was doing everything right - Until she walked in.

She wasn’t even doing anything—just standing there, laughing with Xiaojun and Kai, of all people - and it undid him completely. It wasn’t jealousy, exactly. It was more like… gravity. A terrible, helpless tilt of the world where she was suddenly the center and everything else blurred at the edges. And she was smiling, glowing, alive. With someone else.

He hated himself for it—hated the way his heart clenched every time Kai leaned a little too close, hated the way he was suddenly counting every second she didn’t look at him. It wasn’t fair. He had his shot and he blew it. And now she was moving on, the way people do.

Still, he couldn’t stop the ache. Couldn’t stop picturing the way she used to look at him when she thought he wasn’t paying attention—like she was memorizing him just in case she never got the chance again. And now he was the one doing it. Watching her from across the room and carving every detail into the back of his mind. He didn’t even register Yuna beside him until her fingers brushed his arm. “You look like you’re somewhere else,” she said, voice flirty and light.

Haechan blinked. “Sorry. Just tired.”

She giggled, oblivious, and kept talking—about her potions class, her recent trip to Brighton, how she was thinking of dyeing her hair a new shade of copper. He nodded politely, answered when prompted, tried to be present. But his eyes kept drifting back to Y/N.

And then she laughed again, head thrown back as Kai mimicked someone’s wand technique, and it cracked something open inside him.

He looked away - Shut his eyes to physically stop the tears from falling; Exhaled slowly. He’s never felt romantic jealously before, but it was making him want to rip Kai’s head clean off his body, so he can’t say he loved it.

He couldn’t keep doing this.

And yet—he knew he would.

Because no matter how far she drifted, no matter who stood at her side or how many people she let in before him—he wasn’t going anywhere. He was in it, All the way in.

And he had no idea how to climb out.

—-

The air outside was cold in that sharp, bracing way that only February evenings could be — not bitter, but enough to sting the lungs on the first breath. Haechan leaned against the low stone wall behind the share house, his head tipped back to watch the wisps of his breath curl into the starlit air. The party continued inside, muffled through the thick walls: laughter, bass-heavy music, the occasional sound of a spell cast mid-conversation.

He didn’t know why he came here tonight. He hadn’t had a reason to say no, sure, and maybe part of him — the part still pretending he wasn’t unraveling — thought that if he kept moving forward, going out, meeting people, pretending to flirt, pretending to care, then something inside him might eventually click back into place.

It hadn’t.

He hadn’t even realized how long he’d been outside until the door behind him creaked open again. He didn’t turn, but he heard the soft, familiar intake of breath, the kind of sound that wrapped itself around his ribs before he could stop it. Haechan took a deep inhale, bracing himself.

“I saw you leave,” she said, her voice calm but unreadable.

He turned slowly to face her. She looked warm in her oversized coat, cheeks flushed from the heat of the party or maybe the night air. Her hair had fallen slightly from where she’d pinned it back, and her hands were tucked into her sleeves like she wasn’t sure if she wanted to stay.

He nodded once. “Just needed air.”

“I figured.”

Silence stretched between them — thick, familiar, weighted. And then she took a step forward, uncertain but firm enough that he noticed.

“I saw you at the tea shop the other day,” y/n said, and her voice was so steady it made his falter. “You looked busy, or I would have said hi.”

His throat went dry. “It wasn’t anything.”

“I didn’t say it was.”

He didn’t know how to explain that he hadn’t thought of that girl once since that afternoon, hadn’t remembered the color of her dress or what she’d ordered or what her laugh sounded like. All he’d remembered was how, for a few seconds, he locked eyes with y/n. And all he’d felt was panic - hope; Then emptiness.

“I’m trying,” he said quietly. “I’m trying to move on.”

Y/N’s gaze dropped to the snow-dampened stone at her feet. “From me?”

He looked at her with wide eyes, like he couldn’t believe she even thought that, before letting out an airy and empty laugh, clearly finding nothing funny, “no, I don’t know if that’s possible anymore.”

Y/n rolled her eyes slightly, unbelieving. “Sure, haechan.”

His eyes searched hers, desperate to find something more than contempt. “I mean it. I’m actually starting to get worried. I… I think about you all the time.”

“Then why does it feel like I’m the one who always ends up waiting?” she asked, her voice tight with restraint. “Like I’m the one who’s ready but still not enough?”

The words hit harder than he expected. He stepped closer without thinking, his voice cracking just slightly. “You are enough. It’s me who’s not.”

Y/N shook her head. “I’m tired, Haechan. I’m tired of feeling like I’m chasing after something that might never be real.”

A pause. Then she added, quieter this time, “Xiaojun introduced me to this guy tonight. He’s nice. If he asks me out, I think I’ll say yes.”

Haechan’s breath caught in his chest.

The words were fire in his throat. He wanted to say don’t. He wanted to say wait. He wanted to scream and kiss her and beg her to understand that every girl who smiled at him looked wrong, and every quiet moment was a dull ache unless she was in it. But he didn’t. Instead, what came out was sharp, defensive, cowardly.

“Then say yes.”

Her expression didn’t shift. She didn’t flinch. She just nodded, like she’d been expecting that answer. Like she’d been bracing for it all along. For a long moment, they stood there in the frozen dark, breathing in sync but out of step.

Then, softer this time, she spoke again. “I think…we’re just two people who want something different.”

His eyes dropped to the ground. “I don’t know how to be what you need.”

“I don’t know if you even want to be,” she whispered.

That hurt more than he could admit. But still, he nodded. Slowly, painfully.

“I want to try,” he said. “I just… I think I need to figure myself out first. Without dragging you through it.”

She looked up at him — and he hated how much kindness and love was still in her eyes, even now, even after everything.

“Then let’s not do this halfway anymore,” she said. “Let’s be friends. Really friends. And if something’s still there when we’re both ready…”

He swallowed, the words thick in his throat. “Yeah. Okay.” He couldn’t say anymore. How can you explain that you hate that idea more than you hate anything else, without sounding crazy? He was sick of the idea of hurting her, so if this would make her happy - so be it. Haechan has let go of any last self respect he once held; y/n could ask him to stab himself, he’d ask her to point to where she wants the knife to go.

She turned to leave, but before she stepped back through the door, she glanced over her shoulder.

“I still care,” she said softly.

He closed his eyes. He felt the tears prickle before they dropped, which was inevitable. He turned his head away from y/n, praying she didn’t see. She did, of course, but said nothing.

“I know,” he replied. “Me too.”

Then she was gone.

And Haechan stood alone, the night pressing in around him as he finally let the tears fall freely. He could care about not being able to get them to stop later, for now he wept silently, the party inside suddenly feeling very far away.

Y/N arrived twenty-five minutes early.

The Ministry of Magic’s central internship wing was much larger than she’d imagined — tall ceilings charmed to look like overcast skies, floating brass lanterns drifting slowly through the corridors, their glow flickering like fireflies. Dozens of young and old witches and wizards moved through the space with practiced ease, parchment portfolios tucked under arms, polished shoes clicking over glossy floor tiles. Some looked wide-eyed and thrilled, others already jaded — yawning, muttering, glancing longingly toward the coffee cart parked near the fountain in the atrium.

Y/N clutched her folder of documentation and tried not to look too starstruck.

She had spent the whole morning preparing. Ironed her blouse thrice. Tried on three different skirt options before settling on the first option; a sleek navy one with a modest slit and paired it with her best cream silk blouse, gold-rimmed specs perched neatly on her nose. Her hair was tucked into a low bun, some pieces in the front pulled out and curled softly, giving her the same imaginary blanket of protection her hair had always given her at times of stress.

This was it. Her first day.

To be honest, y/n knew she’d get into the program. She felt like she was about to burst with the sheer rightness of it all — the hours she’d spent studying, the long nights in the library, the aching uncertainty after Hogwarts. This internship was the start of something, and she wasn’t going to waste a second of it.

“L/N?” a brisk voice called. She turned to find a severe-looking assistant holding a clipboard and a wand that seemed to glow faintly pink at the tip.

“Yes!” she said, almost too eagerly.

The assistant didn’t blink. “Office assignment’s been made. You’re in Department 3A, Magical Records and Registry. Filing, classification, and correspondence management. Two-intern rotation. You’ll meet your partner shortly.”

Y/N nodded quickly, committing every word to memory as she was handed her badge and directed down a long corridor. Magical doors swished open and shut with a mechanical whoosh, some charmed to change color depending on occupancy. She found her section quickly — Department 3A — and a gold-plated plaque on the door read:

MAGICAL RECORDS – OFFICE 47A

She smoothed her skirt, adjusted her blouse, took a deep breath, and turned the handle - freezing the moment she acclimated herself to the picture in front of her. There — standing by the far window with his back to her, sorting through a stack of Ministry-bound parchments — was Lee Haechan. In a suit.

A suit.

And not just any suit. A perfectly tailored, Ministry-standard, dark charcoal three-piece that hugged his frame like it had been custom-fitted. His white shirt was crisp, the sleeves pushed slightly up to reveal his wrists, and his tie — loosened ever so slightly at the collar — was a deep forest green. His hair was swept off his forehead, a rare sight, and it made him look older somehow. Polished. Sharp. Completely and utterly lethal.

Y/N didn’t breathe.

For one unholy second, she completely forgot where she was — the nerves, the job, the entire Ministry of Magic — all wiped clean from her mind as she stood frozen in the doorway, pulse skyrocketing.

He turned.

When he saw her, his mouth parted slightly, his eyebrows lifting in visible surprise. And then he smiled — small, soft, unguarded — the kind of smile that made her knees lock.

“Well,” he said, voice low and slightly amused, “guess we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.”

Y/N blinked. Her brain refused to reboot.

“You’re—you’re my partner?” she managed, somewhere between confusion and panic.

“Looks like it,” he said, tapping the parchment stack against the desk and crossing the room toward her. “I was ten minutes early and still thought I’d beat whoever it was. Guess you win the punctuality award.”

She was going to pass out.

It wasn’t just that he looked good. He always looked good. But this was a different kind of good — the kind that made you wonder why workplace dress codes didn’t come with warnings. The kind that made her want to disintegrate into mist and hover unnoticed in the corner so she could watch him from a safe, non-humiliating distance.

But no — this was her life now. Eight weeks. One office. One Lee Haechan. And one chair between them.

“Is that okay?” he asked, more gently now, watching her carefully. “Me being here?”

Y/N felt her throat tighten, then quickly relaxed her shoulders. She summoned a practiced smile — the one she used in oral exams and networking events. The truth was, y/n didn’t really know. Obviously things were awkward after that night one month ago, when the two agreed to be “friends”. You could look up the word friends in a dictionary, these two would be no where near it. They hadn’t really spoken in any depth since the party. But I guess you could say they were… okay. Pleasant. Something bordering on friendly had grown between them again — a shared wave here, a murmured “how’s your day going” there, exchanged like delicate truce offerings in the middle of busy campus life. Y/n missed him, honestly. She had only briefly had him in her life - if you could even call it that - but she missed it. She missed that he made her laugh like no other in class, and she missed being able to run into him on campus and get nervous about the “what if”’s and not the “what now”’s. While a secret part of her would do it all again for the time spent with him, for now it was very awkward between the two, but that’s life isn’t it? They would be working in close proximity to each other, so what more can she do?

“Of course,” she said breezily, walking past him toward the desk. “Just surprised, that’s all.”

Haechan hummed behind her. “Surprised in a good way, or bad?”

She paused, then slowly turned to meet his eyes.

His gaze was steady. Playful. And something else — something she couldn’t quite name, but it felt close to longing.

“Ask me again after lunch,” she replied, and for the first time that morning, she felt something warm curl in her chest that had nothing to do with career goals.

He laughed — low and quiet — and pulled out her chair for her, like they were about to have a formal dinner instead of sort and file wand permit applications.

The chair was warm when she sat. Too close to his. The kind of close where if he leaned even slightly, his elbow would brush hers.

Merlin help her, this was going to be a long eight weeks.

—-

The Department of Magical Records prided itself on being ahead of its time — which, of course, meant it had managed to integrate a total of one Muggle invention into its workspace.

The coffee pot.

It sat proudly in the break alcove like a trophy of innovation: a scratched-up, temperamental old machine that sputtered out more steam than actual coffee, and whined like a dying pixie every time someone dared to press brew. Y/N, having grown up with one leg in the muggle world, quickly grew accustomed to its quirks, especially after getting a laugh out of watched Ningning threaten to hex it at least twice in the past week. But this morning, it was Lee Haechan’s turn to suffer.

She hovered near the corner of the room, having just finished organizing her week’s paperwork into color-coded folders (a little excessive, maybe, but it soothed her brain) and giving herself a break. Her eyes flicked up from their place at her hands to watch her surroundings, and what she saw nearly made her laugh out loud.

Haechan stood in front of the machine like he was facing off with a cursed artifact. One hand was gripping the edge of the counter; the other poked at buttons with growing disbelief. “Why,” he muttered, half to himself, “would anyone choose to drink this trash when actual magic exists?”

The machine let out a particularly violent hiss.

Y/N covered her mouth with her hand, her shoulders trembling slightly.

Haechan didn’t turn to look at her, but she saw the corners of his mouth twitch.

“Oh, I see how it is,” he said, still staring down the pot. “You’re just gonna stand there and laugh while I risk my life for caffeine?”

Y/N finally let out a quiet giggle. “It doesn’t like to be insulted.”

“It doesn’t like to work.” He jabbed a button again, only to have the entire machine rattle like it might explode. He recoiled dramatically, flinching back into the counter. “See? Attempted murder.”

She was full-on laughing now, the sound soft but so unguarded it warmed the tiny alcove. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” he said, finally glancing at her with that slow, familiar grin — not flirtatious, not quite. Just warm. “But it got you to laugh.

Y/N’s smile faltered slightly, not because she didn’t want to keep smiling, but because something in her chest flipped over at his words. It felt like the Haechan from before — from before the confusion, before the pain, before everything got too complicated to name.

They stared at each other, and for a beat, neither of them moved.

And maybe it was the scent of roasted beans and burnt sugar lingering in the air, or the way the early sunlight cut through the Ministry windows and danced along the collar of his shirt, but Y/N forgot — just for a moment — why she was trying to stay away from him.

Haechan, to his own surprise, didn’t say anything else. He just looked at her, all of her, with that quiet intensity he’d never shown anyone else but her. The silence wrapped around them like a thread, not pulling tight, but holding steady.

Until—

“Oh, you have to be kidding me,” a voice barked from the doorway.

Heechul, the 40-something office clown who truly had no shame. He strolled in, looking like he hadn’t slept since the last full moon, sunglasses pushed up into his hair and a stack of scrolls under one arm. He glanced between them once, then raised a perfectly judgmental brow.

“Seriously?” he said, making a beeline for the fridge. “You two realize I have eyes, right? Functional ones. You’re not subtle.”

Y/N straightened immediately, stepping back toward the door that led to the main office. “I was just—he was struggling with the coffee machine.”

“Struggling is generous,” Heechul muttered, pulling out a container of leftover kimchi stew and tossing it onto the counter before mindlessly muttering a heating spell that made the soup bubble.

Haechan cleared his throat, dragging a hand through his hair. “Yeah, well. The machine started it.”

Heechul didn’t reply. He just smirked as he leaned back into the fridge, clearly enjoying the squirming energy in the room.

Y/N picked up her coffee mug — practically cold now — and offered Haechan a short, polite nod. “Good luck,” she said softly, motioning toward the still-hissing coffee pot before walking quickly back to her desk.

Haechan didn’t say anything. He just watched her go. He watched the way her hair swayed behind her, the way her fingers curled slightly around her mug. He knew she was still putting distance between them again. And he didn’t blame her; not after how messy things had gotten.

But for just a moment — just one perfect, ridiculous coffee-stained moment — it had felt like something was healing. He sighed as the machine in front of him sparked again, pulling his attention once more.

—

The Monday staff meeting ran long. The conference room was small — too small for six people and a self-writing chalkboard that refused to stop squeaking — and far too warm for a group that had just survived the longest week of the quarter. Everyone sat around the circular table, steaming mugs in hand, eyes tired but attentive. Y/N fiddled with the clasp of her fountain pen beneath the table, her notes already organized into sections and footnoted in crisp, meticulous script.

Across from her, Haechan leaned back in his chair with a sort of forced ease. His hair was neater than usual, his tie askew in the charming way that shouldn’t have worked but did, and his brow held the faintest pinch of exhaustion. He wasn’t fidgeting — not exactly — but Y/N could tell from the subtle twitch in his jaw that something was eating at him.

Yuta stood at the front, hands in his pockets, effortlessly poised. He didn’t raise his voice. He never had to. His presence alone held the room in careful balance.

“I wanted to take a moment to acknowledge good work,” he began, nodding toward the team. “Particularly the interns. Filing errors are down to near zero, communication logs are ahead of schedule, and the transcriptions from last week’s audit were returned with minimal corrections.”

Y/N felt herself sit a little straighter, cheeks warming when Yuta’s eyes landed on her.

“Y/N, exceptional work on that last file review. I passed it along to Records last night — they were impressed.”

“Thank you,” she said softly, a small, grateful smile curving her lips.

He gave a nod, then let his gaze slide — gently, but pointedly — to Haechan.

“Lee Haechan,” he said, still measured, “you’ve also demonstrated promise. Your spell transcriptions are better than most third-years in the department.”

Haechan exhaled, some tension lifting.

“But,” Yuta continued, and the room shifted, ever so slightly. “There’s been a noted… distraction. One I won’t name, because I believe in discretion. But something’s interfering with your consistency — and you’re too capable to waste potential that way.”

A silence fell. No one moved. Not even Winter, who had been doodling runes in the corner of her planner. Heechul sipped his tea a little louder than necessary, and Ningning’s quill stilled.

Y/N didn’t glance over at Haechan; She didn’t have to.

She could feel it — the flicker of heat that rolled off him in quiet waves. Not embarrassment. Not shame. Just… frustration. The kind that brews behind the eyes and settles in the bones.

Yuta moved on, addressing an upcoming audit, but Haechan didn’t move again for the rest of the meeting. When they were finally dismissed, he was the first to stand.

Y/N followed him a few moments later, closing her notebook gently. The rest of the office filtered out into the hallway, talking softly, their voices muffled against the enchanted privacy charm Yuta always set after meetings. But Y/N didn’t follow them right away.

She found Haechan standing near the break alcove, his arms folded tightly across his chest, staring out the window at the drifting clouds. The faint light of morning hit his profile — golden over sharp cheekbones and downturned lashes.

She approached slowly. “Haechan.” He didn’t answer, barely moved except for a small tilt of his head in her direction.

“I just…” She hesitated. “That was unfair. You’ve been working hard.”

“I know I have,” he said, voice quiet but edged, sharp in a way it hadn’t been toward her in a long time. “But I guess it doesn’t matter if I don’t look like I’m working hard, right?”

She blinked. “Yuta’s just trying to keep you—”

“I don’t need you to explain him to me, Y/N.”

The words landed with more bite than he intended, and instantly, regret swept in after them.

Y/N didn’t flinch. She didn’t argue. She didn’t retreat. She just looked at him — really looked at him — the way she always had. Quiet, but unblinking. Seeing more than most ever did. Regardless of her feelings for him at the moment. Y/n felt like she understood Haechan’s frustrations. She imagined the pressure he could be put under to do well. After all, his father had been wanting him to find a home at the Ministry for so long now. She wondered if he had been talking to anyone about his work - his struggles - or if he buried his feelings under the desire to be effortlessly good at everything he tried. Y/n hadn’t wanted to hug him more than she did now, but that wasn’t an option. So instead, without a word, she reached out and placed a single hand on his shoulder.

It wasn’t much - Barely a touch. But it grounded him immediately. The pressure in his chest loosened. His shoulders dropped. He turned his head slightly, just enough to see her out of the corner of his eye; her face calming him almost instantly

“I didn’t mean to snap,” he said softly. “I just… I’m tired. Of messing up. Of being told I’m messing up. Of trying not to look like I care about things I do.” Her hand didn’t move as he talked, he prayed it never did.

“You’re not messing up,” she murmured. “You just… care too much. And people notice.”

Her words followed with a pause from both parties. Their eyes met, just for a second, before y/n broke it while taking her hand off his shoulder, much to the man’s dismay.

Still, in the soft weight of the moment — in the low hum of the building around them, in the rustle of parchment and the far-off buzz of a misfired spell — everything settled.

They didn’t say anything else; there was nothing left to say. Because sometimes, even in an office of six, surrounded by scrolls and quills and ticking clocks, two people can find a silence that feels like a secret.

—-

The mid-morning lull had settled over the office like a fog. The kind that blurred productivity and made everything — even refiling enchanted document folders — feel sluggish. Y/N’s quill hovered above her parchment for the third time that hour, the sentence in her head dissolving before it ever reached the page.

Across the room, Ningning stood from her desk with a stretch, slipping her wand into the side of her coat and shooting Y/N a sidelong glance. “If I stay in here one more minute, I’m going to start levitating Heechul’s paperweight just to feel something. Coffee run?”

Y/N blinked up at her, grateful. “God, yes.”

A few minutes later, the two stepped out into the corridor, enchanted memo notes fluttering past them like lazy butterflies. The Ministry’s lower-level café was two floors down, nestled beside a sleepy hallway of offices that rarely saw foot traffic. A string of floating glass lanterns guided their path, casting dappled light over their footsteps.

Ningning was already mid-rant.

“I mean, seriously,” she said, brushing her sleek black hair out of her face. “He’s cute — I’ll give him that — but half the time he looks like he doesn’t even realize how loud his brain is being. You could light a fire in the bin and he’d still be staring at your elbow like it’s made of gold.”

Y/N bit back a laugh, “My elbow?”

“Oh please, you’ve seen how he looks at you,” Ningning said, like it was common knowledge. “Like he’s memorizing the weather forecast written in your freckles. Honestly, it’s not even professional. He’s distracted — and he distracts you. I’m surprised Yuta hasn’t put you both on opposite ends of the building.”

Y/N tried to play it off, although she couldn’t stop the red from flooding her cheeks, “He’s not that bad.”

“Really?” Ningning arched a brow. “Because last week, he dropped his entire stack of paperwork because you laughed at something Heechul said, and he was trying to see if you were looking at him before even picking a piece of paper up.”

Y/N opened her mouth — probably to deny it, maybe to change the subject — but Ningning plowed on.

“And don’t get me started on the way he talks to you. He doesn’t talk to anyone else like that. He’s careful. Soft. It’s like watching someone try not to fall off a broomstick they’ve already jumped from.”

Y/N couldn’t help it — she laughed, the sound warm and wide and surprised.

Ningning grinned, smug.

“Anyway, all I’m saying is, you’d be better off not falling for someone who can’t make up his mind. If he really wanted you, Y/N, wouldn’t he have done something by now?”

That stopped Y/N in her tracks. She blinked, heartbeat tripping, and before she could think better of it, the words slipped out.

“That’s not fair.”

Ningning slowed beside her, brows lifting slightly. “Oh?”

Y/N’s voice was softer now, more guarded. “He’s… figuring stuff out. He’s not cruel. He’s never led me on. And it’s not like he doesn’t care—he does, he just doesn’t know what to do with it.”

Ningning tilted her head, amused but not unkind. “That sounds like someone who’s spent a lot of time thinking about a boy she’s not dating.”

Y/N looked down at her hands, fully embarrassed now. “I didn’t mean to say all that.”

“Too late.” Ningning nudged her with a shoulder before starting to walk again, her tone lighter now. “Look, Y/N. You don’t owe anyone anything. Not your attention, not your time, and definitely not your hope. But if he makes you feel like the version of yourself that you like best — even when things are messy — then maybe that’s worth paying attention to.”

Y/N glanced over at her, startled.

Ningning shrugged, casual. “I don’t like him, sure. But I’m not the one who looks at him like you do.” She dropped the subject there, starting a new tangent about how the guy at the coffee stall better give her the right creamer this time. Y/n was barely listening, too busy soaking up the advice that Ningning handed her.

When they stepped back into the office, the light had shifted, a warm stripe of sun filtering through the tall windowpanes. Winter was humming softly behind the reception desk, and Heechul was muttering under his breath at a stack of misbehaving scrolls. Y/N didn’t notice any of that — the moment she stepped over the threshold, Haechan looked up from his desk. His eyes found hers immediately, like there had never been a moment where he wasn’t waiting for her to return.

And he smiled — soft and unguarded, just for her — before turning back to his quill.

Y/N felt her pulse thrum gently in her chest.

She walked slowly back to her seat, Ningning already halfway through reciting the latest gossip of her own love life, although Y/N could barely hear her. That smile was still burned into the backs of her eyes; The one she knew no one else had seen.

And for the first time in days, she wasn’t sure what she wanted more:

To stop thinking about him—

Or to hope he’s truly thinking of her just as much.

—-

The sky above the Ministry of Magic had dipped into a deep, velvety indigo, and the streets buzzed with quiet as the magical city around them prepared for the night. Candles flickered to life inside lamplit sconces. Shopkeepers pulled their curtains shut. Owls dotted the rooftops like soft, feathery shadows.

Y/N sat alone on the edge of a worn stone bench just outside the Ministry’s east entrance, her coat draped around her shoulders and her hands limp in her lap. The world moved without her, slow and golden, but she felt as though she was underwater. Her eyes were rimmed pink. Her lips tugged downward despite her best efforts.

It had been a long day. Too long. Between a pile of paperwork, a missed quiz in her Magical Applications class, and a friend group slowly unraveling because she couldn’t keep up with every group outing… it all stacked up, heavy and clumsy and cruel.

She hated how familiar this ache was — the quiet kind, the lonely kind. She hated how close it came to feeling like high school again, like the version of herself who was forgotten the second the room grew too loud.

She sniffled once. Then again. Pressed her thumb beneath her eye with the sleeve of her coat. She told herself not to cry. Told herself it wasn’t that serious. That she had grown since then. That she was strong.

Then she cried anyway.

From across the courtyard, Haechan stepped through the Ministry’s grand archway, his tie half-loosened and his bag slung low on his shoulder. He paused mid-step when he saw her — alone, backlit by moonlight, looking so small and so still that something caught in his throat.

He debated for a moment - stopped where he stood and looked back and forth around him. He could walk away; leave her the space she clearly wanted. Merlin knows the last thing she probably needed was to see him.

But then she sniffled, just once. It was soft and quiet; left faster than it came. The sound of it, however, caused Haechan’s feet to move before his mind could catch up.

He approached her slowly, his shoes making barely a sound against the flagstones. “Hey,” he said gently.

Y/N startled, her head whipping up in surprise. She wiped under her eyes quickly, but it was no use — her face was blotchy and tearstained, her lip bitten red. She looked up at him like she was embarrassed to be seen.

“Hi,” she managed, voice watery.

Haechan shifted his weight awkwardly. “Can I sit?”

She nodded, so he did — keeping a respectful space between them, the kind he didn’t want but knew she needed. His hands rested on his thighs, fingers tapping nervously. She was quiet, curled into herself. But something about the way she wasn’t pulling away — something about the fact that she let him be here — made him brave.

Suddenly she let out a, “sorry,” Haechan looked at her in surprise at the sound of how soft her voice was, it reminded him of how quiet she was in highschool - an old version of her that he knew for a fact she tried to move on from. He said nothing, so she continued, “just a little stressed.”

“You don’t have to talk,” he said quickly after a beat, she seemed relieved at this, “But… I’ve got a story, if you want a distraction.”

Y/N glanced sideways at him, her lashes still damp. “A story?”

“Mmhm,” he nodded casually, but she could see something in his eyes that felt akin to nerves. “You remember the Yule Ball?”

She said nothing, but her eyes got slightly wider, just enough that only someone truly looking would notice; Haechan, of course, did. She softly nodded once, indicating for him to keep going.

He drew in a long breath, already embarrassed to be admitting this but too far in now to go back.

“I went with Kim Yunjin. You remember her? Tall, smart, kind of intimidating?” Y/N nodded faintly. Her memory of that night and Kim Yunjin was probably a tad different from his. She remembered sitting at the stairs, watching the two of them heavily making out - the reminder made her sick. She prayed he would shut up about Yunjin, not wanting to hear about the love of her life with another girl while at her lowest.

“I thought I was the man,” Haechan said, shaking his head at himself while chucking under his breath. “Got a date with someone everyone liked. Had a new set of dress robes, hair done, whole thing. We danced, drank too much punch. I was halfway through…convincing…her to sneak upstairs with me when I heard a noise - loud, like a bang. I looked up…” His voice slowed. He looked out at the empty street, a faraway look in his eyes.

“…And I saw you.”

Y/N stared, saying nothing but sitting motionless and wide eyed at the man next to her.

“You were sitting alone on the stairs. I think you were trying to hide, I couldn’t figure out why. You were wearing gold and green, and I remember I liked the way your hair was curled. I liked that it looked like a cloud.”

He was fully turned toward her now, elbows on his knees, gaze earnest.

“You looked like you were part of the magic. Like the castle made you. And for some reason, in that moment, everything stopped. I remember Yunjin was looking at me, but I couldn’t even see her anymore. It was like… you’d stepped in from another world.”

Y/N blinked rapidly, finally breaking from her silence, “You’re exaggerating.”

“I’m not,” he said, too quietly to be joking. “I’d never seen anyone sit so still and look so much like a force of nature. You looked… sad. But not in a way that made me pity you. Just… distant. Untouchable. I felt stupid even looking.”

She swallowed hard. Her fingers were curled into the edge of her coat.

“I remember helping you with like…a purse or something, and wanting to stay with you; learn your name and just…everything about you.” Haechan admitted, “I thought about it, but I didn’t want to be an asshole to Yunjin. I thought about you for weeks after that, though. Looked for you everywhere. I told myself I’d dreamed it - it was honestly a little embarrassing,” He exhaled, laughed under his breath, “it didn’t click until pretty recently that it was you, if you can believe that.

“And now I’m sitting beside you. And you’re nothing like the girl I imagined. You’re smarter. Stronger. Messier, in the best way. You make stupid jokes when you’re tired and keep a stash of fizzing lemon drops in your drawer even though you say you don’t like sugar.”

Y/N’s lip trembled.

“You’re loved, Y/N. I know it doesn’t always feel like it. I know it gets hard to keep up with everything. But people are proud to know you. They’re lucky to. And any friend worth having will wait for you to come back — no matter how long it takes.”

The tears fell all at once — quiet, wracking sobs that she couldn’t even begin to hide. And without thinking, without caring if it made sense or if it changed anything, she reached for him — grabbed the lapels of his coat and pulled herself into his arms like gravity had given up. Haechan caught her without hesitation, prepared immediately like he was waiting his whole life for it.

His hands curled around her back, anchoring her, his head tilted against hers as she cried. She fit against him so perfectly it made his lungs ache. He didn’t speak. He didn’t move. He just held her, fiercely and gently all at once, like she might disappear if he let go.

And in that moment, with her arms around his ribs and her face buried in his chest, all Haechan could think was: please don’t let this be the last time. He didn’t care if it was complicated. He didn’t care that they were still figuring things out. Right now, she was in his arms. And if this was all he got — just this quiet second under the streetlights — he would memorize it forever.

—-

The Ministry atrium had been temporarily transformed.

Soft pink and red streamers floated midair like enchanted ribbons, curling lazily above a collection of cocktail tables dressed in lace. Bewitched roses opened and closed to the beat of a faint jazz spell humming through the walls, and somewhere near the punch table, a pair of second-floor interns were attempting a love charm on a champagne bottle to make it pop on cue. The room smelled like sparkling cider, perfume, and cherry blossoms — and if Y/N squinted, she could almost pretend it wasn’t her workplace.

She hadn’t planned to come. Had told herself it was silly, that she’d rather read. But then Ningning had pulled out her one nice dress robe and demanded she not waste it. Winter had given her a look, too — the one that said you’re young, it’s Valentine’s, stop pretending you don’t care.

And so here she was — in a deep crimson dress that dipped just enough at the collar to make her feel self-conscious, with soft sleeves fluttering at her shoulders like something from a Muggle vintage film. Her hair was pinned back loosely, her lips lightly glossed, her smile gentle. She laughed at something Heechul said, swirling the mocktail in her glass.

Across the room, Haechan couldn’t stop watching her.

She was radiant. Not in a flashy way. Not in a way that stole attention — but in a way that settled beneath the skin, that wrapped itself around his ribs and stayed there, warm and unshakable.

He’d been lingering near the snack table for the better part of twenty minutes now, pretending to be deeply invested in some chocolate-covered strawberries, while in reality his eyes kept finding their way to her. She glowed under candlelight. She glowed always, honestly.

The first notes of a familiar song filtered through the room — echoing from an old record player tucked into the corner.

“Every breath you take… every move you make…”

The lyrics settled over the party like a spell. Something haunting. Something possessive and strange and romantic all at once. Haechan laughed a bit, feeling as though this song perfectly described his life as of late; always watching, always wanting. He couldn’t even deny it was creepy at this point, he’d long since accepted that he’ll never be back to normal, thankfully.

A younger guy — probably from the Spell Drafting department — made his way over to Y/N, all long limbs and too much cologne. Haechan watched him say something. Saw her blink, laugh nervously, then nod before the man took her hand in his and lead her to the dance floor.

It wasn’t anything dramatic — just a slow shuffle, hands politely in place. Her smile was small. The boy said something again, and she tilted her head in response. It looked more awkward than romantic, and still Haechan burned.

He didn’t even want to be this guy. He hated this part of himself — the one that spiraled. The one that imagined what the other guy was saying. The one that couldn’t tear his gaze away from the way her hand rested on someone else’s shoulder.

He clenched his jaw. Looked down into his drink like it might help.

“Planning to light him on fire with your thoughts alone?” came a voice beside him; startling him before he looked at the intrusion.

It was Yuta — standing casually, hands in the pockets of his dark gray slacks, a wine glass balanced perfectly in one hand. He raised a brow.

“I—what? No,” Haechan muttered, taking a sharp sip. “I’m just—watching.”

Yuta hummed. “Exactly. Watching.”

Haechan frowned; He hated that he was that easy to read.

Yuta didn’t look away from the dance floor. “Let me tell you something, kid,” he said, in that mild-mannered voice that always sounded five steps ahead. “I’ve been in this building for seven years. I’ve watched a lot of people fall for each other. It usually goes one of two ways: they say something, or they waste years thinking about saying something.”

Haechan didn’t respond.

“Now,” Yuta continued, “I don’t know what the relationship between the two of you is, and frankly I don’t care. What I do know is that the only times I’ve seen you look truly happy is when she’s looking at you - every other time you still seem content staring at her until she does.”

“We’re just friends,” Haechan started before stopping himself, not wasting his breath when even he doesn’t believe himself.

“Don’t lie to me, I’m your boss. Now, I really like y/n. She’s a hard worker and everyone in the office really likes her too - you, they probably tolerate,” Haechan rolled his eyes, but let his boss continue. “But for some unknown reason, she likes you. She very obviously likes you, and I’m willing to bet she’d much rather be out there dancing with you than Hyunjin from Fines and Sanctions. And yet you’re here, sulking over some other guy touching her waist for ten seconds instead of doing anything about it.”

There was a pause, then Yuta took a sip of his drink and said, “Stop being a pussy.”

Haechan choked. “Excuse me?!”

“You heard me.” Yuta looked smug. “You like her. She likes you. Now go do something about it.”

Haechan was shocked at his bosses reaction. This was the most the two of them had ever even spoken, and it was so scrutinize Haechan’s love life (or lack thereof). He was reeling from the whiplash, but still took the words in - because Yuta was right. How long had the two of them dragged this out? How much longer did Haechan need to get his shit together before he’ll stand up and realize he is genuinely obsessed with this girl, and there’s only one way to get him out of that? Haechan watched her, like usual. He took in her gaze - bored and disinterested. I mean for god sakes, the man had let her yearn after him for 7 years, and now he’s pouting because she danced with someone else? Haechan was tired of this, he wanted to do something about it, finally.

And for once… he didn’t second-guess.

He set down his cup. Straightened his jacket. Ran a hand through his hair - Then he crossed the room.

Y/N didn’t notice him at first — too busy nodding along to whatever her “Hyunjin” was saying, too busy politely pretending to be present. But then she felt it. That shift. That familiar tension in the air — the sense that someone’s gaze was tethered to her.

She glanced over her shoulder.

And there he was — Lee Haechan, hands in his pockets, eyes locked onto hers like the rest of the world didn’t matter.

Her breath caught.

He stopped just a few feet away and nodded to the boy. “Mind if I cut in?”

Hyunjin looked startled and lost, like he didn’t know what to do. Instead, he deferred to Y/n. She blinked — flustered — then nodded before the guy awkwardly stepped aside and melted into the crowd.

It was quiet between them for a beat before Haechan reached one hand towards her figure.

“Dance with me?”

She stared at it, then at him; Her heart thundered. Then she took it.

He pulled her in gently — not too close, but close enough to feel the warmth between them; definitely closer than she was with Hyunjin. His hand settled at her waist. Her fingers curled around his shoulder.

The music pulsed softly as they swayed to the beat, too lost in each other’s presence to care about how well they did.

“You look beautiful,” Haechan said quietly.

Her eyes lifted to his. “You’re late.”

He smiled — soft and sad and knowing.

“I know, angel,” he said. “I’m trying to be on time now.”

She swallowed, lips trembling just slightly. “Why now?”

He met her gaze head-on. “Because I couldn’t stand watching someone else hold you. Because I should’ve said this months ago, and I didn’t. Because I’m scared—really scared—but I’m more scared of never trying.”

Y/N didn’t answer right away.

Instead, she rested her head gently against his shoulder. Let herself breathe in the scent of him — cedar and coffee and something warm she couldn’t name for sure, but she thinks it might be honey.

And as they swayed beneath floating roses and flickering candlelight, Haechan closed his eyes. For the first time in months, he didn’t feel like he was chasing something already gone - He felt like she was right here.

They had danced for three songs.

Three whole songs where Haechan’s hands rested on the small of her back like he was afraid she might disappear if he let go, where her arms stayed wrapped gently around his shoulders, thumbs brushing the soft wool of his sweater. They barely spoke. They didn’t have to. The music did it for them. The way they swayed, the way they leaned into each other like gravity had chosen them as twin moons — it was a conversation all its own.

But it couldn’t last forever.

Not when there were things unsaid.

Not when her heart was beating so loud in her chest that she could barely hear the music anymore.

“Y/N,” he murmured, his voice low and close and wrecked. “Look at me.”

She did. Slowly.

Their foreheads were nearly touching. Her eyes were wide, glassy. His lips parted like he wanted to say more, but didn’t know how. Everything in her was shaking — every bone, every nerve, every memory of him that had built up like sediment over years of longing.

And then he leaned in - And she turned away.

It wasn’t dramatic. Just a simple turn of her head. But it felt like the room spun sideways, like the floor dropped.

Haechan blinked. “What—?”

She stepped back. “I can’t do this.”

His chest tightened. “Why not?”

“Because it’s too much.” Her voice cracked. “Because I’ve wanted this for so long that it hurts. Because I don’t know if you mean it. Because every time I think you do, you pull away.”

“I’m not pulling away,” he said, stepping toward her again, desperate. “I’m here.”

She shook her head. “Then why does it feel like you’re always just out of reach?”

She turned and walked out, her shoes clicking too fast, her shoulders trembling.

He followed her without thinking.

—-

She was standing outside their office floor again, leaning against the wall just past the lifts, arms wrapped around herself like armor. She was crying quietly. Not sobbing — not yet — but she was close.

And Haechan saw it and broke.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just walked over, slow and careful, like approaching a wild animal that might run if he moved too fast.

When he finally stood in front of her, he looked like hell. His hands were shaking. His eyes were already red.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he said, voice raw. “I’ve never done this before.”

Y/N’s lips parted. “Done what?”

“Love someone.” His voice cracked. “Be this… undone by someone. I don’t know how to act around you. I don’t know how to breathe when I’m in a room with you and you’re not mine.”

He laughed bitterly through a tear. “God, you have no idea, do you? How much I think about you? How many nights I’ve stayed up just wishing I could go back — go back to Hogwarts, to the Yule Ball, to every moment I didn’t notice you — and just… fix it. See you.”

She stared at him, silent and stunned — and Haechan stepped closer.

“I’ve tried to forget you,” he admitted, voice shaking. “Tried to pretend you didn’t live in my head every second of every day. That your voice didn’t echo every time I read something clever. That your smile didn’t ruin every other girl’s for me. But it didn’t work. It never worked.”

Y/N covered her mouth with one hand, trying to contain the sob building in her throat.

“I love you,” he said, finally. Fully. Tears slipping down his cheeks now. “I love you so much it scares me. I love you so much that I ruin myself pretending I don’t. And if you don’t feel the same, if you never do, that’s fine — I’ll live. I’ll move on. I’ll— I’ll do anything. But please, please just tell me. Tell me if there’s no chance. Because I can’t keep living like this, like I’m one kiss away from the rest of my life and I’ll never get to have it.” He barely choked the end out, getting caught in his own emotions.

The silence after that was heavy. Crushed and sacred. It lasted for a good beat before it was y/n that decided to break it.

She surged forward and kissed him like she was made of fire. It wasn’t a gentle kiss. It wasn’t soft or quiet. It was chaos and stars and every last dam breaking all at once. Her hands clutched his face, his arms wrapped tightly around her waist, and they kissed like the world had been holding its breath for years just to watch this happen.

Sparks didn’t just fly — they exploded.

He kissed her like he’d spent years in the dark and just found his way home.

And she kissed him like she’d been waiting a lifetime.

They didn’t break apart for a long time.

When they finally did, their foreheads touched, their breaths uneven, their cheeks damp with tears.

“I love you too,” she whispered. “I’ve always loved you.”

He let out a breath that sounded like a laugh and a sob all at once, pulling her in again and pressing his lips to her forehead like he could anchor himself there.

“I’m sorry it took me so long,” he murmured.

“Just promise it won’t take that long next time,” she whispered.

He smiled through his tears. “I swear.”

And in the dim light of the empty office, with the whole world asleep around them, two hearts finally found their rhythm — after all the years of missing each other by inches.

—-

The invitation had said “casual get-together,” but the nervous energy buzzing in Haechan’s apartment told a different story.

Y/N sat beside him on the couch, their fingers laced together under the blanket they shared, hearts pulsing with synchronized anticipation. They were surrounded now - the council was open for judgment. Jeno sat cross-legged on the floor near the coffee table, laughing at something Yangyang had just muttered under his breath. Mark and Karina were deep in conversation near the snack spread, somehow already bonding over a mutual love of obscure wizarding documentaries. Renjun was animatedly trying to explain a new spell to Giselle, who kept asking the wrong questions just to mess with him. Xiaojun had taken over DJ duties, his laughter filling the space with something light and easy.

The two friend groups weren’t close - not yet - but they were getting there. That much was clear in the effortless way conversation flowed, the laughter that bounced off the walls, the natural orbit they all seemed to fall into around one another.

Still, Y/N could feel Haechan’s nerves thrumming in his hand. She glanced at him, gave his fingers a squeeze, and he exhaled slowly.

“I think now’s the time,” he murmured, leaning closer.

She nodded. “Let’s do it.”

Haechan cleared his throat, tugging at the collar of his soft cream sweater. “Okay, uh—sorry to interrupt the chaos—”

“Oh no, whatever will we do,” mark bit back sarcastically - haechan was too nervous to fight back, but made a mental note to slap him for it later. Everyone chuckled, quieting just enough to hear him out.

“So… Y/N and I have something we want to tell you,” Haechan continued, and though he kept his tone casual, Y/N could feel the way his thumb nervously swept along the back of her hand. “Well uhhh, we uhm….well I know it’s sudden but it kinda just happened and uh…”

Y/N bit her lip, trying not to laugh at her boyfriend’s clear discomfort. She wondered how she could ever think this loser was too cool, but the truth is it didn’t matter. Regardless of who he was, the look of love in her eyes would still be there. She looked around as he spoke, her eyes flicking across the faces in the room before settling on his, “We’re together,” she said softly, her smile blooming. “We’re dating.”

Silence.

For a beat too long, the room went quiet—stunned, but not cold. Just suspended.

Then—

“Oh my god,” Yangyang breathed, clutching at his chest dramatically. “Does this mean we’re all gonna be hanging out more? It’s like the merging of the friend groups.”

And what followed can only be described as absolute chaos.

Giselle gasped, leaping forward. “I KNEW something was happening during that Ministry internship! There’s no way the two of you could have been stuck in an office together and NOT have something!”

Jeno threw a pillow across the room, watching successfully as it hit Haechan square in the chest and dropped to the floor. “Dude, why didn’t you tell me sooner? I would’ve taken bets.”

Karina, stunned, blinked once before grinning wide. “Wait, wait, wait. Haechan finally grew a pair and asked you out? You two were seriously acting like a romance novel.”

Renjun, for once, just leaned back in his seat, arms crossed and a smirk pulling at his lips. “I’m happy for you, man. I am. But if you hurt her…” He tilted his head slowly. “I will make you disappear.”

Xiaojun, from across the room, raised his glass. “And I’ll help.”

Everyone burst out laughing, but Haechan simply grinned, eyes crinkling as he held up a hand in surrender. “Fair enough. I’d deserve it.”

Y/N was glowing. She felt it—warm and golden and real. Watching her friends laugh with his, seeing their worlds blend together like two streams finally merging—it felt like everything was aligning, like she’d stepped into the right chapter at last.

A little while later, after the conversations had splintered off into smaller pockets, Y/N slipped away toward the bathroom, needing a moment to breathe through all the joy pressing at her chest. She barely made it down the hall before Haechan appeared behind her, surprising her by wrapping his arms around her waist and spinning her around.

“You following me?” she teased, spinning on her heel and wrapping her arms around his neck.

He shrugged, eyes soft and full of love. “You looked too pretty not to.”

She rolled her eyes harmlessly, stepping out of his grasp and into the small hallway nook, before tugging him with her by the collar of his sweater. “They’re getting along,” she whispered like it was a secret.

“I know,” Haechan whispered back, enjoying being this close to her and feeling her arms on his chest. “Jeno and Xiaojun just agreed to hang out without us. I don’t know whether to be proud or scared.”

Y/N laughed, her shoulders relaxing as she leaned into him.

“I can’t believe it,” she said. “I can’t believe this is real.”

He cupped her cheek gently, voice hushed and sincere. “It’s real. All of it. You and me and this—whatever it is. Whatever it becomes.”

She kissed him softly, a kiss full of promise, of magic. The kind that didn’t need fireworks or grand declarations because the sparks were already there, humming between them like a current they had finally stopped running from.

When they pulled apart, forehead to forehead, Y/N smiled. “I think we’re gonna be okay.”

Haechan grinned. “We’re gonna be better than okay.”

And in the warmth of the hallway, surrounded by laughter, music, and the beginnings of something bright, they believed it.

[taeeflwrr]

i think the moon would like you

[taeeflwrr]

i have so many thoughts.... shall i spill them all?

he steps in front of you like it’s instinct. shoulders squared. voice cool, but laced with venom, “say that again,” he says.

he shrugs like it was nothing, like it was completely normal to threaten someone on your behalf, “no one gets to talk to you like that.”

this was so hot and possessive and protective of him honestly so boyfie i loved it

he chuckles, low and lethal, before lifting the torn fabric to his nose and breathing you in like he needed to live.

“and you smell so fucking sweet,” he murmurs, voice dark with need. then, without hesitation, he tucks your panties in his pocket and sinks to his knees like he was praying at an altar, his mouth finding you fast and filthy.

this was absolutely filthy i really wasn't expecting such freakiness. but it is a haechan fic and i am a haechan stan so 😝🤤💦

but i really liked the like worshipping reverence down bad kinda side of him really did it for me

“still hate me?” he asked, licking your taste off his lips.

“you’re a fucking dream,” he growled, “wrecked, ruined, all mine to destroy.”

“you can take it, princess,” he says, voice low and dark. “i know you can. be a good girl and take it,” he grunts, still pushing into you with a force that rolls the tears down your cheeks.

he's just so cocky and full of himself and that's sooo hot hehe especially because he's quite dominating and possessive 😵‍💫

haechan scans the room, it was their busiest party of the year. the most chaotic, most fun, most prepared party he and the boys ever have to plan. and now the dream house is packed with costumes, glitter, smoke, chaos. he’s dressed as some version of a vampire, sexy but not too much, his funny, charming side taking over.

ahem....

“and you scare me too much,” he says, barely louder than a whisper but your heart still races and you’re not too sure if it’s the adrenaline or if it’s him — the crew surrounds you, someone finally arrives with ice and a first-aid kit. mr. doyoung is talking a mile a minute about liability and structural integrity and someone offers to help carry you to the nurse’s office but you wave them off.

“you scared the hell out of me,” he blurts, like the words have been clawing their way up his throat all afternoon.

idk i just love him down bad and pathetic and open about it

“i’ve been trying to figure it out for years,” he says, voice fraying, “what i did. why you started treating me like i was nothing. why you iced me out like i didn’t matter. like i never did.”

you lift your gaze, slow and deliberate and it hits him. not like a punch, but like a car crash. like every part of him is thrown forward, lungs emptied, heart shattered. there’s a grief in your expression he’s never seen before. not even on stage. this is real. too real.

the emotions were sooo real and raw with this part it was so palpable the writing was so amazing you could really visualize and feel it

“IRREPLACEABLE”

pairing: enemy! hyuck x ex bff! reader | genre:rom-com | words: 29k

synopsis -> lee haechan, theatre major, absolutely hated your guts. you felt the same exact way. the only girl in this whole university that hasn’t fallen for the most popular fuckboy’s charms. which is why it sucks that you have both landed the main roles in the theater’s upcoming play, romeo and juliet. what was that saying about love and hate being a thin line?

warnings -> i lost count of how many times i used the word hate and all it’s synonyms, pet name unlocked: princess, so much arguing, both of them have major communication issues!, so many side characters i hope you know all of them, too many musical references +18, crude humor, language, mentions of: parties, alcohol, reader gets drugged, drunk calling, so much smut i kinda got carried away! thigh riding, slight exhibitionism, very rough sex, hyuck is a dom bottom who lovesss boobies, dry-humping, use of whore and slut, choking, slapping, oral (m+f), fingering, car sex, dirty dirty dirty talk!

an -> the fourth installment of the loverboy series is yours! i’m gonna be honest, i’ve never gotten through romeo and juliet without falling asleep. i did force myself to watch the movie just for this though! and i took a nap in the middle lol. disclaimer! i know nothing about the theater world, i just like musicals! important things to note: 1) haechan is the most popular fuckboy - everyone loves him, he’s charming and funny and he’s not afraid to hurt anyone’s feelings if he needs to 2) all three couples jaemin x angel; jeno x bunny; and mark x kitten are all happily together! have fun reading! - with love, c.

“you’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you mutter under your breath, the words bitter on your tongue. behind you, the hallway erupts with cheers, laughter, congratulations, celebration of their dream roles. you should be one of them. be as elated, as ecstatic, jump around and cheer for landing the role of one of the two protagonists.

but all you could focus on was the name above yours.

your stomach twists, fists clench at your sides. the letters blur for a second and you blink rapidly, as if reading it again will somehow make it go away. you don’t have to turn around to feel him – that distinct, arrogant presence that always makes your skin crawl. the air arounds you tightens, turns electric, suffocating as he steps up beside you, your shoulders instinctively stiffening like your body was preparing for war.

haechan doesn’t say a word first, just reading the cast list you’ve been cursing at for the past fifteen seconds.

romeo - lee, donghyuck

juliet - yln, yfn

tybalt - kim, sunwoo / mercutio - dejun, xiao / benvolio - choi, yeonjun / friar laurence - choi, jongho / count paris - choi, soobin / montague - seo, changbin / capulet - jung, wooyoung / gloria capulet - huh, yunjin / juliet’s nurse - yi zhou, ning /balthasar - yoon, sanha

then he scoffs, “what the hell?,” he hissed venomously, before ripping the sheet off the bulletin board, crinkling the edge between his fingers like it personally offended him.

“hey–!,” you snap, breaking from your stunned silence, spinning on your heel to follow him as he storms across the hall like a live grenade looking for somewhere to detonate.

“mr. doyoung!,” his voice cracks through the hallway like a thunderclap, “this has got to be a mistake!”

there it is. that infuriating, entitled tone, like the spoiled, arrogant bastard he’s always been. always louder. always assuming the world should rearrange itself around him. you roll your eyes so hard it hurts, but for the first time in a long time, you actually agree.

“yeah, there’s no way, in hell, you can make me act opposite of him,” you bite out, folding your arms tightly across your chest as you come to a halt beside him. your voice is sharp, clipped, every word aimed to kill as the two of you glare at each other like two predators forced into a cage.

his eyes glint with the same smug cruelty he’s weaponized against you, “then drop the part,” he sneers, that damned smirk playing at the corner of his mouth, “save us all the agony.”

you scoff, “if anyone’s dropping out, it should be you.” you step closer, close enough to feel the anger radiating off of him. your noses are inches apart, breaths sharp, shallow, matching like clashing rhythms.

his eyes narrow, “not in a million years, princess,” he spits. the nickname laced with the kind of condescension that makes your blood boil — the same nickname he gave you when you first met in freshman year of high school. it used to hold playfulness until junior year when he used it to spite you, calling you a spoiled, whiny brat in front of all your classmates.

“i. hate. you.” you hiss, slow and deliberate, as if saying it any softer wouldn’t do your fury justice.

“not as much as i. hate. you,” he fires back instantly as if he’s been waiting to say it.

and you know you both mean it. every syllable.

the silence between you is razor-sharp, about to break into something neither of you will be able to take back until mr. doyoung finally claps his hands together, far too enthusiastically.

“ahhh, exactly the kind of fire i’d expect from my two star crossed lovers,” he beams, though there’s a flicker of panic behind his eyes for the future of his play, “so much...raw emotion, i’m sure you’ll channel it beautifully!,” he smiles that bunny-like smile. you both turn to glare at him.

mr. doyoung’s smile falters, “orrr maybe i’ll add a few extra rehearsals. just in case.”

you want to scream. you want to throw the script in his face. you want the ground to open up and swallow him whole. transport him somewhere far away from you where you would never have to see him again. instead, you glare at him and know this is going to be war.

ཐིཋྀ the first week of rehearsals

the rehearsal room smells like dust and desperation. the air is heavy, slow, stale and every time the fan completes it’s rotation, it just blow more disappointment into your face.

but none of it compares to the static crackling between you and him.

“i’m not doing that,” you snap, backing away from haechan like his presence is physically repulsive, “if he touches me like that again, i swear to god, i’m walking out.” there’s something about the way haechan put his hand on your waist, not even hard, not even long, that makes your whole body go tight, defensive.

“jesus christ,” haechan groans, dramatically running a hand through his already disheveled hair as he paces like a caged animal, like the floor can somehow absorb his frustration, “it’s called blocking and i’m supposed to stand there. it’s the scene. what are you? an amateur.”

the both of you hate each other but you both knew you were far from amateurs. especially in the theatre world. you were always part of the main ensemble, so was he. it’s almost ironic how you never saw it coming…that one day you would land a role opposite his.

you glare daggers, “it’s called basic respect for personal space, not an invitation to grope me,” you shoot back, matching his volume now, hands on your hips, “and you didn’t follow the mark. you were supposed to take one step forward, not three and a half and a hand on my waist.”

“that’s literally where romeo touches juliet. in the script,” he grits out, teeth clenching, “ever heard of it?,” his eyes flash, jaw tight.

“i’ve read it,” you snap, voice rising in heat, “i just don’t think shakespeare imagined romeo groping juliet like a frat boy.”

“groping?,” he repeats, incredulous, “you’re delusional. talk about overreacting, as if i would ever want to grope you.”

you glare, “at least i can act.” it’s petty. it’s low. but it lands. you see the spark behind his eyes flare into flame.

he barks out a laugh that’s so disbelieving it echoes, “that’s rich coming from you. every time i look at you, you look dead, let me remind you juliet is still alive in this scene.”

“maybe because looking at you makes me want to jump off the balcony and actually end it myself!,” you yell, voice going an octave higher with every word.

you hate him so much. hate the way you act when he’s around. you’re not usually like this. you’re calm, sweet, a walking ray of sunshine. but when he’s around. it’s all a mess.

“okay, ENOUGH!”

mr. doyoung’s voice cuts through the room like a whip, his usual patience obliterated, stepping between the two of you like a human peace treaty, “you are juliet,” he says to you, “-and you are romeo,” he turns to haechan, “i don’t plan on changing any of the cast so if you two don’t find a way to sell the illusion that you’re in love, this entire show is going to be a very expensive dumpster fire.”

neither of you speak. too busy glaring at each other, like eye contact alone might ignite spontaneous combustion. mr. doyoung sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, “let’s just…try the balcony scene again. from the top. no improvising. no suicide jokes. just the lines. please. for the love of theater.”

you both reluctantly take your marks, haechan looks up at you, a few feet above the stage, perched on a rickety prop balcony that feels two screws away from collapsing, wobbling under your feet.

he takes his place below, casting a look up at you that’s less romantic longing and more barely restrained murder. then he begins, voice flat, eyes dead, “but, soft! what light through yonder window breaks? it is the east, and juliet is the sun.”

you blink slowly, unimpressed, “really?,” you call down, loud enough to make mr. doyoung’s eye twitch. “that’s your romeo? he sounds like he’s reading from the terms and conditions page,” you insult.

“i’m projecting,” he says defensively, like the word justifies everything.

“you’re projecting boredom,” you deadpan, “romeo’s in love, not filing a complaint with customer service”

“oh, i’m sorry,” he stays stepping forward with mock enthusiasm, “it’s hard to sound passionate when i’m looking at someone who constantly has a resting bitch face.”

“you’re such a dick!,” you snap from the balcony.

“and you’re nothing but a spoiled brat!”

you both shout over each other. mr. doyoung lets out an almost feral scream and hurls his clipboard across the stage. it hits a chair and ricochets loudly, silencing the room. the rest of the cast sharing multiple side-eyes.

“end of rehearsals!,” he bellows, voice cracking with pure, unfiltered despair. you don’t need to be told twice. you turn on your heel and storm off the left side of the stage without looking back. you don’t need to. you can feel him heading the other way, like magnets forced apart.

and yet, even as you leave the room, you can still feel him…under your skin, buzzing through your veins.

ཐིཋྀ the second week of rehearsals

mr. doyoung looks like he’s aged ten years over the week. his clipboard is cracked down the spine, his coffee has gone cold, and his voice has taken on the strained edge of a man dangling off the brink of a nervous breakdown — there has been absolutely no progress when it comes to his leading actors.

he watches, again, as the scene falls apart. you stand center stage, shoulders stiff, delivering your lines like someone reading a grocery list and haechan was delivering his like a stand-up comedian doing shakespeare for drunks.

“you know what?,” mr. doyoung finally snaps, his voice cracking under the strain of suppressed rage, “i’m done. i’m tired of the two of you wasting everyone’s time.” you and haechan glance at each other with deadpan synchronicity and immediately roll your eyes in perfect unison. the only thing you can do in sync.

“i’m not going to waste one more minute pretending this is salvageable until you two get your shit together,” he pulls a key from his pocket, walks toward the back rehearsal room and without warning, yanks the door open, “get in.”

you hesitate. so does haechan. but mr. doyoung’s eyes blaze with the quiet fury of a man who has nothing left to lose. before either of you can protest, he herds you both into the cramped rehearsal room, walls lined with mismatched props and discarded costumes. he slams the door shut behind you, the sound of the lock clicking echoing through the space like a death sentence.

“you’re going to spend the next hour locked in this room. read the lines, build chemistry. i don’t care how you do it but make sure it works or i swear to god i will cast freshmen in the lead roles and let the whole show burn,” he instructs from the other side, his footsteps retreating down the hall.

mr. doyoung knew the two of you too well, both too proud, too consumed by your own egos and the thrill of performing. you didn’t just want to act, you wanted to outshine, to dominate every scene. all it needed was a little push, to finally get you where he wants.

“great,” you mutter, crossing your arms as you lean against the wall, “trapped in a room with you, it’s just like high school all over again.”

haechan stares at you like he’s seconds away from choosing violence, “believe me princess, i’d rather be stuck in a room filled with plague-infested rats than be here with you.”

“let’s just get this over with so we can get out of here,” you roll your eyes as you both grab your scripts. tension hanging like a thundercloud.

“deny thy father and refuse thy name–,” you start.

“maybe try not sounding like you’re ai,” haechan cuts in, already annoyed, tone drenched in mockery.

your eyes narrow, “this is ridiculous,” you mutter, slapping the script onto a table, “he really thinks chemistry can be forced?”

haechan scoffs, “it’s not chemistry that’s the problem. it’s you.”

you spin toward him, a furrow on your features, “right, because the way you butcher romantic lines make the audience swoon.”

“i’m sorry, have you ever heard yourself say ‘oh romeo, oh romeo’ without sounding like you’re a fucking gps?”

your voice rises, “god, you’re not even trying to act like you’re in love with me!,”

“maybe because the idea makes me want to rip out my own eyeballs,” he snarls, stepping closer.

“you are the most arrogant!,” you take a step closer, voice rising, veins protruding, “most infuriating–”

you don’t see it coming.

one second you’re shouting at each other, chest heaving, veins on fire and the next, his hands are tangled in your hair, mouth crushing yours like a threat – the kiss is messy. too much teeth. zero warning. absolute chaos.

you shove him off, lips bruised and tingling, breath ragged, eyes blown out, “are you fucking insane?!”

haechan looks like a deer caught in headlights, eyes flickering with something wild, shock and hunger all at once, but before he can register what he just did, you grab his shirt and pull him down into another kiss – twice as hard, all tongue and fury and years of pent-up hatred combusting between your teeth.

it’s not romantic. it’s war.

he stumbles back into the worn chair and you follow, climbing into his lap and straddling his thigh like you’re still trying to win. your skirt rides up as your knees settle on either side of his leg. hot, wet core pressing against the thick line of muscle beneath you, haechan’s own gym shorts bunching up on his thigh and for the first time, you’re both quiet. just the obscene sound of mouths and breath and friction echoing throughout the room.

your hips rock forward, slow at first, then harder. a needy, broken sound slips past your lips, making his cock twitch in his shorts.

“god,” he breathes into your jaw, “i would’ve done this years ago if i knew it’d finally shut you up,” his lips trail down your jaw, leaving hot, open mouthed kisses.

“you’re such a cocky piece of shit,” you hiss, panting against his mouth, hips still rocking into his thigh.

“and you’re still a brat,” he growls, gripping your waist like he might lose his mind otherwise, “but fuck–keep doing that.”

“i hate you,” you growl against his lips as you continue to ride his thigh anyway. like the words would justify any of this.

“you’re grinding on me like you don’t,” he says smugly.

“shut up.”

“make me.”

you do. you pull his hair and kiss him again, tongue in his mouth – filthy, hot, tangled. the pressure builds fast, molten and sharp. your tits brush his chest, perky nipples peeking through the thin fabric of your white shirt, his hands hot and demanding on your ass. he whines into your mouth and it’s almost enough to make you lose yourself entirely. you pick up rhythm, shameless and hungry, the movement hitting that perfect, aching spot.

haechan loathes how hot you look right now. on top of him, leaving a wet trail all over his leg, tits bouncing to the rhythm you’ve set. and he hates how his body is betraying him even more. absolutely despises the way all his blood is surging straight to his cock.

your nails dig into his shoulders, clutching him like an anchor as your rhythm stutters, speeding up then slowing down as pleasure starts to overtake logic.

“fuck,” you pant, lips brushing his, breath hot and ragged, “i’m gonna–”

“keep going,” he groans, voice whiny and hoarse, almost broken, “don’t stop, just—fuck—,” both of you lost in the heat and pleasure taking over.

his fingers dig into your hips with bruising intensity, like he’s holding on to the last thread of control. his eyes clamp shut, forehead dropping to your shoulder as his breath stutters, shallow, ragged, desperate. he’s completely still for half a second…then a full-body shiver runs through him.

you feel it. the tension. the collapse. the sudden hitch in his breath against your neck. the way he curses under it, low and broken, “shit.”

you freeze, then pull back just far enough to see his face. his eyes are blown wide, pupils drowning in dark, cheeks flushed with something that looks a lot like shame.

“did you just—” you whisper, half breathless, half cruel, hips slowing into a lazy roll meant only to taunt. you’re grinning now, wicked and disbelieving.

“shut up,” he mutters against your skin, but his voice is wrecked. gone. the edge of humiliation bleeding through.

your eyes drag over the heat in his cheeks, the tension in his jaw, the way he refuses to meet your gaze and a laugh slips out, breathy, stunned, “oh my god. you did.”

he glares at you, face still flushed, every muscle taut like he’s deciding whether to deny it or destroy you for saying it. his pride was fraying, splintering – and then his hands fists in your hair, yanks your mouth back to his, eyes darker now, sharp with something feral as he regains his voice “i didn’t tell you, you could stop,” he growls, voice a low snarl against your lips.

then he takes over — in a blink, haechan’s hands clamp down on your hips, commanding your every grind, gripping like he’s trying not to completely lose it again. his mouth latches on that exposed skin above your breast, hot and unrelenting, teeth scraping, tongue following like he wants to mark you. wants you to hate yourself at the reminder of his lips on your skin.

his thigh flexes beneath you, on purpose this time, pushing up against you with just enough force to make you gasp, completely wiping away that smug he despises.

he hates you. god, he hates you. hates how every little thing you do sets off something in him, a chain reaction he can’t control. every movement, every breathy sound wrecking him in ways he’ll never admit.

“fuck, haechan,” you whine, shutting your eyes in pleasure, forehead pressed to his, “don’t stop.”

his breath catches, you’ve never said his name like that before, so raw, so needy, so desperate. it short-circuits something in him.

“wasn’t planning on it,” he mutters, voice low. he rolls your hips faster and faster, practically bouncing you on his thigh. the chair below you creaks but you barely hear it over your own wrecked breathing.

“you’re such a fucking slut, princess, hating me and getting off on my thigh like this,” he smirks, completely taking over the situation now. the words shouldn’t turn you on more. but they do. your body responds before your brain can catch up, lighting up like a match thrown onto gasoline. you can’t stop. you don’t stop. your fingers claw into his shoulders for balance as you grind down harder, breathy whines slipping in between your heavy breathing, entire body on fire, like every nerve has been rewired to respond to him and only him.

“go on princess,” he taunts, voice low, filthy, infuriating, “use me. i’ll let you,” he mocks like you should be grateful. like this is a gift. like he isn’t the one who came untouched in his shorts.

you hate it. you love it. you hate him.

“say it,” you pant, lips grazing his, breathless and daring.

his eyes are on fire, “say what?”

“that you hate me.”

his mouth curls into that cocky, devastating grin that you want to slap and kiss at the same time. “i hate you so fucking much,” he groans against your lips, swallowing the noise you make like he’s starving for it.

then his hand dives under your skirt, fingers rough and urgent, dragging your panties to the side. you don’t stop moving, continuing to ride his thigh, chasing that high. the press of skin against skin pushes you over the edge. you cry out, not caring if there was a chance mr. doyoung was listening in. the room’s spinning, heat rising like a fever. the tension in your stomach ready to explode.

“god,” you choke, voice cracking, “i’m gonna come on your fucking leg.”

his eyes darken, hands gripping tighter as he bites your earlobe with just enough force to run shivers down your spine, “do it,” he hisses, words like sin against your ear, “paint it.”

then his thumb finds your clit, circling harsh, precise circles. and it’s over. your whole body tenses, hips grinding down, breath catching, head tossed back, lips parted in a soft, stunned moan as pleasure rolls through you like a slow explosion. it seizes you from the inside out, heat blooming behind your eyes, your limbs trembling where you straddle him.

haechan swears under his breath, jaw tight, eyes darkening and locked on you like he’s watching something unholy and holy all at once. you slump against his chest, breathless, spent, your hands still clutching the collar of his shirt like it’s the only thing anchoring you to reality. he doesn’t say anything at first, just holds you there, heartbeat loud and frantic under your palm. his thigh still twitching from the aftermath.

eventually, you pull back enough to look at him. his hair’s a mess. his mouth is swollen. there’s a stunned, reverent look in his eyes that he tries, and fails, to cover with a smirk like he’s not sure what the hell just happened. and you’re sure you look the exact same way.

“well,” you breathe, blinking slowly, “that was…”

“method acting” he says, but his voice is hoarse, “completely professional, shakespeare would be proud.”

you let out a stunned laugh and shove his shoulder, “i still hate you.”

“and i, you” his mouth curves into that smug smile that you swore was glued onto his face.

“this isn’t happening again.” you say it sharp, sure.

“wouldn’t dream of it, princess,” he smirks, cocky and vexing.

ཐིཋྀ the third week of rehearsals

the rehearsal space feels different now. it shouldn’t. the floor is the same scuffed black, taped up with the same blocking marks you argued over last time. mr. doyoung is still barking notes from behind his clipboard, a coffee in one hand and a red pen in the other.

everything is the same. except you. except him.

the space between you used to be poison. now it’s something else. it crackles with something hotter, wilder, like dry air before a thunderstorm. charged and dangerous.

neither of you dares to speak of it. admit it.

you haven’t touched since that rehearsal, not so much as a brush of fingers. you haven’t spoken about what happened but your body hasn’t forgotten. neither has his. every glance feels like it could combust on contact. every time your eyes meet across the room, you feel the memory of his mouth. the way he kissed you mid-scream, like anger was just a mask for hunger. the way your hips rocked against his hard thigh. the way you both hated it, and how much worse it was that you enjoyed it, too.

you’re not proud of it. you try to ignore it. try to act normal. professional. just two enemies pretending to be in love. no big deal. you’re adults. adults can handle unresolved sexual tension and violent mutual resentment…right?

“y/n and haechan,” mr. doyoung’s voice cuts through the static in your head. your eyes snap up, heart thudding against your ribs. you grit your teeth.

the “and” makes your skin crawl. you hate how he says it. your name first. then his. like a pair. a duo. like you belong together.

“let’s run the balcony scene again,” mr. doyoung continues, “and this time, try not to fight.”

you let out a slow, measured breath and glance down at your crumpled script. the words blur for a second before snapping back into focus. you know them already. every line, every pause, every look juliet gives romeo – you practiced it all week.

what you don’t know is how to stand next to haechan without remembering what he sounds like with his breath ragged and your name tangled on his tongue. you almost want to start a fight, just to get out of doing this scene.

your pulse stutters before you even lift your head, because you can feel him. the weight of his stare from across the black box stage. for once, he doesn’t open with some smug quip or insult. he just gives a nod. subtle. almost respectful. almost.

you arch a brow, eyes narrowed, finally looking his way. he doesn’t smile. doesn’t smirk. just murmurs under his breath as he steps into place, “don’t look at me like that,” he says under his breath, “i’m trying not to hate you for five minutes.”

“gee, thanks,” you mutter, stepping into position.

you move to the edge of the mock balcony, script still clutched like a shield. but the words feel heavier now. the scene begins. your voice is steady because it has to. because this is theatre.

“o romeo, o romeo…”

you read the lines. and somehow, a true miracle, you don’t argue. not once. he doesn’t interrupt. you don’t roll your eyes. there are no snarky remarks or insults coming from you or him. the tension is still there but it’s different. sharper. controlled. like both of you have locked it in a cage between your ribs and are desperately pretending it isn’t rattling to get out.

when the scene ends, there’s a pause.

then mr. doyoung claps his hands together, eyes wide, mouth hanging open in shock, “holy hell, that was almost convincing! what the hell did you two do, blood sacrifice? therapy? drugs?”

your mouth opens, but no sound comes out.

how do you tell your theater director that the only reason you and your sworn enemy can tolerate each other on stage is because you both got so angry you rode his thigh until you both came?

you can’t — neither of you answers. you just look at each other, both of your cheeks pink, heartbeat in your ears. you swallow hard as haechan clears his throat awkwardly before hopping off the platform.

but that strange, dangerous something hangs in the air. the same something you both refuse to acknowledge — you feel it every time he walks behind you and your back stiffens instinctively. you feel it when his shoulder brushes yours just a little too closely and you pretend not to notice. you look at his mouth a second too long when speaks. he looks at your legs when you pace the stage and quickly looks away.

neither of you says anything. you’re fine. it’s just a normal rehearsal. nothing happened. nothing is happening.

except it is.

and it becomes extremely evident when you’re packing up and someone from the ensemble cracks the wrong joke at the wrong time. you bend to shove your script into your bag and that’s when it happens.

“hey, princess,” someone snorts. you’ve hated that nickname since high school but hearing it from someone else makes your entire body go rigid, “you should really wear something under that skirt besides that black underwear, especially when you’re on that balcony.”

the entire room doesn’t go silent, no one else seems to be paying attention. but your blood roars too loud in your ears. slowly you turn, eyes narrowed at one of your castmates, sunwoo.

you were ready to fire back, eyes already in flames, mouth locked and loaded with a kill shot but before you can open your mouth, haechan’s already moving.

he steps in front of you like it’s instinct. shoulders squared. voice cool, but laced with venom, “say that again,” he says.

sunwoo blinks, caught off guard. haechan was always the first to rag on you, the first to poke until you snapped. he wasn’t supposed to be the one stepping in.

“relax, romeo,” the boy scoffs, “it was a joke–”

“no, go ahead,” haechan interrupts, his voice icy and his smile even colder, “say it louder. maybe you’ll get downgraded to the role of annoying extra who gets their teeth kicked in.”

the threat is quiet. clean. almost polite. but it lands like a fist. sunwoo stares for a second too long, then backs off with a bitter chuckle, “whatever you say, romeo,” he retreats towards the exit.

you’re left staring at haechan, confusion flickering all over your features, “what the hell was that?,” you demand.

he shrugs like it was nothing, like it was completely normal to threaten someone on your behalf, “no one gets to talk to you like that.”

your brows furrow, more confused than ever, “you talk to me like that.”

“exactly,” he says, looking you dead in the eyes, “that’s my job.”

there’s a pause. your heartbeat kicks up. you hate him. you want him. you hate that you want him. and he’s looking at you like he knows every thought you’re having—and is thinking the exact same thing.

you scoff and shove past him, muttering, “asshole.”

his voice follows behind you, low and maddening and far too close, “don’t pretend you didn’t like it.”

you whip your head over your shoulder, cheeks burning, “excuse me?”

“you heard me.”

the dressing room hallway is dim and too quiet now, everyone else has already left. you stop just short of the bathroom door, hearing his footsteps closing the space behind like a slow hung. you don’t look at him. you can’t. not when your skin is already betraying you with how hot it feels.

you shove the door open. he’s right behind you.

it shuts behind you with a sharp click. neither of you speaks. not for a beat. not for two. then you both move at the same time. instinct, gravity, need. whatever the hell it is.

it’s not a kiss. not right away. it’s a clash of bodies, of mouths, of breaths and need and denial imploding all at once. your back slams into the wall, his hand protectively behind your head as yours curls around his neck. you’re both too close and not close enough. teeth graze lips. fingers tangled in fabric.

“you’re so fucking annoying,” you whisper, jaw clenched, forehead pressed to his.

“yeah?,” he breathes, voice rough. his grip tightens on your waist, grinding you against the hard line of him through his jeans, “well, you’re cute and it’s pissing me off.”

“tell me you hate me,” you snarl, like saying it might make this feel less like surrender.

“i do,” he growled, voice thick with fury and something worse, something hungrier. his fingers were already sliding beneath your skirt, knuckles brushing your thigh and your body can’t help but react, arching into his touch, “so much, i can’t think straight” he spits, right before he tore your panties clean in half with a sound that echoes in the tiny room.

“what the fuck is wrong with you?!,” you shoved at his chest, just enough to prove you could. just enough to pretend you didn’t want this. enough to pretend your pride was still intact. like the heat slicking between your legs didn’t mean a damn thing. he was so goddamn hot. so infuriatingly, sinfully hot.

“you’re such a fucking whore,” he snapped, eyes burning into yours, “you knew we were rehearsing the balcony scene and you only wore this underneath,” he holds up the torn fabric like evidence, his smirk pure sin, “you did this for me, didn’t you, princess? wanted my attention that badly, huh?” his voice dripped venom, but his pupils were blown wide, starved.

“you wish,” you shot back, lifting your chin, daring him.

he chuckles, low and lethal, before lifting the torn fabric to his nose and breathing you in like he needed to live.

“you’re sick in the head.”

“and you smell so fucking sweet,” he murmurs, voice dark with need. then, without hesitation, he tucks your panties in his pocket and sinks to his knees like he was praying at an altar, his mouth finding you fast and filthy.

“fuck-” your head tipped back as your fingers clawed for purchase on the edge of the sink next to you, the other tangled tight in his hair, anchoring yourself to the madness he dragged you into.

he groaned into you like he was starved, tongue moving with filthy precision, like he’d mapped you out in a dream and now he was just following directions. you tried to keep quiet, tried to bite your lip, swallow your noises, not wanting to give him any gratification, but when he sucked on your clit like he wanted to ruin you, a sob tore from your throat.

“couldn’t stop thinking about your moans,” he rasps between licks, voice wrecked.

“shut the fuck up,” your hips bucked against his mouth before you could stop yourself.

he laughs into your cunt, the vibration sending lightning up your spine as he licked into you harder, tongue fucking in and out of your entrance. you tug his hair so hard he groans again and you hated how much that sound made you clench.

this is insane. this is toxic. this is absolutely the best head of your life.

“i’m gonna, fuck, if you don’t stop, i’m gonna come,” your panting now, legs shaking. the only thing holding you upright is his grip on your hips.

“good,” he growled, dragging you down further onto his tongue, “fall apart for me, princess.”

the nickname sounded hotter, echoing in your mind, pushing you to your limit as your legs trembled, thighs clamping around his head and then you’re unraveling – moaning, shaking, coming hard on his tongue.

he moaned into your slick, like your orgasm was his reward. like he was addicted to it. your nails scraped down the porcelain sink, the high-pitched whimper that left your throat is so humiliating, so raw, it almost didn’t sound like you.

when you finally loosened your grip on his hair, he pulled back with a wet, obscene sound, mouth glistening.

“still hate me?” he asked, licking your taste off his lips.

you're trembling, panting, mind spinning and completely undone,“more than ever.”

“good,” he said, standing to his full height. his hand curled around your jaw, thumb pressing hard against your bottom lip until it parted, “then you won’t mind if i choke you with my cock.”

you didn’t answer, but your lips stayed open. and that was all the consent he needed. with one hand, he undid his belt, the clink of metal sharp in the silence.

“on your knees,” he ordered, voice dark, deadly. you roll your eyes before you can stop yourself and the defiance crawls under his skin like static. you were so fucking irritating so he grabbed a fistful of your hair and made you, forcing you down until you were kneeling in front of him on the grimy bathroom floor.

face mere inches away from his cock – thick and heavy in his hand, already leaking for you.

“you’re gonna pretend you don’t want this too?” he asked, stroking himself slowly, deliberately, right in front of your mouth.

you hated him. you hated how beautiful his cock was. you hated how your mouth watered.

“fuck you,” you whispered.

“you wish,” he sneered, “now open that pretty, lying mouth, princess,” he slapped his cock lightly against your lips. and you hated how fast you obeyed.

he slid in with a deep groan, slow at first, savoring the heat of your tongue, the way your lips closed tight around him like you were starved for it. his fingers twisted in your hair, guiding your pace, slow, then faster, then rougher, like he was punishing you for every fight you’d ever started.

“look at you,” he snarled, hips snapping forward, “on your knees sucking my cock like it’s all you’ve ever fucking wanted.”

you moaned around him, which only made him twitch harder. he started fucking into your throat with a filthy rhythm, panting, groaning, praising and cursing under his breath.

“take it. come on, princess,” he growled, pushing in impossibly deeper, it felt like you were swallowing him, “-that’s it, fuuuck, just like that.””

your eyes watered, mascara smeared, spit pooling at the corners of your mouth as you gagged and gasped around him. your hands clutched his thighs, not sure anymore if you were pushing him away or pulling him deeper. he looked down at you with a snarl twisted into something almost reverent.

“you’re a fucking dream,” he growled, “wrecked, ruined, all mine to destroy.”

you wanted to slap him. you wanted to make him come so hard he saw stars — so you sucked harder.

his grip tightened in your hair, knuckles white, cock throbbing against your tongue as your head bobbed faster and faster, taking him deeper each time. your jaw ached, throat burned, eyes ruined, spit smeared your chin but you couldn’t stop. not when he was unraveling like that above you. not when his control, his cocky, unbearable composure, was finally cracking.

“fuuuck, y/n,” he groaned, hips stuttering, “y-you’re so fucking good,” he praises, letting out a guttural noise, halfway between a growl and a whimper, and you realized with vicious satisfaction that he was close. desperate. needy. whining like his life depended on it.

you looked up, tongue swirling, and the second your teary, ruined eyes met his, he broke.

“shit, f-fuck,” he slammed deep one last time, cock pulsing against the back of your throat as he came, hard and hot, filling your mouth like he’d been holding it back for days. his whole body shuddered. he cursed again, holding you there, breath ragged, chest heaving like he’d just climbed out of hell.

you swallowed every drop without breaking eye contact. then slowly, so slowly, pulled off him with a slick pop, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand like it was nothing. his eyes were still half-wild when he looked at you, dilated, glassy, like he wasn’t fully back in his body yet.

and yours? flat. cool. detached. or at least trying to be. trying to pick up the pride you let fall. trying to regain the control you easily handed over to him.

you stood, straightened your skirt, ignored the way your knees trembled a little and the way your legs threatened to give out. across from you, he tucked himself back into his pants in silence, hands shaking just slightly as he buckled his belt, your ruined panties peeking from his back pocket.

for a beat, the bathroom was silent, except for your shared breaths and the buzzing of fluorescent lights. then, like flipping a switch, you caught your reflection, instantly reminded of who you were, where you were, who you were with and what you just did. you hate him even more.

you patted your hair back into place, calmly pulling yourself back together and fixing your flushed lips and smeared mascara.

“no one finds out about this,” you said, tone flat, dismissive, like he hadn’t just unraveled inside your mouth.

“please,” he scoffed, lip curling, “i’d rather die than have people know i let your mouth anywhere near my cock.”

your gaze sharpened, but you didn’t flinch, “good,” you muttered, already moving toward the door, head high, ignoring how the air kissed your bare core with every step.

“wait,” his voice halts your movement, before you turn towards him, eyes already sharp, ready to cut.

“what now?,” you snap back. he didn’t answer at first, just shrugged off his jacket. takes three swift steps and he was in front of you, tying it low around your waist with the kind of ease that made your breath hitched.

“your ass bounces with every step, princess,” he said, lips brushing your ear.

you opened your mouth to respond but then he reached into his back pocket, pulled out your torn panties, and with a cocky smirk, stuffed them into his bag, “and this way, we’re even.”

for once, you had no words. you just pushed the door open and walked out. no thanks, no glances back, no trace of the filthy thing you’d just done. you moved through the hallway like your throat hadn’t just been fucked raw. like your pussy wasn’t still throbbing.

and a few seconds later, he followed, jaw tight, eyes dark, body calm, as if nothing had happened. as if he wasn’t still tasting you on the tip of his tongue. as if he wasn’t replaying the sound of your moans in his head.

as if the both of you hadn’t tasted your sworn enemy… and liked it.

ཐིཋྀ the fourth week of rehearsals

the script lay forgotten between you, crumpled in his sheets, its margins scribbled with notes and crossed-out lines. you’d barely made it halfway through act ii before the space on his mattress started feeling too tight. too hot.

you were supposed to be practicing. you were supposed to be fixing what you both ruined in week one. all the wasted rehearsals you spent glaring each other down, aiming snarky remarks instead of script lines.

instead, you were staring at the curve of his throat as he leaned back on his elbows, lips parted, legs spread just wide enough to make you clench. to make you remember how his leg felt between your thighs. and he was staring at you with that same dazed and cocky look. the one full of invitation, almost challenging you to do something about it. the one that says i know you want me too.

“focus,” you snapped, even though your voice sounded thin and you’re not sure whether the word is directed towards him or yourself, your hold tightened around the script like it could stop your traitorous hand from reaching out and doing something that’ll completely crush your ego.

“i am focused,” he murmured, dragging his gaze down over your bare legs, over your thighs, and resting, boldly, in the space between them. you could feel it, the phantom heat of his stare on your skin.

you snapped your fingers, “eyes up here, romeo,” you crossed your arms, “we promised mr. doyoung we’d take this seriously.”

haechan raised a brow, amused, “we’ve been taking it seriously for two weeks, look at us, i literally let you in my room just to rehearse.”

you narrow your eyes at him, “you say that like being in here is a reward.”

he smirks, “c’mon princess, let’s not lie, a million girls would kill to be in your spot right now,” a cocky grin on his face. you wanted to wipe it off. slap it away. kiss it away. you’re not too sure at this point.

“what? sitting on these bed sheets that you haven’t changed in weeks? the smell of axe body spray attacking their nostrils?,” you roll your eyes.

“i change those every week and i don’t even use axe, you must be smelling yourself,” he rolls his eyes.

“please, if i reeked of desperation and cheap cologne, i’d be you,” you shoot back, chin lifted, proud of the way his smirk faltered for half a second. you’ll never admit the way you secretly enjoy the smell of his cologne, the way it intoxicates you like a potion pulling you under a spell.

he sits up a little straighter, elbows propped on his knees now, eyes glinting with an infuriating mix of challenge and amusement. “desperation?,” he echoes, voice low, “princess, if anyone here’s desperate, it’s you. you’ve been eye-fucking me since you got here.”

your breath catches, partly from the audacity, partly because he’s not entirely wrong. but you recover fast, “please,” you scoff, “you’re the one looking at me like i’m your last meal.”

haechan laughs, head tilted back. he taps his fingers against his knee, a thoughtful little rhythm that drives you insane before leaning in again, “okay, fine. you wanna be serious? let’s be serious.”

you raise a brow, “that’d be a first for you.”

“let’s fuck.”

your brain blanks. for a second, it doesn’t even register, “what?!”

“lets just do it. get it out of our systems,” he says casually, like what he suggested wasn’t completely, absolutely, batshit crazy. “all this tension? it’s messing with rehearsals. so let’s just…,” he gestures vaguely between you, “rip the bandaid off. hate-fuck it out.”

you blink, trying to process his words. this had to be a joke. a dare. a trap, “you’re suggesting we sleep together for the sake of the theater department.”

“i’m suggesting we do everyone a favor and stop letting whatever this is,” he gestures again, less vaguely this time, at the very obvious, very mutual heat between you, “sabotage our performances. one time. no repeats. no weirdness.”

“oh there’ll be weirdness,” you mutter, folding your arms, your heart pounding in your throat.

“not if we’re adults about it,” he grins. that infuriating, boyish, charming grin, “can you be an adult, princess?”

you laugh, incredulous, “you? be an adult?, you still giggle when someone says ‘enter from the rear’ in stage directions.”

“okay, first of all, i see you laughing too,” he points a finger at you, that same stupid smirk still glued to his face, “second of all, im serious. we fuck and then we go back to being bitter enemies who can’t stand the sight of each other. clean slate.”

you stare at him, heart thudding, thoughts spiraling. it’s a terrible idea. the worst idea he’s ever had. but what’s even worse is the fact that you’re actually considering it.

“and what if you realize im the best fuck you’ve ever had and start following me around like a lovesick puppy?,” you quip a brow, a teasing smile on your face.

he barks out a laugh, cocky and careless, “never gonna happen, princess,” he says, leaning in so close you can feel the heat of his body radiating, “you’re not that good.”

you raise a brow, “that’s rich coming from someone who came untouched.” his expression darkens instantly, smirk faltering, the memory clearly still a bruise to his pride. you take this time to garner control and with no warning, you lunged — kissing him hard, desperate, sharp, messy. your teeth caught on his lip. you kiss him like he’s your last cigarette, like he’s something you have to burn through just to breathe.

he responds immediately, groaning into your mouth, hands flying to your waist, pulling you onto his lap, like he needed to leave fingerprints there.

you straddle him, fumbling with his shirt, dragging it up and over his head and shoving him backward until his back hits the bed with a grunt, “still think this is a good idea?,” you breathe, throwing your shirt over your head, leaving you in a lacy brown bra that makes his cock twitch in his shorts.

he props himself on his elbows, gaze dark and fixed on you as you strip, “no,” he says, eyes raking over your body like a challenge, “i think it’s the best idea i’ve ever had.”

your signature skirt rides up as you grind down against his hard bulge, enough to make him hiss.

“i still hate you,” you murmur, needing to remind yourself every single time.

“good,” he growls, thumbs digging into your waist, “say it again when i’m inside you.”

his voice grates in your ear. so smug. so loud. you slap him before you can think. not too hard, just enough to make his jaw twitch. he stares at you, stunned for half a second and then he smirks again, “god, you’re such a fucking brat.”

you slap him again, slower this time, deliberately, and he groans like everything about this turns him on. “you like that?,” you whisper, grinding harder now, testing him. he doesn’t answer, he refuses to give you any words of satisfaction.

instead his hand slide up your back, unhooking your bra with a practiced flick, the cool air hitting your hardened nipples before his large hands cupped around them, squeezing, mouth immediately latching on one nipple. he’s been wanting to see your tits since you were locked in that tiny room. and now that he has, he sucked like he was in complete bliss, eyes shut, wet and eager, tongue messily painting your breasts. you gasp, hands coming up to grip his hair, pulling him closer as your hips continue its slow grind against his hard, clothed cock.

“fuck,” you moan, every nerve lighting up. you’re soaking through your panties, whole body vibrating. you bounce harder, using him to reach your high as he continues worshipping your breasts with his lips, trails of his saliva littering your chest. his large hands make their way to your ass, cupping and squeezing but not controlling. not yet.

he lets you hump him harder and harder, trying to control the breathy whimpers slipping from him as he busies himself in between your breasts. your breathing was getting heavier, legs starting to give out, the friction was hitting your clit so perfectly and before you knew it, your orgasm washes over you, unexpected and all-consuming.

“look at you,” he murmurs, that damn smirk back again, breath hot against your ear, “already fucked out and we haven’t even started.” before you could reply, before you could argue, he flips you in a blur, pinning you to the mattress. his eyes are dark now, dangerous.

he yanks your skirt and underwear off in one go, leaving you completely bare for him. you looked so small in between his sheets and it drives him madly insane, “i’m only gonna say this once,” he says, eyes raking over your naked body, voice rough, “but fuck, you’re hot,” he compliments, almost.

you sit up, yanking his shorts down, large cock bouncing free from the last barrier between you, “you’re okay to look at,” you smirk. he rolls his eyes and slaps your hands away before you could reach out for him as he fumbles in his nightstand drawer, pulling out a condom, tearing the foil open with his teeth and rolling it on with ease.

he lines himself in your entrance, teasing his tip, that same devilish smirk plastered on his lips.

“admit you want me,” he grunts, hovering over you, a hand placed calculatedly on your neck, enough to choke you but not enough to completely block off your airways.

“no,” you hiss. he pushes in hard. no warning. no mercy. your back arches with a gasp, hands flying to his shoulders, mouth open in a soundless moan, his hand wrapping tighter around your neck, making your eyes roll back. he’s so so thick, you can feel him all around your walls, stretching you open inch by inch. he feels so good. too good.

“hate you,” you manage to whisper in between your breathy moans, even as your legs wrap around his waist.

“yeah?,” he pants, thrusting into you hard enough to make the headboard knock the wall, “say it louder,” he orders, finally releasing the hold he had on your neck and redirecting it to your breast, large hand squeezing tightly around the supple flesh.

“i hate you,” you moan and then you’re kissing him again, biting his bottom lip, swallowing the grunts he gives you. he sets a brutal pace, every thrust punctuated by the sound of skin on skin, by the filthy words he mutters against your neck. you push him in closer, wanting more, needing more.

“you’re so fucking needy,” he pants, voice tight, desperate.

“shut up,” you growl.

“make me,” he snaps back. so you slap him again and his face twitches, a deep, devilish chuckle slipping past his lips before he pulls out, flipping you over like you weighed nothing and pulling you up on your hands and knees before thrusting into you from behind, your face buried in his pillow.

he fucks you harder. the new angle hitting that spot over and over again you swore you could feel him in your stomach.

it was chaos. it was violence in the shape of pleasure.

“fuck,” you cry, “you’re so deep, so-,” his hand lands a slap on your ass, sharp and hot, the noise echoing throughout the room, making you bite down into the sheets.

“how do you like it?,” he grunts, landing another slap, hot and red, leaving tingles all over your skin. you were sure there were bruises in the shape of his fingertips forming all over you. you’re a mess of moans and incoherent words, each thrust wrecking your thoughts, your dignity, your hate.

you should be fighting him but all you can do is beg for more, “please, please, please, haechan, d-don’t stop,” and your cries do nothing but fuel him. the room continues to echo with the slap of skin and filthy words with your name in his voice and his cock in your pussy like he was trying to break you. you lose track of how many times you say i hate you. how many times he says it back. it becomes a chant. a rhythm. a promise.

you ride that line between loathing and lust until your vision whites out, orgasm hitting you like a punch in the gut, “haechan, fuck, i’m coming!,” you scream and he grabs your hair, pulling you back against him.

“go ahead princess,” he growls, “come all over my cock.” you shatter, gasping for air, jaw hanging open, shaking, as your eyes rolled back in complete pleasure, body going limp in his arms.

haechan doesn’t stop, hellbent on proving that he could last longer than you think. he shoves a pillow under you, continuing his relentless thrusts.

“fuuuck, how are you getting tighter?,” he grits out, “your pussy fucking loves me,” he groans, each hard thrust bringing him closer to that high.

you could cry from the overstimulation, “h-haechan–t-too much,” you stutter, gripping his thigh, tears forming in the corner of your eyes.

“you can take it, princess,” he says, voice low and dark. “i know you can. be a good girl and take it,” he grunts, still pushing into you with a force that rolls the tears down your cheeks.

eventually, the pain turns into pleasure again. blurring the line until you’re moving with him, lost in the pace, the heat, the hate. he chases his own high until his rhythm started shattering into jerky, desperate thrusts, “c’mon, princess, give me one more,” he grunts and all your body could do was follow his voice, immediately tightening around him and sending you to your third orgasm of the night.

he finally gives in with a low, wrecked groan of your name, burying his face in your neck as he shudders through it, hips slowing, grounding down into you until there’s nothing left but heat and sweat and the tremble in his arms as he holds himself over you.

when he pulls out, there’s a slick, lewd sound that makes your already flushed skin go warmer, the pillow beneath you, soaking. then he collapses beside you with a sigh, one arm slung over his eyes like the weight of everything that just happened is finally catching up to him.

silence swells between you. sticky and loud and way too fucking real.

your chest is still rising and falling fast, heartbeat trying to find its regular rhythm as you try to fight off the sleep that was wanting to overtake. you were so tired, so fucked out you almost gave in but your hate was still stronger and somehow your voice cuts through the thick silence, “we’re definitely not doing that again.”

he pauses, “...right.”

you roll onto your side, head propped on your hand, glaring at him like you can set him on fire with just your eyes, “that wasn’t hesitation.” you don’t ask him. you tell him.

he peeks at you from under his arm and shrugs, unbothered, “it was dramatic timing. theater major, remember?”

you groan, flopping back on the bed, rubbing your hands over your face, “god, i really fucking hate you.”

he grins, teeth sharp and full of bite, “yeah, well your pussy doesnt.” you grab the nearest thing, his shirt, and toss it straight to his face and he lets it sit there for a moment before peeling it off with an exaggerated sigh.

“asshole,” you mutter, already reaching for your clothes. ignoring the way your body was burning, a reminder of his touch, as you start dressing like you’re gearing up for a fight, like each item is a piece of armor you’re slapping on.

he watches you dress, that grin never really leaving his face but his eyes are softer than they should be. quieter. and he doesn’t say a word as you reassemble yourself.

within minutes, you’re both back in your roles, fully clothed and composed. like the last hour never happened. like he hadn’t just made you scream his name. like you hadn’t clawed his thighs so hard there’ll probably be marks tomorrow. like he hadn’t left bruises in the shape of his lips all over your skin. like the tear stains you were sporting wasn’t evident.

you pick up your script off the edge of the bed. it’s bent now, pages wrinkled. a souvenir from the chaos you two just unleashed. neither of you acknowledge it.

“start from your cue,” you say flatly.

he leans back against the headboard, flipping lazily through the script like nothing about this is new, like his cock wasn’t just inside you, “with love’s light wings did i o’erperch these walls…”

you roll your eyes, glaring “try saying it like you don’t want to fuck me.”

“i dont want to fuck you,” he deadpans, then glances at you with a smirk, “again.”

you shoot him a look so cold it could kill. he delivers it properly this time, and you move through the scene with professional precision except for the way your voices crack at the edges, how the eye contact lingers a beat too long.

the air between you is no less charged. if anything, it’s worse now. every line feels like a double entendre. every accidental brush of fingers feels like it might ignite something again.

you finish the scene without a word about what happened. no apologies. no acknowledgments. no we shouldn’t have done that.

then you shove the script into your bag, sling it over your shoulder, and walk to the door. “you’re leaving without a goodbye?” he calls out, that cocky lilt back in his voice.

you pause. not enough to turn. just enough to make him think you might. then you say, “we’re not friends, haechan. we don’t joke around. we rehearse. that’s it.”

and you leave. down the hall, around the corner, out the front door, your pulse still racing, his scent still clinging to your skin like it’s branding you. your body aching with the memory of his mouth, his hands, his body.

back in his room, haechan stares at the closed door. the tension in the air still hasn’t left. he sighs, eyes trailing back to the script. he lets it drop from his hand, the pages flopping limply to the floor. then he throws himself back against the mattress like he’s trying to forget the way you felt. the way you sounded.

his body still buzzes. his mind’s a goddamn storm. he drags a hand through his hair and covers his eyes with his arm again, “what the fuck did I just do?”

he’d told himself this was about getting you out of his system. that one fuck would fix it. but now? now you’re under his skin in a way he doesn’t know how to undo. every nerve remembers you. every inch of him aches for you. and every second since you walked out that door feels empty.

he groans to the ceiling, voice thick with frustration and something he won’t name. “well,” he mutters, sarcasm soaked in something bitter, “that worked great.”

ཐིཋྀ the fifth week of rehearsals

it’s been a week since the night that didn’t mean anything. you’d both agreed. no repeats. one time. clean slate. but the slate wasn’t clean. it was cracked and humming with everything you weren’t supposed to feel.

you’re on stage now, under the harsh fluorescents of the theater department’s rehearsal room, with your script in one hand and your heart lodged somewhere in your throat.

the scene is simple. romeo flirts. juliet flirts back. they kiss. easy. you’ve done kissing scenes a thousand times in other productions. but now? now your body remembers the exact weight of him. how he sounds when he groans. how he says your name like a sin he’s proud of committing.

mr. doyoung looks up, “let’s take it from romeo’s line, build the moment, don’t rush it.”

haechan nods, exhales, and steps into character, “have not saint lips, and holy palmers too?” his eyes are on you and it's not romeo’s gaze. it’s haechan’s. intense. knowing. annoyingly smug. feeding his line like nothing happened between you.

he leans in, perfectly in character as you follow through, finding juliet’s voice with ease, “ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer.”

“o, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do; they pray, gran thou, lest faith turn to despair,” he continues, both of you smoothly moving through the stage, dancing around each other’s bodies.

“saints do not move, though grant for prayer’s sake,” you deliver the line perfectly, professionally.

“then move not, while my prayer’s effect i take,” he murmurs, inching the space closer and closer, twirling you around in his arms, and finally kissing you like his life depended on it . like he couldn’t wait a single second for this moment. completely capturing romeo’s yearning spirit.

and it’s evident as day that your body remembers everything from that night.

the kiss goes on a beat too long and for a second you almost forget you were in the middle of a scene until he’s in character again, “thus from my lips, by thine, my sin is purged.”

“then have my lips the sin they have took,” you respond immediately. his eyes flicker to yours and you see it. he remembers too. every second of it.

“sin from my lips? o trespass sweetly urged!,” he continues, leaning in once again, following the script perfectly, “give me my sin again,” he says, placing a sweet kiss on your lips. all too different from the kisses you’ve shared before.

“you kiss by th’ book,” you end the scene as his lips travel down your neck, igniting that heat in your stomach. mr. doyoung was taking his sweet time yelling out cut. you can feel haechan’s smirk against your neck and it’s taking everything in you to not end the scene yourself.

mr. doyoung rises from his chair, clapping slowly, and finally yelling out the one word you needed to breathe. you both jump back immediately like touching each other burned.

“there it is,” he says, “my romeo and juliet,” he dramatically wipes a fake tear from his eyes, “absolutely beautiful. from the top!,” he says excitedly and all you could do was follow his directions. pretending every single touch isn’t affecting you way more than you would ever admit.

you’re not losing this battle. not letting him know that the one time one fuck proposal didn’t work. and haechan, sure as hell, isn't backing down either.

♕

THE BIGGEST, MOST ANTICIPATED PARTY OF THE YEAR: HALLOWEEN NIGHT @ THE DREAM FRATERNITY

haechan scans the room, it was their busiest party of the year. the most chaotic, most fun, most prepared party he and the boys ever have to plan. and now the dream house is packed with costumes, glitter, smoke, chaos. he’s dressed as some version of a vampire, sexy but not too much, his funny, charming side taking over.

he spots mark and kitten across the room, near the couch, in their spiderman and black cat costumes, trying, and failing, to do the spiderman kiss. there was jaemin and angel groping each other on the dance floor wearing matching hermione and ron costumes and in the corner in the back near the kitchen was jeno and bunny caught in a heated makeout session with their ash and pikachu costumes on. and yes, jeno is pikachu.

and then you walked in. he knew you would be here. it was the only dream party you attended because everyone attends it. it was either this or spending the night alone, watching scary movies by yourself.

you were dressed in a lacy red devil’s costume leaving no room for imagination. he shouldn’t even be looking at you. but he is. and his eyes zero in on the faint marks that were blooming on the exposed skin of your breasts. you didn’t even care that people saw them. but he knew you would have if people knew that those marks came from his lips.

he feels his pants tighten in his jeans. he really needed to get a good fuck. maybe it’ll stop you from plaguing his mind.

“can’t believe i’m part of the singles fuck boy club,” renjun says, snapping him out of the trance you trapped him in.

haechan smirks, “take it as a win,” he takes a sip from his drink, “more ladies for us,” he winks, just as jisung and chenle walked up to them.

“so, who do you have your eyes on tonight?,” chenle asks, a smirk on his lips.

haechan chuckles, looking around, his eyes glossing over your figure for a second before they land on the girl he’s been trying to get with since the first party of this year, “ryujin,” he smirks. ryujin – dance major, one of the university’s best.

“how about you, my little protege?,” haechan asks, turning his attention to jisung, the rest of the boys awaiting his answer.

jisung smirks, already knowing the answer, “wonyoung.”

renjun’s jaw drops, “jisung, she might be a freshman but she’s completely out of your league.”

jisung just chuckles, haechan chuckling with him, “hey, don’t doubt my boy,” he says before patting jisung in the back, “just remember everything mark and i taught you,” he winks before jisung took a shot and disappeared into the crowd.

“his head is getting bigger, you know,” renjun rolls his eyes.

“that’s fine, let him have his fun,” chenle says, “now let’s go find you a girl so you’re not so grumpy all the time,” he drags renjun out of there, leaving haechan to fend for himself, a smirk still playing on his lips. and he can’t help it. his eyes dart back to your figure.

across the room, he sees you laughing, too close, too bright, with some guy he doesn’t recognize. the guy’s in some lazy pirate costume, leaning in like he knows you. like he’s already been invited in and something in his stomach turns. something about you looking that comfortable makes him want to throw the nearest pumpkin straight at his head.

he remembers a time when he was privileged enough to hear your laugh. to make you laugh. to laugh together until your ribs were sore.

he absolutely hates it — the way that memory has been popping up in his head like a haunted time loop. he thought he got rid of it, buried it somewhere deep, he wouldn’t have been able to find it. but just a couple weeks with you and all his work for the last five years go down the drain.

he forces himself to look away, making his way over to ryujin, dressed up as bella from twilight. oh, this was going to be too easy.

“hey pretty, you looking for me?,” he interrupts the conversation she was having with another guy, smoothly and all so charming, the way he usually is.

ryujin lets out a giggle, “hmm, i could’ve sworn i was talking to another vampire,” she says, voice sultry and deep with desire.

“none of those vampires can compare to me,” he winks playfully, cocky as ever. and that was all it took before ryujin was pulling him down for a kiss.

he lets his mouth move against hers, hot and fast, but completely hollow. she tastes like candy, vodka and sticky lip gloss, her hands gripping at his arms like she owns him. his mouth is probably smeared with red now, and she moans like it means something.

but to him, it means absolutely nothing.

there’s no fire. no heat. no pulse-racing thrill behind it. no push and pull. no sharp banter humming beneath the surface. he was making out with a girl he’s been trying to get with since the first party of this year and all he could think about was how different it was from kissing you.

god, you were so fucking irritating.

he opens his eyes in the middle of the kiss, and to his unfortunate luck, he makes direct eye contact with you. across the room, half hidden in shadows and flashing lights, your gaze is locked on him but there’s no challenge there. no eye-roll. no smirk. nothing that makes you, you. just eerie blankness, almost like you were looking through him.

something’s wrong.

he pulls back abruptly, ryujin still chasing his lips with a frustrated sound. “give me a second,” he mutters before completely leaving her standing there on her own. an angry scoff follows him as he pushes through the crowd, all of his attention zeroed in on you.

he walks across the room, watching your every move. you’re swaying a little. not like you’re dancing. like your balance is off, disconnected from gravity, from control. the look in your eyes is unresponsive and you’re blinking so incredibly slow. and the pirate is still right next to you, standing way too close.

his hand lands on your waist. then he presses a kiss on the side of your neck and haechan moves through the crowd like a storm, pushing everyone out of his way.

he grips the guy’s shirt and yanks him back, stepping between you and him like a wall of fire. he grabs your wrist, grounding you, voice low but unshakeable, “we’re leaving.”

you blink up at him like you’re seeing the sun for the first time, “donghyuck?,” you smile softly, too sweetly, and it takes everything in him to not kill the guy who did this to you.

“did you drink something?,” he asks, firm but gentle. you nod slowly, lips parted like you’re stuck in a delayed reaction. he brings the cup to his nose – fruity, sticky-sweet but there’s something else. something chemical. and then he sees it, the powdery film at the bottom, confirming his prediction.

his stomach drops. rage coils in his gut. he grabs the drink, tossing the liquid in the nearest plant and fists a hand in the guy’s shirt before shoving him backward, “touch her again and i’ll break your fucking face,” he seethes. the guy stumbles back, arms raised like he’s innocent.

mark notices the commotion before anyone else does, quickly stepping in, kitten by his side with wide, concerned eyes, “dude, what’s happening?,” he speaks low and in control.

“he drugged her,” he growls into his ear. mark’s eyes widen, sharp and alert “i’ll handle him. you take care of her,” he says.

haechan’s attention was back on you in an instant. your balance is off, feet shifting clumsily, eyes blinking slow and unfocused, pupils dilated.

he crouches slightly so he’s at eye level, “hey, come with me, okay?,” he says softly. you lift your head to look at him, your lips parting into a dreamy, dazed smile. you manage to nod once before your body gives out, knees buckling, weight tipping forward. haechan catches you before you can even fall. you land into him like you were meant to be there, cheeks pressed to his chest, body in his arms.

you giggle softly, the sound barely audible over the music. it’s airy. almost innocent. it breaks his heart in two.

“warm,” you mumble into his shirt. “you’re so warm, hyuck.”

his heart squeezes painfully, trying to push away that all too familiar feeling of his nickname on your tongue. the nickname you gave him. the way it sounds so soft as if somewhere in the haze and fog in your brain, some part of you knows you’re safe with him.

without a word, he lifts you into his arms bridal style. your arms immediately wrap around his neck, hands clinging like he’s your lifeline.

“up we go,” he says softly, carrying you through the house, ignoring every curious stare, every muttered comment.

you nuzzle closer, relaxing into his body like it’s familiar, lips brushing his jaw, and he nearly stumbles, “you smell so good…why do you smell so good…?”

he hides his smirk. you told him he smelled like axe just a week ago. “because i shower, dumbass,” he mutters. the insult wasn’t needed but hey, he can’t help it.

in his room, he kicks the door shut with his foot, setting you gently on the bed.

but you don’t let go.

your hands are still on him, clutching his shoulders, his shirt, anything. you whine when he tries to pull back, “nooo, hyuck, don’t go,” you pout like a child.

your breath fans against his neck, lips brushing so close to his skin that he shivers, “need you…” you whisper, almost too faint to catch. it guts him. he carefully pulls back just enough to look at you, his hand coming up to cradle your cheek and your eyes flutter open, slow and unfocused, but locked on him.

and then you lean in. soft. uncertain. your lips part slightly, tilting toward his like muscle memory.

and his heart lurches. he wants it, god, does he want it. but not like this. not when you’re not fully you. not when you won’t remember. not when it would feel like taking. so he stops you.

he leans back, gently pressing his fingers to your lips, “hey,” he says quietly, “not right now.”

you blink, confused. hurt flickers across your face, “but i want—”

“i know,” he whispers, brushing your hair out of your face with heartbreaking tenderness. “but you’re not… you’re not okay right now. you’re not thinking clearly and you’re gonna hate me even more if i let you do this.”

you stare at him for a long moment, your expression folding into something soft, something fractured. your voice comes out barely audible, “you always ruin everything.”

he lets out a quiet breath through his nose, crouching down to your eye level again, “yeah,” he murmurs, “i’m really good at that.”

you’re trembling now, whether from the drug or emotion he can’t tell. he reaches for the edge of his hoodie draped over his desk chair. then he coaxes you out of your costume.

you let him take care of you.

he slips the oversized hoodie over your head in an instant. it swallows you whole, falling to mid-thigh, sleeves engulfing your hands, covering more than your costume ever did. then he grabs a pair of his clean sweatpants and helps you step into them, rolling the waistband until they don’t fall off.

“there,” he murmurs, tugging the hood up over your head, “much better,” and seeing you in his clothes makes his heart skip a beat.

you blink up at him, dazed and warm, “smells like you.”

he chuckles softly, “well, that’s cause it’s mine, princess” he says, the nickname landing so gently he’s almost glad you won't remember this. he guides you back on the bed, his hands warm and careful on your shoulders, like he’s afraid you’ll break. you lay down like a sleepy cat, limbs loose, fingers curling into the fabric of his hoodie.

he crouches in front of you, steady and patient, watching you with an unreadable expression. the room is dim, hushed, wrapped in the kind of silence that comes right after chaos.

then you say it. quiet. barely there. like a secret.

“i didn’t want to hate you.”

his breath catches. he wanted to ask so why do you?

he’s never figured out. why things between you turned so bitter. why you suddenly started twisting a knife behind his back. and why he grabbed that knife and pointed it at you. but he know it’s wrong to get information out of you in this state. not when your eyes are glassy, your words a half-conscious confession spilling out like a secret you didn’t mean to say. you’re too far gone to argue. too soft to lie.

you’re still looking at him, but your eyelids are heavier now. the words just fall from your lips, unguarded. honest in a way you never let yourself be sober, “you made it so easy sometimes though” you murmur, the corners of your mouth tilting in something that’s not quite a smile, not quite pain, “being loud. being cocky. saying shit you didn’t mean just to piss me off…”

his heart is thudding so loud he’s sure you can hear it. there’s so much he wants to say. apologies, defenses, explanations. but before he can say anything, your body shifts, sinks into the pillow, limbs going limp as your breath evens out and your eyes flutter shut.

you’re asleep. just like that.

haechan stays kneeling beside the bed, frozen in place. his gaze traces the soft furrow of your brow, the way your lips part slightly as you breathe. he wonders if you’ll remember any of this tomorrow. if you’ll pretend it never happened. if you’ll regret letting your walls down for even a second.

“i didn’t want to hate you either,” he whispers, voice barely audible over your breathing.

there’s a pause. a longer silence.

“i don’t even know why i hate you,” he admits, softer still. but you’re already gone.

and yet, he stays beside you a little longer, resting his head on the edge of the mattress, eyes never leaving yours, like if he just watches long enough, maybe he’ll figure out where it all went wrong.

♕

the morning light filters through the curtains. everything is quiet. too quiet.

you stir slowly, the ache in your head blooming behind your eyes like a storm cloud. your limbs are heavy, your mouth dry and your body is wrapped around a warmth that doesn’t belong to your bed.

it takes a second for the fog in your mind to lift, but when it does, your heart skips.

you’re not in your room. you’re in his. and he’s right there – lying beside you, one arm flung over his eyes, hair tousled, chest rising and falling with deep, even breaths of someone who stayed up way too late.

you freeze. every part of you tenses as your gaze darts down to your body — hoodie and sweatpants, both way too big, wrapped around you. you exhale in quiet, stunned relief, but your heart is still pounding, “what the hell?” you whisper, rubbing your temples.

at the sound of your voice, he stirs, groaning, blinking against the light like it personally offended him then his eyes land on you.

“you’re up,” he rasps, voice thick with sleep. he stretches lazily like he doesn’t feel the full weight of your stare on him. “you okay?”

you blink, “why am i here?”

“you were drugged,” he says plainly. no softening. no sugar-coating. “some guy slipped something in your drink.”

the room tilts. you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to recollect memories from last night. the fear of what could’ve happened gnaws at your insides.

“i got you out before anything happened,” he adds quietly, “you were… not yourself. clingy. slurring. said i smelled nice, for some reason,” there’s a light, teasing tone in his voice.

you shoot him a glare, despite the pounding in your head, “you do not smell nice.”

he grins faintly, because of course, even now, all you could do was insult him, and it was all he needed to know that you were safe and back to normal, “okay, sure.”

silence stretches between you as you sit up slowly, piecing together flickers of last night. the music, the lights, that sickly sweet drink. the guy in the pirate costume. then — the warmth. the voice you’d know even half-conscious. you glance down at the hoodie you’re drowning in. his scent is faint but still there.

“you changed me?,” you ask, eyes wide.

he nods, propping himself up on one elbow, “you were half-passed out. you needed to sleep it off. i didn’t look, i swear. i just helped.”

you believe him. strangely, you do, “thank you.”

he raises an eyebrow like he wasn’t expecting that.

“you’re welcome,” he says, softer now, “just… be more careful next time, okay?”

you look away, the words settling heavy between you, “i didn’t think…”

“exactly,” he cuts in, voice gentle but tired, “you didn’t. that’s how shit like that happens.” his tone isn’t cruel. he’s not scolding you. he’s just…tired. and worried. and probably more scared last night than he’d ever admit.

you nod once. that’s all you can manage. you don’t want to admit how safe you felt. how it was his arms you clung to. how your body trusted him even when your brain was compromised.

but none of that changes anything.

you clear your throat, “well, thanks. but… that doesn’t mean anything is different between us.”

the faintest flicker crosses his face, unreadable, before it’s gone.

“didn’t say it did,” he says simply. then, “you hungry?”

you blink, “what?”

“i make a decent hangover ramen,” he says, already swinging his legs out of bed, “and i’ll even throw in some kimchi, if you promise not to puke on my carpet.”

you roll your eyes, “you’re such a dumbass.”

he shoots you a crooked smile. “yeah, but not as dumb as you, princess.”

you don’t respond. you just sit there in his bed, swimming in his clothes and your own confusion, watching him move through his room like this was the most normal morning in the world. you slip your shoes back on without a word, still wearing his hoodie and sweats. your costume’s somewhere in a pile on his desk chair, but there’s no way in hell you’re putting that back on. not after last night.

you follow haechan into the kitchen, as he hums some stupid melody, reaching for the pan and boiling the water. you stand awkwardly in the doorway, arms crossed over your chest like it’ll hide how massive his hoodie is on you.

he glances up, “you gonna sit down?”

you shake your head, “i just…i should go.”

he doesn’t fight you on it. just nods, quietly preparing the packs of instant noodles.

you turn to leave but stop short. three of the dream boys are coming down the stairs. they freeze in the hallway when they see you. so do you. the room goes dead silent and you look like a deer caught in headlights. his hoodie feels ten times heavier now, your legs bare in his sweatpants, and your hair a mess from sleep. you look like everything they think happened.

renjun raises a brow, “morning…”

jisung coughs loudly, trying to hide his grin.

chenle looks at haechan, who appears behind you a second later, “really?” he mouths, and haechan shoots him a deadly glare, the kind that says shut up without a single word.

but it’s too late. they all recognize you. of course they do. you’re not just any girl. you’re the girl — the one who’s made haechan stomp through the front door ranting and raving more times than any of them can count. the one whose name used to spark an automatic groan from someone in the room. the one who once made haechan so mad he slammed a door clean off its hinge, then spent two hours denying it had anything to do with you – you’re a household legend. a walking migraine. the ongoing war he never seemed to win but kept returning to like clockwork.

so to see you, standing in their house, in his clothes, the morning after the biggest party of the year is definitely strange. you look like you spent the night tangled up in something intimate. something that doesn’t match the version of events they’ve heard a hundred times over.

the air goes stiff with curiosity and thinly veiled amusement. you straighten your back, refusing to flinch, “nothing happened.”

“sure,” jisung says, not even trying to hide the smirk.

“seriously,” you snap, “i got drugged and he just…helped me.”

renjun tilts his head, worry flashing over all of their features “you good?”

you pause, then nod, “yeah. i’m good.”

haechan steps beside you, voice casual but firm. “she’s telling the truth.”

his words shock you. you were half expecting him to stay quiet.

then you feel the shift in the room like a breeze that slips through a cracked window. they move on, the scent of the ramen calling out to them like moths drawn to the light. you continue your path toward the front door, haechan follows, footsteps soft behind you like a shadow that doesn’t want to overstep.

you reach for the door then pause, glancing over your shoulder, “thanks,” you say again, quieter this time, it slips out like a confession.

his eyes meet yours, steady and unreadable “anytime.”

and somehow, you know he means it. not in the casual way people toss that word around — you see it in the way his posture doesn’t shift, in the way he doesn’t look away, in the quiet steel under his tone. you knew that if it happened again, god forbid, it would be him again. coming to your rescue. without hesitation. without conditions.

something in your chest cracks. not from last night, not from the near-miss or the weight of fear. but from a memory. a time in the past, years ago, that you shoved deep into the vault of things too painful to touch.

♕

as soon as the front door clicks shut behind you, silence settles over the house for a beat. then it erupts.

jisung is the first to crack, “bro,” he looks up at haechan, gaping, as they all sat in the kitchen, “what happened to i hate her so much i’d rather die than be caught with her?’”

renjun chokes on his coffee, suppressing his amusement, “no, no, i think it was more like, if i ever even breathe the same air as her willingly, just kill me,” he says, mocking his friend.

chenle snorts, a playful smirk on his lips, “do we kill you now or later?”

haechan doesn’t even bother trying to defend himself. he just drops his head back with a groan and laughs, loud and shameless, the sound echoing off the kitchen walls, “you guys are so annoying.”

“not as annoying as the fact that she left wearing your clothes,” chenle says, waggling his eyebrows, “your hoodie, dude. the hoodie. the one you said no one’s allowed to borrow because it’s your emotional support layer.’”

“she needed clothes,” haechan says, rolling his eyes and grabbing bowls from the cabinet, like none of it was a big deal. like you didn’t just crack down all the years of hate with one simple call of his name.

“what, i was supposed to let her wander the streets in a lingerie looking like she escaped from a halloween thirst trap?”

renjun squints at him, mock-serious, “you’re in love.”

this elicits a groan from jisung, “oh god, not another one…the other three literally makes me want to vomit.”

haechan rolls his eyes, “i’m not in love.”

“sure,” chenle and renjun say in unison, like a damn choir.

“okay, first of all,” haechan says, gritting his teeth, holding up a finger, “i don’t even like her.”

“uh-huh,” chenle says, “that’s why you stayed up all night babysitting her and making sure she didn’t die.”

“oh my god, did you tuck her in?,” renjun asks.

“i didn’t tuck her in! she just…passed out, and i put a pillow under her head like a civilized human being!,” he reasons out, “plus it’s our party, she’s our responsibility,” he says seriously.

that silences them for half a second. just long enough for his words to land, “yeah, okay,” jisung says squinting, “but you could’ve just called one of her friends to bring her home, not spend the party of the year taking care of her…i mean ryujin was right there!”

haechan slams the ramen bowls down on the counter, harder than necessary, but not quite angry. just exasperated. like he’s been circling this same conversation in his own head since sunrise.

“fine. okay. whatever. you guys win,” he mutters.

there’s a pause, then jisung leans forward, eyes wide with mock innocence, voice pure mischief, “so you do like her?”

“i loathe her,” haechan says with a perfectly straight face, “can’t stand her. makes my blood boil. hate her so much i—”

“—gave her your bed, made her ramen she didn’t even eat, and threatened chenle with your eyes,” renjun finishes without missing a beat, sipping his coffee like he’s watching the best drama of the year unfold in real time.

chenle throws in a lazy, “don’t forget the hoodie,” for good measure.

haechan snorts, “you guys suck.”

they dissolve into laughter around him, loud and chaotic and full of affection. and haechan doesn’t stop them. because deep down, he knows they’re not wrong.

something is changing. cracking open. he felt it when he heard you say his name, all light and smiles like it was genuinely directed at him. he felt it when he saw you asleep in his bed, curled into his hoodie like it was the only safe place in the world. he felt it when your voice cracked saying thank you.

and now that feeling is lodged somewhere between his ribs, sharp and impossible to ignore. but he’s not ready to name it. not yet. so he grins, serves the ramen, and lets the teasing continue, pretending it’s just another morning with his idiot friends.

ཐིཋྀ the sixth week of rehearsals

rehearsals resume like nothing happened. like there wasn’t a near assault. like you didn’t sleep in his bed. like he didn’t stay up all night watching you breathe just to make sure you were okay — but of course, something has changed.

you still bicker. constantly. relentlessly. but it’s not as sharp now. not as mean. it’s irritation tinged with something unspoken. something softer.

mr. doyoung claps his hands, excited and ready. his vision of romeo and juliet when he casted you both slowly coming to life, “okay, let’s do the balcony scene!” the same scene you two could never get through before.

you climb up the makeshift balcony without any further instructions, the rickety platform still wobbling under your feet like it did during the first week. haechan stands below, glancing up just as you grip the railing and start juliet’s lines again, voice laced with practiced longing, “o romeo, o romeo, wherefore art thou–”

before you could finish your line. a crack echoes throughout the stage. it happens fast. the board beneath you splits, you were falling through, a flash of panic in your eyes as you unsuccessfully tried to grip on to whatever you could find.

haechan lunges forward, catching you mid fall with a grunt as your body collapses into his. you hit the ground hard, him first then you crashing into his chest with a force that knocks the air out of your breaths. chaos erupts. voices shouting. mr. doyoung yelling for someone to call the campus’ nurse. a cast member swearing in the background. but haechan doesn’t hear any of it. all he sees is you. your face twisting in pain as you try to sit up, only to wince and clutch your ankle.

“don’t move,” he says quickly, arms tightening around you, “just, stay still.”

“i’m fine,” you mutter through gritted teeth.

“you’re not fine, you idiot,” his voice cracks at the edges. more panic than anger. he shifts carefully, helping you sit upright before reaching down to gently examine your ankle. you hiss when he touches it. he flinches like it hurts him.

“swollen,” he mutters, “probably a sprain,” he says seriously. the kind of serious you’ve never seen him before.

“oh my god, relax, i’m not dying,” you say, managing a breathless laugh.

he glares at you, “you fell off a stage ten feet high. that’s not nothing.”

“yeah. and you saved me. again,” your eyes narrow playfully, “what are you…my guardian angel now?”

“more like your full-time babysitter,” he snaps, but his voice is too soft to land.

“you care too much,” you tease.

“and you scare me too much,” he says, barely louder than a whisper but your heart still races and you’re not too sure if it’s the adrenaline or if it’s him — the crew surrounds you, someone finally arrives with ice and a first-aid kit. mr. doyoung is talking a mile a minute about liability and structural integrity and someone offers to help carry you to the nurse’s office but you wave them off.

“i’ve got him,” you say, jerking your chin toward haechan who still hasn’t taken his hands off you. he doesn’t even argue. just helps you to your feet, arm around your waist, guiding you slowly off the stage as you limp beside him.

no one says it. not you. not him. not any of the wide-eyed castmates watching the two of you walk away like something’s finally cracked open. but they all feel it. something has changed.

♕

the clinic smells like antiseptic and lemon cleaner. you sit stiffly on the padded bed, ankle propped up with a wrapped ice pack, waiting for the nurse —haechan’s right beside you, knee bouncing restlessly like he can’t stand seeing you in pain, “you need anything?,” he asks, voice gentler than it has any right to be, “water? painkillers? i can steal some candy from the front desk if that helps.”

you glance at him, lips parting, then closing. because that tone. that face. that tenderness you never asked for. it reminds you of before. the haechan who sat side by side with you, eating convenience store snacks, watching clouds drift by, sharing a wired earphone like you had all the time in the world. the haechan who walked you home without ever saying why. who pretended he didn’t like mamma mia! but knew every lyric by heart. the haechan who was loud and stupid and kind and yours. before everything fell apart.

the nurse finally walks in and checks your ankle. haechan stays seated in the plastic chair next to you, leg still bouncing as you listen to her instructions. when she finally leaves with a parting, “just rest it for a few days,” silence rushes in to fill the space.

you exhale slowly, “can you stop bouncing your leg? you heard her, it’s a minor sprain, i’ll live.” you can’t help but roll your eyes. he was being too dramatic. too caring.

“you scared the hell out of me,” he blurts, like the words have been clawing their way up his throat all afternoon.

you look at him, surprised by his bluntness, “i’m fine, haechan.”

“you weren’t fine when the stage gave out under you,” he snaps.

your mouth opens. closes. he keeps stealing the words right out of you. then he shifts, shoulders straighter, spine tighter.

“you said something last week,” he says, voice low, barely above a whisper “when you were half-asleep.”

his fingers tighten in his lap. the campus’ clinic is probably the wrong place for this conversation, but it’s been gnawing at him ever since you walked out of the dream house. and now it’s too big to hold in.

“you said you didn’t want to hate me,” you go incredibly still. so still it’s like your whole body locks up. the air in the room changes. you keep staring at the floor like the white tiles might split open and swallow you whole. of course you remember. curse your memory for never ever letting you forget anything, even when you beg it to. even drugged and half-conscious, everything from that night came back to you throughout moments in the week. like you’d be taking a shower and you’d remember the way you fell into his arms and called out his name or when you were eating lunch and the memory of you reaching out to him, trying to kiss him, hits the back of your head, making you cringe.

“so?,” you forced a breath through your nose. it comes out sharper than you mean it to but you don’t deny it.

“so i want to know,” he swallows, his voice is softer now, “why did you start?”

the silence that follows is thick. suffocating. haechan swears the wall inched closer with every second you don’t answer.

“i’ve been trying to figure it out for years,” he says, voice fraying, “what i did. why you started treating me like i was nothing. why you iced me out like i didn’t matter. like i never did.”

you lift your gaze, slow and deliberate and it hits him. not like a punch, but like a car crash. like every part of him is thrown forward, lungs emptied, heart shattered. there’s a grief in your expression he’s never seen before. not even on stage. this is real. too real.

and he waits. like he always used to. back when the two of you were something – not dating, not together, but something solid. something warm. something unshakeable. the kind of friends who stayed behind after rehearsal just to talk. the kind of friends who knew each other’s favorite snacks, who shared playlists and secrets and inside jokes no one else understood. the kind of friends that felt like home.

“don't you remember?” you finally ask, voice quiet, flat, tired.

haechan frowns, “remember what?”

you laugh bitterly, “of course you don’t.” a pause. a breath. a blade. “it wasn’t your name they were writing on the bathroom stalls.”

he sits up, straighter, alarmed, “what?”

“the closet. junior year of high school. you remember that?”

“of course i do,” he says immediately, “we were locked in there for what? half an hour?”

“forty-three minutes,” you reply, sharp as glass. and suddenly the memory slams into both of you — the closet during the winter play production of beauty and the beast. an accidental lock-in during prop duty, the two of you stuck in the cramped space. too much closeness. too many unspoken things. breath catching in your throat.

nothing happened – but by morning, it didn’t matter.

“you told everyone we hooked up,” you say flatly, “that night in the prop closet. you let them believe it.”

haechan’s whole face shifts, like someone just knocked the air out of his lungs, “y/n, i never said anything, i didn’t even–,”

“you didn’t correct anyone,” you cut him off, the memory still holding as much pain as it did before, “and then the rumors started, people were whispering about me in the hallways. calling me easy. and you just smiled and laughed and acted like it was funny,” your voice cracks and you hate that it does.

“what?,” his voice rises, he looks horrified. shaken. like the floor dropped out beneath him, “no, i didn’t know–”

you turn to him now, eyes blazing, every buried wound rising to the surface, “you let me take the fall. you let them slut-shame me into the ground and when i needed you to shut it down, you disappeared.”

he stares at you like something is shattering behind his eyes. he remembered that moment so differently.

“i thought you hated me because we almost kissed,” he says slowly, as if saying it aloud unearths something, “because i leaned in and i thought i ruined it by misreading everything. so when you started ignoring me, i thought i deserved it.”

you stare at him. your whole chest aches.

“i didn’t know they were calling you names,” he says, “if i had known, i would’ve–,”

“you were laughing with your stupid friends in the hallway,” you snap, tears burning behind your eyes, “smirking when someone made a joke. you didn’t care.”

“i did care!,” he fires back, voice breaking, “i was freaking out! i liked you! okay?,” the confession lingers in the air like smoke and all you could do was stare at him, eyes wide.

“—i liked you. and i didn’t know what to do with it and when people started assuming we were a thing, i….i liked it,” he breathes out.

you blink at him. silent. stunned. speechless.

“i was selfish,” he admits, quieter now, shame flooding his expression, “i got caught up in the idea of you and me and i didn’t realize you were paying the price.”

your expression cracks, disbelief twisting with heartbreak, “but you stopped talking to me,” you whisper, “i thought maybe you just saw me the same way that everyone else did.”

his head shakes desperately, over and over, “no. never.”

the silence afterwards is brutal, wrapping around the two of you like barbed wire. “i didn’t know how to fix it,” he breaks helplessly, each word torn straight from the center of his chest, “you looked at me like i was poison. like just being near you made everything worse. so i stopped trying. i didn’t want to make it harder for you.”

he paused, his voice going quieter, tighter, “you hated me so easily. or at least…that’s what i thought. after a while i convinced myself that maybe that’s what you always wanted and it hurt so i decided to hate you back.”

your jaw clenches. you look away, not because you don’t want to see him but because you can’t. because if you do, you might fall apart completely. haechan leans in. voice shaking. his hand tremble slightly where they rest on the edge of the bed, “but i never stopped thinking about you,” he says like he’s been dying to say it, “not once. and if i could go back, if i could take it all back, i would,” his voice cracks, “i don’t care if we’re supposed to be bitter enemies, if that’s the story everyone loves to believe now. i never wanted to lose you,” his hand twitches in his lap, “and i’m sorry y/n, i am so, so fucking sorry,” he finishes softly, voice filled with raw honesty.

you don’t say anything but your silence isn’t angry now. and the tears slip, silent and slow, dripping down your cheeks like memories you can’t scrub away. those were the words you’ve been aching to hear for years. he brings a hand up your face, slowly, carefully, tentatively like you might flinch. but you don’t. his fingertips graze your skin, carefully brushing away the tear that’s already fallen, thumb tracing the curve of your cheek like it’s sacred.

“please,” he whispers, “let me fix it. let me try. we don’t have to be anything big. just…let me be your friend again. i’ll do anything,” his voice breaks at the end and this time it’s desperation.

you say nothing for a long moment. instead, you look at him, really look. and it’s strange. the way grief can sit beside adoration. the way familiarity can hurt as much as it comforts. because you see the boy who made you laugh until your ribs hurt. the boy who stole your last gummy bear and shared his hoodie. the boy who would watch all your favorite movies with you. the boy who memorized all your favorite songs just so you could sing them together. but you also see the boy who stood by and let the world tear you apart. the boy you’ve spent the last five years resenting.

you see all of him. and for a moment, it makes it hard to breathe.

“i felt so alone,” you say at last, your voice so quiet, “you were my best friend and then overnight, it was like i didn’t exist to you. and every time i looked at you, i just kept thinking, why wasn’t i worth defending?”

he makes a pained sound, like the question cuts deeper than anything else. like he couldn’t forgive his own self for the hurt he put you through.

“i kept waiting,” you go on, quieter now, “for you to say something. to explain. to pull me aside and say hey, i didn’t mean for it to go like that. i didn't mean for it to hurt you. but you never did.”

haechan nods, small and slow, his shoulders hunched in shame. he doesn’t argue. doesn’t defend. he just takes every word like he knows he deserves it. another silence passes but this one feels different. lighter, maybe…sadder, definitely.

his gaze flickers to the pillow behind you as if looking at you now is too much. like if he sees the tears on your cheeks, he might start crying himself and never stop. you wipe at your face with the back of your sleeve, sniffling through a shaky breath “i don't know if i can be your friend again…not like before,” you say honestly and you see how the words break him. his chest rises too fast. his mouth parts like he wants to beg. he nods again, visibly swallowing, like he’s choking on all the apologies he can’t say fast enough.

“but,” you add softly, “i think i’m tired of hating you, too.”

his eyes meet yours, something flickering in them. fragile. hope.

“i think…,” you whisper, “maybe i want to know who you are now,” you add and he lets out a breath like he’s been holding it for years. like your words cracked a dam and let him come up for air for the first time in forever.

and then you say the words that make something shift in the air, make the angels sing all around him. “we could try,” you murmur, “not going back but maybe starting over?”

his lips part. body stills, afraid he had just imagined it, “you mean it?,” he whispers, voice trembling.

you nod once, slow, soft, “one chance, hyuck. don’t waste it.”

and the sound of his old nickname, your nickname for him, cracks something wide open in his chest. a broken, stunned smile pulls at his lips, trembles with disbelief. like just hearing it makes him feel alive again.

he nods, eyes wet, heart in his hands, “i won’t,” he says, “i swear, i won’t.”

ཐིཋྀ the seventh week of rehearsals

it starts quietly. no grand announcement. no dramatic reconciliation that leaves the audience gasping. just…a shift. a subtle recalibration in the air.

you walk into rehearsal, script tucked under your arm. you aren’t bracing yourself like you usually do. there’s no adrenaline-fueled armor laced tight around your spine. you just simply walk in, the same way you would if haechan wasn’t there.

and when you spot him across the room, lounging in one of the chairs, thumb lazily scrolling through his phone, something inside you clicks into a different gear. you don’t look through him like he’s invisible. you don’t burn holes into him with your glare. you just look and then…you nod. barely anything. but he sees it. his thumb stills. his head lifts. he meets your gaze. there’s no tension in his shoulders, no spark of challenge in his eyes. and then he nods back. just as slight. just as careful.

to the untrained eye, nothing monumental has happened. but to the handful of castmates who have witnessed your years-long cold war with the icy stares, the sarcastic jabs, the tension so thick it warped the air – it’s seismic. everyone curious as to what happened in the nurse’s clinic.

a pause ripples through the room. like someone's holding their breath. and then…he smiles. not the cocky, smug grin he used to toss your way like a dare. not the smirk that usually meant he was about to say something that would make you want to throw your script at his head. no. this one is soft, small, a little uneven. the kind of smile you give a stray cat you’re hoping won’t run away.

you feel the tug of something low in your stomach, not butterflies, not quite. just movement, a flicker. and your lips twitch into an answering curve. not a full smile. but not nothing.

one of your castmates, also one of your best friends, yujin, jolts so hard she drops her script with a thud that echoes louder than it should. no one helps to pick it up, everyone too busy watching the apocalypse unfold in real time. you pretend not to notice the stares. instead, you slide into your usual seat and flip open your script like it’s just another regular day, not the first page of something new. you don’t look at him again. not right away. but you can feel him. the way you always could.

mr. doyoung claps his hands twice, too enthusiastically, as if to break the spell or maybe because even he feels the tension lifting, “alright! today’s rehearsal…the wedding scene!” he announces, his smile extra bright, eyes darting between you and haechan.

you don’t flinch. you don’t groan or make a joke at haechan’s expense like you might’ve a week ago. you just flip to the page. from beside you, yujin leans in slightly, whispering out of the corner of her mouth, “are you two… friends now?” her voice is half hopeful, half afraid the answer might implode the timeline.

you keep your eyes on the script, “maybe” you murmur back, shrugging, voice calm, “but we’re not enemies anymore.”

she stares at you for a second like she’s trying to decode an alien language, then exhales sharply and mutters, “holy shit, i need a drink.”

across the room, haechan shifted forward in his seat now, elbows on his knees, script open, highlighter cap in his mouth. you glance up once, and he’s already looking at you. his mouth quirks. not a smirk. not a dare. just that same soft expression. your fingers tighten slightly around your script before the two of you take your spots on stage.

the rehearsal is going surprisingly smooth. almost like someone replaced the decades-old scripts of your dynamic with a gentler rewrite. one where your lines don’t burn with anger when you speak them, where eye contact doesn’t feel like a threat. you’re standing across from haechan in the middle of the stage, your fingers laced loosely in front of you, your posture careful but relaxed.

“romeo shall thank thee, daughter, for us both,” jongho says, fully immersed in his friar laurence voice, hands folded solemnly like he’s performing an actual ceremony. you glance at haechan as he steps toward you. he leans in and brushes a kiss to your lips, soft, almost reverent, and you do your best to ignore the tiny spark that settles in your chest and fizzles straight to your toes.

“as much to him, else is his thanks too much,” you say with quiet warmth, smiling through the line. you kiss him again, this one just a touch longer, just a breath closer than necessary.

he pulls back slightly, meeting your eyes, “ah, juliet, if the measure of thy joy be heaped like mine and that thy skill be more. to blazon it, then sweeten with thy breath. this neighbor air and…,” he trails off.

there’s a beat of silence. his eyes flick to the side. nothing comes. you raise an eyebrow, “o romeo, are you lagging?”

a ripple of laughter breaks out across the room. haechan narrows his eyes at you, but he’s grinning, the corners of his mouth twitching, “no my juliet, i’m connecting to the server.”

“oh, sorry, i forgot this version of romeo runs on the internet.” the laughter grows. even mr. doyoung chuckles softly from behind his script.

haechan places a hand dramatically on his chest, staggering back a step, “you wound me, juliet.”

you place a hand on your hip, “you forgot your line in the middle of our wedding. i think i’m the one who should be wounded.”

he opens his mouth to reply, but before he can get a word out, sanha, who’s been watching this unfold with wide eyes, throws in a “i knew it was too good to be true.”

the laughter dies down. there’s a shift, a pause, one of those delicate moments that could tilt either way. everyone glances between the two of you, waiting to see if the air will thicken with old tension again.

but then haechan shrugs, smile still soft, “can’t friends banter?”

the room stills. the word hovers between you like a fragile thing, spoken so casually but carrying so much more weight than anyone expected.

friend wasn’t exactly the word people would describe your relationship to be.

your heart skips, not in a dramatic way, just a quiet flutter, like it’s catching up to something your brain already knew. you look at him and he’s already looking at you. there’s something behind his eyes, a private little spark, a shared joke, like the two of you are in on something no else quite understands.

you smile, slow and real, “exactly,” you say, “friends banter.”

everyone goes quiet again, not with tension but surprise. you can practically hear the mental recalibration of the room. yujin’s mouth is slightly open, xiaojun has an eyebrow raise, jongho is looking back and forth in between you, wondering how he got himself stuck in the middle of all this.

mr. doyoung clears his throat and claps his hands once, “alright, let’s run it again. from romeo’s line.”

haechan pick up his script, quickly reading it over, still grinning. as you take your mark beside him, his shoulder brushes yours, barely noticeable but deliberate. neither of you move away.

♕

the next day, after rehearsal ends and the cast slowly filters out, you find yourself lingering in the black box again, volunteering to put away the chairs. it’s quiet, dimly lit, the echoes of the day still in the air in half-muttered lines, scattered laughter, a crumpled water bottle forgotten in the wings. you’re sitting on the edge of the stage, kicking your heels lightly against the wood. then you hear footsteps, unhurried, familiar. haechan joins you a beat later, collapsing beside you with a dramatic groan.

“remind me why we volunteered for this, again?,” he sighs, eyes closed, head tilted toward the ceiling.

you smirk, “well, i volunteered for this because i haven’t helped out since week one. you just…showed up.”

he cracks one eye open and turns his head toward you, grinning, “right. my hero complex. forgot.”

you nudge him with your shoulder, and for a second it feels like nothing ever changed between you. like the years of eye-rolls and cold shoulders never happened. like you’re just you and he’s just him, and all the old memories you both tried to forget have started quietly knocking again.

“so,” you say playfully, “you do realize you completely blacked out on your monologue yesterday, right?”

he groans again, louder this time, slumping so far sideways he’s almost sliding off the stage, “don’t remind me, i saw my life flash before my eyes, mr. doyoung’s disappointment in 4k.”

you turn toward him, grinning, “my favorite part was when you just stood there, blinking like you got hit with a windows error.”

haechan throws a hand over his eyes, “i was reconnecting!, you caught me mid-update.”

you burst out laughing, the sound echoing off the walls. it makes him look at you again, and not in the usual teasing way. he watches the way your face lights up, the way your shoulders shake with it, and something in his chest aches – warm and familiar.

“i’ll admit,” you say between giggles, “that line delivery of mine? ‘o romeo, are you lagging?’ oscar-worthy.”

“you’re insufferable,” he grumbles, but he’s smiling too.

you both go quiet for a moment, the air between you charged in a way it didn’t used to be — or maybe always was, back before either of you knew what to call it.

“did you see jongho’s face?,” you ask, biting back a grin.

he grins, eyes lighting up, “he looked like he was witnessing a miracle. like we were gonna shake hands and start a foundation for world peace.”

“yujin nearly dropped her phone” you snort, “i think she thought she was hallucinating.”

he chuckles, nudging you slightly, “we should’ve milked it, gone on tour with our peace treaty, sold merch, team haechan and team y/n shirts.”

you roll your eyes, smiling despite yourself, “we’d have sold out shows every night.”

he looks at you for a beat longer than necessary, “you know… it’s weird.”

you glance over, “what is?”

“this,” he says quietly, “us. talking like this again, it feels…,” he pauses, searching for the word, “familiar.”

you don’t say anything right away, because you feel it too. that quiet pull. that ache. the thing that never fully went away. you both know it. you were each other’s person. before the hate took over, before the jabs. before either of you figured out that pushing someone away is sometimes easier than letting them in.

“yeah,” you say softly, “it does.”

then he shifts slightly, glancing sideways, “so…friends banter, huh?”

you raise a brow, “you said it.”

“and you didn’t disagree,” he says softer now. there’s no teasing in his voice, just curiosity.

you nod, “nope, i didn’t.”

he smiles. not that smug, sharp smile you used to hate. this one’s crooked, earnest. and you smile back, the same kind of smile, the kind you don't have to guard. the smile you give to a friend. but something in the way you look at each other says maybe not just that forever. maybe just that for now.

he bumps his shoulder into yours, “so, friend…you buying me lunch tomorrow?”

you scoff, “you forgot your lines. i should be the one charging you.”

he grins, that glint sneaking back into his eyes, “fine, princess. lunch tomorrow. cafeteria. my treat.”

the nickname is gentler now, filled with a sort of affection that makes your heart skip a beat. you tilt your head, pretending to consider, “as long as you don’t freeze mid-sentence again.”

he leans just slightly closer, his voice barely above a murmur, “only if you promise to tease me about it again.”

you pretend to roll your eyes, but you’re smiling…big now. unrestrained. the kind that feels like sunlight in your chest. you think about everything that’s happened. the years of arguing. the pushing and pulling. the kisses that weren’t on the script. the ones that came after, the magnetic pull of him. the electric tension you thought would destroy you both. now somehow reshaped into this — a strange, slow return to something lighter. something that still pulses underneath with heat.

you walk out side by side, the distance between you closer than it was yesterday.

♕

the next day, true to his word, haechan meets you outside the cafeteria, two iced choco’s in hand and a stupidly triumphant grin on his face like he just won a prize.

“you drink this, right?,” he says, handing you one without waiting for an answer, “i know it used to be your favorite, i just don’t know if you still like it now,” he rambles, a little nervous.

you take it, brushing your fingers lightly against his, “of course I still like it now,” you say with a smile that you don’t quite realize is soft enough to knock the wind out of him, “thank you.”

“anything for the princess,” he winks as you roll your eyes playfully. you find a corner table by the windows, where the sun spills across the scratched plastic surface and turns your drinks gold. the campus buzzes around you, students passing by with backpacks slung low, the distant hum of conversations and clinking trays.

haechan orders sandwiches for you both, and without asking, skips the pickles on yours. you notice, and you don’t say anything, but the fact that he remembered that makes something in your chest swell and ache at the same time. there’s something undeniably easy about it all. about him. you fall into a rhythm of banter, half jokes, and snide comments wrapped in smiles that linger just a little too long. it’s almost too easy to forget that the two of you hated each other. almost too easy to remember that once, you didn’t.

you’re in the middle of a joke when a voice interrupts the moment — “hey, haechan,” your eyes turn towards the voice. it’s ryujin. and she’s leaning against the edge of the table, hair in a pretty messy bun in that effortless dancer way, water bottle in hand, wearing one of those crop tops that make everyone in the building do a double take. she flashes him a bright smile.

“you didn’t show up to the party last night,” she says, teasing but with a bite that suggests she noticed and cared.

haechan blinks like he wasn’t expecting her, “oh, yeah, i–uh, fell asleep early,” he shifts in his seat, his legs brushing yours under the table. then he glances at you, a quick flicker of a look, like a reflex. it’s so fast. he probably thinks you missed it. but you didn't.

ryujin giggles lightly and touches his shoulder, a fleeting gesture that might have meant nothing to anyone else, “we’re always missing out on each other,” she pouts.

you glance down at your sandwich. you can’t bring yourself to keep watching. your appetite vanishes somewhere between her hand and his smile.

“yeah,” haechan forced out, then clears his throat, trying to find words.

you miss the awkward way he scratches the back of his neck, the polite distance in his voice that doesn’t quite match ryujin’s energy. he’s not flirting back but he’s not shutting it down either.

ryujin’s gaze finally flickers to you, her smile dimming just slightly, “hey.”

you smile, sharp and polite “hey.”

she lingers. just enough to make it weird. then flicks her hair over her shoulder and turns back to him, “you’re mine at the next party, okay?”

haechan lets out a nervous laugh, “cool. yeah.” it comes out a little too fast, like he’s agreeing just to make the moment end. he wishes the ground could just swallow him whole. he doesn’t even know why the mere action of ryujin flirting with him around you is getting him all flustered.

she finally walks away and you don’t say anything at first. you take a sip from your drink just to have something to do with your hands. haechan exhales like he’s just escaped a fire.

you arch an eyebrow, still not looking at him, “you okay?”

he rubs his hands down his thighs, “yeah. that was…awkward.”

“didn’t look awkward from where i was sitting,” you mutter, voice a little sharper than intended.

he turns to you, caught off guard by your tone, “be serious.”

you poke the lettuce in your sandwich, “haven’t you been flirting with her since forever?,” you comment. it wasn’t exactly a secret to the rest of the university that the two had the hots for each other. just like how it wasn’t a secret that the two of you can’t stand each other.

“yeah, well. that was before,” he says without thinking.

“before what?,” you ask, raising a brow, your eyes finally meeting his.

he goes quiet. you wait. he’s already looking at you, his expression unreadable. there’s a long pause, like he’s debating something. then he looks away, his voice low “nothing. never mind.”

you don’t push. but your stomach twists in a way that’s hard to ignore. you weren’t supposed to care. he’s just a friend. that’s what you agreed on.

then he forces out a laugh, soft and a little shaky, he bumps your foot under the table, voice casual, “so” he murmurs, “you’re totally jealous.”

you nearly choke on your sandwich, “am not.”

“you looked at your sandwich like you wanted it dead,” he points out, teasing.

you narrow your eyes at him, but your lips twitch anyway, “you’re officially delirious.”

he grins, that same crooked, trouble-making grin that used to make your blood boil and now just… makes it rush. you roll your eyes and take another sip of your drink, hiding your smile behind the straw. but your cheeks feel warm. and your heart feels stupid.

because yeah, maybe you were jealous. and maybe that means this thing between you, this not-quite-friends, not-quite-something-else, is barreling toward a truth you’re both trying not to name.

♕

the lights flash neon blue and pink over the velvet booths and sticky tables. it was karaoke night with your castmates. the room filled with laughter, everyone sipping cheap drinks, flipping through the karaoke’s binder, music pulsing through the speakers, everyone pretending they’re not stressed about the upcoming show. haechan leans against the booth, one arm resting over the backrest, drink in hand. usually you sit in the booth farthest away from him, but tonight, tonight you’re sitting right next to him, trying not to notice the way his shoulders brush yours every so often. the way it sparks something irritatingly warm in your chest.

“you do know you’re not getting out of singing, right?” you say, a smirk playing on your lips as you leaned over to talk in his ear, loud enough for him to hear over changbin and wooyoung currently performing hamilton.

he raises an eyebrow, ignoring the way your breath sends goosebumps all over his spine, “who said i was trying to?”

“you haven’t signed up once,” you point out.

“maybe i’m waiting,” he says, turning his head so you're closer than before, so close you catch the faint smell of his cologne, the woody powdery scent that makes your brain fuzzy, “for the right song and the right partner,” he glances at you. there’s a flicker of amusement in his eyes.

“are you asking me to duet, lee donghyuck?,” you smirk.

“only if you think you can keep up,” he says, a playful smile on his lips.

minutes later you’re both up front, two microphones in hand. you give him a sideways glance as the intro to what is this feeling starts playing. haechan smirks when he sees the lyrics pop up on the screen.

“what is this feeling, so sudden and new?,” he starts. of course he was galinda, milking the drama, throwing in that little hair flip that makes you giggle. you both slip into character. the room blurs. it’s just you and him.

“loathing. unadulterated loathing,” he levels you with an exaggerated glare.

“for your face — your voice — your clothing!,” you match his energy, pacing in time with him like two cats ready to pounce. the song becomes a battleground, but its play fighting. banter wrapped around melody. and you feel like a child again.

“let’s just say we loathe it all!” you end, breathless and giddy.

the room erupts, howling with laughter and applause. but something about the moment slows. the harmony lingers longer than it should. haechan’s eyes meet yours, you don’t look away.

an hour later the bar started to empty out. castmates peel off into groups, calling rides or walking to the subway in clumps. you’re slipping your jacket on when you feel someone fall into step beside you.

“you’re walking home?” haechan asks casually, hands shoved in his coat pockets.

you nod, “it’s not far.”

“i’ll walk with you,” he says, like it’s not even a question. like it’s a given.

the streets are quieter now, only the hum of traffic and the occasional siren echoing down the avenue. the moon reflecting shimmer in puddles, and there’s a leftover thrill buzzing under your skin from the performance, from him.

he kicks at a pebble, glancing over at you, “so… we make a pretty good team.”

you bump your shoulder into his lightly, “don’t let it get to your head.”

“too late, princess” he says with a grin.

you walk in silence for a beat, the good kind, where it doesn’t feel like something needs to be said. then, softly, “we’re pretty good at being friends,” you murmur, eyes fixed on the sidewalk.

you feel him glance at you before he answers “yeah,” he says, just as quiet, “we are.”

your fingers don’t touch, but they hang close enough that the space between them feels loud. you look up at him then, and he gives you that crooked, genuine smile that always comes out when he thinks no one’s watching.

“thanks for walking me,” you say when you reach your building.

he nods, “always.” there’s a pause. that kind where you could either wave and walk away or not. then haechan opens his arms slightly, like he’s offering, but not assuming. and you don’t even hesitate. you step into him, arms wrapping around his torso. he’s warm and steady around your shoulders. it’s not rushed. not awkward. it’s one of those hugs that feels like it’s saying a lot more than either of you are willing to put into words just yet.

you breathe him in and for a second, it feels like the rest of the world goes quiet. he pulls back first, but slowly, like he’s not quite ready either. his hands brush your arms before he lets go.

“night, princess,” he says, teasing, voice a little huskier than before.

you roll your eyes, but you’re smiling, “night, hyuck.”

and even though nothing’s said, and nothing happens, it still feels like something changed. like you both felt it, even if you’re pretending not to.

♕

hyuck: wanna come over and watch mamma mia 2 tonight?

princess: the one that came out when we hated each other?

hyuck: yeah, thought it might be poetic or whatever >.<

you almost laugh out loud when you read it. of all the movies. that one. the one released right in the thick of your worst arguments, during the year neither of you could say a full sentence without wanting to kill each other. the one you couldn’t bring yourself to watch in theater because all you could remember was watching the first one with him.

princess: will there be popcorn?

hyuck: of course

princess: see you later ;)

by the time you arrive at the frat house, it’s quiet. most of the guys are out for the night and the place, for once, feels peaceful. lived-in, but cozy. haechan greets you at the door with popcorn in one hand and remote in the other.

“just you, me and ABBA,” he says, a playful smile on his face as you make your way to his living room.

you smirk, stepping inside, “scared i’ll out-sing you?”

his laugh is automatic, “you wish.”

you settle on the couch, blanket tossed between the two of you. you don’t sit close, not at first. but as the movie plays, as waterloo kicks in and the popcorn dwindles and your feet end up tangled somewhere under the blanket, the space between you shrinks. neither of you mentions it. you both sing along, loud and obnoxious, voices overlapping in messy harmonies, especially during why did it have to be me, elbowing each other like teenagers. there’s a softness in it. a safety. like the memories that used to hurt have dulled around the edges and all that’s left now is warmth. you’re both grinning so hard it hurts. the kind of joy you haven’t let yourself feel around him in years. by angel eyes you’re leaning into him more than you mean to. his shoulder’s warm. you let yourself rest there, just for a second. but the second turns into minutes. and by the time my love, my life begins to play, you’ve gone quiet, breaths slow and even, your head tilted gently against him.

he doesn't dare move.

the movie goes on, but he doesn’t register it anymore. not really. he’s too aware of you, curled up beside him, cheek pressed into his hoodie, peacefully asleep. like you completely trust him again. and that’s when it hits him.

it’s not a surprise. not a sudden realization. just something he’s been trying to ignore finally catching up to him — he never stopped liking you.

not when you fought. not when you ignored each other in the hallways and on stage and in classes. not even when he flirted with other girls, trying to replace the hole you burned through him with something lighter, simpler. but no one ever did. no one even came close. because it’s always been you. under his skin. in his lungs. every song he sang louder just so you’d hear it. every stupid joke he cracked just so you would see him.

and now, god, now it’s stronger than ever. because he’s not just thinking about how right this feels. he’s thinking about you. the way you laughed tonight, unguarded. the way you trusted him enough to fall asleep on him like this. the way you’ve been slowly letting him back in.

but underneath that softness, beneath all the fragile peace you’ve built…is something hungrier. something heavier.

because now he knows the way your lips feel on his, hot and frantic, laced with fury and desperation. the weight of your body tangled with his, all tension and sharp edges and need. he remembers the night you both gave in to it. when everything between you collided and combusted and for a few stolen hours, nothing else existed. the sound you made when he was inside you. the way you clung to him like you hated him for how good it felt.

he’d be lying if he said he hasn’t thought about it since. about you. that night. the taste of your skin. the way he wanted more, even then. the way he still wants more now — he wants to feel you again but not like that. not angry. not bitter. not as a mistake to bury. he wants to feel you without the weight of a grudge between you.

that’s what scares him the most. because you’re just starting to rebuild whatever fragile thread of friendship you’ve stitched together. if he leans in again, if he fucks this up, he’s not sure either of you will come back from it.

so he doesn’t move. doesn’t speak. just lets you rest against him, eyes fixed on the credits. heart beating loud and traitorous in his chest. he tells himself it’s enough but he knows it won't be for long because he never wanted to be just your friend — not really. not ever. not then. and definitely not now.

ཐིཋྀ the eight week of rehearsals

monday comes again you spot him in rehearsals, sitting in his usual chair. and for the first time, you chose to sit on the chair next to him. you wait for his usual greeting, that charming smirk, the lifted eyebrows, the dumb pun about how you finally couldn’t resist sitting next to the greatest.

but none of it comes.

he doesn’t raise his brows and say something stupid just to make you roll your eyes. he just nods. quiet and distant.

“hi,” you offer as you approach, a smile on your face.

“hey,” he replies, without looking at you. it throws you off. not completely. just enough that your smile falters a little.

but it doesn't stop there. during rehearsals, he’s all business. focused. he doesn’t crack jokes during warmups like he usually does. even when you fumble a line and instinctively glance at him for a reaction, he doesn’t meet your eyes. there are no friendly banters. it’s like someone hit the switch on him over the weekend. and sure, he talks to you. he doesn’t ignore you completely. but it’s colder. measured. like he’s rehearsing something behind every word.

at break, you sit on the edge of the stage like always but he doesn’t join you. he stretches with the boys instead, laughing a little too loudly at something that isn’t even funny.

you feel it — the difference. the detachment. like he’s edited you out of a movie scene where you once had top billing.

you watch from across the room, trying not to let it show that you notice. but you do. you notice everything. the way he keeps his distance. the way his gaze skips over you in group conversation. the way he leaves rehearsal without waiting, mumbling something about being late for a meeting you’re not even sure exists.

you tell yourself it’s fine. you’re friends. it’s just a weird day. maybe he’s tired. maybe something’s going on. maybe he did have a meeting. maybe it’s nothing.

but the thing is — it doesn’t feel like nothing. and it stings. because just last week you were creating new inside jokes, sharing lunch, singing duets, watching movies, laughing so hard your stomach hurt. and just two nights ago, you fell asleep on his shoulder and he let you and for one quiet, perfect evening, it felt like maybe, maybe, you were finding your way back to something real. and now? now he won’t even look at you.

later, you replay the night in your mind, trying to pinpoint what went wrong. the way he sang with a fake swedish accent, making you laugh until your ribs hurt. the way you caught him watching you when he thought you weren’t paying attention. like you were something precious. something fragile. nothing about that night felt off. but now he’s acting like you’re glass that cracked when he wasn’t looking, and he doesn’t know how to pick up the pieces without bleeding.

you want to call him out. ask what the hell you did. demand to know why he’s shutting you out when you were finally figuring out how to be in the same room without burning. but you don’t. you don’t say a word. because maybe you were just being dramatic. or maybe because part of you is scared of the answer.

and part of you, the part that still aches for him even now, kind of wishes you could just go back to hating each other. at least then, he looked at you like he meant it.

♕

it’s been a few days since and things have gotten worse. you can’t put your finger on it exactly. nothing obvious. no big blow up. no fight. just the absence of something that was almost there.

he shows up to every rehearsal, still jokes with the cast, still reads his lines. but with you? he’s quieter. not cold, not cruel. just careful. like he’s watching every word, every glance, weighing them all in his head before he lets them go. like he’s trying to keep something from slipping out. something that used to dance at the edge of his smirks and linger in the way he looked at you, that soft, half-daring thing that felt almost too real.

you hate it. so you do something about it. you text him on a thursday evening in a moment of impulsive hope or maybe desperation.

princess: you doing anything tomorrow night? a few of us are going to the A.M. 127 bar, you should come.

you watch the message go through, then you toss your phone aside like it didn’t cost you anything to send. it takes him an hour to respond.

hyuck: ah wish i could but i’m busy. have to finish a write-up for theater theory and help mark with something

you stare at it, a little too long. looking for cracks in the excuse. for anything that might explain why it sounds like a gentle rejection and not just a scheduling conflict. and when you finally type out a reply, something nonchalant, unaffected, you send it before you can overthink.

princess: all good. good luck :)

you toss your phone again, harder this time, like the weight in your chest might go with it. you won’t be bitter. you can’t be bitter. he doesn’t owe you anything. he doesn’t have to show up just because you asked. you’re friends now. just friends. friends have boundaries. friends don’t need each other to say yes.

but the next night while waiting for your drink with yujin at the loud, dimly lit bar, you make the mistake of scrolling through your phone. the story flashes before you even realize what you’re watching. a living room, lights flickering, people playing a game of beer pong.

and there, clear as day – haechan. leaning against the arm of the couch. grinning. and next to him? ryujin. tucked comfortably into his side like she’s always belonged there. laughing at something he says, head tipped toward him, her hand casually resting on his thigh like she doesn’t even have to think about it.

the clip is only ten seconds long. but it affects you more than it should. you click it again. watch it one more time. and another. and another — his head leans toward hers. he’s smiling. he looks easy with her. like nothing’s complicated. like nothing happened. like he didn’t freeze up around you this week. like he didn’t pull away just when things started to feel… possible.

you swallow around the twist in your chest, reaching out for your drink. you laugh too, like you’re fine, like you didn’t just get sucker punched by a few pixels on a screen. but inside, you feel like an absolute joke — a stupid, drunk punchline to a story you thought had changed.

you take a couple more shots before you were staring at your phone again. the last text between you still lit up on the screen.

“all good. good luck :)”

you hate the way it reads. detached. not real. not at all how you feel. and before you can stop yourself, before you can listen to your own logic, you’re tapping his name in your contacts and pressing call — it rings once. twice. you don't think he’ll answer. but by the third ring, his voice hits your ear, “hello?,” low, familiar, a little too steady. he’s not drunk.

you try to swallow around the words clogging your throat, “hey,” you say and you wince at how thin it comes out, “it’s me.”

a beat of silence. “yeah. i know,” he sounds softer, cautious now.

you almost laugh, “sorry,” you mutter, “i shouldn’t have called. just…ignore this, okay? just pretend it didn’t happen.”

“wait,” he says, sharp enough to stop you from ending the call, “are you okay?”

there he goes again. pretending he cares. you want to lie. say yeah, of course i’m great. but you’re tired. a little drunk. a little heartbroken. you laugh. it sounds bitter, “what do you think?”

another pause. you can hear the voices in the background. the loud music. ryujin’s laugh. the exact same sound from the video. and it scrapes at your ribs.

“you said you were busy,” you say and this time you don’t try to hide the shake in your voice, “you said you had to help mark with something.”

“i did,” he replies, and god, he sounds so calm it makes your chest burn, “plans changed.”

“right,” you whisper, “funny how that happens.”

he’s quiet again and maybe that should be your cue to hang up. to end this before it gets pathetic. but you can’t. not when it feels like he’s been slipping further and further away all week.

“i just didn’t expect to see you with her,” you admit, a little too bare, too honest, too messy, “that’s all.”

he exhales slowly. you can hear voices in the background, someone calling his name. he murmurs something away from the phone, you can’t make it out. when he speaks again, he’s quieter, “it’s not what you think.”

you smile without warmth, “okay,” you say because what else can you say? you were in no position to tell him who he can and can’t hang out with. you were in no position to even get jealous. he doesn’t explain further. he doesn’t need to. you were just his friend.

“you’ve been weird all week,” you say suddenly, “and i’ve been trying not to take it personally, but–,” you cut yourself off.

“but what?,” he asks. you swallow hard, “i don’t know. i guess i thought we were friends again.”

“we are,” he says quickly. too quickly.

“then why are you pushing me away?,” you ask, voice soft and quiet.

another breath from him, a pause that stretches, “i’m not.”

“you are. you stopped looking at me. you stopped cracking jokes,” you blink hard, throat thick, “did i do something wrong? is this some kind of elaborate plan to hurt me the way i hurt you?”

“no.” he says quickly, “it’s not like that.” then the line goes silent. the music behind him fades.

“i’m just,” he finally says, the words slow and clipped, “trying to keep things simple right now.”

you nod even though he can’t see you. even though it didn’t make sense. even though nothing about you and him has ever been simple.

“okay,” you say again, “i’ll let you get back to your party.”

“princess–,” he starts.

but you’re already pulling the phone away, muttering out a hollow “bye,” and ending the call before he can stop you.

you hang up, phone trembling in your hand, heart heavier than before. you didn’t get answers. didn’t get clarity. didn’t get the version of him who sang ABBA at the top of his lungs and leaned into you like you were home. you just got silence. distance. a half-hearted promise that meant nothing.

♕

you don’t remember how many drinks it takes to get you there – that hazy, floating kind of drunk. the kind that makes everything feel like it’s underwater and glowing. you’re not sad, not exactly. just…empty. tired in a way that no one can see.

yujin left a while ago, with a boy she’s been making out with the whole night. she kissed your cheek goodbye, making you promise to uber home. you said of course and waved her off with a smile too big for your face. then you stayed and ordered another drink. and another. let the night blur until it felt like you didn’t exist anymore.

the bartender starts to notice around 2:00 a.m. – you’re sitting slouched over the counter. your lips are slightly smeared and your mascara smudged just enough to make you look fragile. breakable. like someone who doesn’t know where she is or why she’s still here. you don’t notice the bartender hovering until he gently taps the bar in front of you, “hey” he says, voice low, kind, “you alright?”

you glance up, slow and reluctant, eyes glassy, unfocused, trying to read his blurry nametag: johnny. you try to smile at him but your mouth doesn’t quite cooperate, “mm fine, johnny,” you mumble, slurring your words.

he gives you a long look, his voice is still gentle but it sharpens a little at the edges, “that’s not true.”

you shake your head, try to sit up straighter, but the motion tilts the room again. you let out a soft, pathetic-sounding laugh, “okay, maybe not, but i’ll be fine.”

johnny sighs, the kind of sigh that says he’s seen this before. too many times. he pulls out a clean glass of water, slides it in front of you, “drink this.”

you do. drunk enough to drink anything a stranger would give. then he looks at you again, soft but steady, “i’m gonna call someone for you, okay? just to make sure you get home safe.”

you blink, the words registering slower than normal, “no–it’s—dont. please. i’m fine, i can–”

“you’re not fine,” he says gently but firm. you don’t argue again. you’re too tired.

“here,” you mumble, unlocking your phone with clumsy fingers, “pick whoever you want, i don’t care,” you say, giving in. he scrolls through your recent calls, lifts the phone to his ear.

“yo…hey…is this hyuck?,” his voice rings in your ear but you were too out of it to care, “yeah, hi i’m a bartender at A.M. 01:27, i’ve got a girl here, this is her phone, she’s pretty out of it. not in danger or anything just too drunk to leave alone. you were the last person she called, so…,” his voice drifts off in the background as your forehead sinks into your arms, head dropped to the counter, letting the drowsiness take over.

time passes. or maybe it doesn’t. you don’t really know.

then you hear your name. you lift your head slowly, the bar has started to spin again or maybe your brain has. same difference. you squint your eyes open and he is there, standing next to you, hoodie pulled over his hair, cheeks flushed from the cold.

“you okay?,” haechan asks, voice strained. careful.

“define ‘okay,” you mutter, pushing yourself up. you sway a little and his hand is instantly under your elbow, steadying you.

“got it,” he murmurs, sliding an arm around your waist, “let’s go.”

“wow,” you say under your breath, stumbling slightly as he helps you toward the exit, “my hero, coming to my rescue so fast, didn’t know i still mattered.”

“i got a call from a man who doesn’t even know you,” he mutters, jaw tight, “forgive me if i didn’t love that scenario.”

you glance up at him as he opens the passenger door, “jealous?” he doesn’t answer. doesn’t even look at you. just helps you in, buckles the seatbelt with a sigh and shuts the door.

the drive is quiet. not awkward. not exactly. but there’s a weight between you. thick and humming. some ghost made of the things you never said. haechan’s hands grip the wheel tight, knuckles white, eyes locked on the road. the glow from the dash throws soft light across his face, shadows catching in the curve of his jaw, the dip under his cheekbone. you watch him in sideways glances, arms crossed tight to your chest like you’re holding yourself together. the city fades. buildings blur into darkness. music plays low from the stereo, some playlist he forgot to turn off. you don’t say much. neither does he. but slowly, gradually, the fog in your brain starts to clear. your head feels less floaty. your pulse settles. your tongue feels normal in your mouth again. you blink. you breathe.

you’re starting to sober up. enough to feel the cracks again. enough for the ache to come back clearer than before — and when the gps chimes that you’re ten minutes away from your dorm, something inside you finally breaks.

“i hate you.” you whisper, eyes still on the road ahead.

his brow twitches, and he casts you a quick, startled glance, “what?”

you turn your head now, shoulders squaring toward him, the last drops of alcohol giving you courage, or maybe just stripping your fear down to its bare, shaking bones.

“i said, i hate you.”

maybe you say it because it’s real. maybe you wanted to get a reaction out of him. something. anything.

“okay,” he says, soft and resigned. like he’s letting you go without even trying to hold on. like he knew this was coming, “you’re drunk.

“i’m not that drunk,” you snap.

he continues focusing on the road. jaw tight.

“i hate your stupid face,” you go on, voice low but steady, “i hate your stupid little moles,” you take a breath, “i hate when you laugh without me.”

a pause. he wonders if you could hear the way his heart is thudding in his chest.

“i hate how you asked me to be friends again just to ignore me. i hate the way you act like nothing has happened between us.”

you pause. your chest tight. your throat is burning.

“i hate the way you look at me like you want to say something, but you won’t. i hate the way you leave me guessing, doubting, wondering if any of this is real.”

he doesn’t say a word. just silence so loud it echoes. you stare at him, heart pounding. you don’t cry. you just tell the truth, finally.

“i hate the way you make me feel,” you whisper, “i hate the way it’s so easy for me to fall for you.”

the words hang in the air, awful and honest. you feel them leave your mouth and you can’t take it back. he doesn’t pull over right away. but his jaw locks. his throat bobs with a swallow. and then he takes the next left, turns into a side street, dark and quiet, far from the dorms. no one’s around. just the sound of your breath and his. he parks the car and the silence rushes in. it’s deafening. the kind that drowns out everything else. it’s thick with all the things you’ve never said, with every unfinished sentence and swallowed apology.

then he turns toward you, eyes wide and raw, like he’s been trying to hold something in for so long it’s starting to hurt. like your words have cracked something open in him that he can’t put back.

“don’t.” he says, barely a whisper. “don’t say that. not when you don’t mean it.”

but you don’t look away, “i do mean it.”

and for a second, neither of you speak. neither of you move. it’s all there between you. the longing, the ache, the silence that always meant more — and you’ve filled it up. you’ve cracked the quiet open and poured the truth inside it.

now there’s nothing left to hide behind. you see it. the wreckage in him. the war. the part of him that wants to reach for you. and the part of him terrified that if he does, you’ll disappear.

he exhales, slowly and shaky, like he’s trying to steady himself on the edge of something steep, “i didn’t think you felt it,” he murmurs, voice rough like it’s been scraped raw from the inside, “i kept telling myself you wouldn’t. that you couldn’t.”

you stay quiet, letting him unravel. he laughs then, a broken little sound, hollow and helpless, “i told myself if i just kept my distance, if i just waited long enough… whatever i was feeling would die out. that i’d get over it. that i won’t ruin our friendship again.”

he doesn’t look at you when he says it. he looks straight ahead, like the truth will hurt less if he doesn’t have to see your face when he says it out loud.

“but it didn’t,” he whispered, “it just got worse.”

the confession spills out now, uncontained. he can’t stop it, and he doesn’t try to anymore.

“you were everywhere. in my phone, in my stupid dreams, in every fucking song. and i hated that i couldn’t shake you,” he turns to look at you then, finally. his eyes are glassy, dark and tired. no walls left.

“i tried to be your friend,” he says desperately, “i tried so fucking hard. but every time you smiled at me, it felt like i was falling, every time you laughed, i wanted more and every time i felt you next to me, it’s like i couldn’t control myself.”

your breath hitches, but he doesn’t stop.

“i don’t want to be your friend.”

he looks at you. eyes quickly darting down your lips.

“im in love with you.” he lets the words settle in the air and then he adds, “and i want you in a way that friends shouldn’t. i always have.”

the words fall between you like a match dropped on gasoline. hot and sudden and irreversible.

“i’m tired of pretending this doesn’t wreck me,” he adds, voice low, “that you don’t wreck me.”

you don’t move. you just look at him. and in his eyes, you see it all. the quiet desperation, the resentment at himself for still loving you, the hope he keeps trying to kill. the truth sits heavy in your chest, rising fast, threatening to drown you. but you don't back away from it now. you don’t want to. because you know that you wreck him the same way he wrecks you.

you don’t remember moving. just the heat in your chest, the ache behind your ribs, the sound of your own pulse pounding in your ears. one second, you’re sitting there, breath shallow, heart torn wide open. the next, your hand is on his jaw, guiding his face toward yours and his mouth is crashing into yours. the rawness in the way he kissed you like he was trying to erase every second of space that has ever existed between you.

it’s not soft. it’s not tentative. it’s months of denial, weeks of tension and years of everything left unsaid, finally snapping all at once. and he kisses you like he’s drowning in it. his hands tangle in your hair, bringing you impossibly closer, “fuck, you’re a dream,” he manages to say in between kisses.

you kiss him harder to prove that you weren’t. that you were here and real and his for the taking. his hands are on your thighs, pushing your dress up roughly, bunching the fabric around your waist like he can’t get it out of the way fast enough. you scramble into his lap, straddling him in the driver's seat, your knees bracketing his hips, your breath already coming in fast.

he groans against your mouth, hot and frantic and trembling slightly. you break the kiss to breathe, but it’s useless, he leans in again, pressing his forehead to yours, his breath ragged.

“tell me to stop,” he murmurs, voice wrecked, “just once. say it, and i will.”

your soaked panties brush against the bulge in his jeans and he groans, deep and guttural. you shake your head, lips brushing his “don't tell me you’re gonna go soft on me just because we’re in love now.”

he pulls back slightly, stunned, like he can’t believe what he just heard, “we?”

you give him a soft, unguarded smile, “yes, hyuck. i’m in love with you too.”

that’s all it takes. the look in his eyes changes — burning hotter. darker. his mouth is on your throat, kissing a trail down to your collarbone, hands everywhere, under your dress, against your skin, gripping your waist like he’s scared you’ll vanish. the space is cramped, bodies tangled, breath fogging up the windows, but you don’t care about anything except the way his hands feel on your bare skin, the way he groans when your fingers thread into his hair and pull just a little, the way his hips arch up into yours like he’s come undone.

“you think love means soft?” he rasps, voice shredded, “you think i don’t still want to fuck you like i’ve been starving?”

his hands slide up under your dress, dragging your panties down to your thighs. he leans you back, your spine meeting the steering wheel. it’s a little awkward, a little painful, but it vanishes the moment his fingers slip between your folds.

“god, look at you,” he pants against your mouth, dragging two fingers through your folds. “you’re fucking soaked for me, princess”

you moan when he presses in, one finger at first, rough and fast, no buildup, the feel of his cool rings against your cunt making you jerk in his lap, head thrown back against the roof, thighs already quaking.

“not soft,” he growls into your skin, “not even close.”

“shut up and—fuck—fuck me already,” you moan, hips chasing the rhythm of his finger.

“no,” he snaps, a smirk on his lips, “not until i make you come on my fingers,” he groans, and then he starts really working you open. inserting another digit, angling it just right, fucking into you like he knows exactly where to go, exactly how to ruin you. his palm grinds against your clit in tight, mean circles, and it’s so much, so fast, your knees buckle on either side of him, moans of his name filling the night air, and he has to hold you down with one arm wrapped around your waist.

“you can take it, right?” he hisses, fucking you faster, “don’t tell me you’re gonna break on me now.”

“i won’t,” you whine, “i won’t, hyuck, d-don’t stop,” you beg. his cock twitching in his pants at the mere sound of his name on your lips — all needy and desperate and his. he curls his fingers harder, presses deeper, and the filthy sounds of your wetness fill the car like music to his ears. your dress is hitched around your hips, tits threatening to spill out of the neckline, and you’re so far gone you’re grinding down on his hand like you need it to survive.

“you look so fucking pretty like this,” he growls, thumb swiping across your clit like he’s trying to rip the orgasm out of you, “fucking yourself on my hand, begging for it.”

you gasp, legs trembling, feeling yourself start to come apart. and he’s obsessed with how you clench around him, how your moans go sharp and high and desperate.

“that’s it princess,” he pants, watching you with hooded eyes as you get lost in the pleasure, “let go for me.” you do. you come hard, panting, shaking in his lap as his fingers keep coaxing you through it, soaking his palm as you cry out against his shoulder, nails digging into his biceps.

he doesn’t stop right away. only after your legs go limp, after you push his hand away, after you twitch around him too much to handle another second. then, only then does he pulls his fingers out, slick and glistening, and brings them to his mouth, “tastes like fucking heaven,” he groans, licking them clean like it’s nothing.

“now ride me and take what’s yours, princess,” he grunts in your ear. you’re still panting, legs shaking, but your hands move on instinct, unzipping his jeans, pulling him out. he grabs his wallet, pulling out a small foil wrapper, ripping it open with his teeth and rolling it on with practiced urgency.

the second he’s ready, he drags the blunt head of his cock through your folds, slowly. sending goosebumps throughout your body. you can’t take another second of teasing. you grab the base of his cock, making him grunt in response. then you align him in your entrance and finally sink down, both of you breaking at the feeling.

“ahh, fuck,” he hisses, forehead thudding back against the seat. his hands grip your thighs so tight it borders on bruising, “you’re so fucking tight.”

you don’t give him time to catch his breath. you rise up and drop down again, harder this time. again. and again. the rhythm fast, desperate, almost punishing. the windows fog instantly. your dress is hitched up to your hips, sweat slick on your skin, your shared moans echoing through the small space as you bounce in his lap, riding him hard and reckless, the console digging into your spine with every movement.

“god, you feel so fucking good,” you gasp, fingers tangled in his hair. he yanks your neckline lower, finally letting your tits bounce out of your dress and his mouth is on them in an instant licking, biting, sucking like he wants to mark you up just so everyone knows you’re his.

“i never fucking stopped wanting you,” he growls against your sensitive nipple, “couldn’t sleep. couldn’t think. and now, fuck, you’re mine. you hear me?”

you grind harder, drunk on it now, his voice, the feel of him buried deep inside you, stretching you open, ruining you in the best way, “yes,” you moan, head tipped back, “yours hyuck, a-all yours.”

the car rocks. the wheel presses against your back. your thighs burn, vision blurring. his hands slide to your ass, fingers digging in to your thighs as he holds you up before fucking up into you with a speed that steals all the air from your lungs, each thrust ruining you as your legs shake in his grip and you practically scream.

“come for me,” he pants heavily, sweat dripping down his temple, “come on my cock, princess, come and let me feel it.”

you can’t do anything else but respond to him, tightening around him, crying out as your second orgasm hits you like a freight train. he follows right after, hips jerking, his hold on you loosens and you sink completely into his cock, a whiny moan escaping his lips as he empties into the condom, eyes squeezed shut, completely undone.

everything goes still. your breathing. his hands. the spinning inside your chest. you collapse against him, dress still bunched at your waist, tits on his chest, your forehead pressed to his neck, both of you wrecked and panting and clinging to each other.

haechan strokes your spine absently, soft and gentle, “you okay?” he murmurs, voice raw and hoarse, placing a soft kiss on your shoulder. you nod into him. neither of you moves. then he says it, soft and tentative, “come home with me tonight,” he whispers, not ready for the night to end.

♕

his room smells like his cologne and laundry detergent and he’s kissing you again, slower this time, more like he’s savoring it. like he has all night. because he does. he lays you down on his bed, undresses you piece by piece, there’s none of that urgent need from earlier. just worship. mouth littering kisses all over your skin. hands skating over your hips like he still can’t believe he’s allowed to touch you like this.

you feel him all over again like it’s the first time. body moving together like it’s a dance you’ve always known. you let yourself fall under him. let yourself whimper when his hand slips between your thighs, let yourself pull him in close and kiss him breathless until the two of you reach that addicting high that you can’t seem to get enough of.

and later, when he’s spooning you under the sheets, arms tight around your waist and his mouth pressed to your shoulder, he mumbles, “you know i’m crazy about you, right?”

you smile, eyes fluttering shut, “yeah, i know.”

when morning comes — you wake up alone. the warmth on the other side of the bed is gone, the sheets cooling. for a second, the room feels too quiet. your heart stutters, mind already racing with the outcome that he left.

you sit up, breath caught in your throat, but before you could wallow in the pity, the door creaks open, and there he is — tray in hand, hair still messy, sweatpants barely hanging on, wearing the exact kind of cocky grin that would usually drive you insane, except you’re too relieved to feel anything but full.

“breakfast for my one and only princess,” he says, voice obnoxiously proud. you blink at him, and it must be written all over your face, because his grin falters a little.

“hey,” he says, voice softening, as he places the tray carefully on the foot of the bed, taking a seat next to you, “you okay?”

you pull the covers up around you, shrug a little, “i just didn’t like waking up without you,” you admit, soft and quiet, almost afraid to be this honest, “i thought you left.”

a flicker of guilt passes behind his eyes, a tiny “oh,” slipping from his lips. the moment is soft, vulnerable, for two people who always dance around the other. you laugh a little under your breath, trying to shake it off, “stupid, i know, i mean, it’s you. you made it pretty clear you’re into me.”

“princess,” he says gently, arm wrapping around your waist, pulling you into his side, “it’s not stupid, i should’ve left a note or something.”

“what? ‘gone to make eggs, don’t spiral’?,” you say, realizing how dumb it sounded.

“exactly,” he deadpans, and you both laugh.

he brushes a strand of your hair away, more careful now, “we should probably work on being better at communicating, huh?”

“yeah,” you nod, forehead bumping his, “would’ve saved us, like… years of misery.”

he groans, dramatic this time, “don’t remind me, i was so annoying.”

“you’re still annoying,” you say sweetly, and he bites your shoulder in retaliation, making you squeal.

but when the laughter fades, his voice stays low, that quiet sincerity returning “i’m not gonna disappear, okay?”

you nod, “okay.”

“and i love you,” he says, gentler this time, no hesitation. just pure, stupid, real love.

your smile softens, “i love you too,” you say, leaning over to kiss him, not caring about morning breath or bedhead or the toast that’s probably getting cold.

he pulls away, breathless, a grin evident on his face, “the breakfast is gonna have to wait now,” he whispers in your ear.

you raise an eyebrow, “why?”

he leans in, voice low and warm in your ear, “because i’m hard again,” and you burst out laughing, “you’re insane.”

“insanely into my girlfriend,” he smirks, already kissing along your jaw. and you let him. because you’re his and he’s yours and it’s finally, finally, simple.

ཐིཋྀ tech week

it’s disgusting. absolutely, positively disgusting. at least, that’s the general consensus among the rest of the cast. just last month, people couldn’t stand being around the two of you because of how often you fought. every rehearsal a battleground, every interaction laced with venom.

but now? you’ve entered your full blown, pda-plagued, heart-eyes, can’t-stop-touching-each-other in-love era.

now, it’s kisses behind curtains, giggling into each other’s mouths between lighting cues, forehead touches during water breaks, fingers constantly linked even while you’re being given notes. and they don’t know what’s worse.

yeonjun throws a prop sword down dramatically, “i miss when you two hated each other, at least we had peace.”

“you’re just mad no one kisses you in between takes,” haechan fires back, smug, arm slung over your shoulder while you’re giggling into his hoodie.

someone on the crew threatens to hang a “no pda backstage,” sign after catching the two of you in a heated make out session.

but the real problem? the two of you are unstoppable.

even your arguments, and yes, you still argue, don’t last more than five minutes. you’ll bicker about stage directions or costume adjustments or whether haechan needs to dramatically fall to his knees when romeo sees juliet “dead,” and five minutes later he’ll be kissing you against a dressing room door whispering, “you’re hot when you're mad” against your lips.

and while the cast is absolutely suffering through your honeymoon phase – mr. doyoung is thriving. he walked into every rehearsal of this week with stars in his eyes, clapping wildly as you and haechan nail your death scene again. so in sync. so devastating. so tender you can feel every raw emotion behind the lines.

because now when haechan calls you “juliet,” it comes out breathless. now when you say, “my only love sprung from my only hate,” your voice cracks for real.

“do you SEE this chemistry?!,” mr. doyoung once cried, pointing dramatically at the stage, “this! this is art! this is why i casted you two!.” he might have even teared up once during the balcony scene. no one’s confirmed it but no one’s denying it either.

you and haechan just grin like idiots through it all. and when rehearsals wrap for the night, he always kisses you soft and slow and says, “can’t wait to do it all again tomorrow.”

you roll your eyes, pretend it’s annoying, but you never pull away.

ཐིཋྀ opening night

the energy backstage is electric, nerves buzzing like static in the air, costumes perfectly pressed, everyone running through the lines they already know by heart. the theater is full. the lights are hot. mr. doyoung is pacing with a clipboard and thinly veiled tears in his eyes, his heart pounding loudly in his ears.

and you’re doing your opening night ritual – little handwritten letters, folded neatly, handed to each castmate and crew member like clockwork. it’s your thing. everyone knows it. something encouraging, something kind, something just sentimental enough to make people emotional right before they have to go on stage.

you hand one to ningning, who clutches it to her chest and says dramatically, “i’m framing this.” soobin reads his and calls you a menace for making him tear up right before the show. yujin hugs you tightly, muttering something about how she’s so happy she gets to do this with her best friend too.

haechan watches from a distance as you make your rounds. he’s trying to play it cool, arms crossed, leaning against a wall in his stupidly perfect costume, lips pressed together in a barely there smirk. but underneath he’s a little tense. not that he’d ever admit it — it’s been years since he got one of your letters. not since high school. but now, with you officially his girlfriend and practically glowing as you move through the cast, he cant help but wonder, did you write him one?

he doesn’t ask. he doesn’t want to look needy. but his eyes follow you everywhere. and finally, you approach him, holding a single remaining envelope.

you stop in front of him, one brow raised, playing innocent, “oh, looks like i have one more.”

he stares at you, slow and suspicious, “you’re unbelievable.” you just grin, sliding the note into his hand. he opens it. the handwriting is unmistakably yours – familiar and clean, like a secret only he gets to keep:

what do we say when we say juliet? romeo!

every moment with you is like a scene in a movie. going through my head now is the climax. the words i practiced thousands of times as if they were scripted – you are the protagonist of my life. i want to keep you forever. no one can fill your place…you’re irreplaceable.

p.s. you look so hot as romeo, i, too would have left my family just to feel your lips.

p.p.s romeo take me somewhere we can be alone? ;)

for a second, he forgets how to breathe. love coils tightly in his chest, but so does something hotter, something heady and electric. his eyes flick to the last line, and then to you. you’re already walking away, over your shoulder, you toss him a wink. and he nearly chokes on air.

“why would you add that last part?” he hisses, catching up, voice low and wrecked. his eyes are blown wide, desperate, like you’ve lit a fuse inside him, “i just want to fuck you so bad you won’t be able to walk on stage.”

you burst out laughing, smacking his chest, “focus, romeo,” you press a kiss to his cheek and he groans like he’s being tortured, yet his mouth curves upwards into a smile anyway.

and somehow, he makes it through the show — when the lights go up and the crowd goes quiet, you step into juliet’s shoes like you were born to wear them. haechan’s romeo is every bit as dramatic and devastating and alive as he should be. the balcony scene is breathtaking. the fights are insane. the kiss before he dies draws a gasp from the crowd. by the time the final scene ends, with you sobbing over him, your voice cracking on your last words, there’s a pause…then thunderous applause, the crowd roared, standing ovation, flowers tossed on stage, some people are crying. mr. doyoung is definitely part of some people.

but as soon as the curtain closes. haechan is dragging you by the hand through the backstage chaos, ignoring the cheers, the calls, the cast photo attempts.

his grip is firm, focused and needy. you barely have time to ask where you’re going before he yanks open the door to the rehearsal room in the back and pulls you in. the door slams shut. it’s just the two of you. again. in the same, tiny, dusty room where everything shifted.

and his mouth is already on yours, “i can’t believe you wrote that in the letter,” he groans into your mouth, lifting you like it’s muscle memory, “you’re evil. you knew what you were doing.”

you gasp between kisses, clinging to his shoulder, “i don’t know what you mean,” you say innocently.

he rolls his eyes, “i’ve been hard since act i,” he kisses you like he’s starved, like the show was one long tease, every kiss on stage edging him on, every touch of juliet’s hand killing him and now he finally gets to be rewarded.

he spins and sets you down, not on the chair, not on the table — on his thigh. you blink and he grins, cocky and hungry and impossibly hot in the dim light, “you never rode this one,” he murmurs, low and sinful, hands sliding up your thighs under the skirts of juliet’s gown, “thought we’d fix that.”

the breath catches in your throat. his thigh is solid beneath you, strong and flexing, already pressed perfectly against where you need him the most. the second you move, just a little, the pressure makes your whole body jolt. and he feels it.

“fuck,” he hisses, watching you closely, an amused smirk on his lips, hands gripping your hip, “you are so into this.”

you glare at him, but your hips twitch forward again anyway. the friction is delicious. the fabric of your panties drag just right. his thigh tenses beneath you on purpose.

“you gonna come for me like this, princess?,” he whispers, lips brushing your jaw, “gonna mess up your pretty little costume riding my thigh like a desperate girl?,” you gasp, gripping his shoulders for balance, body rocking on instinct now, chasing that pressure, that heat, that release.

“f-feels so good hyuckie,” you moan as he watches, transfixed, pupils blown out, jaw tight, chest rising with every shaky breath you take.

“i could watch you forever,” he groans, “no one else ever gets to see you like this, you know that, right?”

you nod helplessly. completely lost in the pressure that was building in your stomach. and when you finally come, sudden and hot and hard, he groans at the way your whole body tenses, how your thighs shake, how your lips part in a silent moan right against his mouth, your eyes shut.

you collapse against him, but he’s not done, “think you can take me now?”, he asks, voice thick with lust, already untying the back of your costume. you look up at him, dazed, hair a mess, breath shallow and nod like there’s nothing else in the world.

he kisses you again, already sliding the skirt up your hips, making you his all over again.

𓏲 the end.

-

18+ only | watch at your own risk | contains mature content

bonus: hyuck x princess coded -> video one, video two, video three, video four

-

an: HAPPY DONGHYUCK DAY! 🧸🌻 this is one of my gifts for you all today (you’re still getting a birthday blurb, wink wink) i really wanted to finish this in time for haechan day and i can’t believe i actually did. but holy shit guys! we’re halfway done with this series i did not expect to get this far if im being completely honest. thank you all so much for all the love, you don’t know how happy and excited you all make me. i hope you loved haechan and princess too! i think this couple was the most fun to write and i also think they finally beat jaemin x angel as my favorite confession scene so far hehe (don’t tell jaemin!)… as always, thank you for reading! <3

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love tags: @bluedbliss @yesohhsehun @tynlvr @sunghoonsgfreal @2sungie @euphormiia @ptv-hades @imnotrosiee @remgeolli @vantxx95 @leehaechie @beestvng @schatjze @mango-bear

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[taeeflwrr]

i loved this so much

“FLYING KISS”

pairing: childhood best friend! lee jeno x nerd! reader | genre: rom-com | words: 23k

synopsis -> you and lee jeno go way back, as in diapers and all that. before he was known as the chill fuckboy, he was an all time nerd! just like you! tired of being a loser who can’t even get the guy you wanted, you badly needed tips and a makeover. who’s better to ask for help than your childhood best friend, who has proven that a nerd can be hot?

warnings -> guaranteed giddiness! pet name unlocked: bunny, two dumb idiots, jeno is a yearner!!!, slow burn? kinda but once it starts, it starts, mentions of: car crash, a deceased parent, too many side characters from other groups, +18, crude language, mentions of fuck-boys, parties, drinking, a fight between the boys, blood, a nasty cut, heavy on the smut! reader is a virgin, lots of fingering, oral (m+f), handjob, blowjob, mention of mutual masturbation, corruption kink, pop the cherry!, soft sex, exhibitionism, jeno is a dirty dirty boy with lots of dirty thoughts and a dirty mouth.

an -> the second installment of the loverboy series is yours! this one literally just flowed through me, i could not stop writing, squealing and giggling at this trope. i’m dreading leaving them behind. you do not need to read stupid cupid to understand this story but here are some important things to take note of: 1) jeno is the chill fuckboy, he does not like the whole hopping to one girl to another thing so he gets into a lot of meaningless situationships with girls he does not care about 2) jaemin is currently the only happily taken member of the dream fraternity, he calls his gf: angel. k, have fun reading, with love, c!

the library buzzed with the soft hum of university life filled with quiet chatter, the occasional laugh and the rustling of pages. there were small groups of friends in heated discussions, catching up on life or laughing over a joke. some were hunched over textbooks, deep in concentration, others were lost in their books, barely blinking, while a few had surrendered to sleep, heads resting on their arms. and, tucked away in the back, were the ones who thought they were subtle – furtive glances, sneaky touches, stolen kisses.

there was a place for everyone in the library and it was your favorite place in the entire world.

but right now, as you watch your long-time crush, third year business major, the soccer team’s mvp, jung sungchan, stick his tongue down a random girl’s throat, you can’t help but feel like your safe haven has been tainted.

the grip you had on your pencil tightens as your eyebrows furrowed at the scene that played out, jealousy taking over your features. out of all the places on campus, he had to choose your spot. you have half the mind to report to the librarian. you were already classified as the school’s nerd, why not add snitch to your dictionary?

“what’s that look on your face?,” your best friend’s voice pulled you back to earth, playful, as he plopped down on the seat next to you.

jeno has been fated to be your best friend way before you were even born. with your dad’s being the best of friends, it was written in the stars, whether you liked it or not.

but you liked it, and so did he.

if it wasn’t for jeno, you might have ended up a complete social outcast. thanks to his status and the fact that you were always seen together, people decided you were tolerably weird. you weren’t nose-picking weird or talking to yourself in the hallways weird, just…a little awkward.

and if it wasn’t for you, jeno probably wouldn't have made it into university to begin with. you tutored him in almost every class, every time he struggled with anything school related, he ran to you, from elementary school to university, you were practically his teacher.

they say university is supposed to be the place where you let go of your childhood self and finally grow up. yet here you are now, a third year student and you still haven't quite grown into the lady you were supposed to be. trends went over your head, fashion didn’t interest you and makeup was harder than your architect class. half your wardrobe was made up of high school leftovers, you were still sporting bangs that you had from middle school and you never really saw the point in “fixing yourself up.”

at least, one of you did — jeno somehow made his way into the dream fraternity and somehow earned the title the chill fuckboy. it was odd, seeing people start treating him differently. even odder when you started to see girl’s eyes follow him like he was some kind of lead in a main k-drama and then land on you with a confused gaze. like they couldn’t understand why he was friends with someone like you.

“nothing,” you say quickly, finally tearing your eyes away from sungchan and forcing your attention on the assignment in front of you.

jeno, not satisfied with your answer, followed your earlier gaze, a light chuckle slipping past his lips, “aww, does my little bunny wunny have a crush?,” he cooed, reaching over to pinch your cheek, his trademark eye smile on display.

bunny was the nickname he had given you when you both were eight years old. in some twisted doom, like you were always going to be life’s punching bag, all your baby teeth fell out at the same time, leaving only the two front teeth behind. these days, he throws in a ridiculous wunny at the end just to piss you off.

“shut up jeno,” you scowl, swatting his hand away and adjusting your glasses back into place.

he chuckles, unfazed, before pulling out his own assignments and settling in beside you. a comfortable silence draping over the two of you, easy and familiar.

but your mind was still reeling. you wanted, so badly, to be the girl who was kissing sungchan instead of the nerd he only acknowledged when he needed answers for a test. you wanted to hold his hand, to walk around campus with him, to be the one sitting in the back of the library.

you wanted to be the girl that people wanted to be.

your gaze drifts to your best friend. jeno hadn’t always been this effortlessly put-together, with his hair perfectly styled, clothes fitting him properly, and those annoying sculpted arms that somehow always had a girl clinging to them.

you’re reminded of a different version of him – the times when you had matching glasses, his head way too big for his body, the endless rotation of naruto and pokemon t-shirts he always had on and the way he would stutter every time a pretty girl would even look at his direction.

if he could grow into the handsome, confident man he is now, why couldn’t you?

and then, just like that, a lightbulb flickers on.

“...neno,” you call out to him, sweetly.

jeno eyes you with immediate suspicion, you only use that nickname when you want something from him, “what?,” he asks, an eyebrow raised.

“we’re best friends, right?,” you ask, innocently blinking up at him.

“is the sky blue???,” he shoots back, voice dripping with playful sarcasm. you ignore it, too caught up in the plan buzzing in your head.

“so, as my best friend, you’d do anything for me, right?,” you press, excitement coursing through.

he narrows his eyes, “that depends on what you’re about to ask from me,” he says, looking at you with a mixture of suspicion and mild horror.

“make me hot,” you say, dead serious.

jeno chokes on absolutely nothing, eyes going wide as the words hit him, “what?!.” he hisses, half-whisper, half-scream, as if you just confessed to a felony. a few heads turned your way and you can’t help but blush under the sudden attention.

“you’re so dramatic!,” you whisper, shrinking behind your books. all your previous confidence, going down the drain as you finally realized what you just asked him to do.

jeno charmingly waves, muttering his apologies until the curious stares faded and the library’s usual hush returned.

“y/n,” he said, suddenly serious, gaze locked on you, “what do you mean by ‘make you hot’?” his entire focus on you.

you sigh, heat crawling up your neck, “nevermind, jeno, it’s nothing,” you say, grabbing the nearest book, hoping to bury this conversation along with your pride.

before you could turn a page, jeno snatches it away from you, “hey, no secrets between us remember,” he said, gently but firmly.

you stared at the table, lips pressed into a thin line, weighing the embarrassment against the aching truth in your chest, “i just meant…help me be desirable, i’m tired of being a nerd, jeno. i just want someone to look at me and think i’m pretty,” you admit, too embarrassed to look him in the eye.

“i think you’re pretty, bunny,” he says quietly.

you groaned, immediately burying your face in your hands. this was too embarrassing. you felt like you were fishing for compliments.

“ugh, you’re only saying that because you’re my best friend and our dads will literally kill you if you don’t,” you say, voice muffled by the table below you.

jeno chuckles lightly beside you, “i’m not just saying that.”

you sit back up slowly, looking him dead in the eye, “jeno, i’ve never been asked out, never held hands with someone, hell, i’ve never even kissed anyone,” you reason, head plopping back into your chair.

“—that’s not true!, you’ve kissed me,” he points out earning an eye roll from you.

“jeno we were 14 and i kissed you like how i would kiss my mom,” you say, “it doesn’t count,” you shut your eyes, silently begging the universe to erase this entire moment from existence.

but your words lingered in jeno’s head – the quiet desperation in your voice, the way your eyes had pleaded without meaning to and before he could even think twice, his mouth moved on its own.

“i’ll see what i can do,” he said. your eyes flew open, locking onto his with a sparkle that transferred over to his own.

“thank you, neno,” you grinned, ruffling his hair with a smirk, excitement bubbling through you.

he groaned in protest, batting your hands away but the smile tugging at his lips betrayed him.

a second later, his phone flashes on his side. one glance at the screen and he was already gathering his things, “gotta go, lia texted,” he said, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

you nodded, smiling up at him, “have fun, don’t get pregnant,” you teased.

he chuckled, messing your hair up on his way out, “no promises,” he winked, making your face scrunch up in disgust. the image of your best friend having sex was not appealing at all.

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎

after spending a couple of hours buried in his current situationship’s legs, jeno finally made his way back to the dream house.

the conversation you had in the library constantly playing in his mind as he quickly barges into jaemin’s room, “dude-i oh…sorry!,” his eyes widen, apologizing as he redirects his stare at the ceiling, but doesn’t make an effort to leave.

jaemin scrambles to wrap the blanket around his girlfriend, who is currently face down, ass up with his dick still inside her, “dude!, get out!?,” he yells furiously, throwing a pillow at him.

“i need to ask you something,” jeno says, making jaemin groan, “can you ask me later?, im busy,” he grunts, his girlfriend still clenching tightly around him.

“oh…yeah, sorry…hi angel,” jeno mutters out, a playful smile on his lips before leaving and locking the door behind him, hearing an embarrassed, muffled, “hi jeno,” from jaemin’s girlfriend, on his way out.

“learn to lock the door!,” he laughed from the other side, the sound of skin slapping resuming as he made his way down the living room.

for the past few hours, your words had been playing on a loop in his head. he wasn’t sure where to start or how to go about helping you. not because he didn’t want to but because he’d never realized you needed that kind of help.

sure, he noticed that there were never any boys around, other than him, but he thought you preferred it that way. always scowling in disgust when a guy tries to get near you or even breathe the same air as you.

and besides the fact that he wanted to repay you for always helping him without asking for anything in return, he’d always thought you were pretty.

when you were six, with a scraped knee, and tear streaked cheeks after falling as you chased after his hamster who escaped - pretty.

when you were eight, missing all your teeth except the two in the front, food always ending up smeared all over your face - pretty.

when you were eleven, threatening all his bullies to stay away from him or you would call your dad - pretty.

when you were fourteen and you kissed him because you were curious why your parents were always kissing - so pretty.

when you were fifteen, drowning in a pink puffy dress that ate you up whole - ridiculous, but pretty.

when you were sixteen, at your mom’s funeral, crying on his shoulder, not allowing anyone else near you but him - hauntingly pretty.

when you were eighteen and you both had gotten your acceptance letters for university, excitedly jumping around together - pretty.

when you were twenty and crashed his car because you thought there was a dog on the road, only for it to be the shadow of the tree you crashed into - annoying, but still so damn pretty.

as your best friend, he wants you to see yourself the way he saw you.

if this was what it took to help you finally claim your confidence, then he’d do whatever it takes to make sure it worked. whether or not this was about impressing that boy you liked, he didn’t care. he just wanted to help you feel more sure of yourself.

an hour passed before jaemin finally joined him in the living room, immediately punching him in the arm, “learn to knock,” he huffs out before sitting next to his friend.

jeno chuckles, rubbing his arm, “i didn’t see anything, promise,” he turns to his friend, “you better not have or i’ll literally scoop your eyes out and feed it to you,” his friend grunts making him scrunch up in disgust.

“that’s disgusting,” jeno comments, the mental image making both of them squirm before bursting out into laughter.

“so what did you need?,” jaemin asks as soon as their laughter dies down.

“i actually need your girlfriend’s help,” he smiles sheepishly, piquing the other boy’s curiosity.

“with what?,” jaemin asks.

“with y/n,” jeno says before jaemin nods, getting up to get his girlfriend out of his room and into the living room. the rest of the boys knew who you were, of course, and as jeno had requested, they all looked out for you.

jaemin’s girlfriend listens intently at the plan jeno had - a makeover. he knew he needed a girl’s touch since he didn’t really know anything about the work that girls put into themselves to make them look ‘hot’.

he could argue he thought they just came that way. just like how you have always been pretty.

“well, im kind of done with all of that makeover and stuff,” she briefly smiles at her boyfriend, “but i do know the perfect girl,” shes says smiling, as jeno notes down the girls’ name, paying her a visit.

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎

two days later, jeno came prepared. plopping down in his usual seat in the library, right next to you, armed with a notepad that was opened to the page:

operation bunny’s glow-up

step 1: the makeover

step 2: closet cleanse and wardrobe upgrade

step 3: posture, confidence and flirting 101

step 4: bunny’s party reveal

you blinked at the notebook in front of you, registering the words written in jeno’s extremely neat handwriting, “what is this?”

“this,” he said, tapping the page, “is how i'm going to help you,” jeno explains.

there were too many steps and you’re suddenly so very aware how ridiculous this actually was, “can we just magically skip to step four where i’m already pretty and perfect and partying?,” you sigh, already feeling exhausted.

jeno almost wants to scold you for thinking you weren’t already pretty and perfect but remembered this is why he was doing this in the first place. to make sure you know you were pretty and perfect.

instead he says, “nope, this is a full process. you asked for my help and that’s what you’re getting, no backing out and definitely no easy way out.”

the sternness in his voice made you realize how serious he was about this. “you’re really gonna do all this for me, neno?,” you ask, a hint of gratitude shining in your eyes.

“of course i am, that’s what best friends are for,” he shrugs, ruffling your hair once again.

which is how you ended up here, seated in a salon chair with the girl you met just a couple minutes ago, your best friend leaving you all by your awkward self with no other than — giselle, third year cosmetology major and one of the school’s hottest girls.

her preppy personality was overwhelming, confidence radiating off her like perfume. you had no idea how to interact with her, no clue how any girl could be so aware of her beauty and completely own it the way she did.

it’s almost unfair how nice she was too. hot, popular girls were supposed to be mean, rude, intolerable. that’s how they’re portrayed in every teen movie you’ve seen. but giselle is kind, easygoing, talked to you like you weren't several social status’ below her in the pyramid you’ve made up.

“alright, so we’re gonna make sure your hair frames for your face perfectly and get rid of all your split ends,” she explains, hands already in motion as she fluffs your hair out, moving it around, parting it here and there to visualize what looks best on you.

once she figured it out, she let out a satisfied hum and got to work. the scissors glide gracefully, almost like they were an extension of her fingers and you can’t help but be mesmerized.

“so, how did you and jeno meet?,” she asks, casually starting the conversation as her hands continue to move through your hair.

“uhm, our parents are best friends,” you mumble, trying not to sound as stiff as you feel.

“ooh, that’s fun!,” she comments and you’re not entirely sure if she means it or if she’s just trying to be polite. either way, you appreciate her effort.

“and you’ve never had a crush on him?,” she adds, eyebrows raised. the shock on your face is evident, the very idea of having a crush on your best friend making your stomach twist.

“uhh no, i’ve never seen him that way,” you reply, a shudder slipping down your spine.

giselle laughs, clearly amused, “i see,” she hums, “your best friend is hot though, you know?,” you smile up at her, nodding, blush creeping up your cheeks.

of course you knew people considered jeno hot but you’re not entirely sure you agree with that statement.

he was the same boy who was crying to you because his hamster escaped, the same boy who got his braces stuck in your sweater, the same boy who ran away when you kissed him, the same boy who almost cried when your acceptance letter came in the mail first, his nowhere to be seen until a week later – your best friend was cute, the same way a puppy was cute.

“soo, who do you think is hot?,” she asks, playful curiosity dancing in her eyes.

is this what girl talk is?

“uhmm,” you shy away under her friendly gaze. you’ve never really had anyone to talk to about boys. with your mom passing away at an early age and all your girlfriends more interested in their anime crushes than real ones, this kind of conversation feels like uncharted territory.

“don’t worry, i'm really good at keeping secrets,” she says, urging you to go on. there’s something about her aura that you trust. and you knew that if jeno didn’t trust her, he wouldn’t have left you alone with her in the first place. so for the first time in your life, you indulge in girl talk.

“i think umm…i think sungchan is hot,” you mutter, shy, eyes immediately darting to the floor.

she gasps, an exaggerated, delighted sound, “i totally agree” she says giggling, “you have great taste,” she giggles. then, leaning in with excitement, she whispers, “i’m gonna make sure sungchan falls in love with you.”

you glance at her reflection in the mirror and despite yourself, a smile appears on your face, giddy and a little disbelieving.

“and…we’re done with your hair!,” she announces, your focus darting at your own reflection. your eyes widen slightly. she made your hair look like what you would see in the magazines – sleek, soft, effortlessly perfect.

the change in your appearance already reflecting back at you.

“this is just the beginning,” she whispers again, a friendly smile displayed on her lips.

she gently reclines the chair you were sitting on then tilts your chin up with practiced fingers, her eyes scanning your face with focused curiosity as she takes your glasses off, “hmm, okay,” she murmurs, turning your face side to side. you can’t help but feel awkward, gaze drifting everywhere else, avoiding eye contact.

“okay…i’m just gonna clean up your brows, and wax a little peach fuzz if that’s okay?,” she asks, voice light and reassuring. you nod, unsure what all that means but trusting her anyway.

giselle gets to work immediately, a new tool in her hand, and wax paper placed on your upper lip and in just twenty minutes, she steps back, satisfied.

your face looks softer…more defined. more you, somehow.

“you’re so pretty, y/n,” she says warmly, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “and we barely did anything.”

the compliment hits you harder than you expect. pretty wasn’t a word you would ever describe yourself yet here is one of the most beautiful girls you’ve ever seen calling you that. tears sting the corner of your eyes before you can blink them away.

“c’mon,” she says, voice still gentle but laced with excitement, “we’re not done, grab your stuff, we're going somewhere.”

after spending exactly thirty-two minutes in giselles car, singing along to the radio and laughing at her endless stream of chaotic stories, which you thought was something you’d never ever do, you were now at the mall. more specifically, standing in front of a waxing salon.

you shoot her a nervous glance, eyes wide with suspicion.

“i figured you’d be more comfortable with a stranger you’d never have to see again,” she says with a casual shrug, and suddenly it clicks why you’re here.

you knew what a waxing salon was, you just never thought you’d voluntarily stepped foot into one.

“this is my go-to, they get everything and it doesn’t hurt that bad,” she promises, reassuring, and you swore you look like a tomato with how much you’re blushing.

when giselle said they get everything, she meant they get everything.

even body parts that you didn’t think would have hair on them, body parts that no one else has seen but your own eyes. you almost can’t believe you were in this position right now, but giselle was right – a stranger was better for this. the only thing keeping you from bolting was the comforting knowledge that you’d never have to make eye contact with the person who was currently in between your legs again.

after an hour and several compromising positions later, you were finally done. your skin felt smoother than a baby’s, which was honestly kind of mind-blowing.

giselle was waiting for you at the reception, a bag in her hand, her eyes lighting up as soon as she saw you, “okay!, so i got you a little starter kit filled with makeup, skincare and all the other essentials,” she said, practically bouncing, “let’s go back to my place and i’ll teach you how to use it!”

her excitement was infectious and you couldn’t help but smile just as wide – her bubbly energy sinking into your bones in the best way.

making your way to giselle’s bedroom, you notice how different your rooms were. while yours was covered with posters and music records from all your favorite bands, her’s was covered in magazine clippings of what you assumed are the most popular fashion trends.

while your shelves were filled with books of all genres, she had an entire shelf dedicated to makeup and skincare products. another filled with several handbags and shoes. you weren’t even aware that girls had to have that many.

“sit, my canvas,” she says, lightly teasing, pointing to the chair in front of her vanity mirror as she pulls things out of the bag she gave you.

“we’re keeping it simple, just the basics: primer, foundation, brows, blush, and lipstick of course.”

you nod like you understood anything she was saying. she caught the panic in your eyes and smiled softer this time, “don’t worry,” she said, uncapping a small bottle of primer, “i got you.”

she talked you through every step. primer, foundation, blending like your life depended on it. she filled in one of your brows and handed you the pencil, urging you to try it out yourself. you tried to mimic her, hand shaky, tongue slightly poking out in concentration. this was definitely harder than she made it out to be.

“you’re a natural,” she says, satisfied with your work and you can feel your confidence growing with every second you spend with her. it’s as if she was sharing the amount of confidence she had with you.

by the end of it, you stared at yourself in the mirror and barely recognized your own reflection. not because the makeup was dramatic, it wasn’t, but because you looked like someone who belonged.

like someone who chose how she wanted to be seen.

“there…you look beautiful,” giselle murmurs behind you, chin resting lightly on your shoulder, “i have one last thing for you,” she says, reaching for another bag and you’re not sure how you could ever repay her for all of this.

as if she could read your thoughts, she quickly says, “don’t worry about it, jeno paid for it”

“glasses can be hot, but the ones you have now, completely hides your face so…,” she pulls out two things, “first, i got you these silver ones, they’re smaller but they’ll sit on your face better,” she hands it to you.

you take them, fingers brushing over the smooth metal. the glasses were cute, not your usual style, but when you slipped them on and looked in the mirror, you instantly understood what she meant. they frame your features instead of swallowing them whole.

giselle pats herself on the back, clearly happy with her decision, “and if you’re feeling a little braver,” she trails off, pulling out the last item, “-contact lenses, i asked jeno for your prescription so those should be good, they’re pretty easy to put on too but just in case, i’ll message you a youtube video with step by step instructions,” she smiles at you, soft and sincere.

and you can’t hold it in anymore. her kind actions pull at your heartstrings as the dam breaks – tears sliding down your cheeks before you can stop them.

“thank you, giselle,” you say in full gratitude, voice thick with emotion.

“of course,” she whispers, her eyes matching yours as she pulls you into a hug.

“-now stop crying, okay, makeup is expensive,” she says, laughing as she wipes at her own damp lashes. you both burst into giggles, the room light again despite the weight in your heart.

and then a knock makes its way to her bedroom door, echoing throughout her room.

giselle quickly fixes your tear stained cheeks, “alright, if you ever need anything else, just let me know okay?,” she says, and you nod, thankful for her kindness.

“let's see what your best friend has to say,” she squeals as she rushes over to the door, swinging it open and revealing jeno on the other side.

you hadn’t even thought about how jeno would react or how other people would take in your new appearance. you suddenly felt extremely nervous. he was the first person who was going to see you like this — you wanted him to react well.

jeno steps into the room, hands in the pockets of his hoodie, expression casual until he sees you and suddenly he feels like every air has been knocked out of his lungs.

you have always been pretty but right now you look absolutely, breathtakingly, beautiful.

he realizes he’s been staring in silence for too long when he notices you shift in your seat, the words, “what?,” slipping from your lips, almost harsh, trying to sound casual.

he blinks a few times, gulping “n-nothing y-you just look–,”

“different?,” you complete his sentence, afraid he will start teasing you. his stare becomes more uncomfortable with every second of silence that passes.

“-r-really p-pretty,” he finally manages to say. a smile takes over your features, his compliment completely blowing away the feelings of doubt that were starting to cloud.

jeno almost wants to beat himself up for stuttering so much.

“ahh, my work here is done,” giselle beams, looking in between you with a knowing look only she knew the meaning of. she clapped like she’s the proud host of a makeover show, as she should. jeno clears his throat, immediately reminded that you both had an audience.

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎

a soft knock echoed at your dorm room’s door, followed by jeno’s familiar voice. when you opened it, you caught the tiny flicker in his eyes. he was still trying to get used to your new appearance. its been two days since giselle’s successful makeover and he still hasn’t fully adjusted to this version of you.

but it was time to start step two of the operation - closet cleanse and wardrobe upgrade.

“wait,” you say, squinting at him, “you’re the one that’s gonna look at my clothes?,” you say, bewildered.

what did jeno know about ladies’ fashion?

“yeah, who else would it be?,” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“i don't know, i thought you would’ve brought giselle or another one of your lady friends,” you mumbled as he casually made himself at home on your bed.

he grinned, flopping back against your pillows like he owned the place, “nope, just me, don’t worry…i know what looks good,” he says, a playful smile on his lips as you eyed him suspiciously, “and how exactly are you going to rate my clothes?,” you ask.

he shrugs, “i’ll figure it out as we go, now come on, show me what you got,” he says, making himself comfortable in your sheets.

truthfully, his rating was completely unscientific and wildly biased. he was judging your clothes based on the question: if a girl walked by in this outfit, would i say hi?

and he knows damn well that if you ever found out you were being styled based on his imaginary dream girl, you’d kick him right where the sun won't shine. so he kept that little detail to himself.

“ugh, okay,” you groaned, giving in as you started taking your clothes out of your wardrobe and holding them up for him.

jeno leaned back, arms folded behind his head, watching you with an amused glint in his eyes. he was way too comfortable in your space but then again, he always had been.

one by one you pulled clothes from your closet – the shirts you’ve had since middle school, some with funky patterns, others just straight up horrendous. pants with weird patterns and those that didn’t help accentuate your figure at all.

for once, you were thankful for being one of the lucky ones who didn’t have a roommate. no one else needed to witness this humiliation.

jeno, however, was getting the full show. he has never realized how bad your wardrobe was until now. each new item of clothing you pulled out seemed to be worse than the last. and then came the final blow.

the naruto and pokemon shirts. his oversized naruto and pokemon shirts. jeno’s jaw slacks open, like the very memory of those shirts carried his own personal trauma, “why the hell do you have those?!,” he blurted, sitting up like he’d just seen a ghost.

“your dad gave them to me when you outgrew them, i just kept them,” you shrug.

“burn it.” his voice was flat, non-negotiable.

“what?! no!, these are comfortable and i like wearing them to sleep!,” you defend, clutching the shirts like they were priceless heirlooms. jeno stares at you wide eyed, expression teetering somewhere between disgust and betrayal “you cannot let anyone see you in those,” he says, deadly serious, making you chuckle.

“stop being so dramatic, i bet if you wore these now, people would think it’s cool,” you say and jeno shakes his head furiously, like he can't even fathom the idea of ever wearing it again, “no, absolutely not, i’ve buried that version of myself. deep.”

“well, i’m not burning them!,” you declare, shoving the shirts deep into your drawer, making sure he can’t pull it out behind your back.

by the end of it you had two piles. the “i guess that’s okay” pile and the “don’t ever wear that again, that’s going straight to donation,” pile which was unfortunately about three times bigger.

“jeno, i have like no clothes left!,” you say, plopping down on the bed next to him, limbs heavy with defeat.

your room looked like it was run through by a tornado, clothes scattered in every corner.

without a word, jeno pulls you into his arms, fingers brushing your hair out of your face with an ease that only comes from years of friendship, “we’re gonna go shopping,” he murmurs against your temple, “it’s gonna be fine.”

you let yourself melt into his side with a sigh, “okay, but like…in five minutes, i’m too tired to even attempt being a hot girl right now,” he chuckles softly and you feel the sound more than you hear it, sleep tugging you under.

jeno lets his eyes flutter shut too, a small contented smile on his lips.

five minutes, she said. he’d give her ten.

ten minutes turned into three hours and you woke up with your legs tangled with the boy beside you, “neno,” you groaned, shoving him off of you, “you’re so fucking heavy,” you whine.

jeno slowly wakes up, blinking the sleep away as he sluggishly rubbed at his eyes, “fuck, what time is it?,” he says before reaching out for his phone and answering his own question.

it was only 6PM, still plenty of time to run to the mall and get you your new upgraded outfits.

and exactly thirty minutes later, jeno was dragging you around all the stores with the latest fashion trends. you didn’t even know your best friend knew these stores existed, “how do you know so much about this?” you ask him, eyeing him suspiciously.

he shot you a grin over his shoulder, “well, i do listen to every girl i talk to, you know” he points out and you’re reminded of the fact that your sweet, nerdy best friend was also one of the university’s hot, sexy, fuck-boy.

you rolled your eyes, “gross.” you still can’t believe he even has that reputation. wanting to smack yourself every time you get reminded of it. how could your glasses-wearing, braces-clad, cried-over-a-hamster best friend turn into some kind of lady killer? it didn’t feel real.

“hey, it’s called research,” he teased, “gotta keep them interested somehow.”

he grabs a shopping cart, pulling at everything he thought looked nice on the mannequins, as well as a couple of pieces of clothing that fit his previous criteria.

you follow him around like a lost child. you don’t even remember the last time you had a shopping trip and bought something for yourself. you were usually only here to buy gifts or if you’re forced to buy new underwear.

after a while of aimlessly wandering as jeno does all the work, you find yourself in the dressing room, a shopping bag filled with clothes in your arm.

now here you were, staring at your reflection in pure disbelief. the first matching outfit jeno picked out was a tiny pink skirt and an even tinier pink crop top that left your midriff exposed, “uhhm, jeno i dont know about this one,” you say from the other side of the door, nervous.

“step out, let me see,” he says, patiently sitting outside of your dressing room stall, voice relaxed, clearly unbothered.

slowly, hesitantly, your fingers hover over the lock before unlocking the door, debating on whether or not you should let him see you in this ridiculous outfit that is showing way too much skin than you’re used to. before you could completely psych yourself out, you took a deep breath, mentally preparing yourself before finally swinging the door wide open, revealing the outfit to him.

jeno looked up and almost choked on air.

the outfit definitely hugged your curves in all the right places, made your skin glow and your legs look longer, and god, yes, he would definitely go up to you and say hi if he saw you at a party.

but then he thinks about all the other boy’s who would also go up to you and say hi and do god knows what else and the thought almost knocks him out.

“yeah, that doesn’t look comfortable, i don't like it,” he says a half lie. you quickly agree, relieved, as you go back into the dressing room to try on your next outfit.

jeno feels hot.

the air was too thick and he wanted to dunk his head in cold water to remind himself that this was you.

he shakes the thoughts away. these are thoughts he shouldn’t be thinking about, especially with his best friend. but it was no use. because the next time you stepped out of the dressing room you were wearing a white skirt a little longer than the last one and a light blue top that covered what needed to be covered but was just enough to exude that sexiness he liked in a girl and he swore he needed to get into a bathroom. now.

“this one’s a bit better, i could actually wear this,” you comment, innocently looking at him through those silver glasses that makes your eyes pop out, a small smile on display and all he could do was nod, “yeah…t-that one’s nice,” he says, disguising his stutter under a fake cough.

you smiled, pleased with his answer, and he felt his stomach flip.

he was in so much trouble.

this torture went on for a good fifteen more outfits, tiny side comments coming from him while his sanity continues to slip just a little more. his pants feel more restricted every time you walk out dressed in the cutest outfits that looked like they were made for you.

the worst ones were the ones you liked. the ones that made your eyes twinkle in the mirror and made you smile like you were finally starting to see yourself the way he saw you – absolutely beautiful.

there’s a million f words running through his head.

why the fuck did he think this was a good idea? why the fuckity fuck didn’t he just ask giselle to add this to her makeover process? why the fuckity fuck fuck did he throw all those tiny tops and short skirts into your basket? why the flying fuckity fuck fuck fuck shit fuck are you so fucking pretty? and more importantly – what the actual fuck are you, his best friend, doing to him?

after a long three hours of internal screaming – it was finally over.

you emerged from the mall looking like you’d just won a game show, all smiles and sunshine, bubbling with excitement, happy with the outfits your best friend picked out for you while jeno trudged behind you, hauling ten full shopping bags, half amused, half in pain.

he drove in near silence as you yapped on and on about your makeover with giselle, every detail you hadn’t had the chance to spill yet now tumbling out all at once.

in the middle of your yapping session, you noticed the boy wasn’t as active as he usually was, no silly side comments, no teasing remarks.

“neno..,” you sweetly called out to him and jeno nearly swerved.

god, the things that nickname did to him.

“you okay?,” you asked, eyes flicking over to him.

“yeah bunny, just tired,” he said with a small smile, trying to play it cool.

“that was a lot of shopping for a guy, y’know?” he glanced at you quickly, then back to the road, “keep going, tell me more about your day with giselle,” he says.

you eyed him for a second longer, as if trying to read him, then picked up right where you left off.

he dropped you off and made sure you were safely in your room. before he could leave you surprised him by reaching out and pulling him into a hug. with your arm tight around his waist, face pressed against his chest, you let out a soft sigh, “thank you, neno, sorry for taking up so much of your time.”

jeno chuckles, gently smoothing your hair down with one hand, hoping you don’t realize how fast his heart was beating, “you can never take too much of my time, bunny, you know that” he says, reassuring you.

you look up at him, with that sweet, grateful smile that’s currently driving him crazy, “you’re the best best friend in the entire world,” you say, before leaning up and pressing a sweet, innocent kiss to his cheek.

jeno should’ve been used to it.

you’ve been kissing his cheek ever since you were five years old and playing in the mud together. he argues today just wasn’t his day.

maybe it was the outfit? maybe it was the soft curve of your smile? or maybe it was the fact that he hadn’t had sex in so long (two days) it was affecting his logic?

whatever it was, that little peck nearly sent him spiraling.

“go and rest,” you said, pushing him towards your door and out of your dorm room, “thanks for shopping with me,” you ended the night with a lopsided grin before shutting your door as he finally made his way out.

he didn’t go home right away. instead he found himself at lia’s place, hands roaming and mind elsewhere, trying to exorcise whatever the hell was clawing at him from the inside out.

he kissed her like he meant it, touched her like he was desperate – because he was. so, so desperate for release. he fucked the shit out of her, releasing all his sexual urges as he guiltily pictured you in those tight, revealing outfits.

pictured you smiling up at him having absolutely no idea the effect you left behind. pictured your sweet voice calling him that nickname you gave him when you were fourteen before you stole his first kiss.

and when he finally finished, breathless and sweaty, staring up at the ceiling of a room that wasn’t his, next to a girl he barely knew, all could think about was: what the actual fuck is wrong with me?

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎

the easy part of this transformation was over — the shopping spree, the haircut, the subtle change of your appearance had all been external.

you could already feel the power your new look gave you. for the first time in your life, you realized that pretty privilege wasn’t just some exaggerated social theory. it was real. you felt it in the smallest gestures.

on your way to the library, retracing steps you’ve taken hundreds of times before, everything felt a little different. the way people intently held the door open for you, even if you were still several steps away. the way they’d immediately made space for you in the elevator. and the way someone had already rushed to help you grab a book from the top shelf – you used to have to drag the ladder with you just to get it before.

however, just because life became a tad bit easier, doesn’t mean you felt comfortable.

what had once been comfort in invisibility was now replaced with the pressure of being seen. you weren’t used to the lingering glances or the compliments or the catcalls — it made your skin crawl, making you want to hide under the table until everyone leaves.

when jeno finally walked into the library, his eyes landed on you immediately. you wore a soft white top with jeans that finally hugged your frame and a light blue cardigan around your shoulders, collarbones out for display. it was one of the outfits you bought last night.

the guilt on his shoulders felt heavier as he was reminded of what he did — what he thought of.

forcefully shaking the thoughts away, he quietly sits right next to you. his gaze drifts to your legs anxiously bouncing under the table. a sign that something was clearly bothering you. gently, he placed a hand on your knee. you flinched slightly, then looked up at him, your expression distant – like you just realized he was there.

“bunny, what’s wrong?,” he asks, voice low and tender, threaded with concern.

“they’re all staring, jeno,” you whispered, almost like you didn’t want the words to exist.

he looks around the room, noticing the way everyone was too deep into their own worlds and while he didn’t see anyone obviously gawking, he knew it didn’t matter. it wasn’t about them. it was about what you were feeling inside.

“no one’s staring, bunny,” he murmured, voice delicate, like handling glass.

he knew better than to dismiss it. he recalls what it was like when he stepped out without the comfort of his thick-rimmed glasses and oversized t-shirts for the first time. remembers the way his heart was pounding in his chest, afraid of the judgments he might receive. he didn’t need to guess what you were feeling. he’s sure you were battling the same internal conflict right now. but just like how he got through it, he knows you will too. he’ll make sure of it.

you shut your eyes, taking a deep breath, “sorry,” you whispered, exhaling like the breath had been stuck in your chest all day, “im just- being paranoid, i’m not used to people noticing me,” you say softly.

“that’s okay,” jeno said, a warm smile blooming on his face as his hand moved to your back, rubbing slow, soothing circles, “that’s our lesson for today.”

jeno gave your shoulder a reassuring squeeze as he set his bag down beside you, “okay bunny, first thing’s first is it’s all about your mindset,” he taps his head, pointing to his brain and you can’t help but giggle at the silly antics.

“im serious,” he insisted, lips twitching into a smirk, “if someone stares, don't spiral and think ‘they’re judging me.’ instead think ‘i look good, that’s why they’re staring,’” he says.

your eyes pop out of your head, he says it like it was so easy, “doesn’t that sound a little too egotistical?,” you said, nose wrinkling.

“not egotistical, just confident,” he counters, “there’s a difference.”

you gave him a skeptical look but he was already sitting up straighter, leaving no room for arguments.

“next is posture, stop hiding behind your books and sit straight, shoulders back, chin up,” he demonstrates.

you copied his posture, finding his seriousness amusing as you rolled your shoulders back, “like this?,”

“yeah,” he nodded, approving, “you already look more confident”

you laughed quietly, already feeling silly, “i feel like i’m pretending to be someone i’m not,” you point out.

“well, confidence is pretending, at first anyway,” he replied, shrugging, “eventually you start owning up to it, it starts becoming comfortable.”

you studied your best friend for a minute or two. there was a time where he would hide behind his books as well, would even hide behind you. you realized now that his change didn’t just come out of nowhere – it wasn’t just a random growth spurt. it was something he’d worked on, something that took time and practice, just like you were doing now. you wondered how he ever managed to do this alone.

“and the most important thing to know, bunny,” he adds, voice gentler now, “you’re allowed to take up space, don’t ever apologize for being seen.”

you carried his words with you, tucking them somewhere deep, somewhere that had always longed to hear them.

you sat there in silence for a beat until jeno shifted beside you, nudging your arm lightly, “okay,” he said, eyes glinting with a mischievous spark, “time for your first assignment.”

you turned to him, instantly suspicious, “assignment?,”

he nodded, already scanning the room, “see that guy by the window,” he points to possibly the prettiest boy you’ve ever seen reading a worn copy of the hunger games: catching fire. you recognize him. you’re pretty sure he was in your elective art class.

“you’re going to flirt with him,” jeno smirks and your eyes almost bulge out of your head.

“you’re joking! that’s hyunjin,” you whisper, head whipping toward jeno.

“so?,”

“so, he’s…he’s too cool and i don't even know how to flirt!,” you whisper-shouted, hands flailing helplessly at your sides.

he chuckles, “you were the same girl who threatened to beat up my bullies when we were 11, you’re telling me you’re afraid of a boy now?,” his smile is playful, lightly provoking you. and when you don’t reply, he knew you knew that he was right, “just compliment him, smile, say he has nice hands or something.”

your mouth fell open, staring at him in horror, “that’s so dumb, jeno. what if he thinks i'm hitting on him?”

“...you are hitting on him,” he said slowly, like it was obvious.

you groaned, dragging your hands over your face, “i’m not comfortable with this.”

“that’s the point. confidence doesn’t grow in comfort zones,” jeno says and you wonder when he’s gotten so wise. usually you were the one who had these motivational words ready for him.

staring down at your lap, nerves buzzing like static in your fingertips, you take a moment to think it through. you glanced back at your best friend, he was already looking at you proudly – like he believed in you more than you believe in yourself.

you let out a breathy laugh, the absurdity the situation weighing on your chest, “if this ends in disaster–,”

“it wont,” he cuts you off and you knew there was no way to back out of this situation. besides you were the one who asked him to help you. slowly, you got up from your chair, taking a deep breath and making your way towards the boy.

“hi, hyunjin,” you start off quiet, timid, slightly afraid.

hyunjin darts his eyes away from his book, looking up at you, “hey” he replies. when you don’t say anything else right away, he shifted in his seat, “did you need anything?,” he says, an awkward smile on his lips.

you swallowed hard, nerves tangling in your throat, “i uhm…just wanted to tell you—you have nice hands!,” you say, a little too cheerful for your liking. you were internally screaming. curse jeno for putting that in your head. you actually can’t believe you used it.

he blinked. then a soft laugh escaped him, not mocking, but surprised, amused. “oh? uhm, thanks?,” he said, a playful glint in his eyes, “i like what you’ve done with your hair,” he compliments, leaving you shocked.

“what?”

he points vaguely in your direction, “you got a haircut, right? it look’s nice.”

you blinked, stunned into silence for a second too long. “thank you,” you finally breathed, cheeks warming instantly.

you didn’t realize he noticed you before. let alone remember you enough to notice a change.

“you’re welcome,” he smiles and you awkwardly wave goodbye.

you made your back to jeno, so certain that you looked like a tomato. dropping into the seat beside him, burying your face in your hands, “that was so embarrassing,” you mumbled through your fingers.

jeno tried to hide his laughter behind his fingers, afraid to be called out by the librarian for being too loud, “you actually told him he had nice hands,” he wheezed.

“shut up!,” you groaned, “that was your fault!,” you swat at his arm, “my brain just – stopped working.”

jeno calms himself down, sitting up straighter now, the teasing falling away just a little, “yeah, but you did it…and he talked to you, noticed your hair, said he liked it.”

the memory of hyunjin’s compliment flickers in the back of your mind and a small swell of pride flutters in your chest, “he did, didn’t he…,” a shy smile tugs at the corner of your lips.

jeno nods, eyes full of tenderness, “see? you’ve never been invisible,” he points out.

the words settle over you like a warm blanket and for a moment you just sit with them, the weight of the realization sinking in.

“i still felt like i was going to pass out though,” you admitted, a thin, embarrassed smile on display.

“that’s okay, confidence is scary,“ jeno said simply, “but the more you practice, the easier it’ll be,” he sends you a warm smile, never making you feel like these feelings were wrong.

without thinking, you leaned into his shoulder, seeking the steady comfort he always gave you, “thanks, neno,” you breathe out.

he freezes for a second, just for a second, before bumping his head lightly against yours, “anytime.”

then he pulls back just enough to grin mischievously, “now, go back to hyunjin and say something a little less awkward.”

“wait? right now?!,” you whip your head toward him, horrified once again.

“yes, right now…go,” he’s already pushing you up and out of your seat, laughing under his breath as he watches you stumble forward, nerves buzzing anew.

trying to ignore the way your heart pounds against your ribs, you walk back up to hyunjin, this time with a bit more confidence, capturing his attention once more.

“actually i…i wanted to say that’s a really good book,” you nod toward the hunger games book in his hand and hyunjin lights up instantly.

“right?, i’m on my third re-read,” he says excitedly.

with a casual gesture, he pulls out the chair next to him inviting you to sit as you talked about the masterpiece that is suzanne collins and the hunger games trilogy. the conversation went on for a good twenty minutes, it was easy and light and fun, a little playful sometimes. you lose yourself in the exchange, forgetting the nerves that once clawed at your chest.

when hyunjin bid his goodbye, you practically floated back to your seat. your heart was pounding in your ears but in the best way possible. you can’t believe that just happened. you usually only talk to people in class, if you’re required to.

jeno watched you. watched that twinkle in your eye appear, your smile beaming as the conversation continues and it’s the first time throughout this whole process that he sees the change.

you were slowly bringing back the girl he knew. the girl you lost along the way. the girl he always knew was still there, just waiting for a reason to shine.

when you returned to him, he can’t help but tease you just a little bit, “look who’s suddenly ms. social butterfly,” he grins, earning an eye roll from you as you tried to wipe the giddy smile off your face, “shut up”

“no seriously,” he says, leaning forward now, resting his elbows on the table, “twenty full minutes, i was about to send a search party,” he smirks.

“always so dramatic,” you huff but your smile betrays you, “i didn’t think it’d actually go that well,” you admit, cheeks still pink.

“you flirted, you sat down, talked about hunger games lore like it was natural…if i didn't know you, i’d think you do this every day,” he smirks.

you narrow your eyes, “are you mocking me or hyping me up?,” you say playfully.

“why not both?,” he shrugs, clearly enjoying himself. his tone softens just enough to say, “but seriously bunny, im proud of you,” and you smile at him like he just handed you the stars in the sky.

“thanks…i feel kinda…good.”

“confidence will do that to you,” jeno says, nudging your foot under the table.

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎

the next few days turn into a full crash course in flirting 101 with lee jeno.

one afternoon, he dares you to make eye contact with the cute guy handing out flyers in campus, not just a glance, real eye contact. it sounds simple but it makes your palms sweat. you were able to managed a flirty smile too and when the boy stammers mid-sentence, jeno practically fist-pumps the air behind you.

another day, he made you strike up a casual conversation with the barista at the cafe. told you to be a little playful, a little flirty. you passed with flying colors, only stumbling over a few words, the barista writing his number on your cup as well as giving you an extra cookie “on the house.” you nearly skip back to jeno, face lit up like christmas morning.

each small win builds on the last, stacking slowly, steadily until the idea of putting yourself out there and owning up to your confidence doesn’t seem so scary anymore.

through it all, jeno watches with the same steady pride adoring the fact that you were learning how to take up space and shine again.

but then comes the moment that even he isn’t prepared for.

it’s a warm afternoon, golden light slanting through the library windows, when jeno leans over the table, a mischievous glint in his eye, “alright, new assignment.”

you smirk at him, accepting his challenge, “what now?”

he tips his chin toward the entrance where sungchan – tall, charming, the boy you’ve had a quite, hopeless crush on for years – walks in, balancing a coffee and his bag slung casually over one shoulder.

the air is knocked out of your lungs and you suddenly feel dizzy, hoping jeno doesn’t follow through whatever he had in mind.

“sungchan,” jeno says, making your heart skip a bit. he grins, already knowing the effect he has on you, “go invite him to the dream frat party this weekend.”

you stare at him like he’s grown two heads, “are you insane?!, that’s sungchan!”

“which makes this the perfect challenge,” he teases.

you open your mouth to protest but jeno cuts you off with a nudge on your arm, “c’mon show me you’ve learned something,” he mocks playfully.

you groan dramatically but your feet somehow move anyway, heart pounding so loudly you’re sure jeno can hear it from where he’s sitting. you were determined to show jeno (and yourself) that you have completely embraced the confidence.

you gather every shred of courage you have and cross the room toward the boy who inspired this whole glow-up.

sungchan looks up just as you approach, his smile lighting up the whole room. you send him a smile – a little flirty, a little too sweet.

“hey,” sungchan says, voice warm, “you’re in my psych class, right? you always ace every test”

you blink, a little thrown by the fact the he paid attention to you, “oh yeah, that’s me,” you say with a soft, bashful laugh, earning a chuckle from the boy in front of you.

he leans against the shelves a little, eyes raking over you in a way that makes your stomach twist. it’s not the uncomfortable kind of stare you’ve been learning to dodge lately. it’s something softer, curious, warm. like he’s seeing you for the first time.

“you look different today,” he says, tilting his head, studying you, “—in a good way.”

you feel the heat rush to your cheeks but you force yourself to stay steady, remembering everything jeno has taught you.

“thanks,” you manage, giving him a more playful, more bold smile, “maybe you just weren’t paying enough attention before.”

this surprises him, eyebrows shooting up before a slow, impressed grin stretches across his face.

“maybe i wasn’t,” he admits, the easy charm in his voice sending your heart into a full sprint.

for a second, neither of you moves. the space between you humming with quiet tension – intoxicating and terrifying all at once.

you clear your throat lightly, breaking the spell, “come to the dream frat party this weekend,” you say it like it wasn’t an invitation. wasn’t a question. didn’t give him any room to deny.

sungchan’s grin turns teasing, a spark lighting in his eyes, “am i coming as your date or…?,” he leans toward you, trailing off, leaving the question open, playful.

you bite back a laugh, finding just enough courage to meet his gaze head on, “i guess you’ll have to come to find out.”

he stares at you for a heartbeat longer. you’ve definitely piqued his curiosity. and then he laughs, easy and alluring, “okay beautiful, you’ve convinced me. i’ll be there,” he whispers for only you to hear before sending you a wink and walking away.

back at the table, jeno watches. something inside him shifts. it’s subtle, a small, tight pull low in his chest but it settles in bitterly.

he pushes it away, refusing to acknowledge it because this wasn’t supposed to matter. he wasn’t supposed to care about anything but seeing you happy.

you make your way back to him, beaming, “he said yes!,” you practically squeal, dropping into your chair like your knees might give out at any second.

jeno chuckles, reaching out to ruffle your hair, a familiar, easy gesture that suddenly feels heavier than it should.

“of course he did, you’re impossible to say no to,” he tries to tease, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes and you’re too giddy to notice any of it. you bat his hand away, cheeks flushed and full of life.

jeno is forced to swallow past the uncomfortable lump rising in his throat.

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎

tonight is the dream fraternity’s party.

the night where you finally put everything you’ve learned, everything you’ve worked for, to the test. this was it. the final step in your glow up and you felt that electric sense of anticipation crackling just beneath your skin.

you were done waiting. done watching from the sidelines.

you were ready to let loose, to fully step into this new version of yourself.

you stepped into the house, the air thick with excitement. a tight white dress clings to your body, a bold choice you would have second-guessed before. you ditched your glasses for the night, switching it with the contact lenses giselle gave you — embracing the braveness.

this time, when you notice the stares, the double takes, the whispered comments, you don’t shrink back. you don’t flinch. you let them wash over you, feeding the fire inside you.

all those lessons with jeno clearly worked. that change in mindset was all you needed. the attention makes you glow. makes you feel powerful.

looking around the room, you searched for your best friend before finally spotting him in the corner at the back, near the kitchen.

you send him a tiny wave, he sends one back, excitement bubbling through you but before you could make your way towards him, a hand on your arm stops you.

“y/n! you look so pretty oh my god!,” giselle screeches over the loud music, a smile beaming on her face as she pulls you in for a tight hug. she was clearly already intoxicated, her balance a little wobbly but her energy still infectious.

“c’mon,” she says, already dragging you around the room with her, “you have to meet my friends!”

you happily followed her around, giggles escaping your lips, nervousness falling away with every step.

before you know it you were three shots in, dancing with the girls – giselle, somi, and angel, who you already knew before as jaemin’s girlfriend.

the music was loud, your laughters were louder.

and for the first time, you aren’t overthinking a single thing.

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎

when jeno saw you walk into the front door, it was like time had slowed down, like a thousand cherry blossom petals had burst into the air around you, everyone else blurring into a side character of your story.

you have always been pretty. always been beautiful. but tonight, you were absolutely radiant.

and it wasn’t even the dress, though he can’t deny how much he loved the way white clung to you, soft and luminous.

it was the way you walked around the room with your head held high. the way you glowed with every step, not shying away under anyone’s gaze. the way your smile beamed.

you weren’t hiding anymore.

you have finally stepped into your own skin, finally brought back the girl he knew.

in that moment, it wasn’t just the girl standing in front of him that he saw. it was every version of you that was always beautiful – the girl that was the first one out of the house, chasing after his hamster. the girl that didn’t care if she only had two teeth left, she would still eat what she wanted. the girl who was fighting bullies three times her size just to protect him. the girl who was brave enough to kiss him first. the girl who learned to pick up the pieces.

when you waved at him, he felt like he was on cloud nine. it felt like he had stepped into his shoes all those years ago – a boy hopelessly in awe of the only person he ever wanted to see him.

and when you started walking towards him, it was like his lungs could no longer function. you stole every breath he had.

but before you could give it back to him, giselle pulls you away, spinning you into the chaos of the party, leaving jeno standing there, fighting the urge to follow.

“was that, y/n?,” jaemin says, popping out from nowhere, almost giving him a heart attack as he clutches his chest.

he punches the boy in his arm before confirming that it was in fact, you. jaemin looks at him with a knowing glance. he recognizes the familiar twinkle in jeno’s eye.

“wow,” jisung comments from his other side, making him pause.

when did all his friends show up?

“she looks really hot,” jisung adds, eyes following your figure across the room.

a devilish grin appeared on jeno’s lips and in one quick motion, he had jisung under his arm, ruffling his hair, “no, no, no…not the hair hyunggg!,” he struggled from the older boy’s grip before jeno finally released him.

“point taken, won’t say anything about her ever again,” jisung pouts, fixing his hair back into place.

“i don’t know what you mean,” jeno smiles playfully, “i just wanted to play with you.”

chenle chuckles from nearby, “oh definitely, it’s totally not because you’re possessive and way too protective of y/n,” he points out.

“i am not possessive,” jeno argues, his voice defensive, “protective, sure, but she’s my best friend guys, our parents will kill me if something bad happens to her,” he says.

“she’s also a grown woman,” renjun points out, “you can’t keep pushing away every guy who thinks she’s hot, you know?”

“im not pushing away every guy!…just you guys,” jeno protests. he would never let any of his friends touch you, knowing what he knows.

there’s a pause as the group stares at him, “mhm, cause her really tall, really muscular, really intimidating, doesn’t smile at anyone, guy best friend being by her side almost all the time isn’t pushing away any boys,” haechan adds, teasing.

“it’s not my fault those boys don’t have the balls to ask her out,” jeno mutters, looking at mark for some support, hoping that he’d somehow take his side and tell the others that they were being ridiculous.

mark shrugs in a don’t look at me kind of way and jeno can’t help but groan in defeat.

“well, that boy definitely has the balls,” jaemin nods towards the dance floor as jeno follows his line of vision, his eyes immediately on your figure once again.

you're still with the girls but this time, sungchan and a few other guys from the riize fraternity have surrounded you, laughing and chatting with you.

“shouldn’t you get your girlfriend, jaemin?,” mark asks casually, “i know that wonbin guy has a thing for her,”

jaemin just laughs, completely unbothered, “nah, he doesn't stand a chance,” he says, sipping from his drink as the boy’s laugh.

but jeno knew that sungchan definitely had a chance with you. nothing is funny.

sungchan leans in close, whispers something in your ear and you were laughing. the laugh he thought was only reserved for him. he feels his fists clench up on his sides.

“you gonna push him away, jeno?,” haechan teases by his ear, a smirk playing on his lips, earning him a punch right on the stomach.

“shut up,” he says, haechan clutching over, his laughter mixing with his pain. he totally deserved that.

“c‘mon jisung, let’s find your girl for the night,” haechan manages to say in between choked breaths, before he dragged jisung and mark out of the room, resuming their fuckboy101 classes.

jeno watches as sungchan and you continue to talk, his gaze never wavering from the two of you. every inch of him wants to march over there and pull you away but he doesn’t. instead, he stays rooted in place, his eyes burning holes in the back of your head, feeling his pulse quicken in ways he can’t explain.

lia, his current situationship, walks up to him.

“okayy, that’s our cue,” chenle whispers before all the boys dispersed leaving jeno alone.

he doesn’t even greet her, doesn’t make an effort to say hi, eyes still glued on your figure.

“hi handsome,” lia drags her hands up his shoulders, settling on the back of his neck, her lips finding the side of his jaw.

it all happened so quickly.

one second you were still with the girls, the next sungchan dragged you to the side, his lips on yours. jeno’s jaw clenches. his heart dropping.

he needed to stop looking. he needed a distraction.

he finally acknowledges the girl clung to his neck. she reeks of alcohol and vape smoke. jeno turns to kiss her anyway.

he let’s lia drag him up the stairs, taking one last look at you. he let’s her lead him into his bedroom. let’s her strip off his clothes.

he knew you were going to be okay, knew you could handle your alcohol after many beer nights with him and he definitely knew that you were too smart to get yourself into any real trouble.

he can’t ruin this night for you.

“fuck me like you did last time,” lia whispers in his ear, trailing kisses down his neck, “fuck me like you mean it,” her hand travels down, wrapping around his already hard cock and jeno did.

he fucked her like she was all he needed. abused her hole, used her to release all his sexual tension, trying to push away the image of you from his mind.

but he found that every time you appeared, the better it felt and soon he was clenching, body shaking, his orgasm taking over as he came…with your name spilling from his lips.

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎

bunny: come over please it’s an emergency.

jeno was banging on your door in under eight minutes of that text. which was absolutely ridiculous considering the fraternity house was a twenty minute walk away from your building. a million thoughts were racing in his head.

what happened after he left you at the party that constitutes this emergency text? were you hurt?

you swung the door open, perfectly intact. no tears, no bruises, just you – in shorts and one of his your oversized naruto t-shirt, blinking at him like he was the one being ridiculous.

side note: it’s insane how you manage to make that shirt look sexy.

he exhaled hard, one hand bracing on the doorframe as he caught his breath.

“did you run here?,” you ask, stunned, noticing the sweat dripping down the side of his face.

“you said it was an emergency,” he shot back, chest still heaving.

you offered a sheepish smile, “sorry, come in,” before walking into your room. jeno followed, shutting the door with a soft click.

“what happened?” he asked, eyes scanning you again, just to be sure, as he sat on the edge of your bed watching you pace back and forth.

“sungchan kissed me,” you tell him.

he blinked, processing, he knew that. he saw you. the reminder leaves a bitter taste on his tongue. he pushes it away, playing the best friend card once more.

“that’s good? right?,” he says cautiously, cursing the fact that he was your best friend right now and had to listen to you talk about another guy, “that’s what you wanted?”

“yeah but,” you swallowed, embarrassment already creeping up your neck, “but i didn’t know what to do!”

“what do you mean?,” he asks dumbfounded, “you just…kiss him back.”

“it’s not that simple, you weren’t there – i panicked! i-i froze! i was too into my head and then i just – i ran,” you ramble, cringing as you relived what happened last night.

a snort escapes jeno before he could stop it.

you narrowed your eyes, “don’t laugh!, it was so humiliating, i can’t believe i ran away like a literal child!,” you groan in your hands.

he tried to control his expression but the corner of his mouths betrayed him, eyes twinkling with amusement, “y/n, it’s not a big deal, you were nervous,” he reassures, “just tell him you were drunk and then try again, it's not the end of the world,” he says it so easily – like you didn’t just go through the worst moment of your life. and that’s saying a lot considering you had a dead mom.

“that’s the problem, i don’t know what i'm doing, i always thought when it happened i’d just know but i didn’t,” you whine in frustration, pulling at your hair.

he must be crazy to think you’d get a different result if you went up to sungchan now and kissed him. you’re almost sure the same thing would happen.

“you’ll be fine next time, you’ll be prepared for it,” he says. the thought of there being a next time makes you panic.

“will i?,” you cut in, “what if i freeze again?,”

“you won’t”

“you don’t know that.”

he opened his mouth to argue, but you beat him to it.

“can you teach me?,” you said, voice quiet.

jeno stills, looking at you with wide eyes like he almost couldn’t believe what you just said – “what?”

“teach me,” you sat next to him, eyes locked on his, “add a step five, teach me how to kiss, teach me how to–” you couldn’t bring yourself to say the other things, the dirtier things you wanted to learn, “–how to do other things,” you mumble.

his jaw tensed. he can’t believe what it is you’re truly asking from him. teaching you how to kiss was already absurd but teaching you how to kiss for another man? it makes him want to throw up.

“bunny –no. i don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“why not?,” your head turns like a genuinely curious puppy.

“because best friends don’t–,” he faltered, “we don’t cross that line.”

“but it’s not like that,” you looked up at him, voice softening, “it’s just…practice.”

he didn’t move. didn’t blink. he can’t fathom the fact that he was actually starting to entertain the idea.

“it’s for educational purposes…just another step in the glow up,” you added, looking at him with those innocent eyes that makes him want to give you the moon, if you asked for it.

his throat worked as he swallowed, holding on to the last bit of restraint he had, “we can’t,” but it came out too quiet, too unsure, his resolve breaking with every second.

“neno,” you whispered, eyes locked on his. it’s not fair and you know it but you’ve already convinced yourself that this is necessary. that you needed to be taught.

“please…you’re the only one i feel comfortable with, just so i could learn, so i could know what to do when these things happen and i don’t make a fool of myself again,” you say, your tone low, almost pleading.

jeno’s breath hitches in his throat. he must be crazy or maybe you truly have him wrapped around your finger because now his eyes are flickering down to your lips and he can’t look away.

he realizes just how close you actually were and just like that, everything else blurs.

he leans in slowly, cautiously, searching your eyes for any flicker of hesitation.

you remain still, you don’t move, you don’t pull away. just watching him, a mixture of quiet excitement, nerves and something warmer, something softer, spreading through you like wildfire.

“just for practice,” he murmurs, brushing his lips against yours.

“just for practice,” you breathe back.

and that was all he needed to finally close the final inch – kissing you slowly, carefully.

it hits him instantly. fireworks. the same ones he felt when he was fourteen. the same one burned at the back of his memory. all this time he thought it was just because it was his first kiss, that feeling never once coming again. but here it is. bright, real and alive in his chest.

and this time he sees it for what it is – it’s you.

he feels you stiffen up and he pulls away softly, “don’t think about it too much, just follow my lead, okay, bunny?,” the once innocent nickname leaves you feeling hot, your heart pounding in your chest as you nod.

his hand makes his way to your cheek, warm and gentle, brushing the soft skin just beneath your ear, the small smile on his lips bringing you a sense of comfort as you as he pulls you back in. lips melting in his. you gave in, shutting the rest of the world out and only focusing on the boy in front of you.

jeno tilts his head, deepening the kiss as you follow his every move. his tongue licks your bottom lip, begging for entrance as yours part on instinct. body reacting before your mind could even process what was happening.

you kiss him back – not perfectly, not practiced but with all the pent-up wonder and want you’ve never let yourself say out loud. it was so natural with jeno. like you were always meant to be kissing him.

you can taste the faint mint of the altoids he always had, feel the heat radiating off his skin.

the makeout session grows heavier and heavier as you continue to keep up with him, learning to breathe through your nose.

you shift slightly and your knees brush, thighs pressing together and suddenly you’re aware of how close you have gotten. the lack of space between your bodies is dizzying. your fingers curl into the front of his shirt, wanting him even closer.

as if he could read your mind, jeno moves his hand from your neck to your waist, fingers splaying wide, grounding you and then in one swift motion, like you had absolutely no weight, he pulls you into his lap.

you gasp softly into the kiss and he swallows the sound, “sorry,” he murmurs against your lips, not pulling back. he was completely lost in you. in this feeling that only you could give him. he swears he could kiss you for hours and it still wouldn’t be enough.

“don’t be,” you shake your head, straddling him now. your hands find his shoulders, wrapping around his frame and threading through his hair. he kisses you harder now, less careful, lips moving in a messy rhythm, teeth clashing.

almost like it had a mind of it’s own, your hips instinctively grind down on his clothed bulge. the action sending jeno into a frenzy, a strangled groan transferring from his mouth to yours, his hold on your waist tightening.

the sound was so addicting, so intoxicating and it wraps around your head like a sweet drug.

you do it again, not entirely sure what you want to achieve but it felt good. it feels like a million butterflies flying in your stomach. there’s a growing tension in your belly that you can’t pinpoint. the feeling is new, exciting, hot.

jeno was right there with you, every boundary, every line he tried to draw was completely vanishing.

his lips trail down to your jaw, then lower, to the edge of your throat and you tilt your head back with a soft breath. your heart’s pounding. his is too. you can feel it, fast and erratic against your chest.

“y/n,” he grunts your name, like a warning – hoping you would stop him because he no longer couldn’t.

“what were the other things?,” he asks you, eyes completely blown out as he looks at you with a kind of hunger. and when all you do is grind against him once more, leaning into his touch, he’s decided he wants to see you on your knees.

“lesson number two, you’re going to suck my cock,” he whispers in your ear. the vulgar words make you feel hot, your body clenching, “do you want to learn that, bunny?,” he says, voice raspier, teasing, waiting for your go signal.

you nervously look up at him, all you could do was nod, an innocent glow in your eyes and jeno swears he could bust right there.

he reaches for one of your pillows, placing it on the floor beside your bed, “get on your knees,” he gently commands. you’re quick to follow, almost like you were in a trance. jeno tugs his sweats down to his ankles, his bulge prominent in his boxers and you can’t help but stare.

“go ahead, bunny, touch it,” he says. you almost can’t believe this is the same boy who was hiding behind your back, crying, every time the older kids would tease him.

this situation was absolutely ridiculous but that doesn’t stop your hand from wandering. following the outline of his cock as you palm him through his boxers. jeno lets out a hiss, the friction already fucking with his head.

“you can take it out,” he says, almost pleading. carefully you push his boxers off, his cock springing free, slapping against his thigh. you can’t help but gulp at his size, “i-its so big,” you say, making him laugh.

“thank you,” he says with a smirk on his lips and you playfully roll your eyes.

“what do i do?,” you look up at him, waiting for the answer. his eyes darken, that simple question snapping something inside of him. you were so innocent. so pure. and he was about to corrupt you.

he gently grabs your hand, redirecting it to your mouth, “spit,” he orders and like an obedient student, you follow, spitting in your hand.

“you can do anything, you can squeeze it,” he says, making you wrap your hand around his cock. your hand looks so tiny around his member and jeno almost just wants to skip this lesson entirely and fuck your hand dumb but he contains himself.

large hands envelop yours as he guides you on what to do, squeezing just the right amount.

“you can pump it up and down,” he says, guiding your hand to slide up and down his throbbing cock. he releases a sigh of pleasure, the warmth of your hand already making him weak.

“you can twist,” he says, twisting your hand around his cock, “you can put your mouth on it…lick it, swallow it, just keep the teeth away,” he smirks and you take a mental note of everything.

jeno releases your hand, giving you the space to experiment on his body. you’re excited, nervous but excited. you wanted to be good at this.

slowly, you continue his previous ministrations, pumping his cock up and down, squeezing and twisting your hand, just like how he showed you. jeno can’t help but let out a shaky breath, and you’re worried “does it hurt?,” you ask.

“no, bunny–feel’s really good, j-just go faster, please,” he begs.

it was sweet torture – how slow you were going, how much you were edging him on and you weren’t even aware of it. you pick up the speed, giving into his request and jeno grunts, his elbows coming in contact with your bed.

his cock looked so pretty, red and swelling, leaking.

your mouth exploringly wraps around his red tip and jeno curses under his breath, “fuuuck, oh my god.”

your confidence grows, feeling your pussy twitch at the sight of him. clenching your thighs, wanting some sort of relief. the sinful sounds he was making goes directly to your senses — the same sound you heard earlier but clearer now, more desperate, more whiny, and it knocks the breath out of you.

your hand continues to pump him, as you start sucking. you wouldn’t describe the taste of his cock to be good or sweet or like candy but it was addicting — it makes you want more. especially when every swipe of your tongue was accompanied by a breathy groan from him. it fuels you.

you take more and more of his length in until you could no longer fit him in your mouth and slowly you start bobbing up and down. his grunts and groans becoming more frequent.

jeno can’t do it anymore. this teasing was killing him. and the worst part is that you don’t even know how much you were affecting him.

his hand finds it’s way to your hair, gripping lightly, controlling the pace, increasing the speed, until you were choking, gagging, tears brimming in your eyes, “s-sorry bunny, it just f-feels so good,” he growls, thrusting his cock down your throat.

it was too much. he was too big. but you don’t care. you shut your eyes tightly, fighting the urge to gag as he continued to hit the deepest part of your throat.

this image of you on your knees, spit drooling all over your chin, tears in the corner of your eyes as you take what he gives you is absolutely heavenly.

jeno feels the coil about to snap, his breaths coming in heavy pants, thrusts getting messier and messier.

“o-open your eyes, bunny,” he orders. he wants you to see it. wants you to see him unravel. wants you to know how good you’ve been for him.

“p-play with my balls,” he instructs. your hands immediately follows through, squeezing him just where he needed it. heat travels all throughout his veins as he pulls you off, not wanting to force you to swallow his cum.

and then he falls apart – hard.

jaw going slack, eyes rolling back as his body fell into your pillows, abs clenching, cock pulsating. his cum shoots out of his tip, messily squirting everywhere, orgasm completely washing over him.

you watch him fall apart and you’re absolutely mesmerized. he looked so beautiful. so fucked out. and there’s that knot building in your stomach that you still can’t quite place.

you lick him clean, swallowing every drop that has landed on his stomach, his thighs, everywhere.

jeno’s eyes shot open as he tried to slow his breathing, slowly sitting back up, watching you clean him up like he was your last meal.

“how does it taste?,” he smirks and you look up at him through your damp lashes, “not very good,” you smile, earning a laugh from both of you. he guides you back up, as you stand in between his legs.

he lifts the naruto shirt off your body, leaving you in your light blue bra, flower patterns detailing it, “cute,” he playfully smirks and you suddenly feel embarrassed, arms protectively going across your chest.

“nu-uh don’t shy on me now, this was your idea, remember,” he says, before pushing your hands away and placing a soft kiss on the flesh on top of your breasts, looking up at you. your breath catches in your throat. that knot in your belly growing and growing making you push your legs together.

jeno notices.

“you did such a good job,” he compliments you, licking and sucking the skin of your breasts as he continues to look at you. your hands find comfort in his shoulders, stabilizing yourself.

“i did?,” you ask, “mhm, you’re such a good girl…made me feel so good,” he groans in between your breasts before traveling lower, placing a soft kiss on your stomach. his dirty talk has your mind reeling, feeling weak in the knees.

“-and good girls, must be rewarded,” he says, his fingers making their way to the hem of your shorts, squeezing the fabric between his fingers.

“how do you like being touched?,” he asks, softly, waiting, looking up at you.

“what?,” you ask, blush creeping up your cheeks.

“when you touch yourself, how do you like it?,” he asks, littering your stomach with soft kisses, his tongue lightly grazing on your skin.

“i-,” you stutter, “i-i dont,” you say, embarrassed of your lack of experience.

“what?” it was his turn to be surprised, gently sitting you on his thigh, like you just said the most ridiculous thing in the world.

sure he knew you were a virgin and had zero experience with men but you had to have touched yourself before? there had to be some part of you that gave in to the desires of the night and experimented?

you groan, hiding your face in the crook of his neck, “i-i’ve tried but nothing ever happens and i just feel silly with my hand down my pants,” you reason out and that very image alone makes his cock twitch again.

you were going to kill him.

“so you’ve never fingered yourself? never had an orgasm?,” he asks, completely shocked.

“i don’t even know how i’m supposed to do that,” you shrug.

“ok,” jeno says, taking it all in.

he thinks for a minute or two before he finally comes to a conclusion.

you stole his first kiss, it was only fair he stole your first orgasm. right?

“lesson number three, i’m teaching you how pleasure is supposed to feel like.”

his strong arms lift you up, making you squeal at the sudden action before he turns around, gently laying you on your bed.

jeno gets rid of his shirt, throwing his remaining piece of clothing over his head and holy fuck…your best friend is hot. his abs are on clear display, his semi-hard cock hung to the side, and you feel very hot as his gaze focuses back on you.

“when did you get those?,” you ask, fingers ghostly dancing over his six pack, trying to push away the nerves you were feeling.

he chuckles before leaning over, body trapping yours, lips finding that spot he left off of, as he continues to trail kisses on your stomach. your body can’t help but react, arching towards him. his fingers tugging on your pajama shorts.

“let’s take this off, bunny,” you comply, hips raising up, shorts sliding down your legs and you almost curse yourself at the underwear you decided to wear – a white one with cute little brown bears all over it.

jeno smirks, “really mature choice of underwear,” he teases and you scowl, “shut up, jeno,” you say, trying to hold onto the little pride you had left. he chuckles until he spots the dripping arousal your underwear has collected and something inside him shifts.

he wants to ruin you…so bad.

“look at you, bunny,” his voice drops an octave deeper, “already so wet and i haven’t even touched you,” he kisses the inside of your thigh and you feel your pussy clench, “you don’t even know what we can do with all this, huh?,” he says, gazing up at you. you watch him, as he got up, pulling you to the edge of the bed.

jeno’s hands wrapped around his cock and you tense up, “neno, are we about to have sex?,” you ask, your voice soft, timid, a hint of fear – it drives him absolutely nuts.

“no bunny, i won’t take that from you,” he says softly, “just want you to feel something, okay? just a little clit stimulation,” he explains and before you could even ask him what that means his cock was inside your underwear — collecting all your juices, tip hitting your clit over and over again as he slides up and down your wet folds.

“ohhh,” you release a sigh of pleasure, eyebrows furrowing as you try to understand this new feeling.

“feel’s good?,” he says, smirking at you.

“y-yeah,” you manage to breathe out and jeno absolutely loves the way your face was contorting.

he was playing a dangerous game with himself and this is supposed to be all about you. all he wants to do is insert his tip. just the tip. before he could lose control he stops, pulling his cock out of your underwear.

“why’d you stop?,” you ask, frustrated, already missing the lack of contact.

he chuckles, “my fingers will feel better,” he says for his own sanity.

he finally tugs off your underwear, the cool air hitting your pussy, before his thumb starts circling around your sensitive bud – rough, slow, precise circles that elicited a loud moan from you.

you slap your fingers across your mouth, surprised at the sound you made.

“don’t do that,” he orders, grabbing your fingers and latching it onto his before bringing it up over your head, a strong hand keeping it there, “want to hear you moan, bunny,” he whispers, sucking that sensitive spot just below your ear, earning another breath of moan from you.

your body arches up towards him, hips raising to his touch and he knew you were ready for more.

“gonna stick a finger in,” he warns, not giving you time to respond as his digit slides inside your hole, making you tense up, “relax,” he places a soft kiss on your lips, distracting you from the stretch, “it’s okay,” even with your dripping arousal, you were so so so fucking tight. he didn’t even know it was possible for someone to be this tight.

with a tiny bit of force, he pushes his finger in through your walls, “gonna make you feel real good, bunny,” he soothes as you slowly relax into his touch.

“gonna add another okay?,” he says and you just nod, trusting him completely. this stretch is definitely larger, and you find yourself biting down your lip. his fingers were so thick.

he slowly, gently thrusts them in and out, giving you time to adjust, “it’ll feel real good soon,” he seals with a kiss to your lips as he continues to stretch you out. fingers scissoring your walls until your pussy finally sucked him in.

the feeling of having something inside you was entirely new, strange, and you’re still trying to figure out if it felt good or not. but then jeno curls his finger and that knot in your stomach is rising faster and faster.

you want to know what happens when it finally breaks.

“ohh…neno,” you breathily moan, the pain completely morphing into pleasure. your walls completely adjusting to him, “please” you plead, not entirely sure what you were begging for.

your sweet, innocent, delicious moans of his name awakens something in him.

“im gonna eat you out now,” he tells you.

before you could protest, the idea of it making you feel embarrassed, he was already in between your legs, sucking on that spot that makes your eyes roll back.

“ohhh fuck, jeno,” you cry out, his tounge lapping up your juices, swirling around your sensitive bud, fingers still curling inside of you.

“neno, s-something’s happening,” you say in heavy pants, your breathing becoming shakier.

“p-please,” you beg, eyes wide, jaw going slack as you start panting, your hands gripping his hair, trying to ground yourself.

that coil in your stomach is hanging on by a single thread.

jeno looks up at you, he can feel you coming to a close. your walls pulsating around his fingers. he decides to finally send you over the edge, fingers rubbing fast, harsh, circles around your clit as the other continues to hit that sweet spot.

“let it happen, bunny,” he whispers, “let go…come all over my hand,” your best friend’s voice was the final push.

the thread snaps. the knot breaks.

you came crashing apart, stomach clenching, toes curling, eyes rolling to the back of your head. vision slipping into absolute darkness, feeling like you were floating.

jeno coaxes you through your orgasm, letting you ride out every wave. the sight of you unraveling drives him completely insane and it takes every nerve of self control to not ram his cock into you.

“such a good girl, bunny” he praises, littering kisses along your jaw, slow, reverent, like he’s trying to memorize the shape of you. your breathing is erratic, chest rising in short, shuddery pulls as you come down from everything.

he shuffles around your room quietly, grabbing a clean towel out of your bathroom before making his way back to your bed, gently cleaning you up.

your eyes flutter open at his touch. your best friend’s smile greets you, safe and warm, “you okay?” he asks and his voice is too tender. too full of something you don’t see.

“t-hat,” you clear your throat, a weak laugh slipping out, “that was a really fun lesson,” you smile, still caught in your daze.

jeno smiles back at you but it’s hollow and empty and he hates himself for smiling at all.

reality slaps him in the face, something in him crumples as he’s reminded that all of this – all the care, all the closeness wasn’t for him. it was all just for practice. a rehearsal for someone else. and now he’s drowning in the realization that he’s just the one you trust, not the one you want.

he’s helping you be prepared for another man, still pretending like it doesn’t kill him.

he almost wants to kill every man in the world for you to finally see him.

he stands, needing to put space between you, between what just happened and everything he’s feeling. but you catch him.

“where are you going?,” you ask, when he pulls his clothes off the ground, pulling his sweats up, getting ready to leave.

“back to the frat”

“jeno, it’s late, just stay the night,” you say, casually, easy. like it’s nothing. like it’s normal. like he didn’t just get a taste of something he’ll never recover from.

and it should’ve been easy. it should’ve been nothing. it should’ve been normal. he has stayed countless nights before.

but it’s not easy. it's not nothing. and it’s definitely not normal.

“please,” you say, moving over, making room for him and patting the space he usually took up.

jeno hesitates for a second or two before doing the one thing he never does if you were any other girl — he crawls back into your bed, your sheets and pillows molding to the shape of his body.

you immediately curl into his chest like it’s instinct. filling in that space that’s always been yours. legs tangle. skin touches skin.

it feels normal but it’s not. not with so little between you. not with everything unsaid.

jeno holds you close like he always does but this time he wonders if it’s the last. the sound of his heartbeat lulls you to sleep but he stays awake, eyes fixed on the ceiling, counting the cracks in his heart, wondering how much longer he can survive being just your best friend.

his fingers thread gently through your hair, slow and careful, memorizing the feel of you beneath his touch. the familiar scent of your strawberry shampoo wraps around him, soft and warm and absolutely cruel. it smells like home, like comfort, like everything he’s always wanted.

and then, in a voice so quiet it barely disturbs the silence, he whispers into the night air, words only for the moon to hear:

“i’m in love you, bunny.”

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎

the sun filters in gently, casting golden lines across your bedroom floor. you stir before he does, eyes blinking open to the soft rise and fall of his chest, quiet snores filling the air.

jeno’s arm is still wrapped around you, strong and secure, holding you like he didn’t want to let go. his face is relaxed, lips parted slightly, his usually styled hair falls softly on his features — he looks so vulnerable, peaceful.

he looks like the version of himself you remember all those years ago.

you should pull away but you don’t. instead, you study him — every line of his face, older now, more defined, but still him. you’ve seen him like this before, countless times, but something feels different now. you feel different.

and then it hits you, soft and sudden.

the feelings you had for him after you kissed him. the feelings you had for him when you wore your pink puffy dress, him in a pink matching tie as you danced the night away for prom. the feelings you had for him when he held you that night your world was falling apart.

you’ve always just needed him.

all of it crashes back into you at once — feelings you’d buried under years of pretending. years of silence. feelings you quickly tucked away the first time he talked about another girl.

the way you trained yourself to look away. the way you learned to smile through the ache. the way you accepted your fate of being his best friend.

your eyes drop to where your legs are still tangled with his, you notice the bulge in his sweats and memories of last night play in your mind. you feel his warmth everywhere and you wonder how you ever got used to not feeling this. how you ever convinced yourself that this didn’t mean something.

you knew that once he woke up. this would all be over. you would go back to being his best friend. back to the operation. back to the almosts that were always never enough.

so for a moment you let yourself have this, just for a minute longer. the closeness, the warmth, the boy who’s always been there. you snuggle into his side once more, nestling into the warmth of him, letting your eyes fall shut again.

the next time your eyes flutter open, you’re met with the cold reality you’ve always lived in. the warmth that surrounds you is gone. the space beside you is empty.

jeno is gone.

you sit up slowly, a heavy thud echoing in your chest, not of panic or confusion but just that quiet, hollow ache that settles in when you’re reminded that he will never be yours.

your eyes scans the room, no shoes by the door, his shirt nowhere to be seen. no signs he was ever there at all except for the faint scent of his cologne lingering in your sheets.

swinging your legs over the edge of the bed, you wrap the blanket around yourself as if that would fill the space he left behind. you check your phone, hoping for a message but there’s nothing.

something twists in your chest — you were just another name on his list.

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎

forty-eight hours.

that's how long it has been since you’ve last seen your best friend. forty-eight hours of sitting in the library alone. forty-eight hours of him not showing up to your shared classes. forty-eight hours of absolutely no contact. your messages were left on delivered. no goofy tiktoks. no instagram reels. nothing. and you hated every second of it.

you miss him and you’re not entirely sure why he had suddenly fallen off the face of the earth.

giselle: hey girly! <3 go to the party at the dream frat tonight, the girls and i are all gonna be there! <333

giselle: and sungchan will be there ;)

you stare at the messages.

you had nothing better to do and you’re hoping that maybe you’ll get a glimpse of your best friend while you’re there. just to see if he was doing okay.

you slipped on a light blue mini dress that accentuates your figure, did your makeup, paired it with white heels and you were good to go.

the dream fraternity still had a pretty huge crowd considering it was a wednesday night. bodies pressed together, bass shaking the walls, the usual laughter and shouting blurring into one.

you spot jeno almost immediately, in that same corner he seemed to always be in. there’s a new girl on his arm — pretty, tall, fair-skinned. you don’t recognize her. something in your heart twists.

you knew all the girls he was seeing. every girl he flirted with, hooked up with, even the ones he ghosted. usually you were the first one he would tell it to. the first one to know everything about him.

but now? he’s shut you out. it was loud and clear. he has drawn a line between you. the same line he draws once he’s gotten all that he wanted with whoever was his current conquest.

you felt absolutely sick. the years of friendship going down the drain just like this. your heart splitting into two while he’s just standing there, laughing, flirting, completely unaffected by the wreckage he left behind.

if he doesn’t need you then you don’t need him either. if he can act normal then you can too.

you force yourself to look away, scanning the crowd until you spot giselle and the rest of the girls in the middle of the makeshift dance floor, “y/n! you’re hereee!,” she squeals, giving you a tight, buzzing hug that makes you laugh for the first time in days.

“here! take a shot!,” she hands you a drink and you down it quickly, the alcohol burning your throat in the best way possible.

the dj plays a song that gets everyone hyped up and you feel yourself letting loose, having fun, with the girls beside you, already feeling better than you did when you walked in here.

then a hand taps your shoulder and you turn to see the boy that makes your mind race into a million happy tunes, “sungchan!,” you greet him with a wide smile. he looks down at you, amused.

“hi, pretty girl,” he whispers in your ear, hands settling on your waist. his touch is warm against your skin but it doesn’t burn the way jeno’s did. doesn’t leave you branded.

“you’re not gonna run away this time are you?,” he teases, playfully, earning a giggle from you.

“sorry about that, i was just…too drunk,” you lie. the lie jeno taught you.

“are you too drunk now?,” he asks, leaning in, a twinkle in his eye.

you smirk, biting your lips, “no.”

sungchan kisses you, rough, fast and with no room for gentleness. this time, you don’t freeze. you kiss him just as hard. you let his hands roam around your body from your waist to your hips to your ass.

but kissing sungchan wasn’t like kissing jeno.

it doesn’t feel the same. doesn’t feel as good. there were no butterflies, no fireworks, no dizzy, floating feeling.

you’re still grounded. still painfully aware that you’re in the middle of drunk, sweaty strangers. he didn’t take you to a different dimension. your body was just there – moving your mouth against his like a robot programmed to do so. but your heart? your heart’s somewhere else.

and it was so annoying that at a time like this, your lips on your long-time crush, that you’ve made the realization that your heart was where it always was — in the hands of the boy in the corner.

the same boy whose lips, touch, words imprinted your heart in a way that you could never forget.

the same boy who could never see you the way you see him.

suddenly you pull away, too fast, too sharp – the feelings rushing into you all at once, suffocating, overwhelming.

sungchan stares at you like you were crazy and perhaps you are. “i-i need to use the bathroom,” you murmur, forcing a small, apologetic smile. he nods slowly, “alright, i’ll just be here.”

you quietly slip from his arms, pushing through all the bodies, barely noticing the music or the people pressing in on all sides.

and when you finally push open the bathroom door, it’s like exhaling for the first time in minutes. you grip the edge of the sink, chest heaving, trying to gather the pieces of yourself that scattered the moment you woke up alone.

you wished jeno was here.

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎

almost like he had a radar that went off, everytime you were near him. the second you walked through the door, jeno felt it. his gaze snapped to you instinctively but he looked away just as fast.

he’s not ready to face you. not ready to continue pretending.

the next time he saw you, you were making out with sungchan. kissing him the way he taught you. and god, he needed a drink. lots of it. the image burns in his mind, cruel and unrelenting.

he wants to chop off the guy’s hands. wants to make sure he doesn’t touch you ever again.

he wants him to know that his hands were on you first. that it was his lips he was tasting. that you were his.

but that’s not the case. so he goes and grabs another drink, another shot, another mix of poison to blur the pain.

the sound of your name snaps him back to reality.

“why do you keep waiting around for y/n anyway, there’s so many hotter girls around,” the voice is lazy, mocking, it was that wonbin guy from the riize fraternity.

jeno leans against the the wall, hidden in the shadows as he listens in on their conversation.

“well, one she’s hot,” sungchan snickers and jeno’s jaw tenses.

“and two, rumor is she’s still a virgin,” there’s a wicked amusement in his tone, “and we all know virgins are the hottest in the room.”

laughter erupts around them, sharp, cruel, echoing off the walls and that was all it took.

jeno doesn’t think. doesn’t hesitate.

in one quick second, he marched over, fist landing right on the sungchan’s jaw, the crack loud and satisfying, sending the soccer player tumbling backwards.

“what the hell?!,” sungchan yells, rubbing at his jaw before his expression twists in rage. in the next breath, he lunges. his fist catching jeno clean across the cheek.

jeno barely flinches. the soccer player was stronger than he thought, he’d give him that. but nothing is getting past his rage, adrenaline coursing through him.

he’s not done. not even close.

he charges forward, ramming sungchan into the wall with a force that rattles the shelves beside them, “don’t ever fucking touch her again,” he growls, voice low and deadly.

sungchan pushes back, shoving him hard, “she’s not yours,” and his words hits deeper than any punch could. because it was true. you weren’t his. and he’s almost sure you would kill him for this but he doesn’t care.

jeno throws another fist, connecting with sungchan’s ribs, making him grunt and double over for a second before retaliating with a wild swing.

more people gather now, phones out, flashes going off, chants of “fight, fight, fight,” increasing all around them.

sungchan, lunges, tackling jeno to the ground as they roll, fists flying, shouts echoing.

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎

the loud commotion coming from outside the bathroom door forces you to pick up the pieces.

shouts. thuds. chaos.

you quickly gather yourself, pulling open the door and following the swarm of bodies funneling toward the noise like a moth drawn to a light.

and then you see him — you know that figure immediately, even with his back towards you.

your best friend was on top of someone, fists repetitively slamming down. your heart lurches, legs moving before your mind can catch up.

they roll and you see sungchan’s face bruised and battered.

what the fuck?

around them, the crowd erupts in shouts and arguments, phones raised like this was some kind of show.

the dream boys were trying to get a hold of the situation but they too just ended up shouting and arguing with the riize fraternity, voices overlapping in a haze of testosterone and ego.

“your guy started it first!”

“you’re on our turf!”

the room was absolute chaos and no one’s doing a damn thing. you finally push through the roaring crowd, running over to them, until you’re at the center of the storm.

“stop!,” you shout, but your pleas are swallowed by the noise as they continue to take jabs at each other.

with all your strength, you yank on sungchan’s shirt, sending him stumbling off jeno.

you finally take a good look at your best friend, he had a nasty cut forming on the side of his forehead, face flushed and bruised.

“y/n,” he breathes your name like he’s shocked you’re here.

he stumbles to his feet, eyes darting behind you “get out of here,” he says urgently.

you whirl around only to see that sungchan wasn’t done. he was charging at your best friend again.

without thinking, you step in – fist connecting with his throat – sharp, clean, brutal. completely flying him backwards as he gasped for air.

the crowd cheers.

of course you knew how to punch, you grew up with three men three times your size.

“okay, that's ENOUGH!” mark’s voice rips through the room like a whip – loud and absolutely furious. the crowd freezes, the chaos dies down. he grabs sungchan by the arm and shoves him toward his crew.

“get the fuck out of here,” he commands the room, controlling the crowd. bodies scattering like cockroaches under a light.

you turn to jeno, chest heaving, fury radiating off you, “what the fuck was that?”

jeno flinches at your tone like it was more painful than any of the punches he had just taken. you were never mad at each other. not like this.

when he doesn’t answer, you turn around, jaw tight, ready to leave.

“wait–,” jeno jolts back to reality.

you pause, barely looking over your shoulder, “what?!,” your anger is palpable, brows furrowed, chest still rising and falling too fast.

he softens, “your hand is bleeding,” he says gently. you glance down at your knuckles, raw and stained red, the adrenaline fading just enough for the sting to set in.

“c’mon,” he grabs your uninjured hand carefully and without another word, he leads you through the dispersing crowd, up the stairs and into the safety of his room.

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎

you stand in jeno’s bathroom, the fluorescent light above casting a soft glow on both of you. he dabs the small, barely any, blood that had stained your knuckles, applying ointment on the tiny wounds.

“you’re being dramatic, there’s barely anything there,” you mutter, watching how focused he is.

“just don’t want it to get infected,” he says quietly, his brows still drawn together.

then with a soft chuckle, “i can’t believe you punched him,” he smiles his trademark smile and for a second, you forget you were currently angry at him.

“no one hurts my neno and gets away with it,” you tease, the words light on your tongue, but they steal the air from jeno’s lungs. you were always protecting him.

your eyes meet his and the moment stretches. but then you remember yourself, remember why your chest is tight and your heart is sore. so you press your lips into a thin line, forcing away the smile that appeared.

a quiet silence hangs in the air, heavy, almost awkward, until jeno’s voice breaks it, “done,” he says, turning to leave the bathroom and into his bedroom.

before he could take another step, your hand captures his wrist.

“your face is bleeding,” you point out.

you guide him to sit on the edge of the tub, slotting yourself between his legs. no matter how mad you guys are at each other, this is what you do. you take care of each other. your fingers are careful, precise, as you press a cotton pad soaked in alcohol to the gash on his temple.

a particular swipe on the cut stings him, a hiss slipping past his lips as his hands instinctively finds the back of your thighs, gripping, like he’s grounding himself through you. the small contact is enough to bring back that familiar knot tightening in your stomach.

“stop being a baby,” you say, dabbing again, “this is your fault.”

he smirks faintly, “how are you so sure i started the fight?”

“please,” you scoff, “in what world would sungchan go up to you and punch you? especially since he’s in your territory,” you point out, quite familiar with the whole fraternity rules.

he sighs in defeat.

“what happened anyway?,” you ask cautiously, not sure if you were ready for the answer.

“nothing,” he says, a little too quickly.

you stop, eyes narrowing, “no secrets between us remember?,” you remind him.

right, that silly rule you made when you were eight years old and still held on to to do this day.

jeno sighs, his shoulder falling, “he said something about you. i didn’t like it,” he confesses and you still.

“what did he say about me?,” you ask, curious.

“that he only wanted you because you were a virgin,” he mutters, jaw clenching again like it’s the first time he’s hearing it. the urge to punch sungchan in the face coming back in seconds.

it was supposed to hurt. it was supposed to leave you angry, embarrassed, hollow — to hear those words coming from the boy you’ve had a crush on since freshman year. but that feeling of heartache never came. instead, confusion clouds your chest.

why did he care? that wasn’t supposed to be his battle.

“hmm,” you hum thoughtfully, tone laced with challenge “and what if i was okay with that?”

his hands on your legs twitch, just slightly

“you shouldn’t be,” he snaps, “you shouldn’t lose it to a guy like him.”

and just like that, the anger ignites. your hands finish cleaning him up in cold, calculated movements. you removed yourself from his space, placing the first aid kit back in the drawer with a little too much force, organizing everything just to keep from exploding because who the hell was he to decide who you should have sex with?

“oh? and who should i lose it to?,” you seethe.

“a guy like you?,” there’s a sort of anger in your voice that jeno can’t quite read.

“aren’t you the same?,” you throw at him, voice trembling with fury.

jeno furrows his brows at your insinuation, like he’s been slapped, “y/n–,”

“you left, jeno,” your voice is quiet, but it slices through the space between you like a blade. you give him one last look before storming out of the bathroom. and jeno finally understands it all.

“wait, bunny–”

you don’t stop. not even as you hear his footsteps close behind you, not even as your chest rises with every breath that feels too heavy to hold.

you make it into his bedroom but before you can reach for the door, his hands close around your wrist, gentle but firm and in the next second he spins you around and crashes his lips onto yours.

the fire in your chest blazes and still, you kiss him back.

the kiss melts into something deeper, hungrier. your hands grip his shirt as his thumb brushes your jaw. he pulls away just enough to press his forehead against yours, both of you breathless, hearts racing.

“that’s why i left,” he murmurs, voice barely a whisper between your shared air.

your brows draw together, confusion clouding your gaze, “what does that even mean?”

“can’t you feel it,” he says, guiding your hand to his chest, letting you feel the frantic rhythm beneath your palm, “the way my heart is beating, it only ever races like this because of you,” he confesses.

you swallow hard, barely finding your voice, “but you left,” you remind him, “why did you leave?”

his eyes flicker with something raw, something that’s been buried for too long, “because i couldn’t pretend anymore,” he says, voice shaking with the weight of it, “i couldn't go another day being your best friend–not when im so fucking in love with you that it hurts.”

his confession leaves you stunned and you can’t believe how blind you’ve both been. all these years of mutual pining, years of missed moments, of stolen glances and silent aching all leading up to this moment.

a tearful laugh escapes you, half breathless, half broken, “you’re a fucking idiot,” you whisper, voice shaking with the force of everything you feel, a mixture of love, frustration and the tenderness of finally hearing the truth.

with urgency, a quiet desperation, you pull him back in, leaning up to kiss him.

the kiss is slow but intense, full of everything you’ve both kept hidden, everything you’ve both wanted for so long.

jeno doesn't need to hear you say it. he feels it in the way your lips meet his, the way you kiss him like your very existence depends on it. he knows now that you’ve been waiting for this – waiting for each other, for the truth that was always there.

you deepen the kiss and jeno meets you with equal fervor, tongues moving with an ease that feels natural, as if it’s a rhythm you’ve both known forever.

you guide him towards you, steps slow but deliberate, until the back of your knees hits the edge of his bed, falling into the softness of his sheets, pulling him down with you, lips never once breaking from his.

pushing yourself up until your head hit his pillows. jeno follows your lips like you were magnets drawn together. he couldn’t get enough.

you pull on the hem of his shirt. jeno quickly tugs it off over his head, tossing it to the side, diving right back into you. the kiss is hungry, steamy, full of tongue, leaving you no room to breathe.

your fingers dance through his skin, feeling every muscle. jeno guides you to sit up, quickly finding the zipper in the back of the dress, sliding it off your body, leaving you in a lacy blue underwear that makes his cock twitch.

the dress didn’t warrant a bra, your breasts immediately exposed to the cool air, making jeno groan in satisfaction, his large hand latches on to your tit, loving the way it fits perfectly in his hand.

“you’re so beautiful, bunny,” he praises before his tongue circles against your sensitive nipple. he looks up, not wanting to miss your reaction. light, breathy moans spill from your lips, back arching at his touch, feeling every warmth he left behind.

he moved all throughout your body, taking his time, memorizing every detail, worshipping you with every brush of his lips.

his hand slip under your panties, wet and soaking for him. the familiar circles of his fingers on your clit immediately sends a wave of pleasure through you. you were already shaking, that fire inside you growing.

that delicious stretch of your pussy as he stuck two digits in makes your eyes roll back, overwhelming in the best way possible, a broken moan spilling from your lips. your hips move on their own, grinding on his hand, chasing that friction you can’t get enough of.

jeno has already memorized you. curling his fingers just right, dragging them against that spot that made your thoughts scatter, heat spreading through you so quickly.

“jeno—” his name left you as a gasp, pleasure building deep inside you. this time you knew what it was, “i-m coming,” you moan.

“i got you bunny, let me hear you” he whispered, his pace quickening, matching the frantic way your body moved with his touch, until you were spilling into his hand.

he coaxes you through it, littering soft kisses on your ear, along your jaw, down to your neck — making sure to leave a mark.

making sure everyone knew that you were his.

your eyes flutter open. there was still that growing fire inside you, burning hotter, higher. you needed more.

when you reach down for his belt, fingers clumsily fumbling at the buckle, urgency pushing you faster than your hands could manage, jeno snaps out of the trance he’s in, making his way back to your eyes.

“are you sure?,” he gasped, the words rushed, like he was forcing them out before he lost all sense of reason.

you nodded so fast, so desperate, “jeno, please.”

“we don’t have to do this, bunny, we can take it slow…i don’t want to rush you,” he panted, voice fraying at the edges. the thought of stopping absolutely wrecks him but you are more important than the desire spreading through him.

you refuse to wait any longer, you’ve already waited years. your whole body aches with the need you’d kept buried for so long. the need only he could fulfill.

“neno,” you whispered, voice trembling with need, “i want this…i need you.”

his resolve shattered at the sound of your plea.

“okay,” he breathed, kissing you gently before finally discarding his pants, boxers following suit, leaving him completely bare.

slowly, he removed your panties, the last remaining cloth between you. he reaches over his nightstand drawer, pulling out a condom and wrapping it on his hard cock, a grunt spilling from his lips.

“still sure?,” he searches your eyes for any signs of hesitation because if there was, even the tiniest one, he would stop immediately. no questions asked. no regret. no matter how badly he didn’t want to.

“so sure neno, it’s always been you,” you whispered, threading your fingers through his hair, pulling him closer, letting him know that every single piece of you wanted him — heart, body and soul.

that was his final confirmation.

he kissed you once, slow and tender, before his hands roamed, leaving goosebumps that made you ache even more, “i’ll go slow,” he promised, voice thick with emotion “tell me if you need to stop, okay? at any point bunny, i’ll stop.”

you nodded, your heart hammering against your ribs so loudly you were sure he could hear it. fear and want and overwhelming love swirling in your chest.

finally, he aligned his cock against your hole, hand shaking slightly as he guided himself into you.

the stretch burns — it was nothing like his fingers, his cock was harder, thicker, fuller. and you’re not entirely sure if he could fit.

instinctively you tensed, eyes shutting close at the pain, a whiny hiss slipping from your lips.

jeno immediately froze, his thumb stroking soothing circles against your hip, “you’re doing so good, bunny,” he praises, forehead resting against yours, “breathe for me okay? we can take all the time you need,” he was so soft, so caring, so gentle.

your fingers tighten on his shoulder, just for a second, letting him know that you understood.

jeno fought to stay still, fought to put you first. but god, it hurts. you felt so good around him. so tight. so warm. he needed to move.

you forced yourself to relax, letting out a shaky breath and he pressed forward again, slower this time, giving you time to adjust to another inch of him.

“almost there, bunny, just a couple more,” he says softly, treating you like glass. you were so fragile. so pretty. your eyebrows furrowing in pain, lips parted slightly.

it hurt but it was jeno, and that made it bearable. your tight walls continued to adjust around him, molding to the size of his large cock.

with one final, gentle push, he was fully seated inside you, grunts spilling from his lips onto yours.

he stayed there, not moving, just breathing with you. trying to control his own desires. one hand cradles your cheek, carefully pushing away the hair that has stuck to your skin, “you’re amazing,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple, “taking all of me,” he continues praising, “so perfect, bunny.”

a few tears slid from your eyes. from the sting, from the love, from everything. jeno kissed them away with such tenderness.

“i love you,” you manage to whisper, his lips on yours in an instant, savoring it. the words makes jeno shift inside you.

that small burst of friction is enough to ignite the pleasure. it still hurt but you needed to feel it, to feel more.

and when you finally whispered, “move, please,” jeno felt like the air was rushing back in his lungs.

only then did he start rocking into you — careful, controlled, every movement meant to bring you closer to pleasure.

he angles his cock perfectly, each thrust sending a a wave of butterflies in your stomach. the pain slowly disappeared as your walls sucked him in, until you were only left with pleasure so mind numbing, you can no longer think about anything but the way the tip of his cock kept on kissing that spot that made you see stars. he was perfect.

“fuckkk bunny, you take me so well, pussy was made for me,” jeno grunts hopelessly. he was coming undone embarrassingly fast. for someone who was supposed to be an expert, you had him trembling, shaking.

it was different with you — he loves you.

every emotion hits him to the fullest. he feels you all around him. his rhythm starting to stutter, abs starting to clench as he tried to hold on to the remaining sanity he had left.

“you’re making a mess out of me,” he grunts, “please come on my cock,” he begs, whines, pleading for permission. his fingers finding your sensitive bud, rubbing slow but harsh circles.

you’ve never felt fuller. never felt more satisfied. that heat spreading down to your toes, your head rolling back in complete bliss as the high came crashing over you in breathy, broken moans of only his name — pussy immediately tightening around him, sending him to his own release as he spilled into the condom.

through it all, jeno whispered against your skin, grunts of i love you’s and praises hitting your ears in the most melodic way.

when you both calmed down, he pulled you into his arms, head resting on the heart that’s always been yours.

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎

you woke up to jeno’s brown eyes already staring at you, his fingers gently threading through your hair.

“good morning,” he murmured, eye smile on display and in an instant the memories of last night came rushing back, vivid and electric.

“good morning” you whispered back, both of you grinning like lovesick fools.

“how are you feeling?” he asks softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

you smile at him, “i feel amazing,” you say, leaning up to kiss him.

his hand on your waist is hard to ignore. as well as the bulge that’s currently hitting your inner thigh.

“and you’re feeling excited, aren’t you?,” you pull back, slightly teasing him.

“shut up,” he smiles, cheeks flushing, “it’s not my fault i woke up next to my very hot girlfriend”

your eyes widen slightly, “girlfriend, huh?”

“mhm, is that okay with you, bunny?”

“hmm,” you pretend to think about it but the smile tugging on your lips betrays you, “sounds perfect.”

jeno pulled you in for another kiss, his smile pressed against yours. before he could deepen it, you pushed him down to his bed sheets, hovering over him with a gleam in your eyes.

“what are you doing?,” he rasped, the bold movement catching him off guard, making his breath shift, excitement coursing through his veins.

“girlfriend duties,” you smirk.

you littered kisses down his body until you were head to head with his cock, already flushed, thick and throbbing for you.

without hesitation, you licked a slow stripe up his length, tasting him, humming in satisfaction before wrapping your lips around his tip and taking in as much of his length as you could.

jeno watched you, his hands behind his head, a proud smirk on his face. and when you look up to make eye contact with him, his smirk fades into a helpless groan.

“fuck, you’re gonna kill me,” his hand instantly threading into your hair, bunching it up and pushing it out of your face. he wanted to see you. wanted to see your mouth around him.

you hollowed your cheeks and started to move, bobbing your head at that speed you knew he liked.

what can you say? you’re a quick learner.

his hips twitched, barely holding back from fucking your mouth.

every wet, obscene sound filled the room, and you loved the way he was falling apart for you, chest heaving, hands gripping you tighter. his grunts make you clench around nothing.

jeno came in minutes, gasping for your name as he struggled to breathe. his hot release shoots down your throat. this time, you swallowed every single drop, milking him dry, only pulling off when he whimpered from overstimulation, pushing your hand away.

“how the hell are you already so good at that?,” he groans, the aftershocks of his orgasm still hitting him.

“i have a really good teacher,” you chuckle, making your way back to him, kissing him, making him taste his own juices as your tongues battled for dominance.

jeno flips you over, roughly, quickly, the sudden shift making you squeal in laughter, as he settles in between your legs.

“your turn,” he says, voice low and dangerous.

his mouth immediately laps around you, licking, sucking, spitting — filthy and hungry. it was so messy, so wet, so crude, and yet it felt so so good. your head is spinning, heart racing, thighs trembling

you’re right there, at the edge, ready to fall — and then the door swings wide open. you shriek, arms crossing, immediately covering your chest just as jeno scrambles to hover over you, covering every inch of you with his large frame.

“jeno what do you want for break—?” jaemin barges in, stepping into the room like he hasn’t just shattered the moment.

“oh,” jaemin smirks, this situation extremely familiar, “i see,” he teases, tone dripping with fake innocence.

jeno’s entire body stiffens, his butt literally clenching as he growls, “jaemin, get the fuck out.”

he doesn't spare the boy a glance, focused only on making sure he doesn’t see any part of your body.

jaemin bursts out laughing, “alright alright, enjoy your breakfast,” he says before locking the door behind him and leaving the two of you alone.

the second he’s gone, jeno exhales a heavy breath of relief. you both lie there, faces burning red.

“i’m gonna kill him,” he mutters before the two of you erupted in giggles, your shared laughter harmonizing in the air.

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎

a week of being jeno’s girlfriend could only be described as pure bliss. the perfect balance of best friends and lovers. you were the power couple, always walking into the room like you owned it.

not much has changed between you two, you still tell him to shut up, he’s still dramatic, still the best of friends, except this time there’s a million shared kisses, lingering touches, whispered confessions and sex (lots of sex).

he’s unlocked something in you. something wild, primal, greedy — desire wrapping it’s hands around you. you can’t get enough of him. you craved him again and again and again.

and jeno was just undone, just as hopelessly in love. he thought his sex drive was bad before, it’s even worse now. every little thing you did triggered him — a smile, a glance, a soft laugh, it all sent him spiraling, desperate to have you. his need for you was overwhelming, a fire he had no intention of putting out.

he taught you how to touch yourself, you watched him masturbate. he kissed you in places you never knew were sensitive, made love to you in so many different positions, locations, each one leaving you breathless and trembling in his arms — making up for all the lost time.

today, when jeno walked into the library, he noticed your figure missing from your usual shared table. you were supposed to be here by now, you were always here at this hour.

his eyes quickly scan the space, feet walking around, searching every corner, every dusty nook, trying to find a glimpse of you. he finally spots you at the corner, tucked away in the back with the old shelves filled with forgotten books.

“what are you doing all the way over here?,” he asks, snapping your attention towards him, as he placed a soft kiss on your temple.

“just wanted a quieter place to read,” you feign innocence, picking up your book and pretending to be interested once more. jeno doesn’t question it, just pulls out the chair beside you and sits, his thigh pressed hard against yours. he pulls out his assignments, busying himself.

“neno,” you call out to him, a playful flicker in your eyes as you put your book down, “want to know a fun fact?,” you say.

he smiles at you, still unaware of what you had brewing in your mind, “sure, bunny.”

you lean in close, your chest brushing against his arm, “i’m not wearing any panties,” you whisper, only for his ear to hear.

he gulps, eyes quickly scanning the room, afraid someone was close enough to hear that. when he realizes you two were definitely alone, he finally takes in the fact that you were wearing a cute pink skirt, “fuck, are you serious?,” he whispers.

you shrug, “why don’t you find out?,” picking up your book, a playful grin on your lips, you flipped through the pages pretending to be interested, excitement bubbling inside you.

you didn’t have to tell him twice.

you flinched slightly when his cold fingertips first made contact with your thigh, slowly slipping underneath your skirt, leaving a trail of goosebumps. you barely had time to react before his fingers slipped between your thighs, urging them apart.

and when he finds you bare and soaked for him, jeno can’t help but let out a groan, his cock twitching in his pants.

you just started a dangerous game and he was eager to play. eager to ruin you in this public space. excited to watch you try and hide your moans.

“so fucking warm,” he muttered, fingers collecting your juices as he slowly swiped up and down your folds, making you feel every graze of his finger.

you grabbed the edges of the book, trying to stay calm, trying to act normal even as jeno slowly, deeply slid a finger inside you.

you choke on a silent gasp, disguising it with a fake cough and jeno finds it absolutely amusing. he has no plans of taking it easy on you, especially since this was your brilliant idea.

he moved lazily at first, curling his finger inside you, feeling every clench, every desperate little twitch of your body. watching you bite your lip as you tried to contain the moans that we’re begging to be released.

“good girl,” he murmured, kissing you on the temple.

his free hand picks up his pencil, as he continued to work on his assignment, like you weren’t falling apart under the table, “just stay quiet for me, yeah?,” he smirks.

you don’t even manage a response. afraid that once you open your mouth, a loud moan of his name would slip out.

he starts writing in his notebook, fingers still moving inside you, edging you on with every second. you shifted in your seat, hips tilting up without meaning to, chasing the rhythm he set. needing him to go faster — to finally take you there.

jeno knew exactly what you needed, even without voicing it. he adds a second finger, stretching you wider, making your eyes flutter shut, your grip on your book tightening, holding onto it as if it was your lifeline.

your boyfriend grinned cockily as he fucked his fingers into you.

you thought you were safe, hidden enough until you heard distant footsteps of someone wandering nearby.

your eyes immediately snap to jeno, silently begging him to stop as you tried to shut your legs close.

but his hand was too strong, keeping you open for his fingers, “you wanted this, you’re gonna take it,” he mumbles into your hair. he didn’t stop. in fact, his thumb brushed against your clit, harsher, faster.

you buried your head in your book, biting your lip so hard it hurt, but still a tiny strangled whimpered escaped.

the footsteps paused, just for a second.

you held your breath, heat traveling up to your head, jeno still working under your skirt. the danger of being caught made it even hotter. your pulse pounding loud in your ears, body burning under his touch. and then the footsteps continued, fading into silence again.

jeno chuckles under his breath, fingers thrusting deeper, faster, his thumb never leaving your clit.

“almost got caught, bunny,” he teased, voice low and thick with lust, “bet you’d love that, huh?”

the thought made you tighten incredibly around his fingers, orgasm crashing over you like a wave you couldn’t stop, body jerking slightly in the chair as you hunched over the table, hiding your moans in your arms, desperately trying to stay as quiet as possible.

jeno’s fingers continued to work you through it until you were limp against the table, panting softly.

he pulled his fingers out slowly, letting you feel every second of it. you already felt so empty without him. he brings his fingers up to his lips, sucking them clean with a soft, sinful groan.

you sit up, watching him, wrecked and cheeks flushed, your heart pounding so hard it was all you could hear, a small satisfied grin on your lips.

jeno leans in, kissing you gently. you taste yourself on his lips, then he smirks, that devilish smirk, whispering against your ear, “next time…you’re sitting in my lap.”

𓏲 the end.

—

18+ only | watch at your own risk | contains mature content

bonus: this is so lee jeno x bunny coded -> click here

—

an: posted this earlier than i planned because if i even spend one more day with this, i’m never gonna stop writing but ahhh i can’t believe my time with this couple is over, i love them so bad!!! i hope you loved them too!

marks story is up next! since he did technically win the poll — pls give me nickname suggestions for mark’s girl! i’m currently thinking kitty but im not 100% sold >.< — she’s going to be a little more feisty than the others! slide in my ask for suggestions or simply comment here! pls!

likes, reblogs and comments are not required but is very appreciated ⏦ﾟ♡︎

tagging: @bluedbliss [if you would like to be tagged in future stories of this series, please let me know <3]

[taeeflwrr]

i love na jaemin so much

“STUPID CUPID”

pairing: na jaemin x art major! reader | genre: rom-com | words: 24k

synopsis -> mr. cupid — anonymous radio host. running the #1 most popular radio show on campus. famous for his thoughtful advice and classified as a true hopeless romantic. na jaemin — photography major, the sweet fuck-boy. described to be affectionate and gentle…but don’t fall for his tactics! once he’s done with you, he’s gone with the wind. your best friend unfortunately happened to be on the receiving end of this. what happens when you find out that the anonymous radio host is none other than na jaemin himself? sweet revenge.

warnings -> tooth rotting cheesiness you’ll roll your eyes, a hundred different synonyms for a gentle smile, pet name unlocked: angel, lots of stolen kisses, there’s only one bed, reader and jaemin are stupid and selfish sometimes, a tiny bit of angst, a hole in the wall, +18, crude language, fuck-boys, mentions of drugs, alcohol, make outs, one night stands, more than one boner, smut! oral-m/f receiving, fingering, slight nipple play, blowjob, handjob, sex, a brief conversation with his cock, jaemin is whiny and vocal and big, masturbation, public sex if u squint.

an -> the first installment of the loverboy series is finally yours. i hope you love (and hate) it as much as i do. i had so many moments in the three months i’ve had with this work where i almost scrapped this as i couldn’t figure out how to progress the story without it being so cheesy. i wanted something grand, something never been done before! but (fortunately) with rom-com, and the amount of lovely fiction out there, everything has been done before. so i succumbed to the inevitable cheesiness and made something i was happy with. hope you enjoy! with love, c.

dear, mr. cupid,

my best friend slept with her crush! problem is, he’s a total fuckboy and doesn’t even remember her. he walks around pretending he doesn’t know her. what can i do to get back at him?

love,

heart

mr. cupid reads the anonymous confession of the day, ready to give his think piece.

“hi heart, hmm,” he pauses, seeming to be in deep thought, “first of all, i think you should be there for your friend. let her know that no man, especially a fuckboy, is worth any of her precious time. as for the guy, let him have a taste of his own medicine, he deserves it. no man should ever treat a woman like that,” he sweetly advises through the radio, making you scoff in disgust.

his fake persona was sickening considering you couldn't even count the number of girls he has been with in both of your hands in just a span of one year.

taste of his own medicine, huh?

two days later, you got all dolled up, looking exactly like the girls you know are his type – all pretty in pink, a cute skirt around your waist, pretty bow adorned on your hair, paired with heels that made your legs look longer.

you couldn’t even recognize yourself when you looked in the mirror. gone were the oversized t-shirts and sweats that usually hugged your body. you were going to make him notice you, one way or another.

it was all part of the plan – it’s simple, really! the entirety fitting in a page in your notebook, titled the downfall of na jaemin:

step one - introduce yourself.

step two - make him fall in love with you.

step three/four - break his heart and reveal to the whole world (university) that their beloved mr. cupid is a phony.

see, easy!

hence, we begin.

you’ve mapped out the trail he took after his first period. and like the mastermind you are, you were right where you needed to be at the right time. walking hurriedly past him and “accidentally” bumping into him, the books and papers in your hand flying out of your grasp, an exaggerated gasp slipping past your lips.

jaemin, quick to his feet, was already on the ground, picking up your fallen items, “sorry about that,” he apologizes.

“no it's okay, i wasn’t looking where i was going, sorry,” your sweet voice captures his attention as he finally gets a good look at you. a devilishly sweet smile growing on his features, eyebrows ever so slightly raising in a way that if you weren’t so observant, you wouldn’t have noticed.

“just be careful next time, beautiful,” he flirts, handing you back your things, the smile on his face never leaving. you fight back the urge to roll your eyes.

“thanks handsome, i’ll see you around?,” matching his energy, voice going softer, eyes flirtatiously but calculatively drooping, as you grab your books out of his hands, making sure your fingertips touch, just a little bit, before turning away and quickly walking the opposite direction.

the boy quickly called out to you, “hey!, what's your name?!”

leaning over your shoulder, plastering on the sweetest smile you can give him, you waved away like you were some kind of princess – classic romantic first meetings.

he watches your retreating figure, a small smile visible on his features. he has half the mind to follow you until the sound of his phone buzzing snaps him out of his daze.

mark: where are u? need help setting up

jaemin: omw

𓏲𝄢

“did we get new students?,” was the first thing that jaemin asked when he entered the room, his friends quickly glancing at his direction before continuing their tasks – setting the house up for the fraternity’s highly anticipated valentines day party that was two days away. it was really the only party (besides halloween, christmas and new year) that they prepared for. all the other ones, didn’t require this much work.

“not that i know of?,” mark — leader of the dream fraternity, music major, the favorite fuckboy. unlike jaemin, he doesn’t hide under sweet pretenses. he tells you what he wants from the beginning, never leaving you doubting his actions. whether or not you continue, is up to you. so you can’t exactly blame him when he breaks your heart in the end.

“huh..,” he ponders.

“why?,” his leader ask, curiosity piqued.

“saw the prettiest girl today, never seen her before,” he says nonchalantly.

“maybe she was just passing by?,” haechan — member of the dream fraternity, theatre major, the most popular fuckboy. girls love him. boys love him. he’s funny and charming but also very straightforward. you won’t catch him in a single lie because he doesn’t tell any, even if that means ruthlessly hurting people’s feelings.

“can’t be, her books were from our library,” jaemin reasons, remembering the ‘step by step: how to art?’ book that he picked up from the ground stamped with the university’s seal. maybe you were an art major?

“what does she look like?, i can ask around,” jeno — member of the dream fraternity, architect major, the chill fuckboy. doesn’t really like the whole hopping from one girl to another so he ends up in a bunch of meaningless situationships. his current one has been going on strong – a good new record of four days.

“exactly my type, long hair, soft skin, pretty smile, dressed in the cutest outfit,” jaemin sighs hopelessly, like he was just shot with the lust arrow.

“uh oh there you go again, falling for nameless girls,” chenle smirks, throwing him the streamers he was assigned to put up.

chenle — member of the dream fraternity, business major, the lowkey fuckboy. doesn’t get around as much as the rest but also doesn’t do relationships either and he makes that very clear. no use of pet names, or flowers, or chocolates or anything romantic.

“actually, she was holding an art book. renjun, have you seen anyone today wearing a pink top with a white skirt, a pretty white bow on her pretty head?”

renjun — member of the dream fraternity, art major, the fuckboy by association. only got labeled a player due to his friends. doesn’t actually care too much for romantic relationships, but he will have one night stands here and there, he still has a working dick after all. #1 person to call out the boys if they over step a line but will also fight a girl for his friends.

“didn’t go to class today, too busy setting up,” he shrugs, “leave the poor girl alone jaemin, we don’t need a repeat of last time,” he adds sternly.

“hey!, that one was not my fault, that girl was crazy,” jaemin reasons out earning a snort from jisung.

“yeah, hyung, crazy because she told you she loved you and you said it back then proceeded to avoid her,” jisung — member of the dream fraternity. dance major, the fuckboy in the making. he was in a relationship, once. the girl cheated on him so now he’s decided that love’s not real and is taking fuckboy 101 classes from mark and haechan.

“who tells you they love you while your balls deep in!?,” jaemin practically shouts, “my dick was my brain, okay!, besides who even says i love you to a guy you’ve only been talking to for a week, not to mention we barely talked!,” jaemin quickly defends himself for the umpteenth time.

“yeah, yeah we’ve heard it all before and well…that’s what you get for being sooo sweet,” haechan points out, laughing at his friend.

“that’s why next time you don’t put so much effort in,” chenle adds, joining in on the laughter.

“yeah dude, or maybe next time just tell them you just want sex? it works for me all the time i never have anyone crazy coming in like that,” mark teases, the entire group laughing as they recall the situation.

“well damn! god forbid i actually throw in a little bit of romance before i fuck their brains out,” jaemin sighs.

he can’t help it, he was a romantic at heart.

“fuck your brain out you mean?,” jeno snorts, causing jaemin to chase him around the house, fist ready for a punch.

“be careful! if you break any of the decorations i am not helping!,” renjun yells after them, the rest of the group breaking out into a chaos of laughter.

𓏲𝄢

dear mr. cupid,

i accidentally ran into someone today…my books flew everywhere! i swear some even landed on his feet but he was so kind about it, picking it up for me and calling me beautiful and now i can’t stop thinking about his sweet smile. problem is i don’t even know his name, what should i do?

love,

angel

jaemin’s jaw drops, this has to be his mystery girl…right? how many people go bumping around others and dropping their books?

he found himself liking the fact that his identity was unknown. to you he was just the kind boy who helped you out and not one of the school’s residential fuckboy. he thinks this is somehow a work of fate and was sure he had to thank divine interventions for landing you straight into his lap.

clearing his throat, he starts with his advice, “interesting, what should you do, angel?,” he clicks his tongue, “i think you should go to the place you saw him at, maybe he’ll be there again? who knows, he could have felt the same thing…i guarantee you if he did, he’ll walk up to you and say hi…men are simple creatures, after all. if they like you they’ll do something if not, well, you deserve a better man, angel…”

angel — a pretty name for a pretty girl, jaemin thought.

“and of course to all you lovely ladies out there, advice of the day from your favorite cupid is: never accept anything less than the best…goodnight lovelies,” ending the session for the night.

“angel, angel, angel,” the name glides off his tongue. did he just use mr. cupid to get to you? of course he did, but you didn’t have to know that.

just like how he didn’t have to know that everything was falling into place, exactly the way you planned it.

like clockwork, you end up meeting him at the exact same place at the exact same time, your books safely secured in your bag — it was time to put things in motion.

jaemin spots you first, walking up to you this time, “hi angel,” you turn towards the sound of his voice, taking in his appearance, noticing the camera that hung around his neck.

“y-you listen to mr. cupid?,” you ask, playing dumb, of course he listens to mr. cupid. he is mr. cupid. you just didn’t expect him to bring the persona up at all.

“who doesn’t? it’s the number one radio show on campus,” he smirks, “and thank god i do or else i would’ve never known you were looking for me,” he shoots you a wink and it makes sense to you now how he’s never gotten caught. it’s because he doesn’t hide the fact that he “listens” to mr. cupid. he talks about mr. cupid like he was just a casual listener.

too bad for him, you saw him sneak out of the studio late that one evening, catching sight of the mr. cupid neon sign before the door shut.

you let out a playful laugh, “of course, i guess we have mr. cupid to thank…so what’s your name, handsome?,”

“you truly don’t know?,” it takes every ounce of you not to scoff.

“should i?,” you ask innocently, completely opposite from the rage you were feeling inside.

“of course not,” he shakes his head, “jaemin,” he introduces himself, hand reaching out for a handshake. you give him a soft smile before slipping your hand in his, “nice to meet you jaemin, i’m y/n.”

“not angel?”

“you didn’t think i’d actually tell mr. cupid my real name did you? it would be so embarrassing for me,” you explain and jaemin just shakes his head lovingly.

“do you want to get coffee?,” you ask, making jaemin’s smile grow wider.

𓏲𝄢

dear mr. cupid,

how do I get a fuckboy to fall in love with me?

love,

heart

“it doesn’t matter if he’s a fuckboy or not, to get anyone to fall in love with you, you have to dig deep, find out what they like and get to know them beyond surface level.” - mr. cupid.

the air in the coffee shop was buzzing with the faint hum of quiet conversations and light tunes playing from the cafe’s speakers. you sat across from him, sun rays from the window illuminating his sharp features. na jaemin, the playboy who had stolen hearts without a second thought, was now sitting before you, completely unaware of your secret identity.

“tell me about yourself,” you say as soon as the two of you got comfortable.

“well, i'm a photography major, part of the dream fraternity,” he gives the basic answer, not giving you anything else.

“girlfriend?,” you ask, eyebrows raising up as you took a sip of your drink.

“wouldn’t be sitting here with you if i had one, angel,” he responds smoothly, the use of the nickname he has insisted on continuing to call you rolls off his tongue, making you want to gag every time you hear it. perhaps you should have just given your real name.

instead you force yourself to blush, breaking eye contact like it was all too much, smiling down at your hands.

he finds it adorable of course. from his perspective, he had you right in the palm of his hands, all he had to do was catch you.

“you said you were a photography major…can i see your photos?,” you point to his camera, an innocent look displayed on your face, catching jaemin slightly off guard.

no girl has ever asked to see his work, always only curious about his reputation and seeing him as a challenge – maybe this was your ploy, pretending to care about him just so he would sleep with you.

he almost wants to tell you that you didn’t have to go through all that effort. just say the word and he’ll be in between your legs in a second but this is amusing and he’ll let it drag on for as long as you want.

“hmm, maybe later angel, how about you tell me about yourself first?,” his shit-eating grin appeared as fast as it disappeared and you knew that you wouldn’t be able to crack him so easily. you were prepared for that. in the three years you’ve heard about this boy, you have never heard of him being in love. you knew this would be hard. you had to break down your walls first if you ever wanted to see through his.

“okay, i'm an art major with a focus on painting, my favorite color is pink and i love iced americanos,” you point down to your matching drinks, letting out a soft giggle.

“hey, we’re pretty similar,” you hear the smile in his voice. of course, you calculatively said things you knew he also liked, things he’s mentioned in his show, you were an avid listener after all…before you knew it was him.

“what is it about painting that draws you in?,” he continues.

then it clicks for you — this was his own test wasn’t it?

he was using his own advice against you. he was digging deeper. his own personal trick to get you to fall for him. you give him exactly what he’s looking for.

“i guess i just love watching simple colors and lines all come together to create something beautiful…the way it can be interpreted in so many ways by different people, you know?,” you take a quick pause, making sure he was still listening to you. he nods encouraging you to go on, “the way it can carry emotions, i can look at it one day and feel happiness and then another day i could look at the same painting and feel sadness,” you continue, letting your heart talk for you. the passion you had for art clearly on display.

“tell me more, angel,” jaemin looks at you with a soft glow in his eyes like he's really taking in everything you’re saying and storing it somewhere safe. maybe it was because of how the sun rays hit his eyes? maybe it was genuine curiosity? or maybe he’s just mastered the act of pretending to care? you wouldn’t know. but you do know that it was easy to get lost in his gaze and it makes sense how he has succeeded in making everyone fall for him.

“hmm, i like how you can find a story within each painting if you look deep enough and i love the way that story changes depending on who’s looking,” you finish.

he smiles, a gentle smile — this one different from the grins that you were used to seeing and you knew you hit the spot.

“you know something, y/n? i think you and i are a lot alike,” he starts, “except for me, my photos are my painting,” he reveals a little but not too much, hushed voice, leaning towards you as it it was a secret. maybe it was? maybe it was something he’s never shared to anyone but you? again, you wouldn’t know.

you watch him reach for the camera sitting quietly on his side of the table, and before you could process what was happening the shutter of the flash has blinded you.

“w-why did you take a picture of me?,” you asked in quiet shock.

“i like this story, i think i want to keep it forever,” he casually admits, making your heart skip a beat. he was good and you realize now how tough this could be as you sat there thinking, was it this easy to fall for someone’s words before?

“what do you say angel, you want to go to a party with me tomorrow night?," and just like that, the grin was back on his face, snapping you out of your trance.

the NCTU valentines party – you’ve always heard about it being one of the best parties on campus, whether you’re single and ready to mingle or taken and want to party with your significant other, everyone goes to have a great time: sex, free alcohol, drugs and good music. how could anyone pass it up?

“i would love to,” you reply sweetly.

you needed to get into his room.

after all, you had no physical proof that he was mr. cupid.

𓏲𝄢

“i need to borrow a dress,” you rummage through your best friend’s wardrobe, looking for something pretty and pink.

“for what?,” giselle’s attention snaps toward you, her curiosity at its peak. she doesn’t even remember the last time you wore a dress.

“umm for a party,” you mumble, “excuse me?,” she walks over to you, not entirely sure if she heard correctly, “did you say party? you’re going to a party?!” she practically shouts, excitement bubbling through her.

“calm down, it’s not that big of a deal,” you sigh, still looking through her closet.

“uhm, yes it is! i’ve been trying to get you to a party since freshman year and you always turn me down,” she pouts, “in your own words, ‘parties are sooo lame, i have much better things to do,’” she playfully mocks, earning an eye roll from you.

“i don't sound like that,” you snarked, eyes narrowing at her.

“yes…you do,” she says, pushing you out of her closet and pulling out a pretty pink dress you’ve never seen before, exactly in your size. it was the perfect dress for the perfect girl you were currently playing.

giselle hands it to you with a smile on her face, “here, i bought it for you just in case this day ever happened,” making you chuckle, “i can’t believe you, thank you,” taking the dress out of her hands.

“whose party are you going to anyway?,” she asks.

“uhmm,” you take a second to think about whether or not you should lie but giselle knows you more than anyone else, she’ll see right through your words, so you decide to come clean, “theNCTUvalentinesparty,” you mumble and giselle’s jaw drops in shock, “the wildest party of the year for a party virgin…are you sure about that?,” she asks, voice laced with concern.

“don’t worry, i’m not gonna drink or anything,” you shrug and you see the way her mind works, piecing it all together.

“who are you going with?,” she inquired, afraid that she already knew the answer to the question.

“doesn’t matter,” you gulped, looking everywhere but your best friend.

“oh my god!,” she gasped, “don’t tell me you’re going with na jaemin?!”

“ok, i won't tell you i'm going with na jaemin,” you joked, trying to keep the energy light but you see the way her smile has disappeared into a thin line, eyebrows slightly furrowing.

“y/n-, i told you…you don’t have to do anything,” she breathes out, almost angry.

“giselle, you lost your virginity to him! and then he pretends you don’t exist?!,” you point out, reminding her of his faulty actions and how much he deserves what’s coming to him.

“so what!?, i probably would have lost my virginity to another jerk if not him, at least he gave me a good time,” you actually can’t believe she’s defending him right now, a frustrated expression appearing on your face.

“are you kidding me?! you cried over him for a week!,” you cursed, remembering the time you had to pick up the mess jaemin made.

“yes because i lost my virginity to a fuckboy!…not because that fuckboy was him, it could've been any one of them and i still would have cried,” she explains, “...but i'm over it!, i’ve been over it!,” she yells, arms flinging around, “besides virginity is a social construct anyways i feel much better without that word hanging over my head and since he’s slept with me i’ve had soooo many guys in my dms—,” she reasons out, rambling, almost losing focus until she caught herself.

“—so please y/n,” she snaps her attention back to you, holding your hands “—don’t waste your time on na jaemin and just…enjoy a good fucking party,” she practically begged.

“no,” you reply sternly, letting go of her hands “he needs to know how it feels like to get his heart broken. if not for you then i'm doing this for all the other girls who have cried over him,”

giselle sighs, your stubbornness was always a problem and she knew well enough that once you’ve set your mind on something, nothing can change it, “whatever y/n, don’t come crying to me when this blows up in your face, he isn’t as dumb as you think,” she walks out, leaving you to wallow in your thoughts alone.

𓏲𝄢

dear mr. cupid,

i’m going to my first party ever! how can i make sure i catch the attention of the person i like?

love,

heart

“be safe. don’t let anyone take advantage of you. and for the person you like? confidence is key. wear your head high, flash on your beautiful smile and always be one step ahead.” - mr. cupid.

loud music, red solo cups, couples sticking their tongue down each other's throat, a guy wearing a diaper holding a toy bow and arrow drunk in the front lawn and it’s only 9pm.

this is the infamous valentines day party?

you wanted nothing more than to turn around and go back to the safety of your dorm room, hide under the blankets and binge watch cheesy rom-com movies until the sun comes up.

before you can psych yourself out, an unknown voice makes its way to your ears, “you must be, angel?,” the figure walks up to you, a smirk etched onto his face.

“and you are?,” you ask, already feeling a bit uncomfortable.

“haechan,” he introduces, hand going up for a handshake. he waits for yours but you never give it, only glancing at his hand with a slight look of disgust. quickly retracting it, the boy runs a hand through his long dark hair, laughing it off.

“he was right,” he comments, looking you up and down, “sorry?,” this is by far the most confusing conversation you’ve ever had. you’ve decided you hated parties.

“...long hair, soft skin, pretty smile and dressed in the cutest outfit, you are exactly his type,” he mumbles, sipping from his cup and taking a step towards you.

ahhh so he’s talked about you.

haechan’s figure towers over you and you’re now very aware that he’s an intoxicated man and you’re in nothing but a tight pink dress who forgot to bring some sort of self defense weapon. you hold onto your purse a little tighter, ready to swing if it comes down to it.

“back off, haechan,” jaemin’s deep voice echoes from behind you. his familiar presence brings you a sense of comfort. you’d take him over this random guy in front of you any day. though you’re not entirely sure it’s better.

“just introducing myself,” haechan smirks, raising his hands in mock surrender as the taller boy steps up beside you, “see you later, angel,” haechan bids his goodbye, walking back into the loud frat house.

“sorry about that, he gets a little too confident when he’s drunk but he’s never physically hurt anyone…just a whole lot of talk really,” jaemin snaps your attention back to him.

“physically?,” you question, head tilted.

“well, i can’t say the same for emotionally, he’s a heartbreaker you know?,” jaemin chuckles, taking a step closer to you.

“and you’re not?,” you look at him quizzically, smirk on your lips, challenging him.

“you look really beautiful, angel,” he ignores your question, choosing to lean in and compliment you instead, playful smile on his lips, “stick close to me tonight okay, you don’t want another heartbreaker getting near you,” he whispers, sending goosebumps throughout your skin.

jaemin watches you intently, “now, c’mon…let’s go inside,” he leads the way to the entrance with you following right behind him, head held high.

if you thought the outside was bad, the inside of the house was a whole different nightmare. the music booming filling up every corner of your mind, sweaty bodies bumping and grinding against each other, more lip locking, not entirely sure who’s paired up with who, everyone just kissing everyone, one side of the room chanting “shot, shot, shot,” the other side carrying someone on the keg stand. the air was thick with the stench of alcohol and a mix of different flavors of vape smoke, hitting you all at once. you were definitely out of your element, panic settling in the pit of your stomach.

jaemin quickly senses your discomfort, your feet frozen to the ground, wincing as you look around the room, taking it all in. he walks towards you, gently lacing his fingers around yours, “just stay close to me, okay, y/n?,” gone was the smirk that you swore was glued on to his face, eyes full of concern. you nod, tightening your grip around his hand before he led you deeper into the room and into the kitchen where there were less people.

“ahh, there they are, took you guys long enough, i thought you may have just led her right to your bedroo-oW,” haechan fumbles over after the guy next to him punched him in the stomach, “what the fuck, mark?,” he groans in pain, mark ignoring him.

“please ignore hyuck, he’s had too much to drink…i’m mark,” mark smiles at you, he seems normal enough. this time you accept the handshake, “im y/n,” you reply, shooting him a quick smile, “i thought his name was haechan?,” your eyes darted between the three boys, pointing at haechan who was still soothing his pained stomach.

“haechan when he’s flirting, donghyuck to his friends,” mark says, clearing it up for you.

“you don’t have to tell her that, we’re not friends,” the boy chimes in and you agree, “he’s right,” making him perk up, “on a second thought, maybe we can be friends,” he says cheerfully, “sorry about my behavior, y/n,” he drunkenly apologizes, pout on his lips and you’re confused at the sudden change in his behavior.

“praise him once and he’ll do anything for you,” jaemin explains, chuckling at his friend’s antics and handing you a cup, “drink?,” he asks.

you eye the red cup suspiciously, “it’s just coke and henny,” jaemin says, taking a sip out of the cup to let you know that it’s safe to drink. you appreciate the action, “thanks,” you say, taking the cup from his hold and taking a sip. the taste was absolutely repugnant and you try your best to not let it show on your face.

“oooh that’s basically a kiss,” renjun from your art class walks in, teasing, and your eyes almost bulge out of their sockets. there’s no way he’s here right now? renjun was so polite and proper, what the hell was he doing here?

you realized now that you actually had no idea what happens in your university. too absorbed in your own bubble to know who’s friends with who, “ooooh jaemin and angel sitting on a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g,” haechan sings making the boy’s chuckle as you tried to hide your face behind the red solo cup.

jaemin shoots you a smile before getting dragged away by mark to the other side of the room, creating more mixed drinks for the party, leaving you with haechan and your fellow art classmate.

“hey, i’m renjun,” he walks up to you casually earning a slight nod from you, “you must be angel?,” he questions and all you do is nod, downing your drink, trying to ignore the burning in your throat, “okayy?,” he eyes you suspiciously and you’re afraid your cover has been blown until haechan grabs his hand, “don’t stare at my friend, it makes her uncomfortable,” he steps in and suddenly you’ve decided that haechan is your favorite.

“let’s go look for jisung, i still gotta teach him how to do that tongue thing,” haechan says, grabbing renjun and mark out of the room. you don’t even want to know what tongue thing they’re talking about, just grateful for the fact that renjun was finally gone.

“woahh, slow down angel,” jaemin makes his way back to you, taking the cup out of your hands, “what?,” you didn’t even realize you were still drinking it, too caught up in trying to not get caught.

“you finished it,” he says, almost proud, chuckling at your actions.

“oh…,” you sigh, looking at the empty cup. well, that’s not good. you’re not exactly a pro when it comes to alcohol and you can feel it catching up to you now, the heat in your face growing as a carefree laugh slipped from your lips, “i guess i did.”

jaemin finds you absolutely adorable, “let’s go dance, angel,” grabbing both of your hands and dragging you out of the kitchen, into the crowded living room, a strong hold around your waist, making sure you don’t trip amongst the crowd of people.

the music sounds so much better with the alcohol in your system. for a moment you let yourself enjoy it as you swayed to the beat, singing at the top of your lungs, jaemin right behind you, hands on your waist as your bodies were pushed closer and closer until there was no longer any space in between you.

maybe you understand parties now? you have never felt more free than you did now, all the worries and anxiety that came from school completely leaving your body. the only thing on your mind is the alcohol and jaemin’s warm hands electrifying your waist.

he turns you around in his embrace, coming face to face with his huge smile, “are you having fun!?,” he yells over the loud music.

the red heart shaped lights flashes around the room, illuminating his features, making him glow.

mr. cupid’s words ringing in your ear — be confident.

and so with the help of liquid courage, you wrap your hand around his neck, the smile on your lips never leaving as you made the first move, pulling him towards you, and catching him by surprise, “yes,” you whisper against his lips before finally connecting like they were magnets.

his lips were so soft against yours, jaemin quick to lead like this was a rehearsal he’s rehearsed a million times.

if you were to ask him, he knew you wouldn’t last long — this whole act of pretending to care about his photography. he’ll give you credit for being clever, for letting the romantic in him live for a couple of hours but at the end of night he is who he is. you want one thing from him and he wants one thing from you. he knows how this goes.

his hold on your waist tightened pulling you even closer, the growing bulge in his jeans felt hot against your thigh. one of his hands made its way to your cheeks, thumb softly grazing your cheekbone as he deepened the kiss, tongue swiping at your bottom lip for entrance. the taste of alcohol and spearmint lingers as your tongue meets – he was a good fucking kisser and so dangerously intoxicating. he lightly bites your bottom lip, slowly pulling away and making his way down your neck.

“what do you say, we take this up to my room, angel?,” he whispers, sucking the sensitive spot right below your ear, earning a light moan from you. the mention of his room reminds you of why you were here in the first place. that’s the location you needed to get to. you nod, giving him the go signal, the smirk back on his face as he led you up the stairs. you hear the hollers of the people around you. to them, you were going to be another name under his belt and you’ve never felt more sick to your stomach than now. to think, for a brief moment, you were actually having fun with him.

as soon as you entered the quiet of his room, the only sound that filled the air was the faint hum of music drifting from downstairs, helping you think a lot more clearer. jaemin’s lips were littering kisses down your neck, body trapped between his large figure and his bedroom door. this was enough.

“jaemin-,” you sigh, “yes, angel?,” he murmurs against your skin. you lightly push him away, “i-i don’t want to do this,” you mutter out, looking down at the floor, making sure you look embarrassed from your actions.

jaemin immediately stops, taking a step back and giving you space, “that’s okay, we don’t have to do anything,” you look up at him, expecting to see an annoyed expression at you wasting his time but all that greets you is a quiet shock on his face, a momentary confusion before his eyes turned upwards, kind and gentle. the same genuine smile you briefly saw at the cafe making an appearance and it surprises you.

“sorry,” you whispered softly.

“no need for apologies, y/n, you didn’t do anything wrong,” he says gently, grabbing your hand and leading you to sit on his bed. you take note of the way he calls you by your actual name when it matters.

“uhm can i get you anything?,” he asks you sweetly, a little awkward.

this entire situation has got you wondering if he was more like his fake persona in real life…but you can’t be blinded by his sweet actions. this is his tactic.

ladies and gentlemen — the sweet fuckboy.

“could you get me a glass of water?,” you ask and he quickly complied “of course, i’ll be right back, make yourself comfortable,” he smiles at you, still that same genuine smile and you almost believe it.

the sound of the door shutting has you on your feet in no time, ignoring the dizziness and blurred vision that came with the alcohol.

you quickly look around his room for any signs of mr. cupid, taking note of his bare walls — absolutely nothing that leads to him being the anonymous radio host.

making your way over to his dresser, you rummage through his drawers, shutting the first drawer as soon as you opened it, the space filled with packets and boxes of condoms and a bottle of lube. the next drawer you opened, to your luck, was his underwear drawer, you shut that one tight as well. you quickly look through each one, not finding a single thing, eyes quickly scanning the room, heart beating quicker as you feel yourself running out of time and then you see it…a box hidden at the bottom of his desk tucked all the way in the back…jackpot.

you open the box to pictures of him at the studio, the mr. cupid neon sign logo right behind him as he sits prettily behind the microphone. you find yourself laughing like a maniac, here it is! proof!

you can finally take him down.

quickly taking one of the pictures, you neatly tuck it in your purse before placing the box back where it belonged, running back to his bed to compose yourself, feeling like you just ran a half marathon.

𓏲𝄢

“that was quick,” jeno snickers as jaemin enters the kitchen, grabbing you a cold glass of water.

jaemin shakes his head at his friend’s comment, “we didn’t do anything, she actually told me to stop,” he explains leaving both of them dumbfounded.

“really?,” chenle inquired, a puzzled look on all of their faces.

“really,” jaemin confirmed, “i told you, she might be different,” he smiled a lovesick smile and they knew their friend was in trouble – he was letting his hopeless romantic side win once again.

“you’ve only known her two days, jaemin,” jeno reminds him, “how can you be so sure?,” he challenged.

“well, if she was like the rest, i would be inside her right now,” jaemin points out, earning a playful punch from the two boys.

jaemin was used to girls wanting him for one thing and one thing only – bragging rights.

it’s not a secret that he was known for only sleeping with the hottest, prettiest girls on campus. in turn, he has been a personal target for them, feeling justified and confident when jaemin gives them the time of the day and well, how could he pass up the offer?

they used him for reputation and he wasn’t a saint. he used them for easy sex. everyone wins. after a while he stopped trying to remember their names but the hopeless romantic in him lives on through his persona. he tries his best to add in a bit of romance but no girl could even fathom the idea of one of the fuck boys falling in love. no girl could even trust him to do so. only one girl told him she loved him but how could she? when all she knew about him was that he was incredibly good in bed.

so this, right now, the rejection he just received from you – it feels sweet on his tongue.

jaemin notices your disheveled appearance as he walks back in his room. you’re still sitting where he left you, sweat trickling down your forehead. he glances around his room, concern creeping into his voice, “you okay?”

were you okay? hell yeah, you felt fucking great you could hardly control the giddiness seeping out of you.

“i-uhm, don’t think the alcohol is settling in my stomach properly,” you lie. well, it was a half truth. the alcohol coursing through your system doesn't feel as great anymore and now that the adrenaline has worn off, an overwhelming wave of nausea hits, leaving you feeling sick to your stomach.

“c’mon, drink this,” he makes his way over to you. the cool water is refreshing, but it does little to ease the churning in your stomach.

jaemin grabs something on his desk before making his way behind you, gently brushing your hair out of your face, carefully tying it up into a ponytail. he was surprisingly really good at it and you can’t help but wonder how much practice he’s had.

he kneels before you, gentle eyes matching his kind smile, “not much of a party goer are you?,” earning a soft nod from you, “it’s my first party” you confess, earning a shocked expression from him, “i shouldn’t have given you that cup,” he sighs, grabbing one of his jackets and softly placing it around your shoulders.

“let’s get you home, angel,” he says sweetly, placing a soft kiss on your forehead before helping you up and leading you out of the fraternity.

𓏲𝄢

“you really don’t have to walk me all the way to my dorm,” you say again for the third time.

“i told you y/n, i’m not letting you walk home alone, you’re drunk—”

“i'm pretty sober now! i really am okay!,”

“—and it’s late, i don’t feel good about leaving any woman out here at this hour,” he insists, tightening the hold he had on your hand. with his caring nature, he reminds you more and more of mr. cupid.

it’s confusing. or maybe it was still the alcohol?

“well, here we are,” you point to the building of your dorm room, “thank you for walking me home, i'm sorry i crashed your party so early,” you apologize, taking note of the time, it was almost midnight.

“there will always be another party,” he shrugs, not at all caring about missing out on the fun, “thank you for showing up by the way, for letting me walk you home and–,” his hands finding that same spot around your waist, “happy valentine’s day, y/n,” eyes gazing into yours, voice barely a whisper, “can i kiss you goodnight, angel?”

instead of the usual teasing tone that accompanied the nickname, this time it was soft, calm, almost hypnotic.

he was so close, invading all your senses, and you couldn’t help but close your eyes, fingers clenching his shirt as you waited, heart racing…you’re definitely blaming this on the alcohol.

jaemin takes this sign as a yes and soon enough his lips were on yours in a slow, intimate kiss — different from the rush kisses you’ve shared earlier that night.

before it could get deeper, jaemin pulls away, leaving a soft kiss on your forehead, eyes fluttering open, “goodnight y/n,” he says, soft smile on his lips and your breath catches in your throat, unable to speak, “g-goodnight, jaemin,” you whisper.

he finally lets you go, but doesn’t leave until he’s sure you’re safely inside.

his lips still seem to linger on yours as you stood there, body pressed against the door, replaying everything that just happened.

𓏲𝄢

“STOP!-,” you point at the mirror, “what are you doing!…stop it now!,” you tell your reflection, who was looking back at you with a giddy smile.

“you’re still thinking about the kiss, i know you are!,” you talk to yourself and you swear maybe you’ve finally lost it.

“you can’t do this! this is part of his game plan and you have your own!,” you continue, arms flinging around like a crazy person.

“stick to the plan!,” you huff out, grabbing your laptop and shooting an email to mr. cupid.

dear mr. cupid,

i found that sweet guy i told you about. we spent valentine’s day together and i know this is cheesy but there were butterflies and all. i wanted to thank you for the helpful advice. please don’t read this out loud because i know he listens to this show and this is a bit embarrassing to say.

love,

angel

the next morning was a saturday and lucky for you, you had no saturday classes which meant you could go run to the safety of the art studio and paint to your heart’s content.

a way to debrief and just be yourself, shut your mind out from the rest of the world, even if it is just for a couple of hours. ditching the cute pink outfits, you settled for your go to paint splattered oversized t-shirts, matching your oversized sweatpants, hair in a messy bun, ready for the day.

as soon as you stepped outside, the sunlight blinding your eyes, a familiar voice hit you, halting you in your tracks, “good morning, angel!,” na jaemin stood before you, radiant as ever, eyes sparkling, smile beaming.

oh…why the hell did you bring him here last night?

now he knew exactly where you lived. now he knew exactly what you looked like. the real you, anyways. the alcohol truly was a horrible idea because him showing up here unannounced was something you didn’t plan for.

“what are you doing here?,” you say, almost harshly.

“i thought you would be hungover, so i brought you tea,” he says, walking over to you, finally taking note of the cup in his hand, “i promise you this is the only remedy you need to get rid of any headaches, proven and tested,” he smiles proudly.

you wait for him to say something about your appearance – a snide remark, a look of disgust, anything that shows his feeling of indifference but all you were met with were his eyes that for some stupid reason, can’t stop shining as he looks at you.

“thanks,” you say, grabbing the cup, “i’m busy right now though, so i’ll just take this and be on my way,” you finally shoot him a quick smile before turning around and briskly walking away.

“hold on, angel!,” jaemin yells out, quickly jogging up to you, making you curse under your breath. there’s no way you’re going to the art studio now.

“jaemin, i would really like to just have a me day,” you force out a smile before he could say anything else.

“of course,” he nods, completely understanding, “i-just, i-,” for the first time since you’ve met him, his confidence falters a bit, words getting lost in stutters.

“-is everything okay?,” worry laced in your voice. you can’t help it. this was abnormal behavior coming from him and you had a tendency to care too much.

he gives you a shy smile, “everything’s okay and i promise to leave you alone, i just need to ask for your help,” he finally says, you look at him quizzically, urging him to explain, “i have a project due at the end of the month, the theme is ‘recreating romantic cliche scenes,’ it’s exactly how it sounds…i was hoping you could be my partner,” he finishes, expectantly waiting for your answer.

“why me?,”

“there’s no one else i want to do this with but you, y/n,” he quietly confesses, cheeks turning pink, slightly embarrassed – different from he's usual flirting.

truth is, jaemin saw your confession in mr. cupid’s mailbox this morning. it was his final confirmation. you truly were different from the rest and he can’t help but feel those butterflies you were talking about.

you ignore the way your heart skipped a beat. it would be weird to say no, besides you have yet to accomplish step 2 - make him fall in love with you. so you answer with one word that captures jaemins attention, a smile of gratitude on his lips, “ok.”

as promised, jaemin left you alone for the rest of the day after asking for your phone number and an agreement to meet on monday which is when you would start. you agreed on one scene per day, a total of three scenes for his project.

you can’t expose him just yet and this project is the perfect way to stop finding excuses to meet up with him. it’s easier this way. the more time you spend with him, the more you can play the perfect girl.

the faster you can get na jaemin to fall in love with you.

𓏲𝄢

jaemin: hi angel, i'll meet you tomorrow at 7pm at the cafe at 127th street, wear something cute

the text message pops up on your phone on sunday night. you ignore the slight tingle in your stomach seeing his name on your phone.

the cafe at 127th street was a vintage coffee/bar, popular for its retro style and smoothies. you already know the kind of cliche scene he has prepared – sharing a smoothie.

y/n: can’t wait! see you there, jaemin <3

dear mr. cupid,

how can i tell if the guy i like, likes me back?

love,

heart

“if a guy likes you…you’ll know it, not a single doubt will cross your mind. you’ll see it through his actions, hear it in his words. he’ll share with you things he’s never shared with anyone else,” - mr. cupid.

the sound of 80’s love songs hit your ears as you entered the cafe. seeing as it’s a monday night, the space wasn’t filled and as loud as it usually is on weekends – most of it being taken up by retired senior citizens coming for a good time, away from the crowd of college students this place usually brought.

jaemin waves at you from the red booths, his angelic smile on his lips, the one you’ve grown accustomed to seeing. the smile that annoys you because of the feelings that were starting to appear every time you saw it.

you notice the camera has been set up to face the booth you will be sitting on, proper lighting placed around it to really illuminate the space, “hey, quick question,” you ask, greeting him. he gives you a quick side hug, before letting you ask your question, “since this is for your photography class, shouldn’t you be behind the camera?,” you wonder.

“well, photography is also all about the proper lighting and the editing which is the main focus for this project,” he answers your questions while clicking buttons on his fancy camera, eyes focused on the task at hand, “—and besides, if i have to take pictures of you acting these scenes out with someone else, i might crash out,” he winks at your direction, earning a playful eye roll from you.

“okay so what am i supposed to do,” you await his instructions, standing awkwardly.

“just wait a while, i’m still waiting on that chocolate smoothie,”

“ahhh so we are doing the ‘sharing a smoothie’ scene?,” you ask, eyes full of curiosity. he sends you a smile of confirmation, finishing his set up as you continue to watch him work. his eyes flickering around his camera, making sure everything is perfect. in a quick second, the flash of the camera blinds you.

“sorry angel, practice shot,” he smiles apologetically as you got up to see the photo he took. he moves to the side a bit, giving you room to see behind the lens. “oh my god, i look ridiculous,” you giggle at the expression you were making, a light shock on your face as you were staring not right at the camera but the figure behind it, “you look beautiful…as always,” jaemin whispers by your ear, a small smile starting to form on your face as you take note of all the colors and shadows the camera has picked up, “it looks really pretty,” you comment and jaemin observes the way you're taking every detail in.

you turn your face towards him, finally realizing how close he was to you. so close to the point you could remember the lingering feeling of his lips on yours. you could feel yourself leaning in when the waiter’s voice snaps you back to reality, the chocolate smoothie being served.

jaemin instructs you on what to do. sitting right across from him, the chocolate milkshake placed right in the middle of the table in between you, one straw for him, one straw for you.

“ready, angel?,” he asks you from across the booth, starting his countdown “…3, 2, 1…” as soon as he reached 1, you both leaned in, taking a sip out of your separate straws, eyes locked together, FLASH, you held your breath, making sure not to move, only focused on the warm brown eyes that seemed to look right into you.

after making sure the camera captured the moment perfectly, you finally break away, giggles erupting from both of you as you reach over to wipe the whipped cream that painted the corner of his lips, before getting up to check the picture.

“looks good to me,” you say, opposite to jaemin sighing next to you, “there’s a glare on the corner,” he comments, his attention to detail spot on as you looked a little closer and noticed exactly what he was referring to.

“let’s take it again,” he instructs, ordering another chocolate milkshake.

“jaemin, can’t we just drink from the same one?,”

“no, the whipped cream is already a mess,” he pouts and you respect it.

as an artist yourself, his attention to detail was admirable and you find yourself liking this serious side of him. how much time and effort he puts into it — completely opposite from the way he treated his relationships. this was a side of him you’ve never heard of, a side of him that you wished to know.

the waiter comes back again, serving a new set of chocolate milkshake, snapping you out of your thoughts as you make your way back into the booth, ready to pose for the camera.

this time the picture turned out perfectly. you can tell by the way jaemin's eyes lit up like a child on christmas day, the way his smile grew on his face before turning to you and nodding his head in approval.

you find yourself getting lost in him. he was so beautiful like this — indulged in his work, an innocent glow radiating off of him, “come, take a look,” he invites.

immediately, you could see the difference. you’re not sure what he did, which buttons he pressed to make this picture turn out like this but it looked straight out of a movie scene and he hasn’t even edited it.

the two of you spent the rest of the night finishing the two chocolate milkshakes, listening to whatever song people chose to play on the coin jukebox. at one point, jaemin even got you dancing with him, joining the crowd of elderly’s on the dance floor. he shows off his silly dance moves, like he was one of the grandpa’s in the cafe.

“you’ve got a charming young man, my husband was exactly like that when we first met,” a lady whispered in your ear, a blush appearing on your cheeks at her comment.

“he’s not really my man,” you confess to her, smiling sheepishly.

“oh but he will be sweetheart, no one will act that foolish if they weren’t interested,” she points out, directing your attention back to jaemin, who was already looking right at you before joining the grandpa’s dance battle, making sure you were watching every move he made — making you laugh like you’ve never laughed before.

the night ended with him walking you to your dorms, a soft kiss placed on your lips before the two of you bid your goodnights. you swore your cheeks hurt from smiling too much.

and what’s worse? you couldn’t blame this on the alcohol. you walked up to your room with a heavy heart. the weight on your shoulders getting heavier as you remembered this was all part of the plan and there was no way you were going to lose to his charms.

𓏲𝄢

dear mr. cupid,

i like his serious side. i hope he’s serious with me too.

love,

angel

the next day, jaemin tells you to meet them at their frat house for the next scene. you hoped to god, renjun wasn’t there. you’re not entirely sure how you were going to hide from him this time around. but just to make sure he doesn’t recognize you, you amp up the makeup a tiny bit more, completely opposite from the minimal to none makeup you usually go for during classes.

you rang the doorbell once before coming face to face with none other than renjun himself – of fucking course, just your luck.

“hey, it’s you,” he greets you and suddenly you’re frozen in place, does he know?

“you’re not much of a talker are you?,” he asks, eyeing you up and down, “uhmm-,” you try to find your words but not a single sentence escapes your lips, your heart beating rapidly in your chest.

renjun sighs, definitely weirded out, “he’s upstairs,” he says before stepping aside and letting you in, it takes you a second or two to find your steps, walking into the house. it was much bigger now that no one was around and surprisingly, it was clean, like it wasn’t filled with boys 24/7.

“-it’s so clean,” you weren’t aware you said it out loud until renjun’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts.

“ahhh and she does talk,” renjun grins,” jaemin’s a clean freak so we have to keep this space clean or he starts nagging,” he explains and you nod in response. that was definitely a fun fact.

“anyways, just go up the stairs, i think you already know where his room is,” he smirks, before walking away and leaving you to it.

as soon as he was gone, you felt like you could finally breathe. he didn’t know it’s you. shaking your worries away, you make your way up the stairs, knocking against the door you remembered.

“come in,” you hear jaemin’s voice from the other side before turning the knob and entering his room. it looked exactly like the night of the party.

he immediately lights up as soon as you enter, attention focused on you, as he greeted you with a kiss. it was starting to get ridiculous how much your heart skips a beat every time his lips touched yours.

you weren’t really expecting to be kissing him this much to begin with but that doesn’t stop you from kissing back, your lipstick staining his lips, “sorry,” you giggled as you gently wiped it off of him.

“that’s okay, pink is my color anyways,” he says before stealing another quick peck. at this rate, you’re not entirely sure who was making who fall in love anymore.

“okayyy,” you push him back playfully, chuckling, “what scene are we doing today?,” making jaemin wiggle his eyebrows as he made his way to his closet, pulling out a vintage boombox.

“where the hell did you get that?,” you ask, inspecting the old device.

“i have my ways,” he winks, “so…you ready to win me back?,” he smirks and your jaw drops, “i have to be the one holding it?,” you ask, flabbergasted. boomboxes aren’t exactly the lightest objects in the world and you barely had any arm strength. for god’s sake you were a painter, your hands were as gentle as a feather.

“you’re my muse angel, you gotta be in the picture,” he flashes you an apologetic smile in a way that he wasn’t really sorry, instead finding that pout on your lips amusing.

so now you’re here standing a little outside the porch of his steps, boombox over your head, as jaemin angles the camera from the balcony, capturing you perfectly…well, not quite, “wait, the sun is in your eyes!, move to the left a little bit!,” he shouts from the second floor, as you quickly follow his instructions, “is this good?!,” you yell back, earning a nod of approval from the boy.

he takes another snap and another and another – this time around, you curse his attention to detail, your arms starting to burn, back starting to ache, legs getting tired from standing for so long with the heavy boombox over your head, “jaemin, are we almost done!,” you yell out, annoyance seeping through you.

“just one more shot angel, i promise!,” he shouts back. and so you do one more shot for him, posing in the way he wanted and just like he promised, it was finally over.

jaemin hurries down the steps of the fraternity house as you head back inside, “sorry, that took longer than i expected,” he says, gently taking the boombox from your hold, swapping it instead with a cool glass of water he had readily prepared for you.

taking a napkin, he carefully dabs away the sweat that has formed around your temples, “it’s okay, did the pictures turn out okay?,” you ask, offering him a warm smile.

“come see for yourself,” his hand envelops yours, tugging you up the stairs and onto the balcony where he had been standing. and just like the diner photo, this one also looked exactly out of a rom-com movie.

“wow, guess it only takes an amazing photographer for me to look like a lead in a movie,” you compliment and jaemin can’t help but grin from ear to ear, your praise going straight to his heart.

“well, a photographer also needs a beautiful muse, so thank you,” he smiles warmly, “and since you went through all that trouble for me, i want to show you something,” he says shyly before taking your hand in his once again and leading you back to his bedroom.

you make yourself comfortable, sitting on his computer chair as he rummages through his shelves, looking for something. after a minute or two, he takes out a large book and slowly, hesitantly, makes his way over to you, carefully landing the book on your lap.

“what’s this?,” you ask, curiously inspecting the outside of the book.

“that day in the cafe, you asked to see my photos,” you realize now that what you were holding was a photo album.

“i’ve never really shown them to anyone before so please be kind to me,” he says, rambling nervously, “of course constructive criticism is always welcome and you don’t have to like it,” he chuckles softly, trying to play it cool, hoping you won’t notice how loudly his heart was pounding in his chest.

“jaemin, you don’t have to show me this,” you say, your breath catching in your throat, heart aching.

for the first time since all of this began, you realize that jaemin is being entirely sincere with you. and here you are, sitting on his bed, taking up space, with a knife hidden behind your back.

“y/n, i want to show you,” he admits, “you’ve been entirely honest with me and i’m ready to do the same,” he says, nudging the album in your hand, wanting you to finally open it.

if only he knew.

you couldn’t take looking into his warm brown eyes any longer, focusing instead on the photo album.

finally turning a page. the first picture that greets you is of a woman that resembles the man in front of you, a shining smile on her face as she sat on a picnic blanket, the green scenery behind her making it look like she was straight out of a fairytale.

“that’s my mom, most important person in my life, she loves going on picnics,” he quietly comments, snapping your attention back to him, you give him a smile, “she’s beautiful jaemin, you captured her perfectly,” your voice faltering, before turning to the next page.

you recognize the next picture was of the boy you met during the party - mark, his name was. holding a guitar, and just like his mother in the previous page, he had a happy smile on his face, clutter of music sheets surrounding him.

the next couple of pages were all the boys you recognize from his fraternity, each one sporting a look of contentment in a place where they seemed to belong.

jaemin watches you flip from page to page, taking in the way your eyes would widen, the small smile that would appear in your lips as you looked over every photograph. his heart pounding in his chest. he wanted to impress you.

you turn and turn, getting to the photos where he was in, with his family and his friends. the sweet smile that he would share with you all marked in these pages. you realized those were your favorite. you wanted to paint it. wanted to capture every detail and keep it to yourself.

then, at the very last page was the picture of you – sitting in the cafe, on that very first date the two of you had.

you felt like you lost the ability to speak, just staring at the photo, guilt creeping in your heart. you didn’t deserve a place in these pages yet here you were… and he has managed to make you look as beautiful as the rest, like you were a part of everything good and true in his life.

“why am i on here?,” you shakily whisper, trying to push back the lump forming in your throat.

“these are all stories i want to keep forever,” jaemin softly whispers, “and i told you y/n, i like this story,” you turn to look at him, reading him. looking into his eyes, you see nothing but honesty.

the boy in front of you has finally let his walls down but you don’t feel an ounce of accomplishment. none of the feelings of gratification that you were supposed to be feeling came. the thoughts of revenge so far back in your mind.

instead you sat there, the butterflies in your stomach coming to life as you inched closer, closing the space in between you and capturing his lips in yours. jaemin quickly responds, kissing you back just as sweetly. the gravity of the moment hanging in the air.

“i'm guessing you like it?,” he asks.

"i love it," you confess, just before he pulls you in for another kiss, feeling his smile against your lips.

𓏲𝄢

jaemin walks back into the fraternity just right after dropping you off. head all up in the clouds, a love arrow happily pierced right into his heart as he hums a tune. he’s loving the constant goodnight kisses, loving the thought of being able to kiss you forever.

“jaemin–,” a voice strictly calls out to him, bringing him back to reality.

“yes, my lovely friend, renjun,” he sighs happily, sitting across from him on the living room couch.

“how long have you known, angel?,” renjun inquired.

“a week now, why?,” jaemin asks, nonchalantly. if he was here to tell him that he was being a hopeless romantic again then he doesn’t really want to hear it. this time he knows it’s different.

if the butterflies in his stomach weren't proof enough, the messages you leave for mr. cupid sure was.

“there’s something off about her,” renjun comments, making jaemin roll his eyes, “oh c’mon, you say this about every girl im with,” he points out. renjun has always been picky with the company his friends kept so this wasn’t really new to him.

“i’m serious jaemin, she seems familiar but i just can’t place my finger on it,” renjun ponders, earning a scoff from the younger boy, “there’s no placing your finger on anything, she goes to our university, you’ve probably seen her walking around campus,” he reasons out.

“whatever jaemin, just be careful,” renjun advised before walking out of the living room and up the stairs.

jaemin shakes his head, thinking back to the memory of you looking through his photo album and once again, find himself humming, smiling at the ceiling. there was absolutely nothing anyone could say to ruin this for him.

dear mr. cupid,

i think i'm falling for him.

love,

angel

you hated yourself that night.

𓏲𝄢

jaemin leads you to the parking lot, hand in hand. you inspect the location, wondering what romantic scene he had planned out for the last scenario. you’ve been dreading this moment, realizing that it’s soon coming to an end. every tick of the clock leads you to step three: breaking his heart.

you stop in front of a silver car, your brain not connecting the pieces together. turning to the boy right next to you with a set of curious eyes.

“we're going to a new location for this one,” he explains, opening the car door up for you. you don’t question it, somehow you trust him enough to hop into the passenger seat.

jaemin ensures you're securely buckled in before stealing a quick kiss, leaving a surprised flush on your face. with a smile, he jogs around and settles into the driver’s seat, putting the car in drive and hitting the gas.

you sat in silence, gazing out the window as the scenery shifted, the soft hum of the radio barely audible, allowing your mind to wander.

as you reflected on the past few days, each quiet moment seemed to lead you back to this – the heavy weight of dread and guilt slowly taking over.

the once alluring idea of revenge now tastes bitter on your tongue. you expected it to be difficult, but you never anticipated that the true challenge would be the way he’d quietly capture pieces of your heart and how you didn’t mind it at all.

in fact, you liked it. you liked being around him, liked his stolen kisses, his stories, his gentleness, the warmth that he left on your skin with every touch, his laugh and most of all, that stupid sweet smile he always seems to be sporting around you.

you’ve replayed it in your mind a thousand times, torn between the devil and the angel on your shoulders, unsure if this plan is worth risking the bond you've built with him. but every time, the same side wins — the side of pride, the side that tells you this is all still a lie. and if it’s not, then the truth remains. this relationship was born from anger and hate.

jaemin interlaces his fingers around yours, grabbing your hand, bringing you back in the car with him, “what are you thinking about?,” he asks softly. even without looking at him, you can see the smile on his face, the gentleness in his tone.

“just thinking about where we're going,” you lie, staring at your interlocked fingers that somehow seemed to fit like two perfect puzzle pieces.

“hmm, we’re going down south, to busan,” he answers and your eyes almost bulge out of your head, “what?!,” he chuckles at your expressive reaction, “jaemin that’s like a 4 hour drive,” you sulk in your seat, hand still in his, “why do we need to go that far?”

“for rain,” he shrugs, bringing your hand up to his lips as he placed a soft kiss upon your knuckles. you fight the urge to smile.

“what exactly do you have planned, loverboy?,” you tease him, pushing all your previous thoughts to the side and focusing on this moment.

“oh you know, pretty rain, pretty girl,” he tosses you a look, confirming your thoughts. he was planning to do the ever so famous rain kiss.

“if you wanted to kiss me, you don’t even need to ask,” you teased, earning a playful laugh from him, “-will keep that in mind, angel,” he winks.

the rest of the car ride was spent singing to whatever was on the radio, learning each other’s favorite things, sharing fun stories and a few more stolen kisses, some of them coming from you.

it all felt comfortable, almost like you were always meant to be here with him by your side. eventually, sleep crept up on you, leaving jaemin in the warm silence, eyes occasionally drifting to your figure, finding peace in the calm as he drove.

the next time you open your eyes is when you finally get to the location jaemin had in mind. it was cloudier here, the sky already casting a soft gray hue. jaemin sets up his equipment, preparing for the rain, while you rush to assist, quickly placing everything into the makeshift set. the lush green landscape stretches around you, the open field decorated with blooms of pinks, whites and yellows, while the river in the distance adds a cool touch of blue. you’re not entirely sure if the camera could capture the beauty of nature but you trust jaemin will find a way to make it come to life.

the rain came at the perfect moment.

jaemin decided to hit record on his camera instead, explaining how it’d be easier for the two of you, since he didn't have to run back and forth to take the picture.

he led you to the right spot, flashing you a smile before his hands wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer and without wasting another second his lips were on yours. heart immediately racing in your chest as you move in complete synchronization, lips chasing his as he took the lead.

the rain continuously pouring over you.

when you could no longer breathe, you pull away, giggles erupting from both of your chests.

the rain pours harder and harder. jaemin feels like he’s been struck by lightning, your giggles melodically ringing in his ear.

he pulls you back in again, kissing you gently, so intimately, like he forgot there was a camera a couple feet away. every kiss, he loses himself in you, melting under your fingertips and for the first time in forever he says words he’s never said to any girl.

“i really like you, y/n,” he confesses, the words floating in the air, replacing the sound of the rain thumping on the ground, filling every corner of your mind. he rests his forehead against yours, warm brown eyes filled with sincerity, making you unable to breathe.

and just like that, the other side won — the side that has fallen for him. the one that believes this is real. the side that likes hearing your name slip from his lips, the stolen kisses, the warmth of his hand in yours, the laughter and of course that sweet smile forever etched in your mind.

you don’t want to let go of any it.

instead, you decide to throw your four step plan out the window, casting away all thoughts of revenge that once burdened your heart.

in that moment, you felt light, free.

the rain fell in an endless rhythm, drumming against your skin, soaking every inch of you, but you barely noticed it as you kissed him again. this time with a passion that made it feel like your life depended on it.

he’s a dream you couldn’t bear to lose, a fleeting moment you feared would vanish the moment you opened your eyes. but then you feel him smile against your lips, warm hands tightening around your waist as he pulls you even closer and you’re reminded that this is real and exactly where you want to be.

you stayed like that, wrapped in each other’s embrace until the cold slowly crept in, seeping through your clothes.

the rain never letting up.

𓏲𝄢

jaemin did not plan this well at all. besides the fact that he didn’t think to bring extra clothes, the light showers the weather app had predicted had turned into a brutal rainstorm and it was getting harder for him to drive, the droplets continuing to pour heavily on the car window.

“angel, we’re gonna need to stop and stay overnight somewhere,” he suggested in which you quickly agreed to, prioritizing safety. which is how you ended up sitting on the bed with nothing but the bathrobe that came with the hotel, your clothes drying in the bathroom that was currently occupied by none other than jaemin, himself.

the hotel only had one room available and of course, like this was all a part of your doom, that available room happened to have only one bed.

you’ve already taken your shower, washing off the remnants of the cold rain sticking to your body. now that you're in the safety of the warm room, waiting for the boy to finish, your mind can’t help but wander at the possibilities the night held. you’re not entirely sure you could stop yourself if he decides to advance. in fact, you’re not entirely sure you could control yourself around him.

shaking the thoughts away, you finish drying your hair before getting under the bedsheets and tucking yourself in, making sure your robe hugged tightly around your body.

grabbing the remote from the bedside table, you switch the t.v. on, hoping the noise could drown out the nerves. you settled on the channel playing harry potter and the goblet of fire, forcing yourself to focus on the movie instead of the boy that was as naked as you just on the other side of the bathroom door.

jaemin steps out of the bathroom a couple minutes later, his robe hanging loosely around his body, a bit of his toned chest exposed to the cool air. you try not to stare for too long as he walks around the room, eyes on the t.v. he quickly shuts off the lights before finally settling on the chair, farthest away from your side of the bed, “i love this movie,” he comments, your heart pounding in your chest at the sound of his voice, somehow raspier in the night.

the effect he had on you was absolutely insane. you’ve had sex before, had a couple tricks up your sleeve but nothing like what you’ve heard about jaemin. the fact that he was amazing at sex was a known fact throughout the entire university, girls always giggling about how they had the best night of their lives and how they couldn’t walk the next morning.

turning your head towards him, you’ve realized how engrossed he actually is in the movie that’s playing and it makes you feel silly. jaemin has never made you do anything you didn’t want to do and not once has he ever crossed a line. you really needed to get your head out of the gutter.

“why are you sitting all the way over there? this bed is big enough for both of us you know,” you say, capturing his attention, reminding him of the fact that this bed is a queen sized bed.

he sends you a soft smile, “i’m a gentleman, angel”

“oh please,” you scoff playfully, “we’re both adults, we can control ourselves,” you point out, completely contradicting your thoughts and burying yourself in a bigger hole. it’s not that you were trying to provoke him, it’s just that he was the one who paid for the room and you would feel absolutely awful if he had to squeeze himself in the chair, that was obviously too small and uncomfortable, the whole night.

you pat the empty space beside you, “c’mon, i won’t bite,” you playfully tease.

unbeknownst to you, jaemin was in a way tougher spot.

he accidentally caught a glimpse of your pink lacy underwear, the one you left behind in the shower, tucked in between the rest of your clothes, and couldn’t get the image of you in a matching set out of his head. then his mind started to get a little out of control, if your underwear were here then that must only mean you were completely naked underneath that white robe.

he had to relieve himself in the shower, hand wrapped tightly around his hard cock, biting back his moans as his mind brought him to images of you. he thought jerking himself off in the bathroom would help push away all his desire for the rest of the night but as soon as he stepped into your room and saw how small you looked, tucked into the queen sized bed, he felt his cock twitch under his robe again. which is why he had to resort to turning off all the lights in the room, afraid you would see his boner poking out. then he sat there, focused on harry potter, as he tried to drown out your presence.

but now, you’re inviting him to take up the space next to you and god, you have absolutely no clue what you’re doing to him, it’s unfair. he feels disgusted at the fact that all he could think about is how much he wants to fuck you.

he really needed to get his mind out of the gutter.

slowly, he got up. surely this would not help his case but he didn’t want you to think he was a horndog that couldn’t control himself. he usually was better at this. it was just the fact that it was you and he wants you so bad. needs you. all those lingering touches and kisses finally catching up to him.

he focuses again on the screen ahead, the t.v. illuminating the dark room, light bouncing off of your faces as you sat in silence, just watching the movie play out. though if you asked him what just happened in the scene, he wouldn’t be able to tell you. his mind racing with anything that could help soften his dick.

at one point it got way too hot beneath the sheets and you made the mistake of releasing your arm out from the under and onto the bed, right next to where jaemin’s arm was lying. you try to ignore the heat radiating off of his body, try to ignore the rapid rhythm of your heart. pulling away would be suspicious so you kept it there.

jaemin’s eyes flicker from the t.v. to your hand. you were so close, all he had to do was move his pinky and his hand would be in yours.

his self-control was becoming thinner with every second that passed and before he even realized what he was doing, his pinky moved — bumping into yours and in the next second he had your hands locked together.

he turns his head towards you only to see you were already looking up at him, starry eyes locked on his for a second before you quickly turned away, blush creeping up your cheeks at being caught.

he can’t help himself anymore, moving away from the headboard and lowering himself down to the pillows as he turned his body in your direction. this time, when he turned to look at you, you were only a couple of inches away from him.

“angel,” he whispers. you cautiously turned your head towards his, knowing that there was absolutely no going back from this. the tension in the room has got you clenching at nothing and you were getting sick of it. you wanted him and you’re not entirely sure why you were holding back, considering the confessions you shared earlier.

jaemin takes a second to study your face, memorizing every freckle before he let his eyes finally dart down to your parted lips, “i really want to kiss you,” he confesses into the night air, like it was a secret no one else was allowed to hear.

“i thought i told you if you wanted to kiss me you don’t even need to ask,” you quietly tease and that was all jaemin needed to hear before giving in to the cravings of the night, harry potter long forgotten as he finally pressed his lips on yours.

he kisses you once, twice, three times before his tongue darts in begging for permission. your mouth immediately parting as you gave him access, tongues moving in melody.

the make out session grew heavier and heavier, fingers finding their way through his hair, lightly tugging, eliciting a messy whine from him, his moans sending tingles throughout your body. “fuck, y/n, i need you,” he groans against your lips and you couldn’t agree more.

you wanted his hands all over you, regretting how tightly you tucked yourself into the blankets. swiftly, and with jaemin’s help, you pushed the blanket off of you, never once breaking the kiss, leaving both of you in your robes. the lack of the heavy covers made it easier for your hands to roam, wandering down to his chests as jaemins hand settled on your back, a little bit above your ass, pulling you so close you could feel his bulge against your clothed core.

“take this off,” he demands, untying your robe and pushing it off of your shoulders, jaemin quickly tossing it somewhere across the room before hovering over you.

he takes a moment, taking you all in for the first time, practically drooling at the sight of you, you’re so beautiful to him. it’s as if an actual angel was right in front of him and the thought of him ruining you makes his cock twitch. he didn’t even know he could get this hard.

“jaemin, please do something,” you say, starting to feel insecure under his gaze. your small voice snaps him out of his daydream. “you’re so fucking beautiful,” he praises before his lips latched onto your nipple, sucking, licking, making your back arch towards him, moans slipping past your lips, other hand playing with the other bud, twisting, pinching and you feel like you could cum just from that.

“f-fuck jaemin, want you please,” you sigh in pleasure, hips bucking up in response to his actions.

“what do you want, angel?,” he asks, teasing you and it takes every ounce in you not to pounce on him.

“i want you to touch me, p-please,” you don’t even care how desperate you sounded right now.

“i am touching you, angel,” he was loving this way too much. the way you were unraveling underneath him and he hasn’t even touched the neediest part of your body.

“lower,” you plead, earning a smirk from him, “hmm, right here?,” he asks, his hand, wandering down to outline the curve of your waist and landing on your hip, rubbing soft circles around your love handles. you don’t know how much more teasing you could take, your pussy dripping with arousal, “lower, please,” you cry out, “tell me where, angel, want to hear it from you,” he grunts against your ear, leaving marks all over your neck, “i want your fingers inside of me, please,” you plead for the third time.

“anything my angel wants, she gets,” jaemin playfully whispers before his fingers found its way to your folds, rubbing up and down, “so wet already, all this for me huh,” he praises, your head nodding vigorously in response, “only for you, jaemin.”

happy with your response, his finger slides into you, finally giving you what you wanted. even with your pooling arousal, you were still so tight around his digit, making him curse. he curls his finger, immediately hitting that spot that made you see stars, eliciting a high pitched moan from you, pussy clenching even tighter.

“fuuck angel, im gonna need you to open up for me,” he slides another finger in, curling and scissoring againsts your walls, pleasure coursing through your veins, he was so so good.

“i need to taste you,” he warns before he was diving into your pussy, mouth sucking and blowing against your clit, lapping up your juices, catching your breath, “holy fuck, jaemin,” your stomach clenches, heat traveling all throughout your body as you feel your orgasm coming to a close embarrassingly soon.

“i-m gonna come, baby,” the new pet name drives jaemin absolutely crazy, fingers practically moving at a speed of light inside your walls as he continued to suck on your clit, “go ahead angel, come for me,” he moans against your pussy, the added vibrations rolling your eyes back as you lost the ability to moan, head falling backwards, mouth wide open as you came.

jaemin coaxes you through it, savoring every drop before his lips were back on yours, pulling you back down to reality as you taste yourself in his tongue.

“you okay?,” you hum in approval, a smile taking over your features as you kiss him back, hands quickly untying his robe. jaemin quickly responds, pushing the last piece of clothing away, cock springing free.

in one swift motion, you push him back down to the pillows, taking the lead as you straddled him, “your turn,” you whisper, a light shock appearing on the boy’s face before he settled into the bed, getting comfortable. one of his hands coming up to support the back of his head as he watched you, the other roaming all over your skin, a smirk displayed on his lips.

you were fucking nervous, you’ve never been this upfront in the bedroom but due to how much experience he had, you wanted to show him that you could keep up.

“want to make you feel good,” you whisper in his ear, making him shiver, he swears you were going to be the death of him. your lips found its way to his neck, decorating him with the same pinks and purples you’re sure he has left all over your body.

jaemin was very vocal, already whining under your touch, helping you completely push away any of the remaining worries you had. your fingers found it’s way around his nipples, lightly squeezing and you realized how sensitive he was as he squirmed below you, hips immediately thrusting up, “fuck, angel you’re gonna kill me,” he whines and you can’t help but let out a soft giggle as you travelled lower and lower, hand softly wrapping around his hard length, earning a breathily groan from him. you understood now why your body really needed to open up. he’s huge and you were definitely intimidated.

you start by kitten licking his tip making jaemin hold his breath as you stare up at him, his eyes completely blown out. you can tell how much restraint he’s trying to hold on to to not shove his cock down your throat. you don’t tease him for too long before finally taking his length in your mouth, sucking on his tip, jaemin’s groans immediately increasing as his hand found its way to your hair, gripping tightly, orgasm already creeping up.

you bobbed your head up and down, tears brimming in your eyes at his size. he has no idea what you’re doing to him, how you managed to have him coming undone in seconds, body shaking under your touch. no girl has made him cum this fast before, “fuck angel, i can’t last,” he manages to mumble in between heavy pants. the words encouraging you as your hand finds its way around his balls, gently cupping.

you barely touched him before he was toppling over, cum shooting down your throat with no warning, making you choke.

your hand continued to work him through his orgasm as you cleared your throat. jaemin had to practically push you away, “angel, please stop, i need to feel you,” he groans, pulling you back up to his lips and kissing you passionately.

carefully, he switches the position, having you under him once again. he reaches out for his wallet placed on the nightstand, taking the pack of condom and ripping it open with his teeth before placing it on his already semi hard cock, “god, look what you do to me,” he grunts.

your hand rubs up and down his thighs as you watch him swipe his length between your wet folds, the tension in your stomach building up once again.

he wraps your legs around him, kissing you slowly, so intimately, “i really fucking like you, y/n,” he admits for the second time that day, sending you what has now became your favorite smile.

“i really like you too, jaemin,” you reply, pulling him closer as he aligns his cock against your entrance.

jaemin wasn’t a fan of missionary but god, you’re so fucking beautiful, he wanted nothing more but to look at you when he entered, watching your face contort as you adjust to the size of his large cock, harmonized moans mixing in the air.

for the first time, he finally understood all the sentiments his friends in relationships would say — this feeling was so different from the regular hook ups. the passion, the intimacy of it all. you were so dangerous to him and yet he was obsessed with the way you have him wrapped around your finger.

he loves the way your eyebrows furrowed in between pleasure and pain as he bottomed in, your walls finally hugging the size of his cock, sucking him in deeper and deeper. the way your lips fell into moans once he started thrusting in and out of you. your eyes shutting as he increased the pace, faster and deeper and always hitting that spot that got your head rolling back, toes curling. the way you gripped his back as he rubbed harsh circles around your clit, sending you to overdrive. the way your body went completely limp against the pillows, face in complete bliss as your walls tightened around him, sucking him in. his abs clenching in response, a guttural moan from his throat escaping, reaching a high he’s never felt before as he burrowed his face into your neck to control his shaking body.

you enjoyed the feeling of his skin against yours, reveling in your shared orgasms. staying that way for a minute or two, his body heavy against yours before he snuck in a gentle kiss to your lips.

you hiss as he pulled out, already feeling empty without him. he fucked you so good that all you wanted to do was slip into the peaceful darkness, sleep begging to take over.

the distant hum from the t.v. continues, playing the credits, as the rain pounded on the windows filling your ears. you feel the bed dip beside you as he moved around, feel the soft cloth against your pussy, wiping away your arousal, feel him take the spot next to you once again, shutting off the t.v and pulling you close to his chest.

“goodnight, angel,” he whispers, gently draping the blanket over your bodies, before placing a soft kiss on your temple and finally letting sleep consume you.

jaemin wakes up the next morning, your figure right next to him. it was strange, waking up to a person but he liked it — liked that it was you.

the sunrise peeks through the curtains as the memory from last night vividly replays in his head. he softly pushes away the layers of hair that have covered your face, taking in your angelic appearance as your chest rises and fall to a steady rhythm, sleep still hugging you.

he starts tracing the outline of your cheekbones, fingers softly grazing the curve of your nose, down to your lips. he takes in every detail, taking a mental screenshot.

your eyes flutter open at his light touches, “take a picture, it’ll last longer,” you tease which you figured was the wrong thing to say to a photographer as soon as the words lef your mouth, jaemin wasting no time to reach for his phone and snapping a shot.

“oh my god! i was kidding, i look like a mess,” you scream playfully, bringing the blanket over your head and covering your face in embarrassment, earning a laugh from the boy beside you.

he tugs the blanket off of your face, “you look even more beautiful in the morning, angel,” he compliments, making you blush.

the rest of the morning was spent well — shared selfies, slow kisses, lazy sex, touches lingering all over your skin, an innocent shower with millions of stolen kisses, laughter and more stories.

everything truly felt like a dream, like you were sitting on a cloud occupied by only two. hands never leaving the other’s as jaemin drove back to seoul, the car ride filled with sweet nothings.

𓏲𝄢

jaemin was worried sick. it’s been two days and you haven’t reached out to him. his texts being left on delivered. fear was starting to creep up on him in the form of doubts and mistrust. he thought maybe you were exactly like the rest and you did only want him for sex and now that it’s done, you were also gone and he was nothing but a fool being hit by his own karma.

he realizes now that he’s too deep into this, that it’s too late now to take it all back. too late now to make sure you can’t hurt him. he’s never given anyone this much control over him and he was absolutely losing it.

his phone dings and he scrambles to pick it up, hoping that this time it was you on the other end. his prayers being answered when your name pops up, letting out a sigh of relief.

my angel: jaemin i’m sorry…

his heart races in his chest, not entirely sure what you were apologizing about. he watches as the three dots appear on the screen, an indication that you were still typing.

my angel: i’m sick :(

my angel: i think the rain finally caught up with me

he reads the message, feeling absolutely awful and guilty that his mind could even taint your image like that. that he could even let doubts fill his head.

all he wanted to do now was take care of you.

on the other side, you were really regretting staying out in the rain for so long as you sat in your bed rotting, body burning up, head hurting, nose red, throat dry. it’s been two days since you last saw jaemin and you missed him…a lot. but you didn’t want him to catch your virus so now you’re here, hanging on by a thread as he spammed your inbox with messages filled with tips on how to get over a cold quickly.

the next morning, after asking around, jaemin finds himself knocking on your dorm room’s door, a bag containing hot soup and medicine in hand.

he couldn’t stand the thought of doing nothing so here he is, ready to be your nurse for the day and cure you back to health.

the door swings wide open only to reveal a familiar face, “jaemin?,” the girl with long black hair asks, head turned like a curious puppy.

“uhmm,” he mutters, quickly racking his brain for information, searching for a name he definitely knew. he remembers her face, remembers the fact that they shared a night together but he can’t quite pinpoint who she is exactly.

for a second, he thinks he’s in the wrong room, until her voice breaks him out of his thoughts, “are you looking for y/n?,” she asks.

he nods in response as she gestured to the door across the room, “she’s in there,” she said before stepping aside, letting him in and quietly shutting the door behind him as she hurries into her own room.

jaemin stands there, bewildered, if she was your roommate, who he’s sure he definitely knew, then surely you must have known who he was when the two of you first met. surely, you’d heard about his reputation. so why did you say you didn’t know him?

the sound of a cough coming from behind your door snaps him back into place. when doubt clouded his mind yesterday, he turned out to be terribly wrong. pushing the confusion aside, he steadies himself and gently knocks on your door.

“giselle, don’t come in, i’ll get you sick,” you respond, the raspiness of your voice evident.

your roommates name echoes in his ear as he finally unlocked the memory of who she was – the girl who told him she loved him. the girl he said the words back to…on accident.

he quickly pushes the memory away, turning the door knob as he finally makes his way inside your room, eyes scanning the space. he notices the various trinkets scattered on shelves, paintings and posters adorning the walls, books stacked in neat chaos, brushes cluttered on your desk.

“jaemin?,” you manage to croak out, eye squinting at the bright light coming from the living room. you’ve been pent up in the dark for too long, the only light coming from the small lamp on your desk. your hair sticks up in every direction and you had absolutely no color on your face. you look like a total mess. but somehow, seeing you like that only makes his heart skip a beat.

god, he was down bad.

“hey angel, i brought you some chicken noodle soup, it’ll help you feel better,” he says softly, completely forgetting the thought of giselle as he sat on the edge of your bed, taking out the bowl he had prepared.

“jaemin, i’m gonna get you sick,” you pout, hiding under the covers to try and contain your virus, earning a soft chuckle from the boy, “angel, i’m pretty sure you’ve already contaminated the air in this room,” he points out, playfully poking your side until you came out from underneath.

“you don’t even have a humidifier,” he teases, reaching over to smooth down your messy hair before bringing the spoon filled with the hot soup to your lips. you let out a resigned sigh, rolling your eyes, but a smile tugs at the corners of your mouth as you give in.

he spends the rest of the evening taking care of you, checking your temperature, making sure you take the proper medicine. his quiet care speaking louder than any words could.

carefully, he tucks you both in, ignoring your sleepy protests about him catching your cold as he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you close, your head resting against his chest. it's warm, safe, and comfortable. so comforting that the next minute, sleep takes you, carried off by the side effects of the medicine and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

𓏲𝄢

the sound of clutter jolts you back to reality, waking you up from your slumber. blinking slowly, you spot jaemin’s figure hunched over, quietly gathering the things he must have knocked over, “you okay?,” you groggily question, rubbing the sleep away.

“sorry angel, i accidentally bumped into your desk, i’ll clean it up, don’t worry,” he says softly, already rearranging your things back into place.

but then you see it – a little too late. your stomach drops, everything inside you stills. instantly you knew your world was about to crumble down, “wait, jaemin–” you call out, urgency creeping into your voice, but he was focused on the task at hand.

jaemin picks up the fallen journal, a photo slipping out from between the pages.

it takes him a second to process that the person in the photo was his own reflection but once he did, everything shifts – there he is, staring back at himself, the mr. cupid sign right behind him.

a wave of realization crashes over him, bringing all his doubts to the surface, “why do you have this?,” he demands, turning around to face you, the photo gripped tightly in his hand.

the guilty expression on your face was enough to shatter any remaining illusions – he knows he’s been playing the fool. he should’ve known that this was too good to be true.

in a flash, jaemin flips through your journal, looking for answers, “jaemin, don’t!,” you get up, ignoring the way your vision momentarily blurs, threatening to pull you under. but you were too late. jaemin has stumbled across your four step plan.

“the downfall of na jaemin. step one - introduce yourself. step two - make him fall in love with you. step three and four - break his heart and reveal to the whole world that their beloved mr. cupid is a phony,” jaemin reads out loud, his entire figure rigid as he connects all of the clues, his mind replaying every memory like it was some sort of cruel punishment crafted just for him.

“you didn’t think i’d actually tell mr. cupid my real name did you? it would be so embarrassing for me,”

dear mr. cupid, i'm going to my first party ever! how can i make sure i catch the attention of the person i like? love, heart / “not much of a party goer are you?,” earning a soft nod from you, “it’s my first party” you confess.

the way you walked out that saturday morning he brought you his hangover cure, ditching the pink outfits because you knew he wasn’t going to be around.

renjun voicing out his suspicious concerns and telling him to be careful.

the door opening to giselle, a girl he had sex with at a random party. the same girl that was standing just outside your bedroom door – your roommate.

every single moment, every confession, every word that he believed to be true led to this – your four step plan, cold and calculated, had no other intention but to hurt him.

every ounce of trust he’d placed in you, every bit of affection, it was all nothing but a step forward.

every time he was being honest, you only showed him what he wanted to see.

he didn’t know the person in front of him. all he knows now is that this is all a lie.

“jaemin, please let me explain,” you plead, voice shaking as you fight back the tears that were daring to escape, taking a cautious step towards him, unsure if he’ll let you get any closer.

he meets your gaze, pain and betrayal flashing all over his features – raw, gutting, all-consuming and gone in a second.

his face goes stone cold, “there’s nothing to explain,” he says, each word cutting clean, final.

“have fun with step four, y/n,” he mutters, voice deep with frustration before tossing your journal and the now crumpled photo to the ground. without another word, he storms out of your room, angrily slamming the door behind him, your heart dropping.

you rush after him, voice breaking as you cry out, “jaemin, please,” you grab his hand, desperation flooding your every movement, holding on tight, trying to make him stay, “it’s not what it looks like, please,” at this point you don’t stop the tears from flowing. you don’t care anymore. you just can’t let him walk out the door.

the loud ruckus catches your best friend’s attention. giselle quick to join you in the living room, eyes wide with concern, “what happened? is everyone okay?,” she asks, frantically looking between your broken expression and jaemin’s seething anger.

her presence was enough to pull your focus away, jaemin taking the opportunity to yank his hand out of your grip and finally making his way out.

you tried to follow him out but before you could take another step, your body finally gave up on you and you came crashing down the living room floor.

jaemin hears the sickening thud of your fall and giselle’s frantic shout of your name. for a brief moment, he hesitates, just long enough to almost turn back and check if you’re okay…but he doesn't.

blinded by rage, jaemin stormed into the fraternity house and without a second thought, his fist crashed through the living room wall, no longer able to contain his anger. he was seeing red.

“dude! what the fuck?!,” chenle yells, everyone turning their heads in surprise. but what shocked them the most was the next scene — watching their friend drop to the floor, quiet sobs escaping his lips as he burrowed his face into his hands.

jeno was up in no time, making his way over, “what happened?,” he asks, checking his friend for any injuries.

“you were right, renjun,” jaemin choked out between his broken sobs, feeling absolutely defeated.

the room fell silent as everyone turned to face renjun, wanting for an explanation, “y/n, isn’t who she says she is,” jaemin muttered, wiping tears that refused to stop. he felt pathetic — so this is what heartbreak felt like.

he wouldn’t wish it on anyone, not even on his worst enemies.

“who’s y/n?,” renjun looks around, confused, earning a light punch from donghyuck, “angel, dude,” he whispers under his breath like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

renjun pieced it all together in an instant. he knew you looked familiar, he just didn’t know you were that familiar, that you were the same girl who sat behind him in art class — you disguised yourself so well, you fooled even him.

he watched his broken friend on the ground, jaemin’s figure slumped against the wall he’d struck moments earlier, lips trembling, tear-streaked face buried in his hands.

𓏲𝄢

“renjun, please just let me talk to him,” you ask for the umpteenth time. it’s been three days since your fight with jaemin and in those three days, his friends have done everything in their power to keep you away, rightfully so.

when you showed up to the fraternity house, ready to explain your side and apologize, haechan immediately shut you down, slamming the door in your face.

when you saw him in the university’s cafeteria the next day, jeno was right next to him in an instant, pulling him away before he could even see you.

every single message you sent him was left on delivered, every call going straight to voicemail. you were desperate to reach him and renjun was your only access. he couldn’t exactly ditch class to avoid you.

renjun rolls his eyes, scoffing, “again, the answer is no, angel,” he says sarcastically, the nickname dripping with venom, his tone laced with disgust.

you wince, desperation creeping into your voice, “i just need to explain and i promise i won’t ever show my face again.” your eyes are full of conviction, pleading for a chance to right your wrongs.

he sighs. truth is, him and the boys have no idea why jaemin was so upset, only telling them that you lied to him about who you truly were but what does that even mean?

after mulling it over he finally says, “his showcase is on friday at the university’s gallery, 3 p.m., he has to be there for his project which i’m sure you know all about,” he pauses, “you can talk to him there if he wants to but all the boys are gonna be there too,” he warns.

renjun and the boys practically hated your guts but they also know how important you’ve become to their friend, otherwise he wouldn’t be sat at home, moping around, watching rom-coms as a form of self destruction, muttering “love is a lie,” every time the two characters get together in the end.

“thank you,” you nod in understanding, your gratitude mixed with a quiet tension.

“let’s get something straight y/n,” he says, his tone hardening as he starts to walk away, “i’m not doing this for you.”

with that, he leaves you standing at your station, the weight of his words sinking in.

𓏲𝄢

the university's art gallery buzzed with life, lined wall-to-wall with projects from various photography majors. you hadn’t expected such a crowd, the room filled with chatter and laughter as the bright lights illuminated the spacious room.

you take your time, making your way around, palms clammy and heart pounding as you move through the room, quietly practicing the speech you've prepared for days. gone were the sparkly pink outfits and the persona that came with it. replaced by just jeans and a plain t-shirt. you continued weaving through the art gallery, the panels shifting from artist to artist, until you finally reached his.

jaemin’s name stood boldly against the wall, his project titled, “stupid cupid.”

your breath caught as your eyes dropped to the description beneath it:

“love in the movies feels effortless and looks beautiful but all those picture-perfect moments turn out to be nothing more than echoes of a love that was never real to begin with.”

the word’s, achingly beautiful in their bitterness, struck like an arrow piercing your heart. you scanned the pictures on the wall, trying to contain your emotions.

each image held a memory, fragile and glowing – the moment in the cafe, the boombox in your hand, the kiss in the rain, now looping endlessly in video, truly playing like a haunting echo of what once was.

you stood frozen, emotions tightening in your throat, eyes brimming with tears as you wanted nothing more than to step into that scene and live in the moment just a little longer.

you wipe the tears from your cheeks, steadying yourself. you had an apology due, you couldn’t let another day pass without telling him everything you wanted to say. this was possibly your only moment and you weren’t going to let it slip away.

your eyes searched the crowded room, until they landed on him.

jaemin stands a little further back, deep in conversation. you recognize mark and jeno right next to him along with some girls from campus who were obviously flirting with him, one of the girls laughing a little too loudly and you almost scoff.

taking a deep breath, you force your feet to move, making your way through the crowd, heart pounding.

mark notices you first, eyes widening for a split second as he immediately grabs jaemin’s wrist, steering him further away from you, “hey winter! have you met my friend, jaemin?,” mark calls out, his voice ringing loud and clear, every word sharp and intentional.

jaemin looks at him suspiciously before greeting the new girl in front of him. you catch the subtle glance of the previous girls lingering behind, clearly disappointed that he walked away.

you cursed under your breath, frustration mounting, they really won’t make this easy for you.

“what are you doing here?,” a voice to your right captures your attention.

“donghyuck!,” you quietly exclaim in surprise, a hand to your heart.

“haechan,” he corrects immediately, “so what’s the angel in disguise doing here?” he laughs like he just said the funniest joke, “god that’s a good one, gotta tell the boys about that,” he snickers to himself, completely lost in his own amusement.

every conversation with him felt like some weird episode you didn’t sign up for. you still couldn't figure out how he managed to charm everyone. his mocking tone was grating, but deep down, you knew you’d earned it.

“i’m just here to apologize,” you sigh, too tired for an argument.

“huh, you’d think you’d get the hint after all the text messages and calls jaemin ignored,” he says, voice dripping with malicious amusement, “don’t flatter yourself too much, y/n, you’re not special, this is just what he does, you were just another girl who fell for it,” he taunts, his words sharp like a dagger before he walked away, leaving you in your thoughts.

they’ve been trying to stop you from reaching him and you’ve had enough. all you wanted was to have a chance to fix things. so you abandoned the careful apology you’d been rehearsing and did the one thing you hadn’t planned.

you called out his name.

your voice rang out, echoing through the large room as the chatter slowly diminished. one by one, every head turned in your direction, but you only saw him.

jaemin's eyes locked with yours and for a split second, something softened in his eyes. then, just as quickly, the wall was back up and that cold, unreadable mask slipped right back into place.

you ignore the hush whispers around you, even the one that cut through clear as day, “wait…she’s the girl from his photos..,” as you slowly walk towards him.

jaemin doesn’t utter a single sound, doesn’t make an effort to move away, he just watches as you approach, silent and unmoving, until you were standing just a few feet away.

“hi”, you begin, your voice barely above a whisper. you ignore haechan’s mocking chuckle, as he now stood next to jaemin.

“im sorry!,” you blurted out, not wasting another second. jaemin doesn’t flinch, doesn’t react, only looking at you like you’re a stranger.

“alright, you said it, you can go now, we’re a bit busy,” jeno cuts in, sharp and dismissive, a devilish smirk on his face as he spoke for his friend. the audience snickers in the background…but you weren’t finished.

“i’m sorry i lied to you,” you say a little more composed this time, standing your ground.

a shaky breath escapes you as the words you’ve been dying to tell him tumble out.

“i hate iced americanos, i hate the color pink and i definitely hated you…at first,” your voice cracks slightly, but you push through it, eyes locked on his.

you don’t care about the stares or the whispers or the way you knew this moment will be dissected by everyone watching – none of it matters, only him.

“and i know, i know everything must feel like a lie now. i wouldn’t blame you if you never believed another word i said,” you laugh bitterly, pushing away the ache in your chest.

“i only did it because i thought it was the right thing to do, i thought you deserved it for leading so many girls on…it’s stupid, i know,” your gaze softens, slightly shaking your head as your voice drops to a fragile murmur, regret and embarrassment written all over your face.

you look up at him once again, his expression still as hard as stone but it doesn’t stop you from saying your next words.

“—but i also know that i’m in love with you,” you quietly confess, the words rolling off your lips for the first time, hanging in the air – honest, bare, terrifying but all so right.

you notice the flicker of something behind his eyes that betrays the coldness in his expression. something almost soft. but it’s gone as soon as it came.

“i’m in love with you,” you repeat, hoping.

“and i'm sorry that we started out this way but this is me, the real me,” you continue, voice shaking as you ignore the lump forming in your throat.

“i prefer iced matcha over iced americanos, my favorite color is white and i have completely, stupidly fallen for you,” you finish your speech, letting the last words hang there, raw and unguarded. there’s nothing left to hide behind, no more reason to pretend.

this is your truth.

the room is silent – so silent that it felt suffocating. not a single person dared to speak, no one even moved, everyone holding their breaths with you, waiting for something…anything.

finally, jaemin takes a step forward, each step he took was slow, deliberate. his expression unreadable, eyes still cold, and you can’t tell if he’s angry, hurt or just tired of it all.

he stops in front of you, close enough that you can see the way his jaw clenches.

“well, angel,” he say, voice low and quiet but cutting all the same, the nickname sounds nothing like it used to – no warmth, no teasing. just ice.

“this was fun,” he snickers, a cruel smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, one that doesn’t reach his eyes.

it wasn’t the smile in his photos – it wasn’t the smile you fell in love with.

“-but that was all it ever was,” he continues and you feel like someone has just punched you in the gut.

“thank you for letting me use you for my project,” he adds, his tone light, casual, like it’s just another throwaway line in a script he’s already performed before.

“but you, of all people, should know–,” he leans in just a little, voice dropping, and for a second his warmth consumes you until his words turn everything cold, “-i never fall in love.”

his friends start chuckling at the back, the crowd joining in. other’s looked at you with pity having fallen for the boy in front of you but you didn't pay attention to them. you don’t even look at them. you’re still staring at him and you don’t buy a single word.

not with the way his hands are clenched at his sides. not with how his voice trembled, just barely, when he said never.

he’s lying. protecting himself the only way he knows how – by pretending not to care. trying to convince himself more than you but even knowing that doesn’t dull the sting. tears prick at the corners of your eyes, blurring the sharp lines of his face as you blink them back, forcing yourself to stay composed.

you nod once. small. almost imperceptible. a silent acknowledgment. not of belief but of acceptance.

then, carefully, you pull out the white envelope tucked in your back pocket, “this belongs to you,” you say, voice soft, barely hanging on. you hold it out to him and then you turn.

you don’t look back, running out of the gallery – out of the stares, out of the suffocating stillness that had begun to close in on you.

your vision blurs completely now, hot tears streaming freely down your face. you can’t breathe. you’re not sure if you even want to.

jaemin watches you retreat. he doesn’t call out, doesn't make an effort to stop you. he just watches.

only when you were finally out of his sight, he felt it – that sharp swell in his lungs, the ache in his chest unraveling into something hollow and brutal.

he thought it would feel satisfying to hurt you the way you hurt him. he thought having the last word would fix the damages of his broken ego and piece back the heart you shattered. but as you left he realized that parts of it were still in your hands.

the crowd begins to break apart, quiet murmurs replacing the earlier hush. now that the show’s over, their entertainment has ended and one by one, they leave, continuing on with their day, until he’s standing there alone, the envelope in his hands.

he opens it slowly, like he’s afraid of what’s inside, even though some part of him already knows.

and there it is. the photo. the one you stole from his room. the one in your four step plan. his secret.

for a split second, all he can feel is the surge of anger and betrayal, remembering everything that has happened in the past two weeks. his heart pounds in his chest, a sharp sting of violation threatening to overwhelm him.

but then, something shifts.

he looks at the photo again and it hits him – you’re giving it back to him. you’re not using it. you’re not following through with your plan to expose him. you had returned the evidence with no strings attached. you were telling him the truth.

the confessions you made, your voice trembling with sincerity, resonating in his mind.

renjun snaps him back to reality, the rest of the boys next to him, “hey, you okay?” he asks his friend, tone sharp with concern.

he forces a half-hearted laugh, voice laced with self-deprecation. “i feel like absolute shit,” he quickly tucks the envelope in his pocket, hiding it away from prying eyes, mind still reeling.

“well, i know just the cure for that,” haechan teases, slinging an arm around his neck. “a pretty girl and some drinks,” he continues, his voice is playful, trying to pull jaemin back to the surface and he’s grateful for the distraction.

“yeah, come on,” mark chimes in, grinning. “we gotta celebrate your gallery’s success!...party at the dream fraternity tonight!” he calls out, his enthusiasm infectious as cheers erupt from the crowd, a wave of excitement sweeping through the room.

jaemin feels disconnected from it all, but he can’t ignore the energy around him. he shakes his head, finally allowing himself to breathe. maybe they’re right. maybe a party is exactly what he needs. maybe he can continue to pretend that this doesn’t hurt him until it finally doesn’t.

𓏲𝄢

jaemin can’t get it up.

“i thought you were supposed to be good at this?,” the pretty girl from the gallery comments, making him sigh in frustration.

“just give me a second,” he grunts, furiously pumping his cock up and down, hoping a miracle would happen. this has never happened to him before and he’s beginning to get really worried.

“you said that five seconds ago,” she cuts in, looking at him with those judgmental eyes, like he doesn’t fucking know he said that five seconds ago. the urge to run to the doctor’s getting stronger with every second.

“you know what? just get out,” jaemin says annoyed, tossing her clothes back to her as he made his way to his bathroom, not caring at all about the girl sitting on his bed. he hears the girl scoff, followed by shuffling and a, “thanks for absolutely nothing!,” before his door slammed shut.

jaemin rolls his eyes, hopping in the shower, the lingering touches she left behind felt sticky and gross on his skin. he knew she wasn’t going to tell anyone, knowing her reputation was also on the line and he didn’t even feel bad. the girl should’ve known he wasn’t in the right mind for some ego boosting. or maybe she should’ve tried harder for him.

yikes. maybe he did deserve the heartbreak you served him with.

as he stood there, under the hot shower, his intoxicated mind can’t help but wander back to you and the time you’ve spent together.

he can’t help but remember that morning of your first night together, the innocent shower you took together as he admired your body – thoughts of your scent consuming him, the way your lips left trails of kisses, soft skin against his.

then he feels it, his cock hardening.

all it took was the memory of you, “you’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he scolds his dick.

“really?, a pretty girl on your bed and absolutely nothing from you and just one thought of her and you’re up,” he talks to his member, feeling absolutely crazy before his hand got to work – mind flashing with scenes of you and only you.

hopping out of the shower, jaemin feels a little more refreshed, his mind clearer than it was a few shots of alcohol ago. the party outside his bedroom door has now died down.

he picks his clothes up from the ground, ready to toss it into his hamper, when the envelope peaks out, reminding him of the picture.

he takes it out again, staring into his own image, the slight crumple on the top left marks the photograph, evidence of his anger. he sighs as sadness takes over once again.

flipping the image, he sees your handwriting, words that you have left behind just for him. words that has signified the mark you left on his life.

dear jaemin,

thank you for showing me this side of you. im sorry.

love,

y/n, angel, heart

it was your last confession and right away he knew what he had to do.

𓏲𝄢

“hi my lovely listeners, it’s mr. cupid here on a surprise live session, i couldn’t prolong this any longer,” jaemin’s voice filters through the mic, softer than usual.

he pauses, a shaky breath pulled in as he braces himself for the inevitable, “i haven’t been completely honest with you.”

there’s a beat of silence and then, “i have been keeping a secret and lately i’ve realized how much secret’s hurt.”

“so today, im finally telling you who i am,” jaemin continues, fingers tightening slightly around the mic stand as he braced himself.

“i am mr. cupid, your #1 go to for all things love and heartbreak but i am also third year, photography major, member of the dream fraternity,” he takes a quick pause, finding his courage, “my name is na jaemin,” he finally confesses into the microphone.

the words land like a stone thrown into still water, rippling through the space between him and the hundreds of people listening.

his inbox immediately lights up, emails flooding in. he could already see the previews. lots of surprised listeners, lots of angry listeners.

his phone quietly flickers by his side, messages from the boys swarming his screen as the group chat blows up — all of them shocked and confused.

he would have to deal with all of that later.

“i want to take this moment and apologize,” he continued, voice soft but firm, “to every girl i’ve hurt, every person i made feel disposable…i’m sorry. i wish i could remember all your names but the truth is, part of me was that player, part of me liked being that player,” he sighs in embarrassment, the weight of it all sinking in.

“—and i’m sorry for hiding behind this persona, for pretending i had it all figured out while calling out the very things i also did,” he continues, a bittersweet feeling rising in his chest.

he took care of this radio show, he wouldn’t have climbed the #1 spot if he didn’t. but every truth must be revealed someday.

“—i need you to know, i meant every word i’ve ever said on here. the advice, the stories, the moments where i told you to believe in love even when it hurts…that was all real. i was just too much of a coward in real life to admit that i wanted that too,” he continues, feeling lighter with every word.

“there’s a girl i met recently,” a nervous chuckle slips from his lips as he runs a hand through his hair, gaze unfocused, lost somewhere far beyond the studio walls.

“she knew who i was, from the very beginning” he rambles, “she had this four step plan to make me fall in love with her…the last step of her plan was to expose me but she never followed through with it,” a quiet moment passes.

“somewhere along the way, she fell for me anyway…the player, the romantic, the scared, complicated mess,” he shakes his head, a halfhearted smile tugging at his lips.

“i always thought that i had to be one or the other, turns out i was just waiting for her to freely be who i truly am,” a heavy sigh leaves him, full of everything he’s carried alone until now. his thoughts catching up to him.

“—and i really need to follow my own advice and get her back,” the words left him in a rush as he finally reached his own conclusion.

love was a strong word and unfortunately it took him a while to accept that this is what it was and it was all he wanted.

without another word, he abruptly ends the session. running out of the studio, finally seeing things clearly.

he runs, lungs burning, heart pounding. he ignores the students who were still outside this late hour, calling out his name, calling out mr. cupid, until he finally reaches your building, sweat forming around his forehead, as he tries to catch his breath.

he knocks on your door, practically pounding on it, adrenaline rushing through his veins, nerves and excitement coursing through him at the thought of seeing you again only to be met with none other than your roommate.

“oh, if it isn’t mr. cupid,” giselle greets him, voice laced with mockery, her expression twisted with subtle disdain.

“you know i was wondering why y/n was so adamant on getting revenge, i thought it was just because of what you did to me, turns out you’re not just a huge player you’re also a pro liar,” giselle continues, a pointed look on her faced, eyebrows furrows, lips pointed.

“pretending to be mr. sweet angelic guy just to be a fuckboy behind the scenes, man, how did you fool everyone?” she chuckles, almost disbelievingly.

jaemin shifts uncomfortably, his confidence briefly faltering, “giselle, im sorry,” he says, catching the girl off guard, “i do remember our night together and i’m sorry…i shouldn’t have said those words so lightly, i wasn’t thinking, just putting my needs first,” he confesses, completely owning up to his actions.

she blinks, then lets out a small, surprised laugh, “it’s fine, i just wanted to give you a tough time for what you did to y/n at the gallery,” she says, “besides, i used you that night too, we both win,” she shrugs, really not caring, “i would actually prefer it if we never talk about it again.”

jaemin nods, a quiet gratitude in his eyes for her unexpected grace, “is y/n here?,” he asks.

giselle ponders for a second or two, studying him, eyes narrowing slightly, reading him like a book until she nods, “second floor of the art building,” she says.

“thank you,” he breathes, already turning, “wait jaemin!,” giselle stops him in his tracks, “you hurt her again and i will kill you, okay pretty boy?,” she says with a sugar-sweet smile, almost like she didn’t just threaten him. it wasn’t a question, not really.

he chuckles, not entirely sure if she’s joking or not, either way, he would not like to find it.

“wouldn’t dream of it,” he replies, flashing her a smile before sprinting off.

𓏲𝄢

jaemin stepped quietly into the art room, spotting your back to him as your fingers worked like magic, brushing smoothly against the canvas seated on your easel, completely immersed in your work. he notices the iced matcha sitting on the table to your right, your paint-stained jeans and oversized t-shirt on display, hair in a messy ponytail.

even with your back turned to him, you looked so at ease, like the world had melted away and left only you and your art behind. he stood still, taking it in, wishing he had his camera with him.

content hums slip past your lips as your hand glided from your palette and the canvas. then he notices what you’re painting and he can’t look away, transfixed by the way you captured the scenery of the luscious green landscape blurred by the gentle rain, the pink and whites of the blooming cherry blossoms, opposite to the gray hues of the clouds floating on top.

it was like he had stepped into that day once again. almost like he could feel your lips on his again.

he clears his throat before finally finding his voice, “that’s beautiful.”

your head turns quickly, jumping slightly at the sound of your intruder’s voice, eyes wide with surprise. you weren’t exactly expecting anyone else to be here this late.

“jaemin?,” you question, voice uncertain, wondering what he was doing here at this hour.

“hi,” he smiles sheepishly, hands awkwardly tucked in his pockets, almost shy, as he walks closer to you, your breath stuck in your throat.

“you uhm…you have paint right here,” he points at his own cheek, mirroring the spot on yours as you quickly tried to wipe it away, missing completely.

“not quite, here let me-,” before you could protest, he closed the gap, licking his thumb and wiping the smudge away from the apple of your cheek. the moment was so intimate, his light touch igniting that spark all over again.

“thanks,” you whisper before taking a step back and trying to ground yourself.

“what are you doing here?,” you asked, voice soft.

“i was looking for you,” he responds like it was the simplest truth in the world.

“i-i thought you didn’t want to see me again?,” you say, brows furrowed in confusion.

“i thought that too,” he admits, “but as soon as you left, all i wanted to do was see you again,” he continues, looking for any signs of rejection on your face.

“how did you know i was here?,” you ask, puzzled, you never brought him here before so you wouldn’t expect him to even know it.

“i asked giselle,” he replies simply, leaving you confused, your brows knitting, “you talked to giselle?”

he chuckles slightly before saying, “i actually stopped by your place first and you weren’t there and then i got an earful from giselle about being mr. cupid and now i'm here,” giving you a quick rundown of what happened.

“wait, what? i never told her your secret,” you say, wide eyed. that’s when he realizes then that you had no idea what happened in the last hour.

“i uh…i actually finished your four step plan,” he explains and you’re left speechless, “you didn’t have to do that,” you murmur, voice soft.

“no, i did,” he quickly retorts, “it was time,” a small, genuine smile tugging at his lips.

“he wasn’t all a fake persona, you know?,” he exhales, voice laced with honesty.

“i know,” you say quickly, eyes meeting his. “i saw him,” voice filled with sincerity, “fell in love with him,” you whisper into the night air, making him look up, hope flickering behind his eyes.

“i thought i had to hide that side of me,” he admits, “i’ve been very aware of the whole fuckboy label and yeah…i got caught up in the ‘cool’ image of it all. it was easier to be who everyone expected me to be, it’s stupid, i know,” he smiles softly, his words reflecting your confession.

“but that’s not why i came here tonight,” his eyes find yours, unwavering.

“i'm sorry about what i said earlier at the gallery,” he adds softly and you shake your head before he can go on, “it’s okay jaemin, i get it, i know why said it, it’s not like i didn’t deserve it,” you reassure him.

“no,” he says, a little firmer this time, “it’s not okay because it wasn’t true and i'm tired of all the lies between us so…here it goes,” he takes a breath, almost like he’s steadying himself.

“you’re not the only one who fell,” he says, a quiet smile forming, tender and nervous,“i did too.”

“—and i’m pretty sure i hit the ground way before you did,” he pauses.

you looked at him like he had somehow brought the stars to you and that was all the courage he needed to continue.

“i think white looks perfect with pink, i’m not a big fan of matcha iced tea but i’d still love to see my glass of americano sitting next to yours, and i am completely, stupidly, undeniably in love with you,” he confesses, voice steady and full of conviction, “that’s what i should’ve said earlier.”

you blink, heart pounding, the corners of your lips lifting into a smile you can’t fight, every emotion rushing to the surface.

“better late than never, right?,” you softly tease, making him chuckle before finally taking a step closer. this time, you don’t move away.

“you told me i didn’t have to ask,” he whispers and then he kisses you, soft and certain, and full of emotion.

for the first time since he walked out of your bedroom, angry and overwhelmed, jaemin feels like he could finally breathe again.

his hands gently make their way to your cheeks, deepening the kiss as yours clasped around his neck, pulling him in closer.

“god, i love you,” jaemin whispers against your lips as he moves down to litter kisses on that spot below your ear, eliciting a breathy whine from you.

“i love you too,” you whisper in his ear, large hands making their way behind your thighs as jaemin picks you up, sitting you on the long wooden table, now eye to eye level, his lips were back on yours in an instant, as he stood in the place between your legs.

you could feel his growing bulge against your thigh, making you dizzy, “jaemin, i need you,” you whine desperately. he gives in to your request quickly, no longer wanting to deny the pleasure coursing in between your bodies.

unzipping your pants, he slides it down, before pushing your panties to the side and shoving two fingers in, “so fucking tight, angel,” he groans as his fingers curl drawing out breathy moans from your lips as you tried to be as quiet as possible, afraid someone would walk in. usually no one was here during this time but you could never be too sure, you were still in a public place after all.

you could feel the tension in your stomach rise, heat starting to travel down to your toes, but you needed more, “please, n-need you now,” you plead, “you sure angel? it might hurt,” he grunts, his fingers brushing your walls repetitively, trying to prepare you as much as he can.

no longer able to wait, your hand reached for the wallet in his back pocket as you took out the condom you knew he always carried.

jaemin’s pants falls to the ground, pooling around his ankles, his boxers soon to follow as you wrapped the condom around his throbbing cock, the warmth of your hands making him groan into your shoulder as he tried to control the urge to bust right then and there, “have i told you how much effect you have on me?,” he grunts.

“show me,” you whisper, kissing that soft spot below his ear.

“you make me so fucking crazy,” he says, looking you in the eyes as he pushed his tip in your entrance. you bite back your moans, the expression on your face between pleasure and pain as you looked up at him, trying your best not to shut your eyes at the way he was slowly expanding your walls, pussy molding to the shape of his large cock.

“fucckk, you feel so fucking good,” he compliments as he bottoms in, tip kissing your cervix, your shared moans mixing in the air as you burrowed your head in his shoulder, leaving trails of wet, sloppy kisses, trying to distract yourself from the pain of the stretch.

“missed your pussy so much,” he whines. carefully, he pulls the hair tie out of your ponytail, letting your hair fall freely down your shoulders as he starts thrusting, setting a slow pace. you were so incredibly tight around him, he knew he had to be gentle, “so fucking pretty,” he whispers, watching your every reaction.

“d-don’t stop,” you sigh, getting used to his size, as he continues to thrust in and out, the slow pace becoming more addicting with every push. jaemin’s warm hands gripping your hips, massaging slow circles around your thighs, the added pressure adding on to the coil tightening in your stomach as your body arched up, hips starting to move in rhythm with his.

“faster, jaemin,” you moan. his name spilling from your lips immediately increases his speed as your hands rest on the table, trying to stabilize yourself. moans heighten as the sound of skin slapping echoes throughout the room. you don’t even care about wandering ears anymore, or what would happen if a professor happened to catch the two of you in this position.

all you cared about was this high — the way his cock seemed to be made for you, hitting that spot that makes you feel like you’re sitting on a cloud as angels sang all around you. jaemin feels the same way, absolutely lost in the feeling only you could give him.

it was getting harder to keep it together as he starts losing his rhythm, “i’m c-close, angel,” he grunts, finger finding your sensitive bud, rubbing slow but harsh circles, “cum with me, please,” he groans and it was enough to snap the coil in your stomach, eyes rolling back, pussy gripping his cock as you gave into the pleasure that is na jaemin.

𓏲𝄢

it’s been a week since that night that brought you back together. a week filled with “i love you’s,” and everything sickeningly sweet.

the boys have all apologized to you, spilling repetitive sorry’s about their behavior. forgiveness came easy. especially since you knew they were only like that because of how much they loved him and you were happy jaemin had people like them on his side.

mr. cupid became “love, na jaemin” — jaemin decided to continue it after emails upon emails of request from his viewers to come back. this time, he promised complete honesty, no longer hiding behind the fake persona. the show was back to #1 spot within a day, everyone loving this side of him even more.

there were still parties, almost every night, but instead of sneaking around with random women, jaemin had you by his side every single time — hand wrapped in yours, playful stolen kisses all over your skin, dancing and laughter. and in the days where you couldn’t go to a party, he’d simply have fun with the boys before retiring into his room alone, preferring to facetime you on the phone.

today, jaemin surprised you with a picnic. the sky was painted with soft blues and golden sun, a warm breeze curling through your hair as you sat on the picnic blanket in the park. he pulls out a bag filled with two mini canvases and a small set of watercolor.

“what’s all this?,” you giggle, as he hands you your canvas.

“i saw it on tiktok, we have to paint each other and then show each other the results,” he explains excitedly, a sparkle dancing in his eyes, like a kid getting a new toy.

“winner gets whatever they want!,” he continues, explaining the rules as you laughed, “you know i’m gonna win, right?,” you tease, raising a brow.

“hey! you’ve never seen me paint, you don’t know that,” he cutely defends himself, a pout on his lips.

“okay baby, you’re right, sorry,” you giggle, kissing his pout away, frown instantly melting into a bright smile.

“quit distracting me, angel” he said softly, grinning as he picked up his brush.

the two of you fall into a comfortable silence as you start, eyes flicking between your painting and each other. the air was filled with quiet focus and unspoken affection. you could feel it in the way his gaze lingered on you, the way your fingers moved slowly, like trying to capture every piece of him with love.

but while you were focused on painting him, jaemin had a different mission entirely.

he knew you were going to win, of course you were. this was just his little ploy to finally make you his girlfriend. a week has been long enough and he was starting to go crazy every time he wanted to call you his girlfriend but couldn’t. he’s never wanted to the boyfriend title so badly in his life.

he kicked himself over and over, wondering why he didn’t just ask you during his confession but that night was powered through by overwhelming emotions of love, hope and desire that the words had slipped his mind.

since then, nothing had felt romantic enough and you deserve to be asked properly…in the most special way. and he has finally figured out how.

after a couple more minutes of painting you break the silence, “i think im done,” you announce, setting your brush down with a satisfied smile.

he glances up at you, pretending to be busy as he continues to paint the background of his artwork, “hmm, give me one more second,” he chimes before adding his final touch.

“okay, you ready?,” he wiggles his eyebrows as you nod, your heart fluttering.

3…2…1…

you both flip your canvases, showing each other your board. your eyes immediately widen as you process the words written on his board in bold, messy paint: will you be my girlfriend? — decorated by a ton of pink and red hearts.

a happy squeal escapes your lips as you launch yourself at him, sending him back onto the picnic blanket. you pepper his face with soft kisses, laughter bubbling from both of you.

“yes, yes, yes, of course i’ll be your girlfriend!” you say happily, dreamily. he was laughing too, arms wrapped around you, holding you close like he never wanted to let go.

“by the way, i want to go to busan again,” you smile up at him, letting him know that you still win. he breaks into a soft laughter, “whatever my angel wants, my angel gets,” he says, kissing you softly, sweetly and full of promise.

jaemin swears he’s in heaven — laying under the open sky with the girl of his dreams, the girl who he loves and loves him, and the word finally echoing in his heart.

𓏲 the end.

—

an: ahhh! if you’ve made it this far thank you so so much for reading <3 i wish you all find yourself a na jaemin (the real na jaemin of course, he’s better than the one written here lol >.<) while i have you! please please please help me decide who’s story to write next by voting here -> click!

likes, reblogs and comments are not required but is very appreciated ⏦ﾟ♡︎

[taeeflwrr]

Late to Love you

Haechan x f!reader, hogwarts!au

Warnings: strangers to ??, angst, fluff, she fell first he fell harder (yes that’s a warning), language, hogwarts theme so spells are mentioned, a made up graduation and college sorry yall, weird y/n, lowkey asshole haechan (stupid)

Notes: hiii this is sooo late i was supposed to upload this on Haechan’s bday but uhm..whoops!! Lmk if yall want part 2 and also HAPPY BIRTHDAY CHANNIE 🤍

1/?? , Masterlist

Y/N sat cross-legged in her usual seat near the back of the Astronomy Tower, a scuffed leather-bound notebook resting in her lap. Around her, the quiet scratch of quills echoed like rainfall. She had already finished charting Jupiter’s moon cycle twenty minutes ago, but she liked to double-check things. Triple-check, if no one was watching.

Renjun sat beside her — one seat over, of course. He always did. Their desks were angled just far enough apart that she could pretend she was alone if she wanted to, but close enough to trade parchment or steal glances when she didn’t.

He was hunched forward, face shadowed by the edge of his sleeve as he drew. She’d peeked once — it wasn’t notes. It was a sketch of the stars, sprawling and inky, a mess of emotion more than astronomy.

“I like your moons,” she offered quietly, still staring at her own parchment.

Renjun made a quiet sound in the back of his throat — not quite acknowledgment, not quite dismissal.

They were like that. Comfortable, sort of. Silent. Two people who knew how to fill space without talking too much. He was the closest thing she had to a friend, though she wasn’t sure he’d call her the same.

A breeze ghosted through the cracked window beside her, stirring the fringe of her cloak. Y/N tugged her scarf tighter. The Astronomy Tower was always cold, even in early autumn — like it hoarded winter for itself, unwilling to let go

“So…” Renjun began, dragging out the syllable as if the thought was heavy. “Quidditch tonight.”

She looked up from her notes. “Hmm?”

“Slytherin versus Ravenclaw.”

A pause.

“Will you be there?”

Before she could answer, he shook his head, still not meeting her eyes. “What am I saying — of course you will be.”

She didn’t respond right away. Just watched him add a silver starburst to his sketch.

“…Yeah,” she finally murmured, returning to her own chart. “I’ll be there.”

Another pause. This one longer. Renjun didn’t say anything else; he didn’t need to. That was how their conversations went — half-sentences, unfinished thoughts, and space for interpretation.

Y/N liked it that way.

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, distractedly tapping her quill against the edge of the desk. She didn’t love Quidditch, not the way most students did. She liked the atmosphere more than the sport — the lights, the energy, the flash of house colors weaving through the sky like stitched thread. She liked how people shouted with abandon, faces flushed and paint smeared across cheeks.

It was chaos. Beautiful chaos. Something she never fit into, but always admired from afar.

She supposed there were other reasons she went, too.

But she didn’t think about those.

Instead, she focused on the moon phases again, her parchment now dusted with graphite fingerprints and little doodles along the edges — an owl, a jar of stars, a cat in a wizard hat.

Her drawings always took over when she wasn’t paying attention.

Professor Sinistra called for the class to prepare their scrolls, and Renjun exhaled, folding his sketch with careful fingers.

Y/N didn’t move right away. She glanced out the window — far off, the Quidditch pitch was being charmed into readiness, blue and green banners starting to flutter along the stands.

Somewhere out there, someone she tried not to think about too often was probably already practicing. She ignored that thought.

Y/N liked being quiet.

She didn’t mean in the “shy girl in the corner” kind of way — not really. It wasn’t that she was afraid to speak. She just didn’t feel the need to. And at Hogwarts, not needing attention was practically an art form. Students clawed over each other to be seen — louder spells, brighter robes, drama in every hallway. But Y/N? She preferred the sidelines. The shadows. The fourth row, third desk from the right. The one that didn’t creak. It wasn’t sadness; Not quite. It was just stillness.

Her mum always said she was born that way — with eyes too big for her face and a quiet sort of soul that made animals trust her before people did. “You’ve always seen too much,” her mum would hum, brushing tangles from her hair, “you look right into people. It unnerves them.”

Her father, a Muggle musician who had stumbled heart-first into the magical world by falling for a witch with poetry in her blood, had only ever encouraged her weirdness. He taught her how to play the guitar with fingers too small for chords, how to make mixtapes from the radio, how to paint feelings instead of landscapes.

She never quite knew where she fit — not in his world, not in her mum’s either. But maybe that was the point. Maybe she was meant to drift between them like a ghost with a sketchbook.

At school, she didn’t try to be invisible. She just was. It was easier that way.

Most people didn’t notice her, and those who did — well, they rarely remembered her name. Not that she blamed them. There wasn’t anything remarkable about Y/N. She had plain hair and a plain wand and robes that hung a little too big. She wasn’t charming like the Hufflepuffs or wild like the Gryffindors or even intellectually intimidating like the other Ravenclaws. She was just… odd. Gentle. Too sensitive for her own good, her mum always said with a kiss to her forehead. She kept her heart on her sleeve and her sleeve wrapped in protective charms.

Her best conversations were with the Fat Lady (who often invited her for tea), Nearly Headless Nick (who once offered to teach her ballroom dancing), and the owls in the Owlery (who didn’t need words to understand). She liked her life on the edges. It gave her time to see what others missed — the way the paintings whispered to each other between classes, how Peeves always avoided the Arithmancy corridor during lunch, how certain professors only smiled when they thought no one was looking. Y/n liked seeing what others didn’t. Her only issue? It lead her drifting eyes and wondering mind to places she really wished it didn’t - to the one person who y/n really wished had less of her attention.

—-

By the time night fell and the Quidditch pitch was roaring with color and chants, Y/N was already tucked into her usual spot — top row, far end, sandwiched between two older professors who smelled faintly of peppermint and ink. The crowd was electric. Ravenclaws in bronze and blue shimmered like stars, while Slytherins waved green fire in the air like victory was a foregone conclusion. Y/N watched it all unfold like a painting in motion. She liked the colors most of all — the way the scarves fluttered, the banners danced, the way house pride turned even the quietest students into living, breathing fireworks.

Y/n watched with bated breath, not because she really cared who won; Because there was always a moment — always — when he first appeared.

A flash of green.

Broom in hand.

Goggles pushed into his curls.

Smile sharp and effortless.

Lee Haechan, Slytherin’s golden boy.

He had that energy about him — the kind that didn’t just draw attention, it demanded it. When he walked onto the pitch, even the professors leaned in. He laughed with his teammates, bumped fists with Chenle, and casually winked at a girl in the first row who immediately screamed.

Y/N didn’t scream, She didn’t even move. She just… watched. From this far away, he looked like a storybook character. Fictional. Unreal. A flash of color and charm, untouchable as the stars they studied in Astronomy. And like always, she wondered — just for a moment — what it might feel like to be seen by someone like that.

But only for a moment.

Then the whistle blew, the game began, and the world exploded into skyward chaos.

And Y/N, quiet as a breath, watched from the background. Right where she liked it.

—-

The Owlery was empty at this hour — except for the rustling of feathers and the occasional coo of a drowsy barn owl shifting in its nest. The scent of parchment, hay, and old stone mixed with the sharp crisp of night air that always managed to sneak in through the arched windows, no matter how many warming charms she muttered.

Y/N moved quietly between the perches, whispering her hellos. Luna, her snowy owl, blinked at her sleepily, ruffling her feathers with that usual air of mild disapproval. Y/N smiled faintly and reached up to gently clean the edge of her perch with a rag.

No one asked her to come here every night. No one even noticed. But she liked it — the silence, the routine, the way the owls seemed to trust her in the way people rarely did. She liked feeling useful, like someone in this big school would miss her if she left.

Usually, y/n danced through the owlery with a determination that rivaled the athletes on the field. She insisted on being good at this, being good with her animal and all the other ones that needed attention while she was here (as if it even came hard to her). Usually she was careful and attentive, but tonight, her hands moved on their own while her mind ran miles behind.

It wasn’t the game. It wasn’t even the win — though she was sure Slytherin was still celebrating in that loud, dramatic way they always did.

No. It was him again. She couldn’t seem to get him out of her head even if she wanted to, and she hated him for that.

She remembered the first time she saw Lee Haechan.

They were eleven. Small and confused and jittery with nerves. She remembered the chill of the Great Hall floor under her shoes, the way the Sorting Hat loomed like something out of a Grimm fairy tale. And then—

“Donghyuck, Lee.”

He had walked up like he didn’t have a single worry in the world. She remembered his eyes — curious, bright, mischievous — and the way he grinned at something one of the other students whispered to him as he passed. He sat on the stool. The Sorting Hat barely touched his head before it shouted—

“Slytherin!”

The table erupted in cheers, and he jumped off the stool like he’d been expecting it all along. He didn’t look back. Didn’t notice her.

When her name was called — quiet, hesitant — he was already talking, already making friends, already becoming Haechan.

And yet, something in her shifted. She felt it — the tug in her chest. Like a string tying itself to someone who didn’t even know she existed.

Years passed. He became himself more and more. Loud, effortless, magnetic. And y/n? She stayed her strange little self, tucked away in libraries and forgotten corners of towers.

And of course their paths had crossed — a few fleeting times. After all, the two were in the same year, and how could she forget the most memorable time: fourth year tutoring.

She was top of their year in Herbology, naturally. To y/n, school and studying came easy. It wasn’t like she even really tried, even though that would probably annoy her classmates if she were to say it out loud. The truth is, y/n loved being a witch. Maybe it’s because she saw a different side of it, what with her muggle father. And while she was always raised around magic, she never took it for granted. Not like Haechan - who was raised in a pureblood family - did. And the grades showed it; He was failing it miserably.

She never offered to help. He never asked. But Professor Longbottom paired them together out of what he claimed was “academic balance” - y/n saw it as being held hostage, though she never outwardly complained.

It was two weeks. Just four sessions.

He was frustratingly charming, fidgety, always trying to distract her. He doodled on his notes and spent more time making jokes than listening, but — once or twice — he really listened. Asked thoughtful questions. Caught her off guard. And once, she even thought he looked at her a second too long - But she knew it was nothing. She was delusional, but not that delusional.

By the end of the two weeks, he was passing.

And they never spoke again.

Now, seven years in, she was still fighting it; Still angry with herself for feeling this way. He didn’t know her. Not really. He knew her name, maybe. Her face in passing. But he didn’t know her favorite stars or how she talked to ghosts or how she cried the night her father sent her a Muggle mixtape because the songs reminded him of her.

He didn’t know her.

So why — why — did she still look for him?

Why did she still feel like this? Like something inside her was breaking apart every time she caught his laugh echoing down the hall? Like a stupid fairytale still clinging to its ending?

She finished scrubbing the last perch, whispering another goodnight to Luna before turning toward the winding stairs. Her boots scuffed against the stone, loud in the hush of the night. That’s when it hit her — the weight in her chest, like a bruise blooming under skin.

“I’m so stupid,” she muttered aloud, voice bitter.

She was angry. At him. At herself. At this stupid, lingering, fragile hope she hadn’t realized she was still carrying. She was angry that she wasn’t the kind of girl someone like Haechan would notice — loud, flirty, spellbinding. Angry that she even wanted to be. Angry that she let her perfect little detachment crack open like a jar she couldn’t seal again.

Most of all, she was angry that her version of him — the one in her head, gentle and curious and kind — wasn’t real. Or at least, not real to her.

He wasn’t hers.

He never had been.

And she was finally, finally ready to stop pretending.

—-

The music from the Great Hall echoed faintly down the corridor, muffled by stone and the weight of celebration. Laughter spilled through the cracks, bright and careless. Inside, everyone was golden — dipped in glittering enchantments and glowing candlelight. Y/N, however, sat just outside it all, tucked on the edge of the wide marble staircase where shadows stretched long and the world felt quieter.

Her dress shimmered like the surface of a still lake in spring — seafoam green with delicate embroidery that caught the low torchlight with every breath she took. Her hair had been done up loosely, soft curls falling to frame her face in gentle waves, and her skin seemed to glow with the faint sheen of carefully applied highlighter and nerves.

She looked like a painting. Plush. Dreamy. As if youth and longing and softness had taken physical form and settled onto her shoulders. To be frank, y/n felt beautiful, and it made her laugh - after all, she hadn’t even meant to come.

It was her roommates, really — all wide-eyed and buzzing with Yule Ball fever — who had practically dragged her from bed and spun her around until she barely recognized herself in the mirror. And for once, she didn’t hate it. For once, she didn’t feel like a shadow.

When they’d entered the ball, though, it had taken all of fifteen minutes before they vanished — swept away by the arms of dates and friends, or the thrill of the crowd. And, of course, Y/N hadn’t minded. It’s not like they were all friends - just forced acquaintances with nothing in common but last names, gender, and a magical wand.

Besides, like always, she liked sitting in the in-between. Where she could observe and imagine. Where she didn’t have to pretend to be someone bolder than she was.

She watched the doors of the ballroom now, half-lidded and peaceful, letting the sounds melt around her — until the heavy doors slammed open with a crash that startled the silence right out of her.

Two figures stumbled through, giggling, flushed, and tangled in each other’s arms.

Yunjin. And him.

Haechan.

Of course it was Haechan.

He was laughing into the crook of her neck, his hands resting low on her waist, and for a moment — one horrible, disorienting moment — the rest of the world blurred at the edges. Her lungs caught.

He hadn’t seen her. Neither had Yunjin. Not as they stumbled to a halt halfway past the now closed doors, lips finding each other’s in a feverish, hungry kiss that made Y/N shrink instinctively against the wall.

Her throat went dry. She tried to shrink further into the shadows, silently begging the stone to make her invisible.

But the universe had other plans.

Her foot slipped — just slightly — but enough to send her bag tumbling from her lap. It hit the stairs with a loud thud-thump-thud, items spilling like fallen leaves.

Yunjin flinched back with a yelp, whipping around. Haechan blinked rapidly, disoriented, before his gaze finally landed on Y/N.

The air stood still.

No one spoke. Not for a long, aching beat. Y/n couldn’t even bring herself to look up, instead freezing like a turtle who knows a predator is nearby. The three stood like that for a good second, Yunjin and Haechan staring at the small frame of some random girl from their year, who very clearly would rather be anywhere else but here.

And then Haechan moved.

Before his brain even caught up, his body was already reaching — stooping down the steps, collecting her scattered belongings with quick, nimble fingers. He held the bag out to her, eyes wide, lips parted as if he might say something but thought better of it. His cheeks were flushed — not from the cold or kissing, she thought dimly, but from embarrassment.

She could barely meet his eyes. Her fingers trembled as they closed over the strap. “Thanks,” she whispered, voice small and paper-thin.

He offered a single, casual “No problem,” like it hadn’t meant anything, like it hadn’t shattered something fragile and private between them.

Then he turned. One arm wrapped back around Yunjin’s shoulders. No apology - just quiet footsteps fading into the corridor.

But just before they disappeared — just before the shadows fully swallowed them — he glanced back. Quick. Brief. Like he didn’t mean to. Like it was a reflex.

And it wrecked her.

She sat frozen, blinking too hard. Her cheeks still burned, but this time it wasn’t from the dress or the attention. It was humiliation — sharp and painful. The sour sting of reality slipped into the seams of her daydream as she tried, but failed, to keep the hot bite of tears that clouded her eyes at bay.

Because for a moment — just a single moment — she had felt beautiful.

And it hadn’t mattered.

—-

Graduation day at Hogwarts glimmered like something out of a fairy tale.

Above the courtyard, charmed ribbons of house colors danced lazily in the air, shimmering like silk in a breeze that didn’t exist. Floating candles dotted the sky, mimicking stars, while soft orchestral music drifted through the open castle doors. The air smelled of summer grass, old stone, and a touch of magic that clung to your clothes like dew.

Y/N stood quietly near the edge of it all, her parents on either side. Her father looked up at the towers with a dazed sort of awe — the look of a Muggle man who had fallen in love with a witch years ago and was still wrapping his head around how his daughter had grown up inside a castle. Her mother, in contrast, looked wistful, her eyes glossy with memory. She’d been a Gryffindor once — class of the famous Harry Potter — and always said Hogwarts had a funny way of leaving little roots in your heart, no matter how far you went.

Y/N shifted her weight onto her heels, adjusting the tassel of her cap absentmindedly. She loved them, her parents. But something inside her was buzzing, unsettled. Maybe it was the thought of saying goodbye to seven years of walking through talking paintings and dodging Peeves. Maybe it was because the world beyond the castle gates still felt too big and loud and unfamiliar.

“Be right back,” she said softly, brushing a speck of glitter from her sleeve. “Professor Lillith wanted to see me”. She turned, wandering toward the castle one last time, her boots making faint clicks on the stone floor. The halls were quieter than usual, sun pouring in from the stained glass windows in candy-colored rays. She hummed to herself — something off-key and half-invented — the way she always did when no one was listening. And then—

Thunk.

“Ow.”

Her forehead bounced off someone’s shoulder. She blinked, took a step back.

“Oh. Hello, Renjun.”

Renjun looked at her with his usual expression: somewhere between annoyed and amused. “You walk like someone who’s never had a body before,” he said.

“And you stand like someone who’s lost in a dream they don’t like.”

He blinked. “What?”

Y/N smiled, a little lopsided and unreadable. “Nothing. Just something I saw in a book once. Or maybe a puddle.”

Renjun snorted despite himself. “You’re such a weirdo.”

“Mm,” she hummed, gently plucking a piece of lint off his robes. “And yet, here we are. Destiny’s favorite joke.”

He rolled his eyes, but there was no bite to it. “You heading out?”

“Soon,” she said. “Just tying up loose ends. What about you?”

“Waiting on Jaemin. He lost his wand or his sanity or both, not sure.”

Y/N tilted her head. “Tell him to check his left shoe. Sometimes magic hides there when it’s bored.”

Renjun opened his mouth, paused, and then slowly turned to glance behind him.

Y/N followed his gaze—and promptly froze.

Standing by the archway, in various degrees of lazy slouching, were the rest of his friends. Jeno, hands in pockets, shirt collar slightly wrinkled. Chenle, already halfway through a chocolate frog. Mark and Jisung, laughing at something only Gryffindors would find funny. Jaemin, of course, waving cheerfully like she hadn’t just caught them all staring. And finally, Haechan.

His eyes were already on her.

Not in a mean way. Not even in a curious one. More like he’d been staring before his brain caught up with the fact that someone might notice. The moment she glanced his way, he flinched — like a kid who’d been caught with his hand in a cookie jar — and quickly looked away, feigning interest in whatever Jaemin was saying.

Y/N felt her cheeks warm, but she kept her face neutral. Serene. Unbothered.

Renjun leaned a little closer, smirking. “You’ve got an audience.”

“Oh, I know,” she murmured, still smiling faintly. “I always do. Ghosts, mostly.”

He gave her a look. “You are so weird.”

“It’s my brand,” she sighed out exasperating, making renjun chuckle. “Well. I’ll see you in the next life, Renjun.”

“Unless I die first.”

“Do send a postcard.”

She turned and walked away.

But curiosity, that fickle little thing, tugged at her. Just as she was about to slip around the next corridor, she paused. Let herself listen.

“…wait, how do you know her?”

“She’s in Ravenclaw, right? Since when do you talk to her?”

“That was—kinda cute, though?”

“She’s… odd.”

And then came the one voice she wasn’t prepared for. Softly spoken, casual in a way that screamed ‘I could care less’.

“…what’s her name again?”

Y/N’s breath hitched. She didn’t know what she expected — not him remembering her, of course. That would’ve been foolish. She had worn her best dress to a ball and still faded into the background. Why would this be any different?

And still, she felt the smile slide off her face like melting wax. Whatever flicker of something she’d seen in Haechan’s eyes — whatever momentary softness or regret or curiosity — it didn’t matter. He didn’t know her name. Had never cared to learn it. She’d been a footnote, even in the chapters where she was bleeding over him.

She walked faster and didn’t look back.

She left the hallway, the castle, and, quietly — without ceremony — she left her crush on Lee Haechan behind her too.

The Eldhollow University library was quieter than usual that evening. The kind of quiet that came not from silence, but from deep magic, ancient and breathing softly between the stone walls. The lamps flickered with a steady, golden glow, and every now and then, the soft rustle of turning pages echoed through the long halls.

Y/N had found her usual spot near the back—a crooked table beneath an arched window, half-covered in ivy and glowing faintly from the full moon outside. She liked studying here. It was tucked away from the louder corners of the library, where students whispered and snacked and pretended to revise. Here, she could hear her thoughts. Or ignore them, if she preferred.

It had been a good couple months into her first semester, and for the first time in years, she felt like herself. Really herself. She was at the top of her class—again, but this time it didn’t feel so lonely. She had friends now. Real ones. There was Xiaojun, who studied experimental potion theory and talked a mile a minute, wild and witty and weirdly protective of her. He once hexed a guy’s robes inside out for looking at her the wrong way. Yangyang, who was studying magical law enforcement for the Ministry, was a little unhinged but never boring, and always brought her the oddest sweets from the market. Then there were her roommates—Karina, who dreamed of being a reporter and worked for the school’s underground paper, and Giselle, whose magical fashion degree was so specific and bold it made everyone else feel boring by comparison. The four of them had taken Y/N in without hesitation, quirks and all. She laughed more now. She wore what she liked, spoke her mind freely, and hardly thought about the past. Hardly.

There was even a boy who’d been circling lately—handsome, too polite, and clearly enchanted by her. He brought her little things: enchanted perfumes, floral hair clips, bracelets that changed color with her mood. Pretty gifts meant for someone a little softer, maybe, but she didn’t mind. No one had ever tried to impress her before. It was… nice.

Tonight, though, she’d come alone. She had research to do and a lingering curiosity she couldn’t shake. She was halfway through her notes on spell displacement theory when she heard it—footsteps.

Not the light, hurried steps of a student late to return a book. These were slower. Hesitant. Like someone who didn’t know where they were going, or why they were even there.

She paused, fingers stilling over her quill.

And then she heard a voice.

“Where the hell is the bloody index in this thing?”

Her heart stopped.

She looked up, just as a figure came into view at the far end of the aisle. He hadn’t seen her yet. He was tall, built broader than she remembered, with dark curls that flopped over his forehead and an oversized jumper layered over his shirt. He had a book turned sideways in his hands like it personally offended him. There was something familiar about the tilt of his head, the slightly narrowed eyes, the way he chewed the inside of his cheek when frustrated.

It was Haechan.

And for a second, all the air left her body.

She hadn’t seen him once since arriving. Eldhollow wasn’t exactly small, but it wasn’t massive either. And she’d told herself if he were here, she would have known. She’d have spotted him immediately—he’d always had a way of standing out, even when he wasn’t trying. But somehow, they’d gone all this time without crossing paths. Until now.

She could’ve stayed hidden. Could’ve ducked back behind the shelf and slipped out of the library and let the moment pass, let the memory stay dead and buried where it belonged. She knew that’s what high school her would have done - and she could easily do the same. Except - she wasn’t highschool y/n anymore, right?

So she didn’t.

Instead she stepped forward, slowly, and spoke before she could stop herself.

“You’re in the wrong section.”

Haechan startled, nearly dropping the book. He spun to face her, brows raised, eyes scanning her face like his brain hadn’t caught up yet.

She raised an eyebrow, arms crossed. “Unless you’re researching magical fertility charms, I’d recommend the aisle two rows down.”

He blinked. “What?”

She pointed to the book he was holding. “That’s for reproductive theory. And you’re holding it upside down.”

A beat passed. His lips parted, like he was about to reply, but nothing came out. Then he looked down at the book and gave a short, disbelieving laugh, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Well,” he said slowly, “this is going well.”

She didn’t smile. But something flickered across her face, amused and distant. “I’d say you’ve improved. Last time we spoke in a library, you walked into a wall.”

She giggled, reminiscing on her time tutoring haechan, when he would do stupid things to distract her from actually teaching him; a time so far away, it appeared hazy like a dream. That seemed to click something into place. His eyes sharpened slightly, focus narrowing.

“Wait…” he said. “What’s your name—”

She tilted her head. “You’ve asked that before too.”

And just like that, she turned on her heel, books floating after her in a neat, silent trail. She didn’t look back.

Haechan stood frozen for a second, then slowly exhaled. His heart was racing. He wasn’t sure why.

She was familiar. But not in the obvious way. Something about her voice had struck a nerve—soft but certain, like a whisper cutting through fog. And her face… he didn’t know how to explain it, but it felt like something he should have remembered. Something he wished he had.

He whispered to himself, almost defensively, “Who the hell was that?”

Haechan didn’t mean to obsess over her.

But of course he did.

He told himself it was nothing. A fluke. Just one of those strange encounters that linger for a few hours, maybe a day or two, before fading into the background noise of memory. He wasn’t the type to dwell. He liked things light, easy, untethered.

Still, that night, lying in the bottom bunk of his shared dorm with his curtains drawn tight and the rain tapping soft against the enchanted windowpane, he couldn’t stop seeing her face.

It wasn’t even just her beauty—though, Merlin, she was beautiful in a way that was hard to describe. Not flashy, not loud. Quiet, eerie almost. Soft in a sharp way - Like moonlight cutting through mist. He could still hear her voice, the lilt of it, how her words felt dipped in irony and honey, like she was perpetually a beat ahead of him and enjoying the chase.

But more than that, it was the knowing that rattled him. The familiarity in her eyes. She had looked at him like he was supposed to remember her.

And he didn’t. Not really.

He had turned it over in his head for three days now, trying to pinpoint where that face had come from. Old friend? Hogwarts? A dream? Some former life he’d obliviated to forget? But each time he got close, the thought slipped like water through his fingers.

Eventually, he decided the only winning move was to fold. Plead the fifth. Deny everything and distract himself with Quidditch drills, classwork, and Mark’s truly unhinged musical taste. He didn’t even tell Renjun. That felt like inviting the chaos to stay. Haechan had worked too hard on becoming his best self—had the planner to prove it. He was not about to spiral over a girl who didn’t even give her name.

By the start of the following week, the encounter had settled into a corner of his mind like a strange dream: disorienting, hard to shake, but mostly harmless; until Tuesday.

That day began like any other. He and Renjun skipped the main library in favor of a new café across from the Owl Post, which had been getting buzz around campus for its cozy study corners and butterbeer lattes. Eldhollow, the magical college town surrounding the university, had a habit of reinventing itself overnight—shops appeared where there weren’t any the day before, buildings rearranged their interiors, and streetlamps whispered gossip if you listened closely. It was whimsical, modern, magical—and just the sort of place that Haechan had quickly grown to love.

The café itself was tucked between a talking tailor shop and a hex-removal studio, marked by a crooked wooden sign that read: Witch’s Brew & Co.. It smelled like cinnamon and roasted coffee beans and something faintly floral. Haechan approved immediately.

They were barely through the door when Renjun suddenly stopped mid-step, his face lighting up in a way Haechan rarely saw. His whole body shifted with recognition.

“Y/N?” Renjun called, grinning. “What are you doing here?”

And then Haechan saw her.

Or rather, she appeared—because of course she would materialize right when he’d finally begun to erase her from memory. There she was, standing just to the left of the café counter, the sun catching in her hair through the glass, head tilted up in surprise before her expression broke into a warm smile.

“Renjun!” she said, her voice as familiar as it was foreign. Then, without hesitation, she crossed the room and hugged Renjun.

Hugged him.

The air left Haechan’s lungs in a single, confused huff.

They looked like old friends. No—close friends. Renjun had his arm draped easily over her shoulder, like it wasn’t anything unusual, like he’d done it a thousand times before. And she—she was laughing. He’d never heard her laugh before. It was strange and soft and pretty. It sounded like something private.

Haechan’s stomach twisted.

And then it hit him. Like a weight he should’ve noticed a long time ago.

Her. Her.

Hogwarts. Not in a loud, neon-light memory kind of way—but something subtler. A hallway. A library. A girl who wore her robes slightly crooked, who never spoke unless she had something worth saying. Ravenclaw, he was sure. Always off reading in corners. The girl who never seemed to be part of the noise—but was somehow always watching.

He stared at her now like he was seeing her with new eyes. How had he missed it? She looked so different here—confident, a little brighter. Still odd, but in a way that suited her. Her hair was down, tucked behind one ear with a copper pin shaped like a moth. Her outfit was layered and witchy, rings on every finger. She looked like she belonged here. Like she owned the place.

And Haechan—who hadn’t remembered her name, who had dismissed her as a momentary glitch in the matrix—stood there frozen, the guilt crawling up the back of his neck.

She noticed him. Of course she did. Her eyes flicked to him over Renjun’s shoulder. They paused, unreadable. She didn’t say a word.

Haechan, ever the professional, raised a hand in awkward greeting. “Hey.”

Y/N blinked once. “Oh. Hi.”

Then she turned back to Renjun like he hadn’t been the one to haunt her sleep three nights in a row.

Renjun, oblivious to the tension, gestured toward the empty seats by the window. “We were just gonna study. You wanna join?”

Y/N hesitated. Just a beat. Then she smiled politely. “Raincheck, Jun. I’ve got an essay due in an hour. But I’ll come by later.”

And then, just like that—she was gone. Out the door, the little bell above it chiming faintly in her wake.

Renjun slid into the booth across from Haechan, humming as he pulled out his notes. “She’s great, right? Y/N was in my house back at Hogwarts. Bit odd, but brilliant. Top marks. Can’t believe she ended up here.”

Haechan said nothing. He could still smell her perfume—lavender and something darker.

Renjun glanced up. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Haechan said slowly, eyes still fixed on the door. “I just… I think I know where I remember her from now.”

—-

From then on, fate took over. It was like one minute Haechan didn’t even know this girl existed, the next she pops up everywhere, like a new word you just learned that you suddenly start seeing on every page of your favorite book. He doesn’t think he could avoid her, even if he tried. First, there was the potions store:

Y/N was crouched near a low shelf, carefully examining a small vial of Moonshade Elixir—a rare ingredient she needed for her upcoming potion assignment. The shop was warm, cluttered with jars and bottles softly glowing in the dim light. Just as she reached out to grab the vial, another hand brushed hers.

“Ah, sorry,” Haechan said quietly, stepping back with a sheepish smile. “I was just about to grab that.”

Y/N blinked, heart thudding in an oddly hopeful way. “Oh. It’s… okay.” Her voice was softer than usual, surprised to see him here.

He studied her for a beat, the corner of his mouth twitching in that familiar, easy way he did when caught off guard. “You always come here for potions stuff?”

“Yeah,” she said, tugging the sleeve of her sweater nervously. “It’s kind of my sanctuary. You?”

“Mostly snacks and weird magical gadgets,” he admitted, his eyes flicking to the curious collection of enchanted candy behind the counter.

Neither moved for a moment, both feeling the awkward weight of unspoken words. Y/N finally managed a small smile. “Well, maybe I’ll see you around then.”

“Yeah,” Haechan said, watching her walk away with a new kind of curiosity blooming in his chest. “Maybe.”

And maybe was an understatement, because just two days later, there was the lecture hall incident:

The lecture hall buzzed with students settling into their seats. Y/N scanned the room, hoping to find a spot that wouldn’t put her in the spotlight.

The only empty seat was… right next to Haechan. Y/n sighed in disbelief - had he always been in this class?!

He caught her eye and gave a small, encouraging nod. “Guess it’s fate,” he said with a wink.

Y/N smiled shyly, feeling a strange mix of nerves and excitement. She slid into the seat beside him, quietly getting her notes out and keeping her head down as much as she could.

At first, they said nothing.

The only sound was the professor setting up at the front and the shuffling of parchment and books around them. Y/N sat stiffly, her eyes on the front, quill in hand, pretending to copy down the lecture title already written on the board.

Haechan, beside her, tapped his own quill against the desk in slow, deliberate boredom.

Then—

“Hey,” he whispered, leaning slightly toward her. “You got any ink?”

Y/N blinked. “Didn’t you bring your own?”

“I did. It’s dry,” he replied, frowning like this was a personal tragedy. “I think my bottle was cursed. Or I just forgot to screw the lid on. Either way, I’m a victim.”

She sighed, already reaching into her bag. “Here.”

Instead of just taking the bottle, Haechan peered into her bag with dramatic curiosity. “What else you got in here? Anti-anxiety tea? Spare socks? A live owl?”

Y/N stifled a laugh, clutching the ink tightly. “Do you want the ink or not?”

“I do,” he said solemnly, “but I’m also deeply invested in the psychological study of what you carry around.”

She shook her head, trying not to smile. “You’re impossible.”

He took the ink but kept talking, voice a little too loud for a lecture hall. “I bet you were the kind of student who color-coded everything at Hogwarts. Am I wrong? Let me guess: blue for Charms, green for Herbology, red for anything involving possible death—like Potions or Divination.”

“Divination doesn’t involve death,” she muttered under her breath.

“Tell that to the time my crystal ball showed me drowning in marmalade.”

She bit her lip to stop from laughing, shoulders shaking slightly.

“You’re laughing,” he whispered triumphantly.

“No, I’m not,” she whispered back, eyes wide and innocent.

“You are. This is a win for me.”

And just like that—somehow, she was laughing. Quietly. Barely audible, but real. Her hand covered her mouth and her eyes crinkled at the corners, and Haechan was watching her like he’d never seen her properly smile before.

And then everything slowed.

The laughter ebbed. Their eyes met.

Neither of them spoke. For one suspended moment, the air between them buzzed—not loud, but intense, humming with something unsaid. His smile faded into something gentler. Her gaze didn’t drop right away.

When it finally did, she turned her face forward again, cheeks burning. Haechan rubbed the back of his neck, eyes flicking to the ceiling, the floor, anywhere but her.

Then, trying to salvage the moment, Haechan asked, “So… did you always like magical theory? Or were you just unnaturally good at it back in school?”

She hesitated. “I… yeah. I guess I did.”

“You were kind of… famous, actually,” he said. “I remember that. Always top marks. Everyone used to say you were scary smart.”

Y/N smiled faintly, somewhat surprised to hear this. “I didn’t even have friends. I wasn’t famous….not like some people.”

He turned his head toward her, curious. “What’s that mean?”

Her eyes darted to the front, pretending to listen to the professor. “Nothing. Just—never thought you’d talk to me, is all.”

There was a pause. Haechan’s brows furrowed. “Why not?”

She opened her mouth.

Paused.

And then—

DING.

The class dismissal bell echoed like salvation.

Y/N stood up fast, clutching her notes. “Thanks for the ink,” she said quickly, moving so fast she didn’t even realize her mistake. She didn’t wait for a reply, instead quickly slipping out of the room and into the hallway.

Haechan remained seated, staring after her. He had no idea what had just happened - just that he wanted it to happen again.

And finally - the library. Haechan saw y/n there quite a bit after that first meeting, so he knew to look there first.

The library’s third floor was quiet enough to hear the scratch of quills and the occasional creak of ancient wooden shelves. Dust hung in beams of golden afternoon light, and the entire space felt wrapped in velvet silence.

Haechan found her exactly where he thought she’d be.

Slouched low in one of the deep window alcoves, Y/N was hunched over her parchment, quill gliding furiously across the page. She didn’t even flinch when he pulled out the chair across from her and sat down, not even a flicker of recognition. Her brows were drawn tight in concentration, the tip of her tongue barely poking out the side of her mouth. It was… kind of unfair, how cute she looked when she was this focused.

He cleared his throat gently.

Nothing.

He tried again. “Y/N?”

Her whole body jolted. The quill snapped off the parchment. Eyes wide, startled like a deer in wandlight, she gasped—and in her flinch, Haechan instinctively reached forward and placed his hand over hers, steadying her.

They froze.

Her skin was warm. Slightly ink-stained. Delicate in a way that made his own breath hitch.

Y/N looked down at their hands. Then up at him.

He snatched his hand back like he’d been burned.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “You just—you jumped, and I—yeah. Sorry.”

She blinked at him, still catching her breath. “You scared the life out of me.”

“I noticed,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, ears turning pink. “Didn’t mean to. I actually… I was looking for you.”

Y/N raised a brow. “You were?”

“Yeah,” he said, voice soft now. “Don’t make it a big deal or anything, but I figured I’d use fate to my advantage. Been running into you a lot lately. Figured it was a sign.”

“A sign?”

“To ask you for help,” he said. “With studying. Just—just one night, that’s all I’m asking.”

Her eyes narrowed in playful suspicion. “You hate studying.”

“I hate failing more,” he replied dramatically. “And I’ve got a Magical Applications final coming up that might actually kill me.”

She tilted her head. “Why me?”

He leaned forward, folding his arms on the table. “You don��t remember? Fourth year. My herbology scores were tanking. You used to help me after dinner in the library. Little study lessons. You even color-coded my notes.”

Y/N stared at him, stunned.

“I thought you forgot about that,” she said quietly.

He smiled, a little crooked. “I didn’t.”

That surprised her. It surprised him, too—how vividly he could remember it now. Her voice in his ear, softly quizzing him. The way she always smelled faintly like mint and incense. The way she’d smile when he finally got something right.

Y/N blinked, then nodded. “Okay. Just one night.”

“Deal,” Haechan said quickly, before she could change her mind.

They set up shop right there, books spread between them, notes scribbled, diagrams drawn. For the first hour, it was actually productive. Y/N explained everything with patient clarity, pointing out keywords and breaking down logic with that Ravenclaw precision. Haechan asked questions, nodded along, even took notes.

But then…

Then he noticed the shirt.

It wasn’t intentional. He just happened to glance up, and there it was—one side of her shirt slipped slightly off her shoulder, exposing a long stretch of skin kissed by golden light.

His brain stalled.

Her collarbone was defined, delicate, the kind of shape painters used to worship in oil. The sunlight from the window pooled there like liquid gold, turning her skin warm and soft and impossibly radiant. There was a faint freckle near the dip of her neck. He stared too long, caught between awe and confusion at how something so simple could feel like a revelation.

He tried to focus again. Failed.

She said something about core wand movements. He nodded.

She asked if he was following. He said, “Absolutely,” without knowing what he was agreeing to.

God, she smelled like lavender again. And ink. And something sweet he couldn’t name.

He nearly knocked over his ink bottle when she leaned closer to point something out in his textbook, and he couldn’t stop his eyes from flicking once more—shoulder, collarbone, the elegant slope of her neck.

It was maddening. Gentle. Completely intoxicating.

By the time the sun dipped behind the towers and long shadows stretched across the library floor, they had stopped pretending to study. Their books were open, but their attention wandered. Y/N was mid-sentence when she caught him looking again.

“Is there ink on me?” she asked.

He blinked. “What?”

“You keep staring,” she said, amused.

“Just… lost in thought,” he mumbled.

She tilted her head, unconvinced.

Before she could press further, Haechan slapped his notebook shut and stood. “Dinner.”

Y/N frowned. “What?”

“You helped me study. Now I owe you food.”

“That’s not necessary—”

“It is,” he interrupted, already slinging his bag over one shoulder. “Non-negotiable. It’s the noble thing to do.”

She hesitated.

“C’mon,” he added, giving her a small grin. “You’ve earned it.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but stood anyway, gathering her things.

And as they walked out together—books in hand, shoulders brushing just slightly—Haechan tried not to think too hard about how easy this all felt.

Tried, and failed.

—-

Haechan had never seen Y/N so happy to be sweating.

The tiny Asian restaurant at the corner of town was loud with the sounds of Chris Isaak singing Wicked Game, the blades from the shrill ceiling fans spinning furiously but managing only to circulate the heat. The walls were crammed with mismatched decor—paper lanterns, faded posters, chopsticks glued in artful shapes—and the scent of sesame oil and chili paste clung to the air like a second skin.

They slid into a booth near the window. It was barely sunset, but already the heat was relentless, making the table sticky and their glasses of water sweat harder than they did.

Y/N immediately peeled off her outer top, revealing a fitted white tank top beneath, ribbed and snug to her figure. Her long hair clung to her neck in strands, a few pieces fluttering in the cross-breeze of the old fans. She didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she laughed as she fanned herself with a menu.

“It’s like being in a greenhouse,” she joked, cheeks flushed from the walk and the heat. “But honestly? Kinda makes it feel more authentic.”

Haechan was silent (a first for him) as he focused his energy into trying not to stare.

He failed miserably.

There was something about her like this—unguarded, glowing with that sun-warmed sweat, eyes bright, talking with her hands. Her collarbones gleamed. Her tank top stuck to her in places that tested the limits of his self-control. He could barely keep his brain functioning, let alone think about what to order.

She went with sushi. “Reminds me of growing up near Muggles,” she said, grinning around a bite of salmon roll. “I used to sneak off with my cousins to this little shop in London. We didn’t even know how to use chopsticks yet—we’d just stab the pieces and laugh until we cried.”

“You grew up in London?” he asked, eyes on her but also vaguely on the rice stuck to her lip.

“For a while,” she nodded. “Moved around a lot. My mum’s a witch, dad’s a muggle. Neither side really… understood the other. And I guess I never really felt like I fit on either end.”

Haechan leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she sighed, gaze drifting to the window where the sky was turning sherbet pink. “Too magic for the Muggles. Too Muggle for the magic. Even at Hogwarts, I’ve always felt a little…” She shrugged. “Separate.”

He didn’t answer immediately.

Instead, he stared at her. Not in the way he usually did - distracted by beauty, struck dumb by how good she looked in a sunbeam - but like he was memorizing her.

“I get that,” he finally said. “Not in the same way, but I get it.”

She looked up, brows lifted.

“My family’s pureblood. Super traditional,” he explained. “Dad works at the Ministry. Wanted me to do the same since I could hold a wand. Mum’s got four of us to handle— me and three younger ones — so she barely had time to sleep, let alone give us all attention. But still… I was loved. Just not always seen. I felt like I had to be this version of me they pictured. Which… isn’t really me at all.”

Y/N’s expression softened. “So what is the real you?”

Haechan gave a lopsided smile. “Still figuring that out.”

They fell into silence, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was full of meaning, heavy with things unsaid. The air between them crackled like fire on damp wood—slow, smoldering, impossible to ignore.

“I don’t think you’re alone,” he added, softer now. “You’re not weird. Or separate. Not anymore.”

Her lips parted slightly. Her eyes were wide and searching.

“You mean that?” she asked.

“Every word,” he said.

And then… the world disappeared.

The clatter of chopsticks. The whir of ceiling fans. The laughter from the kitchen. All of it faded into a warm blur as they looked at each other like they had never really seen before. Neither one blinked. Neither looked away. Something had cracked wide open—between them, within them—and neither was quite sure how to close it again.

He wanted to tell her how good she looked in this light. How he’d never met someone who made him feel like this. How her laugh stuck to his ribs and her voice echoed in his head at night.

But he didn’t.

Because for now, the way they were looking at each other said enough.

—-

The windows were cracked open in Haechan’s flat, letting in a warm breeze that fluttered the corner of an old Quidditch banner tacked lazily to the wall. Four half-full Butterbeers sat sweating on the chipped coffee table, and the place smelled like leftover takeaway and citrus cleaning charms.

“Mate, I forgot how decent your place is,” Jeno said, sprawled across the floor with a pillow under his head and his wand lazily twirling between his fingers.

“That’s because he lets it go to shit until the night before we visit,” Renjun said dryly, flipping through the evening’s game schedule on the small floating screen above the couch. “Guarantee he Febrezed his laundry again instead of actually washing it.”

“I Febrezed and did a Refreshio, thank you very much,” Haechan replied with mock offense, flicking a rolled-up napkin at him. “Besides, I knew you three gremlins were coming. Needed the place to smell like less death.”

Mark chuckled from where he was sitting cross-legged near the window, a Butterbeer balanced on one knee. “Honestly, I missed this.”

They all nodded. It had been a while—too long since they’d had a night like this, no obligations, no loud parties or crowded clubs. Just them.

Renjun was the one who broke the quiet moment first.

“Hey—Hyuck, remember that coffee shop we went to last week? That little place near the botanical greenhouses?”

Haechan glanced over, nodding carefully.

Renjun turned to Jeno and Mark. “You’ll never guess who we saw.”

Mark blinked. “Uh… your ex?”

Renjun snorted. “Worse. Better. Depends who you ask.” Then, dramatically, “Y/N.”

There was a beat of confused silence.

“Who?” Jeno asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Y/N,” Renjun repeated, giving Haechan a knowing look before turning back to the others. “You wouldn’t know her super well. Ravenclaw, same year as us. She was kind of… quiet. Eccentric. But smart as hell.”

Mark squinted, trying to recall. “Oh wait—wasn’t she the one who used to sit on the floor of the common library tower with, like, three books open and a flask of tea?”

“That’s the one,” Renjun said, smirking. “She’s in college with us now. We saw her at the café. Hyuck almost choked when we saw her.”

“I did not.”

“You absolutely did. You froze up like someone hexed you.”

Jeno leaned up on one elbow, grinning. “Wait—this is the girl? The one you’ve been blowing us off for?”

“Shut up,” Haechan mumbled into his Butterbeer.

Renjun leaned back, arms behind his head, victorious. “Knew it.”

Mark eyed Haechan, amused. “Usually you’re the first one to brag. Last year you told us in detail how you got that girl from the Duelling Club to snog you behind the owlery.”

“This isn’t like that,” Haechan said without thinking—and then froze.

All three of them looked at him. Even the air seemed to pause.

“Oh?” Jeno said quietly.

Mark looked surprised, but not mocking. “So… what’s it like then?”

Haechan rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know. It’s just different. She’s not someone you talk about like that.”

Renjun nodded slowly, looking more curious now than smug. “I kind of got that vibe. She made you nervous, man. I haven’t seen you fumble that hard since second year when Changmin hexed your broom mid-air.”

That pulled a laugh out of Jeno.

“But seriously,” Renjun continued, “she was cool. And honestly? She seemed really comfortable with you.”

“She was being nice,” Haechan said, though his voice lacked conviction.

Mark leaned forward. “Do you like her?”

Haechan didn’t answer.

He stared at the bottle in his hands instead, his thumb running around the rim in slow, aimless circles.

That was enough of an answer.

“She’s pretty,” Renjun offered, tone softer now. “And smart. Funny, too. You should talk to her again.”

“I don’t want to weird her out,” Haechan said. “She’s… not like the other girls. I don’t want to mess it up.”

Jeno and Mark exchanged a look—this time serious.

Renjun nodded. “Well, we’re doing that chill thing here Friday night. I know it’s just us and a few friends, but if you wanted to ask her, i’d be cool with it. Just sayin’.”

Haechan hesitated.

The thought of seeing her again sparked something low in his chest, that strange, warm something he hadn’t been able to shake since she laughed at his jokes in the library, since she let her shoulder peek out in the sunlight and made time stand still, since she told him about her lonely childhood with such honesty it almost hurt.

“Yeah,” he murmured after a moment, more to himself than them. “I’ll think about it.”

They didn’t press.

But later, when the boys were gone and the apartment was quiet again, Haechan sat at his desk, trying to distract himself from your smile with his homework. He wasn’t sure if he’d invite you next time he saw you, but knowing him - he probably wouldn’t have a choice.

—-

The hallway outside one of Eldhollow’s lecture rooms smelled faintly of ink, old oak polish, and roasted coffee beans from the café across the quad. The afternoon light stretched through the long windows in gold ribbons, pooling on the floor and dancing lazily along the scuffed stone walls.

Y/N walked slowly, a half-laugh caught between her teeth as she tilted her head toward Xiaojun, who was passionately describing the exact moment a mismeasured Shrinking Solution had turned an entire class rat into a mouse-sized, fire-breathing menace.

“It sneezed flames,” he was saying, wide-eyed, “like a dragon with seasonal allergies.”

Y/N chuckled under her breath, the sound airy and content, her arms folded lightly across her stomach, one shoulder brushing against his now and then as they walked. Talking with Xiaojun made y/n feel so much better. She didn’t need to worry about school, money, her future, romance - just her and her best friend (yeah, you heard her - BEST FRIEND. The thought makes her giggle) on a casual day where she had no expectations and no commitments, no ghosts to be her only friends, and no boys to pine over while they barely recognize your face, five months after they last saw it. Y/n smiled to herself, enjoying the moment as she walked along the hallway, watching the doors come and go, her eyes moving on to the next one after one leaves; she repeats this three times before the classroom door just ahead opens.

Mark Lee stepped out first, his voice already mid-sentence as he turned to whoever was behind him. “—just ask Johnny, he’ll know where to—” He stopped abruptly, eyes locking on Y/N and Xiaojun. “Oh.”

Haechan followed a beat later, tugging his hoodie sleeves down to his wrists, his hair a little messier than usual and a golden-tan scarf slung loosely around his neck. His laugh caught in his throat the second his gaze landed on her.

They stopped at the exact same time.

And the hallway, for all its lively magic and afternoon clatter, went quiet in both of their heads.

Y/N blinked. Her breath caught, subtle but noticeable—just enough that Xiaojun’s head tilted in curiosity beside her. She didn’t look away, though. Not this time.

Haechan’s thoughts fumbled immediately. It’s her again. The girl with the voice like starlight and the smile that looked like it was always on the edge of disappearing—unless you caught it fast enough. He hadn’t seen her in days, not since dinner, and yet she’d taken up permanent residence in his brain. And now she’s here—just like that—again.

He took her in. Noticed the way her skirt brushed softly around her boots. The faint shimmer of flower pins tucked along her hairline. The way her hand hovered so close to Xiaojun’s arm. Too close.

Y/N gave him the gentlest smile. Reserved. Polite. Like she hadn’t spent all week wondering if she’d imagined the look in his eyes that day at the café. Like her pulse wasn’t thrumming now just from standing this close to him again.

Mark gave a short, awkward nod to Xiaojun, who returned it just as silently.

Haechan, on the other hand, was spiraling. Why is she here with him? Do they always walk together like that? Why do I even care? Get it together, get it—

And then he heard himself say it, words spilling out like a charm gone rogue:

“Hey. Um. I’m having a small thing this Friday—just a few people, nothing serious, mostly food and studying and… music. You should come.”

He hadn’t planned it. Not even a little. And yet the second it was out there, floating in the open air between them, it felt completely irreversible.

Y/N blinked at him, stunned. Her fingers twitched at her side, then quickly curled around the strap of her bag. “Oh,” she said softly. “That’s… nice of you.”

Her voice was quieter now, just for him. It always felt that way. He’d thought she was some figment before—something unplaceable and strange—but the way she was looking at him now? Shy, yes. But there was a glint of mischief there too. Something warm and hidden just behind her eyes.

Something that made him forget what he’d said.

“I mean,” he added quickly, trying to ignore the butterflies suddenly wreaking havoc in his chest by pulling out a piece of parchment paper and the only pen he owned, scribbling down his address and handing it to her before she had time to reject him, “you don’t have to. Just thought I’d ask.”

“I’ll think about it,” she said, pocketing the piece of paper quickly like it burned her. And though she tried to sound neutral, tried to sound indifferent, Haechan caught the tiny lift of her lips when she turned back toward Xiaojun and they started walking again.

He watched her go, her scent lingering—a light, floral note he couldn’t name, but would know anywhere.

Mark smacked his arm lightly. “You good, man?”

Haechan didn’t answer right away. His eyes were still on her back as she moved further down the hallway, sunlight catching the curve of her jaw.

“Wha-what? Uh…Yeah,” he said finally, voice dazed. “Yeah. I’m good.”

But he wasn’t. Not really.

Because whatever this was, whatever she was—it wasn’t going away.

And now he wasn’t sure he wanted it to.

—-

Friday evening crept up quietly, hidden beneath a day of cloud cover and soft wind. Y/N sat cross-legged on her bed, her blanket twisted around her legs like a safety net she couldn’t quite convince herself to leave. The fairy lights strung along her wall flickered gently, and her teacup — untouched — had gone cold.

She stared at the small piece of parchment on her nightstand - his handwriting was slanted, casual, like he hadn’t thought twice before writing it down. She, on the other hand, had thought about it constantly.

“Are you seriously still in pajamas?” Karina called from the doorway, leaning against the frame with a knowing look. “It starts in less than an hour.”

Y/N blinked down at her old sweater and worn socks. “Technically, I haven’t committed to going.”

“Technically, you’ve been staring at that paper for forty-five minutes and whispering things under your breath like you’re about to hex it.”

Behind Karina, Giselle peeked in. “She’s spiraling, isn’t she?”

“Spiraling,” Karina confirmed.

Y/N groaned, flopping back onto her pillows with a dramatic sigh. “What if it’s not even about me? What if he just invited me because of Renjun? They’re friends. Maybe he thinks Renjun and I should get together or something and he’s just—facilitating it.”

“Facilitating it?” Giselle echoed, amused. “Y/N. You’re not a school project.”

“I’m serious!”

“And we are seriously not letting you stay here and mope when the most beautiful boy in Eldhollow invited you to his place.”

Y/N sat up, hugging a pillow to her chest. “You don’t understand. I’ve known of Haechan for a long time, he’s always been the most beautiful boy around me. For years, I used to—” She stopped herself, cheeks flushing.

But her roommates had known her long enough to read the rest between the lines.

“You used to hope he’d notice you,” Karina finished gently, sitting beside her on the bed. “And now he has. So what are you going to do? Pretend it’s not what you always wanted?”

Y/N bit her lip. Her heart felt like it was being wrung out, slowly and carefully. For so long, Haechan had been the boy in the distance. The untouchable. Loud and golden and surrounded by people. He had existed in a world of bright lights and crowds, while she’d lived in the quiet corners, safe in the soft folds of her books and thoughts. And now here he was — really here — handing her an invitation like it was no big deal.

And maybe to him it wasn’t - but to her, it had been everything.

“I’m scared,” she whispered. “What if I go and regret it?”

Giselle plopped a dress onto the bed — simple, soft blue with fluttery sleeves. “Or what if you go and don’t?”

⸻

Twenty minutes later, Y/N stood in front of the mirror while Karina curled a loose piece of hair behind her ear and Giselle fixed the clasp on her necklace. They didn’t try to transform her — they knew better than that — but they helped her feel just enough like magic to remember she had always been made of it.

“Okay,” Karina started quietly, smoothing her skirt before stepping back, “You look like yourself. Just… the version of you who knows she deserves this.”

“Still time to turn around,” Y/N teased nervously, already half-turned toward the door.

Giselle grabbed her coat and handed it over. “And miss the slow-burn of the century? No chance.”

Y/n rolled her eyes, trying her best to ignore their jokes. As she stepped out into the twilight air, the breeze caught the hem of her coat, lifting it slightly as if nudging her forward. The street lamps glowed golden, leading her down the cobbled paths of Eldhollow like something out of a fairytale. She kept her eyes forward, even though her stomach was doing cartwheels and her brain was running every worst-case scenario.

But underneath it all — buried deep where no one else could see — was the tiniest thrill. That maybe, just maybe, something was beginning.

Not a dream this time.

Something real.

—-

Haechan answered the door himself.

Y/N hadn’t known what to expect — maybe a roommate, or someone she didn’t recognize — but not him. Not Haechan, framed by warm apartment light, wearing a soft honey-colored sweater and casual joggers, hair still damp like he’d only just showered. He smelled like sugar and clean linen and something deeper, almost like warm vanilla dusted with cedarwood. He blinked when he saw her.

Then grinned, just barely. “Hey.”

“Hi,” she replied, a little too quietly, tucking her hair behind her ear. Her fingers were cold.

“You want anything? Food or, uh—drink?”

Y/N glanced over his shoulder and took in the floating charmed candles, the long table lined with snacks and cups, the handful of people already milling about. “It looks like I can help myself,” she said with a polite smile.

He laughed awkwardly. “Right. Yeah. Of course. Come in.”

She stepped past him into the warmth, taking off her jacket and clutching it awkwardly to her chest. The buzz of chatter and light clinking filled the air, cozy and intimate — but not in a way that made her feel at home. In a way that made her feel like an outsider peeking in through the window.

Renjun was the first to greet her, looking genuinely surprised but glad to see her. “Y/N! I didn’t know you were coming.”

“Neither did I, honestly,” she admitted. “But… Haechan invited me, so.” She shrugged, trying to keep it casual.

Renjun smiled. “Glad you did. Everyone, this is Y/N — from Hogwarts.”

Introductions flowed. She already recognized Mark and Jeno. The two unfamiliar faces were Johnny — all warmth and charm — and Doyoung, quieter but no less kind. Mina, Johnny’s girlfriend, greeted her with the gentle enthusiasm of someone who always remembered birthdays, and Yuna — well, Yuna barely looked her way.

She gave Y/N a glance and a small smile, then immediately leaned toward Haechan to ask him something. Whatever it was, it made him laugh. Really laugh.

Y/N tried not to watch them.

She mingled. She smiled. She stood beside the drinks table with Renjun and Mark, talking about classes. And slowly, something began to shift inside her. That same gnawing feeling she’d buried all through her school years — that sense of being just a step off, like she’d come to a party dressed for the wrong theme — began to creep in.

She tried to ignore it.

Until it happened.

Renjun asked about her studies, and Y/N — desperate to sound casual, clever, normal — launched into an explanation about a theory she’d been writing. “It’s about the shared impulse between ghosts and transfigured objects,” she said brightly, “like — like how you can’t use a ghost as a magical power source, but if you transfigure an object to have soul-like qualities, there’s a chance it might try to haunt you—”

She trailed off when she saw Renjun blink, then laugh.

“Wow,” he said, not unkindly. “Y/N, nothing’s changed about you at all.”

She froze.

For a moment, she just stared at him. Then she forced a laugh. “Yeah. Still me.”

She could tell he meant it lightly — like a fond observation. But the words wrapped around her ribs like vines, tugging tight.

Nothing’s changed.

But she had changed. Hadn’t she?

She had spent so many of her Hogwarts years in the shadows. Her only real companions had been ghosts, paintings, her owl, and the teachers who didn’t mind her asking a hundred questions. She was odd, yes — painfully shy, always scribbling notes, talking to herself under her breath. But she had tried, since graduation, to grow into someone brighter. Someone who didn’t get flustered at the smallest social interaction. Someone who didn’t feel like she was on the outside of every room.

But tonight… tonight she just felt like that lonely girl again.

And Haechan — who she thought wanted to talk to her, who had looked at her like she was fascinating — was now barely glancing her way.

“I’m gonna get some ice,” she murmured, setting down her drink before anyone could stop her.

⸻

The kitchen was quiet. She let the door close behind her and pressed both hands to the counter. Her chest was tight as her fingers trembled against the woodgrain; She hated how fast this was spiraling.

Why had he invited her?

Why had he looked at her like that in the hallway? Why say anything if he was just going to ignore her now?

The door creaked open behind her - She turned slowly.

Haechan lingered in the doorway, hesitant. “Hey. I… I saw you leave. You okay?”

Y/N blinked. Her throat was dry. “Why are you being so weird?”

Haechan looked caught off guard. “What?”

“You invited me,” she said, softly but firmly. “You — you literally asked me to come. And I thought— I thought we’d talk. I thought maybe you wanted to get to know me. But we haven’t even really spoken.”

“I did want to talk to you,” he said quickly. “I do.”

“Then why haven’t you?” She shook her head, cheeks hot. “You’ve been paying more attention to that girl—Yuna—than you have to me.”

Haechan blinked, stunned silent for a moment.

Then: “I’m nervous, okay?” He looked almost… embarrassed. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I didn’t even know who you were at school. And now—” he exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck, “—now you’re all I can think about.”

Y/N stared at him.

“I don’t get it,” he said, voice quieter. “I never really… liked someone before. Not really. I mean, I’ve messed around, sure, but it’s never felt like this. And with you, I—I get nervous. I say stupid stuff. I avoid you even though I invited you, because the second you walked in I felt like I couldn’t think straight.”

She didn’t say anything for a moment.

Then, very quietly, “I used to wish you knew who I was.

“I had no one in school. Just books and ghosts and paintings and—my owl. And I used to wish you’d just look at me. Just once. And now you are. And it’s like—like I’m too late.”

He looked pained. “It’s not too late.”

She gave him a soft, sad smile. “It feels like it is.”

He took a step forward. “Y/N—”

“I think I need some space,” she said gently. “I’m sorry. And thank you, for inviting me. It… meant a lot.”

Then she turned and walked past him, back into the hallway where she could slip out quietly, her chest full of static and her heart both breaking and blooming all at once.

[taeeflwrr]

sunflower vol 6 | l.hc

“i couldn’t want you anymore, kiss in the kitchen like it’s a dance floor”

💿now playing: sunflower vol 6 by harry styles

❯ summary: Let’s make dinner together, he said. I’ll behave, he said. Honestly, you should have known that was a lie because when it comes to you, Haechan is never on his best behaviour. That’s why he’s sneaking sly touches every time you complete a step in your recipe.

❯ pairings: haechan x fem!reader

❯ genre: established relationship, fluff, suggestive content

❯ words: 1.4k

❯ tags: tooth rotting fluff, domesticated fluff, swearing, kissing, pet names, literally just hyuck being so boyfriend and them dancing in the kitchen together.

an: i’m a firm believer that harry styles wrote this song about haechan

Hyuck bursts through the front door with a sense of urgency, unable to contain his excitement. It's been months since he last saw you, his girlfriend whom he's more than just a little obsessed with, and the door feels like just another barrier in his way. He thought his job, which requires him to tour for half the year, was obstacle enough.

"Baby, I'm home!" he calls out eagerly, scanning the apartment for any sign of you. Disappointment flickers across his face when he doesn't immediately spot you waiting for him with open arms.

The honeyed tone of his voice instead echoes from the living room to your bedroom, drawing you to him like a magnet. Without wasting a moment, you rush down the stairs and wrap your arms around his neck.

You melt into each other effortlessly, as you always do. Your bodies seem custom-made for one another, fitting together perfectly. You've missed his touch, his warmth, in a way that FaceTime calls could never fulfil. Nothing compares to the physical presence of your Hyuck.

You plant a gentle kiss on the soft skin of his cheek before pulling back to meet his gaze. "You weren't supposed to be home for another four hours. What's going on?"

"I got an earlier flight because I missed you so much," he replies with a grin. 

You shake your head, but a smile still tugs at your lips. You've never encountered a man more smitten and in love than him. It's endearing, really. It's the kind of love his friends would tease him about if he didn't take so much pride in it.

You run a hand through your hair, trying to process the fact that he's here in your living room. You're happy, of course, but you had hoped to be all dolled up for his arrival, not standing in old pyjamas after months apart

"Well... are you hungry? We could order takeout if you want. You can tell me all about that tour that's kept you away from me for what feels like forever," you suggest with a smile, and his eyes soften at the invitation

"Babyyy," he whines, catching you off guard a little. His hands slide to your back, pulling you in by your waist as he plants a kiss on top of your head. "Can't we make dinner together?"

You raise an eyebrow, pulling away to look up at him, his hands still wrapped around you. "By 'we,' you mean me?"

"Of course not. You know I make an excellent sous chef. Restaurants should be grateful I chose music instead of culinary arts.” 

You shake your head, with a grin. "We never get anything done when we cook together. Remember last time?"

He smirks, recalling the memory. "It's not my fault you asked me to get something out of the fridge, and when I turned around, you were bent over the counter showing your ass to me. I couldn't help myself."

You give him a deadpan look but he only smirks more.

"And if we're being honest, I remember you loving it." His arms cross over his chest, the satisfaction in him beaming from knowing that you know he's right. You did enjoy those steamy cooking sessions, but not right now; you're hungry.

"Please, baby, I missed your cooking. Nothing any restaurant can make compares to your food," he pleads. "I'll be on my best behaviour."

And although you know better, and you know that there’s no such thing as "best behaviour" with Lee Donghyuck, you still can't resist. And so, you give in. 

Surprisingly, everything goes well. Hyuck isn’t too much of a distraction; instead, he follows your instructions without protest. He grabs ingredients, chops vegetables, and even compliments the head chef— and nothing catches fire.

Progress is being made.

That is until your boyfriend finishes the little tasks you assign him and wraps his arms around your waist while you chop ingredients.

“Hyuck… you promised—”

His plush lips melt against your neck so delicately that you nearly chop off your finger—though Hyuck won’t let that happen, gripping your hands to steady them. He chuckles softly, his lips quirking against your skin.

“I know what I said, Y/N,” he teases. “I’m just trying to help.”

“You’re not trying to help; you’re trying to distract.”

He laughs, “You know… I bought a new record while I was on tour. It has that one song you love.”

You pause, setting the knife down and pressing your hands against the counter as you turn to face him.

“Oh yeah?”

He nods, “I think we should play it while you cook.”

“I thought we were supposed to be cooking together?” 

Hyuck simply chuckles as he heads over to the record player in your kitchen and sets the record spinning. Soft guitar notes fill the space, and despite your need to focus, you can’t help but smile.

You watch as he dances across the cool kitchen tiles, a smirk on his lips, until he stands behind you. His hand finds your elbow, gently pulling you backwards.

The laugh that spills from you is warm and Hyuck matches it as his hands drift down your arms to your hands, fingers threading together before he pulls you back into his broad, solid chest. 

Strong arms cross your own chest, and the two of you start to sway against each other. The music is quiet and grainy and mixed with the sound of your feet creaking on the floor. 

The two of you float back and forth—a stream of sunlight streams in through the high window. You close your eyes and let the light shift across your eyelids. Hyuck’s lips find your ear, singing softly. The sound was gentle and sweet and you could hear the smile in his voice.

“I’ll never forget the moment I realised I love you.”

You sink further against him, your voice humming as you ask, “Yeah? When was that?”

“The minute I saw you,” he breathes. “You were dancing so carelessly, and I knew then—you were my person. You’ll always be my person.”

You’re grinning like an idiot despite rolling your eyes as you let go of Hyuck’s hands and turn around in his arms. You slide your palms up his chest to wind around the back of his neck, pressing your foreheads together. 

“You’re so cheesy.”

“And you love it,” he responds easily, smiling with his eyes closed as he continues to sway with you in the tiny kitchen of your tiny apartment. You nod, leaning forward to knock your noses together gently with an exaggerated sigh.

“I do. And I love you. I wouldn’t want to spend a minute loving anybody else.”

Hyuck hums, pulling you in closer and starts walking you backwards slowly until your hips rest against the counter. He dips down, curling his hands around the backs of your thighs and effortlessly hoists you up to sit on the edge. You open your eyes and run your fingers through his hair, twisting a perfect little strand around your finger just the way he likes it.

He looks back at you, eyes filled with patience and love. Then he leans in, drawing you into a soft, lazy kiss—because he’s finally home, because he can, because he loves doing it, because it’s all he ever wants to do from now until forever.  You melt against his chest, pressing up into the contact. When you break apart, Hyuck rests his lips against your temple, swaying gently with you in his arms.

“I’m so in love with you,” He says softly.

You rest your cheek against his shoulder and brush your nose back and forth against his neck as you close your eyes and smile.

“I love you too, Hyuck.”

You linger in the warmth of his touch until the sharp beeping of the oven interrupts the moment. You pull away slightly, frowning at the oven’s display.

“Ugh, I forgot I put that in there!” you exclaim, glancing over your shoulder to see smoke beginning to curl from the edges.

Hyuck chuckles, but there is no concern creeping into his voice. “Can’t believe my first meal home is going to be charcoal.” 

You rush to the oven, Hyuck close behind. As you open the door, a plume of smoke escapes, and you cough. 

“This is totally your fault! What happened to you not being distracting?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

He shrugs, leaning down to plant another soft kiss on your lips. “What can I say? I’m obsessed with you.”

[taeeflwrr]

oh my god was this a rollercoaster of emotions #bringbackangst #imafeministdespiteallthethoughtsthatthisficmademeentertain #forgivemesinceitwashyuck

death by a thousand cuts | l.hc

“but if the story’s over, why am i still writing pages?”

💿now playing: death by a thousand cuts by taylor swift

❯ summary: If you get more than one love in a lifetime, why does your heart still beat for the boy who wrecked you completely?

❯ pairings: haechan x fem!reader

❯ genre: angst, second chance, cheating trope, smut.

❯ words: 9.6k

❯ tags: 18+ minors dni!, smut, cheating (booo), exes, toxic relationship, a therapy joke, lots of angst, swearing, heartbreak, a whole lotta hurt, drinking, insecurities, jealousy, arguing, heavy petting, protected sex, nipple play, oral sex (fem receiving), i can’t lie this is just 9k words of heartache and sex lol.

an: this fic will not be for everyone!! i do not condone cheating in any way, you’re a loser if you cheat. i just felt like writing something heart achey, and this is my favourite taylor swift song that inspires cheating fics whenever i listen to it.

“Give me that!”

Yeji snatches the phone out of your hand with the kind of urgency only a best friend possesses—the kind forged after too many years of watching you do the stupidest things when it comes to boys. Her eyes flare the moment she spots the familiar username. 

@ haechanahceah

“Oh my god. You’re kidding.” Her thumb hovers accusingly over the screen. “Y/N, it’s been a year. A whole year. Why haven’t you blocked Hyuck yet?”

You don’t answer immediately. Just tilt your head back with an exhausted exhale, reaching for the phone. Not because you want it back, but because it feels incriminating in her hands. Like a wound she’s now inspecting. And you don’t need her inspecting it.

“Because we’re okay,” you say, not entirely convincingly. “Mostly.”

It was just a like. On an Instagram post. Of him—with his friends.

(Some of them girls. Most of them girls. All of them tagged. And you definitely weren’t planning on clicking through their profiles in the middle of your best friend coffee date with your screen brightness criminally low. Definitely not.)

“And because we’re friends,” you add breezily. Then you pluck the phone from her hand and tap back into the app, your thumb moving faster than your brain, already leaving a comment beneath his photo.

Something flippant. Something funny. Something that screams: See? I’m a functioning, emotionally stable adult who can totally be friends with the boy who annihilated my heart while he gallivants around Europe on a boat with girls. 

Except probably subtler. 

Yeji stares at you like she’s witnessing a slow-motion car crash. “Oh, absolutely. And when that guy drove me home from the bar last weekend and told me I had pretty eyes, we were just friends too.”

You roll your eyes, swatting the air with your hand. “That’s different. Hyuck’s my childhood best friend. I can’t just cut him off now that we’re not…” you pause, the words catching in your throat like they always do, “you know?”

“No. I don’t know,” she says, arms crossed and chin lifted in that annoyingly perceptive way of hers. “Because you two are in a loop. An exhausting, toxic, ‘I-don’t-know-where-we-stand-with-each-other’ loop. And staying in touch with him is why you can’t move on.”

“We are not toxic.”

You are. 

But you’d already said it out loud like a reflex, before you even had time to make it sound believable. So, you try to fix it. 

“We’re just…”

You trail off, blinking hard like the answer might fall from the ceiling.

 “Co-dependent?” Lia offers helpfully. 

 You sigh. “Yes. That. Thank you, Lia.”

“It’s weird, is what it is,” Yeji says. 

You lean back in your chair, arms folded across your chest like armour. “Ugh. You wouldn’t get it.”

And they wouldn’t. They never have.

Because nobody gets you and Hyuck. Not Yeji, not Lia, not even the therapists you’ve paid a concerning amount of money to explain it all to you. No amount of therapy or psychoanalysis can remove the him-shaped hole inside of you. The way he exists like a second heartbeat.

How many times does a person truly get to fall in love? Not the practical kind. But the kind that rewires you completely. That makes you wonder how you ever existed before this person, and fear who you might become after. 

If love were fair—the answer would be simple. Once. Only ever once.

Because to love someone—truly love someone—is not just to hand over your heart. It’s to fold it delicately, wrap it in every part of your soul, and place it willingly in that person’s pocket. Trusting that they won’t ever give it back frayed or barely beating. 

And if they do (and he definitely did) well, what remains might resemble a heart, but it never beats the same again. You don’t think it ever will.

So yes. One love. One person. One boy—him.

Yeji calls it nostalgia. Says that since he was your first everything, it feels bigger than it was, and that’s why he’s taking up too much space inside your chest. She says you're scared of forgetting. But that’s not it.

You’d give anything to forget. It’s better than remembering everything. Of living in a world where he’s everywhere and nowhere all at once. Where songs feel like him. Where movies feel like him. Where your own body sometimes feels like him because he’s marked it so damn much.

But if you did move on, if you could—you’d still have to ask yourself: where does all that breathless, foolish, all-consuming love go? 

The common consensus is that love turns to hate when it stays too long without being fed. But you can’t imagine a universe cruel enough to make you hate the very boy who made you believe in soulmates.

So you don’t hate him. Even though you should.

“Fine,” Yeji slumps back in her chair, arms crossed, eyes sharp with that familiar fury she reserves exclusively for you—when you’re being like this. “You’re right. I don’t get it. I don’t get why you’re still in cahoots with the same boy who cheated on you and left you a complete mess.”

Lia gasps. “Yeji!”

But the thing is—Yeji has a point. And you know that. But knowing something and truly understanding it is two different things. 

You don’t understand how he put his hands on someone else. How his mouth touched a body that wasn’t yours. How he delivered that line—“I didn’t mean for it to happen”—with the kind of ease that made you wonder just how many times he’d practised it in the mirror before he had the balls to actually tell you. 

You didn’t understand, yet you knew all the same.

You were wearing his shirt when he told you. Still in his house. Still in the space you thought was yours too. And all you could think was: how many nights did he lie next to you like nothing was wrong? How many times did he touch you with hands that had already betrayed you?

He never told you when, or who. Just a sorry. A soft one. A useless one. And a vague promise that he’d do anything to fix it.

But there are some things sorry can’t fix.

You clear your throat, suddenly too aware of how loud your heartbeat feels in a room full of people who love you enough to hate him.

“Because we’re not in cahoots,” you correct. “We’re friends, Yej. Him and I have always been friends.”

It’s not a lie. Not exactly. 

You have been friends with Hyuck ever since he moved in next door to your family when you were six. And even then—when you climbed trees and shared crayons—you think your heart was already beating for him. So much you don’t know what life is without that pulse anymore. Without a hint of him running beneath your skin.

It’s why you plaster on a smile and say, “In fact, I even invited him to my birthday party next week.”

They look at you, eyes full of pity and sympathy. And that hurts way more than him breaking you ever did. Because now your friends are staring at you like you’re some sad, shattered, pathetic thing he left behind.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Lia asks weakly. 

“You’re seriously a lunatic,” Yeji cuts in before you can respond. “You’re just dragging this out for yourself. Death by a thousand cuts and all that.”

“I am not a lunatic,” you say, shrugging her off. “It’s just... he’s still part of my life. It’s not like I’m inviting a stranger.”

“He fucked up your life,” she huffs, the words stinging. “He hurt you.”

“Yes,” you breathe. “But I love him anyway, don’t I?”

And you do. Because some loves don’t end—they just rearrange themselves. 

Yeji yanks her chair back so hard the legs screech against the floor.

“He’s gonna hurt you again,” she spits. “How many times are you gonna let him rip you apart before there’s nothing left? Before you’ve sacrificed yourself and everyone else around you and you’ve got nothing left to give?”

You want to say something, but the words get stuck, because she’s right.

Lia reaches out, “Yeji—”

“If he’s there next week, Y/N,” she says, eyes burning over her shoulder looking from you to Lia, “then I won’t be.”

When Hyuck got a DM from the only girl he’s ever loved—two days ago, now—he sobered.

Which, if you asked Mark, was some kind of divine miracle. Because Mark had been watching his best friend drink himself into oblivion for the better part of a year. A slow, intentional kind of fucked up that was clearly a desperate, pathetic attempt to forget you.

But no shot, no spirit, no stranger’s skin pressed to his could ever do the trick. Not really. Because no matter how hard Hyuck tried, the hangover was always the same: he’d wake up, and you still weren’t his girl.

So when he saw your username light up his phone, he paused. 

Because the preview didn’t give anything away. It did that annoying thing that said “2 new messages.” No hint. No breadcrumb. Just a loaded gun of a notification staring up at him.

And, of course he clicked it. He had to. You knew he would. You’d sent two back-to-back messages on purpose—he’s certain of it. Because that’s exactly the kind of person you were. Always two steps ahead. Always orchestrating even your vulnerability. 

You wanted to see when he’d read it. 

And he did.

At 2:36 a.m. Because you’d definitely be asleep by then. And that meant he had enough time to draft the right response—measured, brisk, detached—like the past year hadn’t cracked him open.

He read it in the half-light of Mark’s living room, surrounded by people he didn’t really like and a bottle of something he couldn’t quite remember picking up.

hey. i’m having a thing next friday for my birthday—just a chill party. nothing major. 

you can come, if you want.

Hyuck stares at the two messages.

It’s not because of the party. He couldn’t care less about the cake or the candles. That’s not what has his heart in his throat. It’s the fact that—for the first time in a year���you actually reached out. None of that accidentally bumping into each other nonsense you two pull. No one buys that it’s an accident. 

At least, it’s not an accident on his behalf.

It’s not an accident when he keeps frequenting the same coffee shop you once claimed made the best lattes in the city—always at the same time. It’s not a coincidence when he drives through your favourite places on rainy days, just in case you need a ride and are too proud to just call him. And it’s definitely not a coincidence that makes him take the long way to your house. He does it deliberately. He selfishly takes more of your time than he deserves.

Because saying goodbye wasn’t an option for him. Not until it had to be. He’d take prolonged suffering. Death by a thousand cuts.

And it’s not his fault. Well. It is. All of the ruin, anyway. But in the twelve months since he blew it all up, you’ve still lingered. You always do. You always will. So he just keeps showing up in your life when he knows you need to move on. Because he doesn’t want you to. 

Because everything in his life is still half-yours. And he won’t board up the windows of that love—not even now. Not when some part of you still flickers inside it, and half of his heart is still in your chest.

Hyuck stares at your message again. He types something. Deletes it. Types something else. Deletes that too.

what kind of thing is it?

Too uninterested.

who’s gonna be there?

Too nosy.

sure, if you want me there.

Too honest. 

Everything felt like a trap—too much, too little, not enough to win you back, but equally too honest and would remind you of his actions that hurt you. 

How was he supposed to respond to the girl who once memorised every mole on his face? Who was the muse of every song he’s written? Who still makes his hands shake on the keyboard? Who he cheated on? Who he destroyed completely? 

Eventually he landed on:

might swing by, angel. happy early birthday, btw.

He hit send before he could change his mind.

11:27PM

Thirty-three minutes left of your birthday, but you’re not celebrating.

Instead, you’re sitting on the edge of the kitchen counter with one leg dangling, the other tucked beneath you, whilst your dress wrinkles and bunches around your thighs because you stopped caring how ruined you looked an hour ago.  

You don’t care that your lipstick is all but gone or that your mascara is smudged under both eyes. You don’t care because he’s not here. 

You were supposed to be smiling by now. 

But he didn’t walk in. 

He still hasn’t.

And you don’t even know why you’re surprised. He’s not your boyfriend. He’s not your baby. He’s not your Hyuck anymore. He doesn’t owe you a goddamn thing—not a happy birthday, or his time. You gave that privilege up the night you stopped being his. Or maybe the night he stopped being yours. You still haven’t decided which one came first.

Still, you hoped he would come. 

It was the only thing keeping you remotely sane—delusional hope that he might still show up. That maybe he’d walk through the door like he hadn’t betrayed you and still want you. You still wanted him. 

You hated that he broke you and still got to keep the pieces. Hated that even now, on your birthday, all you could think about was him. Hated that you still wanted his birthdays, his weekends, his forever. 

You take another drink. Cheaper vodka this time, and let it burn your throat as it goes down. You want the sting. You deserve the sting. Your eyes drift (again) to the front door.

Still nothing.

“You need to stop doing that,” Lia pads barefoot into the kitchen, coming right behind you to smack both her hands on your shoulders. “Stop watching that door like a hawk. Yeji would kill you if she saw you pining after him on your birthday.”

You press your lips together and glance away like you’ve been caught red-handed. Because, well. You have.

“Yeah, well. Yeji isn’t here,” you mutter, taking another sip—longer this time. 

Lia raises an eyebrow. “And why’s that?”

You drain the last of your drink and look her straight in the eye. “Because I invited him.”

Lia looks at you expectantly. You know she hates being caught between you and Yeji, but it’s clear she thinks you were wrong to invite Hyuck tonight, knowing full well how Yeji would react.

And maybe she’s right.

That’s why you sigh.

“Look, he said he might come,” you say finally. “He didn’t promise anything. Yeji was overreacting.”

“He never promises,” Lia says gently. “And yet, you keep prioritising him like he’s still that sweet boy we both used to love, who used to buy your favourite cookies before class, or pick fights with the boys who made fun of you. But he’s not that boy anymore, Y/N. And he’s not yours anymore either.”

You flinch.

She notices. Regrets it. “Sorry.”

You shake your head. “It’s fine.”

But it isn’t, not really. Because this is the first birthday he’s missed since you were kids. Since you were eleven and he showed up with a homemade card. 

It’s not fine because his absence would say something that the cheating weirdly never quite did—that he’s not the boy you fell in love with. Maybe he hasn’t been for a long time.

Lia leans against the counter beside you. “It’s allowed, you know? Being hurt.”

“I don’t get to be,” you reply, glancing at her. “He doesn’t owe me anything anymore. I was the one who didn’t want to forgive him that night. I said I was done. I don’t expect him to grovel forever.”

“No,” she agrees. “But you deserved something. More than a half-assed apology at least.”

That lands in your chest harshly. You press your tongue to your cheek, the way you do when you’re trying not to cry. You’re not drunk enough to cry yet. Give it another hour.

“Come on,” Lia sighs and wraps an arm around your shoulders, tugging you into her side, “I’m not letting you stay in here staring at that door and giving him the power to ruin the rest of your birthday.” 

But even as she says it, your eyes flicker to that door again—still no him.

Lia doesn’t let go of your hand as she leads you out of the kitchen and into the living room, where people are scattered across the sofas and floors. They all feel like strangers at your own party because you’ve spent the whole night looking for one person who never came. 

“Y/N,” Lia says, squeezing your hand, “this is Hyunjae.”

You blink. The boy in front of you is pretty. Dark eyes, strong jaw softened by the curve of a perfect smile, black hair pushed back sexily. He’s holding a drink loosely in his hand as his eyes sweep over you. 

“Happy birthday,” he says. “You look—”

Please don’t say beautiful. Please don’t say gorgeous. Please don’t say anything he would’ve said.

“—pretty,” Hyunjae finishes. “Really fucking pretty.”

You smile. Or try to. “Thanks.”

And look, it’s not that Hyunjae isn’t nice—he is. You can already hear Yeji telling you to give him a chance. He’s the kind of boy who’d text back, who’s safe, who’d never leave you staring at a door wondering if he’ll show up on your birthday or not. Hyunjae is the kind of boy who wouldn’t cheat on you. 

But the truth is, you don’t know if you can be the girl who lets someone call her pretty and fawn anymore. Not without wondering if they’ll still mean it once they see someone better, shinier, hotter than you. 

Just like he did. 

You nod along when Hyunjae talks. You laugh where you’re supposed to. Play nice. Be sweet. But everything he says sounds like static. Everything he is feels like a placeholder. 

And then, you hear it. That deep, honey-smooth, familiar voice saying: “Happy birthday, angel.”

It slices through the room. Through you.

Because there’s only one person who ever called you that. One boy. Lee Donghyuck.

You didn’t even hear the front door open. Typical. But there he is, leaning in the doorway, all tan skin and messy hair. His hands are buried in his pockets, his jaw set tight—too tight, like he’s seconds from grinding his teeth into dust. 

But it’s not you he’s looking at. It’s Hyunjae. Sitting far too close. Arm tossed lazily behind you on the couch, thigh pointing into yours, almost grazing like he owns your space. 

And Hyuck notices. You know he notices.

His eyes narrow. Lips parting slightly as his tongue presses against the inside of his cheek. You know that look. You’ve seen it before. That blend of heat and hurt and possessiveness he has no right to anymore.

It hits your chest all at once—shame, hurt, lust—and you fumble. Your hand twitches with the red plastic cup still clutched tight. The drink tilts before you even realise it’s slipping. Cranberry vodka sloshes, causing sticky, cold liquid to spill down the front of your dress, dripping into the neckline. 

“Fuck—” you hiss, jerking upright as the cup lands onto the coffee table. You paw uselessly at the now soaked fabric, trying to blot it with the hem of your sleeve, but it’s only smearing it worse.

Hyunjae starts to reach for a napkin, concerned. But your eyes have already found Hyuck’s again. And the way he’s looking at you now…

Your throat goes dry. “I—I’m gonna go change.”

You don’t wait for a reply. You’re moving before anyone can stop you, heart hammering against your ribs because this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. 

You barely make it up the stairs, breath coming fast, fingers trembling as you reach for the door to your room. You close it. But you don’t get the chance to lock it. Because the door creaks again behind you. And then it clicks shut. You spin around. And there he is.

You don’t say anything at first. 

Just stalk over to your wardrobe like it’s perfectly sane to have your ex-boyfriend—your ex-best friend, the boy you used to see every single day, the only boy you’ve ever slept with, the only person who knows all the tells on your body, the boy you still love—in your bedroom for the first time in over a year.

You wrench the closet door open. A pair of heels fall out and land with a little thud. You don’t flinch. You pretend to rifle through hangers, but you’re not looking for anything specific. All of it is just something to do with your hands, because looking at him right now would be a sick kind of torture.

“What are you doing here!?”

Hyuck doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, you only hear the soft thud of his shoes on your floor, the creak of your floorboard by the dresser. He’s closer than you want him to be.

“You invited me,” he says, like it’s obvious.

You spin around. “I invited you to my birthday party. Which started five hours ago.”

He lifts his phone, the screen glowing in the dark. “As far as I’m aware,” he says, tapping it once, “you’ve still got thirteen minutes left. So again, happy birthday, angel.”

You stiffen. 

There it is. That.

That fucking word. The one that used to make you feel warm and wanted. Now it feels like an insult wrapped in silk.

“Don’t call me that.”

That stops him. Just for a second. Then, slowly, he lowers the phone. Shoves it back into his pocket.

“I thought you liked it when I called you that.”

“I used to like it,” you spit. “Back when it meant something. You know, before you fucked someone else behind my back.”

His jaw tightens. Good, you think. The truth hurts; you hope it hurts. And maybe that makes you cruel. But then again, he was cruel first.

He rubs his jaw, then exhales. “We’re really doing this now?”

You laugh dryly. “Oh, sorry. Would you prefer we pencil it in for next week instead? Talk about it over brunch sometime, yeah?”

You turn back to your wardrobe, suddenly too irritated. Your fingers find the old grey hoodie you always loved. It looks soft. Comfortable. Definitely not party appropriate. But you don’t care because you don’t want to go back out there. Not after this.

You peel your dress off in one motion, leaving you in the black lace set you picked out this morning—because it was your birthday. Not for anyone else. Not for a boy. Certainly not for him.

Him. 

You forget for a moment that he’s still behind you.

It’s like your brain short-circuits in his presence. Like it still confuses this boy for the lifeline he used to be. Like your heart can’t shout loud enough to warn you: this boy broke us, this boy hurt us, this boy is bad for us. All it says is: this boy is Hyuck. This boy is sweet. This boy—we love.

You only remember when you hear him inhale—sharply—and turn around. 

He’s looking at you like that again. Like he did back when he loved you, and you loved him, and he hadn’t ruined everything yet. He looks hungry, and like the only thing that might satisfy him is you. 

That thought makes you clutch the hoodie to your chest. “Turn around!”

He does. Obediently. But then: 

"So, did you wear that for me?"

His voice is so annoyingly smug it makes you roll your eyes as you reply. “No.”

But your cheeks betray you. Hot. Guilty. Flushed. Thank god his back is still to you, because if he turned around now and looked at you, he’d know. Because he knows all your tells. Always has.

And from just a simple flush, he’d know that yes, you wore this set for him. That yes, despite pretending you were over him in his Instagram comments, your traitorous heart had hoped that he might come tonight and rip the set off of you.

And just in case he caught your second tell (the tremor in your voice), you twist the knife a little more.

“I wore this set for Hyunjae, actually.”

A silence. Then the fucker starts laughing.

Not a little laugh. A full-bodied, head thrown back, belly laugh. You hate how much you’ve missed that sound, how it still makes your stomach flip. 

“Five minutes ago, I might’ve believed that, angel,” he says, turning slightly. Just enough for you to catch the outline of his grin. “And it would’ve driven me fucking crazy.”

Your heart stutters when he nods toward your chest.

“But I wasn’t talking about your underwear,” he says, eyes dipping lower. 

You follow his gaze down to the delicate gold chain resting just above the swell of your breasts. The one with the tiny heart pendant. The one with the H engraving. 

“I was talking about that necklace. The one I bought you for your sixteenth birthday,” He cocks his head. Smirking now. “Did you wear it for me?”

Your fingers fly to it instinctively. You hadn’t taken it off. Not even after finding out. You always wore it underneath your clothes, tucked away like a secret, because Yeji would have a field day if she knew you still wore his necklace.

But in the heat of the moment, stripping down to your underwear, your brain hadn’t realised that he’d see it again. 

“I thought I told you to turn around,” you snap, furious with yourself.

He lifts his hands defensively. “I am turned around.”

“I meant your head, not just your body, Hyuck.”

And so he does, again. Obediently.

You pull the hoodie on. It swallows you immediately. The sleeves dangle past your hands, the hem skims your thighs, and it smells like dust and weirdly like…the boy behind you.

“I’m decent,” you mutter.

He turns around, eyes flicking down before he smiles. Not smug, this time. Just soft and… a little sad?

“That’s mine.”

You roll your eyes, tugging at the sleeves. “No it isn’t.”

“Yes, it is. It’s massive on you. And unless you’ve got a secret stash of men’s hoodies in your closet, that one’s mine.”

You glare. “Oh yeah? And who says I don’t have a collection of men’s hoodies in my closet?”

“I do.”

 So fast. So sure.

You scoff, a single sharp laugh. “God, you think so highly of yourself.”

He crosses his arms—all tensed jaw and too-tight t-shirt—and it’s irritating, how stupidly good he looks whilst being smug.

“Yeah,” he says, deadpan. “I do. Because, despite us being broken up, you still wear my necklace.”  He nods toward your nightstand.  “You still have a photo of us beside your bed.” And then, one step closer. “And you fucking invited me here tonight.”

You lift your chin. “I invited everyone. It was a mass text.”

“Funny,” he says, a fake smile forming, “Mark didn’t get a text.”

“Aww,” you coo, mocking. “You still talk to your friends about me, Hyuck? Christ. Now I’m gonna start thinking highly of myself.”

“You should.”

For some reason, those two simple words hit you like a slap across the face. Because no.

“You don’t get to do that!” you snap at him. “You don’t get to tell me I should think highly of myself when you’re the exact reason I can’t even imagine the top anymore, Hyuck!” You laugh bitterly. “I don’t know my worth because you had me. But you wanted something else.”

And in that moment—maybe it’s your tone, or maybe it’s accountability—a flash of hurt crosses his face, that makes him wince. 

“Y/N, angel…” His voice cracks a little on your name, as he runs a hand through his hair. “Fuck! It was one mistake. You don’t understand—”

But you don’t want to hear it. You’ve already heard it.

You hold up a hand, stopping him from wasting his breath. “I don’t want to understand anything about the night you decided to fuck another girl, thank you very much, Hyuck.”

“Of course, I get that but—”

“But?”  you raise an eyebrow in disbelief. 

“Yes, but, Y/N,” he fires back. “Because I don’t know what you want from me. You say you don’t want to forgive me—and I get it. I don’t deserve your forgiveness.” He’s pacing now. “But you string me along. You comment on my posts, you let me drive you home, you still have my fucking hoodies—”

His eyes flick down to the one you’re wearing now, oversized and drooping around the neckline to show that gold chain. 

“—you wear my initials around your neck, and you asked me to come tonight—you. And now you’re mad that I’m here?”

His voice rises and you swallow—hard. Like maybe if you keep swallowing, you’ll stop the tears from climbing all the way up your throat. Because it’s all too raw. All of it. Him. You.This.

He’s unraveling in front of you. And even though you know—deep in your bones—that he doesn’t have the right to be this angry, a part of you gets it. Because this awful, splintered, aching love you have for him is confusing. It’s contradictory. It fucks with your brain so much that it doesn’t matter that you’re hurting because he’s hurting too. 

And that’s all you can focus on.

It’s like you said:  nobody gets you and Hyuck. 

“I don’t know what you want from me, angel,” he says again, quieter this time. He takes a slow step forward. Close enough to reach out and tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, like he used to.

His hand lingers.

“I don’t know what you want,” he breathes, “but if you tell me—I’ll give it to you.”

Your breath stutters. Your throat tightens.

And then, so quiet you almost miss it: “Because. I. Love. You.”

You close your eyes. You don’t want to. You don’t even mean to. But those three words wrap around you tight. 

“Don’t,” your voice cracks. “Don’t say that to me, Hyuck. Not after everything.”

When you open your eyes again, they’re full of tears. Angry ones. Bitter ones. Hopeful ones too—because you’re weak, and stupid, and still a little bit in love with a boy who shattered you.

“I mean it,” he says instantly. His hand twitches at his side—you see it. He wants to touch you. Wants to wipe your tears like he used to because he hates them. But he doesn’t know if he has permission anymore. (He does, but he doesn’t know he does.)

“I’ve always meant it.”

“Then why’d you throw it all away?” You spit the words out like poison. “Why did you ruin us for a quick fuck?”

“I don’t know,” he breathes, stepping back. “But I do know I hurt you. And I’ll hate myself for that forever. But I never stopped loving you. Not for a second.”

You laugh. But it sounds more like a sob. “You have a funny way of showing love.”

“I know.”

“You know everything,” you say, “except why you did it.”

A beat passes. Two. Three.

“You should go,” you whisper. “The party’s over. You’ve said what you needed to say. And I thought I could do this but I can’t.”

“No.”

Your eyes fly to his. He’s shaking his head, tongue in his cheek again as he sniffs.

“No,” he says again “I’m not leaving us like this.”

“I don’t want you here.”

“Liar.”

“Hyuck—”

“You want me to say it again?” he asks, voice rising just slightly. Not angry. Only desperate. “You want me to beg? Fine. I will. I’ll fucking get on my knees if that’s what it takes.”

And then, to your absolute horror, he does. 

“Hyuck, stop—”

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out. “I’m sorry for everything. For all of it. For her. For the lies. For shattering everything good we ever had. But I love you, Y/N. And I’m not sorry for that. I’ll never be sorry for that.”

You’re trying to stay angry. Trying to hold onto the rage but it’s slipping. Because you want him. You love him.

He’s still on his knees. Still looking up at you. Still pleading. You wish he’d just stand up. You wish he didn’t look so much like the boy you fell in love with instead of the man who broke you.

“Please,” he says again.“I know I don’t get to ask. But I’m asking anyway. I’m asking because I love you. I never stopped. I swear to God, I never—”

“Stop it,” you say, too fast.

It feels like your chest caves in. Because the thing about love is: it’s loud. Louder than hurt. Especially right now. You love him so much you could scream. But instead, you drop down to your knees. Right there in front of him. And before you know it, your hands are reaching for him. Stupid, traitorous things.

“Stop,” you whisper. “Please, stop.”

But he doesn’t.

Of course he doesn’t.

Because he’s Hyuck. And Hyuck never knows when to shut up.

“I know I ruined it,” he’s saying. “I know I don’t deserve a second chance. I wouldn’t forgive me either. I wouldn’t. But I can’t stop loving you. I’ve tried. God, I’ve tried so hard. I’ve kissed girls who weren’t you and I’ve gone home wanting to claw off my own skin.”

You suck in a breath.

“You don’t have to forgive me now. Or ever. Just let me prove it. Let me try. I’ll wait. I’ll wait for you for fucking ever, I swear—”

You’re kissing him. 

You have no idea why, but it just feels like you have to. Because you physically can’t not. Because the love of your life, him, is bleeding out in front of you and you’re the only one who knows how to stop it.

And when your mouth crahses into his, it tastes like heartbreak and history and every stupid, selfish thing he’s ever done. But you keep kissing him. Because just as much as it hurts—it feels like home. Like you’ve finally been returned to the place you belong. Like his lips have been waiting for yours all this time. 

He’s kissing you back just as fiercely. Like he might die if he doesn’t. And maybe he would. Maybe you would too.

You don’t know who moves first. You think it’s you, but maybe it’s him. You’re both equally desperate—lunging backward until his back knocks against the foot of your bedframe and you’re straddling his hips. 

His hands find your waist, landing heavy and possessive around you. But you don’t mind, because your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging just hard enough to make him groan into your mouth—and God, you missed that sound. Missed him like oxygen.

His mouth moves to your neck, lips skimming every slither of skin he can reach, greedily not wanting to miss a single piece of you since he’s trying to make up for all the parts he used to take for granted. And you tilt your head back, giving him that access, because you’ve never been able to deny him anything.

“Tell me you’re still mine,” he breathes against your skin, half-choked.

You should tell him no. Should tell him he doesn’t get to ask things like that—not when he gave himself away so easily. Not now when he’ll never solely be yours like you’re solely his. 

But your heart is so tired and so in love it’s ridiculous, so instead you whisper: “I never stopped being yours.”

And then he’s kissing you again—deeper, this time. Until he pulls away and his forehead presses to yours, and he pants against your lips. “Let me love you,” he begs. “Please. Let me love you right this time.”

He feels solid beneath you. It’s making your brain fuzzy. It’s making you whimper.

“Okay,” you pant, tugging harder at those soft brown strands, as your hips shift and grind down against him, making him groan lowly. 

His hands clamp tighter around your waist, dragging you down harder, closer, like he’s trying to fuse you to him. And suddenly your skin feels too tight. You’re too aware of the clothes between you—what little there is.

Because you didn’t put on pants. Just that hoodie of his over your pathetic pair of black panties—thin, useless fabric—and now your pussy is rubbing right up against the thick outline of him through his jeans, and it’s overwhelming. You can feel absolutely everything you’ve missed.

Heat blooms in your stomach and you roll your hips again. It’s so shameless. So needy. But you don’t care. Not when it’s been this long. Not when it’s his fault it’s been this long—because you never would’ve let it be anyone else.

And he meets you in it. Each grind matched with one of his own, more harsh than the last. Until his hips are moving on impulse, chasing you like a man starved. His head drops to your shoulder, and his breath stutters. 

“Fuck, angel, slow down,” he chokes, “You’re killing me.”

You press your lips to his temple, to his jaw, anywhere you can reach, and whisper, breathless, “You deserve it.”

He groans—louder this time—like he agrees.

His hands slide beneath your hoodie, fingers splayed wide, dragging up the warm skin of your back like he’s relearning it. 

“I can’t believe this is happening again,” he breathes into your neck. “You can’t be real.”

But you are. You’re right here. Straddling him. Shaking for him. Letting him touch you like he never stopped having the right to.

He kisses your collarbone. Then lower—your sternum, the tops of your breasts, the edge of lace peeking from beneath his hoodie. His hoodie. That fact alone seems to snap something inside him.

“Fuck,” he mutters, and then he’s pushing the fabric up and up and up, until it pools around your ribs and the cold air hits your bare stomach. You shiver. 

“Take it off,” he murmurs. “Please. Want to see you.”

You raise your arms, let him peel it over your head, and suddenly you’re half-naked in his lap—wearing nothing but that black set you wanted him to rip off, then didn’t, then did… and now, he is. Fingers working at the clasp, slipping the straps from your shoulders and tossing the bra aside in your room somewhere.

And then, he takes his time letting his eyes drag over you. Taking a sick pride in seeing his initial rest in the valley of your breast. 

“Jesus,” he whispers. “You’re still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

And something about that word—still—makes your stomach twist.

Your arms fold over your boobs on instinct, shielding yourself from the one person you’ve always felt safest with. Because still means there’s someone else now. Someone he’s looked at. Someone he’s touched. Someone you had to beat—and somehow did.

But you shouldn’t have had to.

He notices the shift immediately—how your arms cross, how your body goes stiff, how the room, warm just a second ago, chills.

“Hey. Hey,” he says, brows furrowing. He cups your face, thumbs brushing just beneath your eyes. “Talk to me, angel. What’s wrong? What happened?”

You’re still straddling him, half-naked, kissed raw and dizzy, and yet you feel like you’re a million miles away. You try to speak, to explain, but the words choke you. How do you tell him something he’s never known? How do you make him understand? You’ve never done this to him before—and just knowing how much it hurts—you don’t think you ever could.

“I just—” your voice cracks. “I can’t stop thinking about her.”

He flinches—just enough for you to know it landed. But he doesn’t pull away.

The thing is, he doesn’t say her name. Doesn’t even mention her. Never has. But she’s here. Right here. In this room. Your room. In the silence. In his presence.

He shakes his head like he’s trying to wipe the thought away. “No. No, don’t do that. Don’t think about her. This—” his hands cup your face tighter, gently desperate, “—this is you and me. Always you.”

Your jaw clenches, your eyes sting. “Then why wasn’t it only me?”

He swallows hard, his gaze dropping to your lips before flickering away. He doesn’t answer—of course he doesn’t. He never does. And that’s been half the war between you. He doesn’t want to tell you the why.

Instead, his hands drift from your face to your waist, pulling you in like proximity might somehow make up for his silence. Like touch could smother your insecurities. 

His breath ghosts over your skin as he leans in.“Forget her. Just for now. Right here, right now, it’s only you. Only us.”

You hate that you melt. Hate that the ache in your chest loosens its grip the second his hands coax your arms from where you’d folded them. Hate that even after everything, he still knows how to make you feel safe inside the wreckage he caused.

He’s infuriating.

“Let me show you,” he whispers. “That it’s always only been you for me.”

His hands skim up your sides, thumbs brushing delicately beneath your tits. His eyes never leave yours—not for a second—as he kneads and explores and feels your body in his palm. And then his mouth follows.

Lips warm, slightly chapped, close around your right nipple. Your breath punches out of you. You can’t help it because his tongue flicks once, then again, then again until your spine arches and pushes the bud further into his mouth.

“Hyuck,” you moan, helpless, feeling the curve of his smirk drag against your skin.

His free hand trails up your other side, rolling the neglected peak between calloused fingers so deliciously because he remembers exactly what used to make you fall apart, and now he’s hell-bent on proving he hasn’t forgotten.

“God, you’re fucking unreal,” he murmurs against your skin, then bites gently, just enough to make you gasp. 

His words make you ache. Everywhere. Especially between your legs, where you’re still pressed tight against the thick, unrelenting shape of him through his jeans. And he hasn’t even touched you there yet, but it’s coming—you know it is. 

His mouth keeps going, warm and wet whilst he stays sucking just hard enough to turn your bones to water. And whenever you whimper he groans. 

“Please, Hyuck,” you plead. “Need more.”

He lifts his head, murmuring, “Yeah? You want me to show you how much I missed you?”

You nod, dizzy. 

“Fuck,” he groans and wastes no time lifting you off the floor like it’s nothing, carrying you to your bed. He lays you down gently, spreads you out beneath him like something precious. And then he peels off his t-shirt.

That tan skin—scattered with moles you’ve memorised, counted, traced with your fingers and your mouth—is on full display, just for you.

“I’ll give you everything,” he says, voice low as he drops to his knees, crawling between your legs. “Absolutely everything. As long as you don’t regret this. Don’t regret me.”

Your fingers sink into his hair before you can think. “I won’t,” you whisper. “Couldn’t.”

And then he dips down.

His mouth finds the inside of your thigh, open-mouthed kisses dragging tantalisingly up your skin. He’s not rushing. He never does when he gives head. It’s his favourite thing to savour. You. On his tongue.

“You’ve no idea how long I’ve thought about this,” he murmurs, nipping at your skin, making you gasp. “How many times I’ve had to stop myself from texting. From begging you to take me back.”

“Who said anything about taking you back?” You say, hips shifting, dying for friction, but he pins them with strong hands, keeping you right where he wants you. 

“I did,” he says, a smirk ghosting over his lips. “Am I wrong, Y/N? Because if I am, we can stop right now?”

“No,” you whine on a trembling breath.

He smiles. “I didn’t think so.”

Then, finally, finally—his mouth finds the place you need him most.

He licks a slow stripe up your center, groaning from the taste of you in his mouth. He does it again, and then again, until your legs are trembling and one of your hands fists the sheets, the other tangled in his hair, pulling and tugging at it, just how he likes. Just how you like.

He flicks his tongue, circles it, moans when you cry out for more.

“God, you taste the same,” he says hoarsely. “Still fucking perfect.”

You try to respond, to say something, but then he sucks again, so hard, you almost shoot clean off the bed.

“Hyuck—please,” it’s half a sob, a half moan, one hundered percent completley ruined.

He growls, arms locking around your thighs to keep you still, mouth relentless as he licks and sucks and worships like this is his penance.

“Shit, Y/N,” he mutters between licks, “I missed how fucking responsive you are. Always so good for me.”

You whimper. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

“Not gonna,” he promises. “Not until you fall apart for me. Right here. Right now.”

He hums, the vibration making your stomach flutter, and you swear your heart forgets how to beat.

“Let me make you come,” he says, voice completely ruined now too. “Wanna feel you fall apart on my mouth. Please.”

And you do. You let him. Because you want this. Want him. Still. Always.

Your entire body coils, legs shaking, hands clawing at the sheets as your orgasm crashes through you. It’s shattering, making you cry out, his name falling from your lips repeatedly. 

Hyuck doesn’t stop. Not until your body finally slumps back to the mattress, boneless and trembling. Only then does he lift his head, lips wet and shiny. He crawls up your body, kissing your thigh, your stomach, the underside of your boobs, your jaw. Everywhere. Until he’s hovering over you, and you’re staring up at him, glassy-eyed and overwhelmed.

“You okay?” he whispers, brushing hair gently back from your face.

You nod, breath catching. “Yeah. I just... I can’t believe you’re here.”

“I never really left,” he says. “Even though I know I should have. I’m too damn selfish.”

Your throat tightens. You reach up, tracing his jaw with shaking fingers. “I want you to fuck me, Hyuck.”

He blinks, then his eyes darken. “You’re sure?”

You pull him down until your foreheads press again and then whisper a soft, “Yes.”

Then he kisses you. Slowly. Passionately in a way you know this about to be more than just fucking. It feels like the before. The soft. His hands coming up to your face, thumbs brushing your cheekbones. Everything so tender and full of love. 

And somewhere between the kiss and the forgetting, his pants are off. His boxers too. He’s about to fuck you completely raw—like he used to—and for a moment, your body almost lets him. Because it remembers. The blind trust. 

But this isn’t then. And that’s why you reach out, fingers curling gently around his forearm. Stopping him.

“Condom,” you whisper, cheeks flushing as you glance toward the nightstand.

Because it shouldn’t have to be like this. Back then, you were on the pill. You were his. He was yours. There was no one else. But now? Now you’ve had to share him—with her. Maybe with others too. 

He freezes. And for a second, you swear he looks gutted. But then he nods.

Wordlessly, he reaches into your nightstand, gets one open and rolls it on his cock. He doesn’t protest. He never would. Because it’s not the condom that guts him—it’s what it means. It’s that reminder that everything’s different now. And why. A barrier he put there himself because he was reckless, drunk, stupid and ungrateful. A consequence he crafted with his own hands.

But he doesn’t let that thought linger too long. The past is the past—he hates thinking about it. It’s what wrecked him. What wrecked this. What wrecked you.

Now, all he wants is the present. Not even the future. Just this. Just you. Because you’re here. Beneath him. Asking him to fuck you. You’re his—if only for now. And that’s enough.

He slides back over you. And for a second—just one—you both just… look.

You’re looking at him like maybe this could fix it. He’s looking at you like he knows it won’t. Sex doesn’t fix anything. It’s what broke you two in the first place if you really think about it . But he’s still doing it. And so are you.

He pushes inside of you slowly and your breath stutters, nails digging crescent moons into his biceps.

“Fucking hell,” he groans, voice tight and thick. “You feel like—”

“Home,” you whisper, beating him to it.

Because you do. And he does. And it’s pathetic. And perfect. And completely going to destroy you in the morning.

His forehead drops to yours and he lets out a shaky breath, like the kind that comes right before someone starts to cry. But he doesn’t cry—he moves. Gently. Tenderly. 

You cling to him, every nerve alight, oversensitive in that desperate, raw way that makes you breathless beneath him—letting him kiss you through it, through the pain, through the slow, aching stretch of him inside you. 

And in between those kisses and the thrusts and the way your fingers tangle in his hair again, he whispers:

“Missed you.”

“God, I missed you.”

“I’ll never stop being sorry.”

He fucks you like he’s trying to put you back together with every snap of his hips. And maybe he is.

So you let him.

You let him fuck you until you’re both a mess of moans and apologies and, fractured I love yous. Until you’re panting in time with each other. Until you’re cumming—together.

After, it’s quiet.

Not awkward or bitter or biting, but comfortable. You’re tangled in each other, limbs overlapping, as Hyuck brushes his nose against your temple. Eventually, he slips out of you, careful to not hurt you, but you flinch at the loss. He presses a kiss to your forehead, one to each cheek, and then he’s moving—disposing of the condom, finding his way back to your side. 

“Let’s shower,” he murmurs, thumb storoking your jaw. “Let me take care of you first. And after… we’ll talk, yeah?”

You don’t say anything—because you can’t. Your throat is raw from all the moaning and the whimpering. And also because you’re scared of the talking. Terrified, really. Of the hurting that’ll come with addressing it. 

So instead, you swallow and say softly, “I’ll be a minute. Just... need a sec before I move.”

He pauses, like he’s checking you over again, brows pinching. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

Not in the way he means.

“No,” you whisper. “Just… been out of the game for a while.”

He pauses but doesn’t argue. Just leans in and presses the gentlest kiss to your cheek. 

“Okay,” he murmurs, brushing a damp strand of hair behind your ear. “I’ll start the shower.”

He slips out quietly, to the bathroom attached to your room. You hear the soft creak of the cabinets. He still remembers where everything is. 

And then—of course—his phone buzzes.

You glance over. You don’t mean to look. You really, really don’t. You know you shouldn’t if you wanna rebuild trust and whatever. It’s just…It’s on the floor, fallen from his jeans with the screen lighting up. 

It was taunting you. 

And anyway, he’s the one that broke your trust first. He’s the one that made you so paranoid. He’s the one who made you like this. 

Yeji

if i find out you went to that party tonight, hyuck, and didn’t tell her the truth, i will.

Your stomach drops straight through the mattress.

Another buzz.

Yeji

i’m serious. how long are you gonna keep it from her that it was lia you cheated on her with?

you’re ruining our friendship!

And suddenly you’re not warm anymore.

Suddenly you’re freezing. And hollow. And very, very awake and out of the afterglow sex haze. 

You can’t breathe.

You feel sick. 

Are you sick? Are you dying? Are you about to have a fucking panic attack?

Because it feels like something has clawed its way into your chest and is now eating you alive from the inside out.

Lia?

It all makes sense. It all echoes.

“That sweet boy we both used to love.”

“He’s not yours anymore.”

The door creaks again. Hyuck walks back in, towel slung low on his hips. Completely clueless. 

“You okay?” he asks, soft and smiling. “Shower’s warm.”

You don’t answer because your heart is hammering against your ribs and because you physically, viscerally, cannot breathe.

His smile falters, just a touch.

And then you say it.

One word. One name.

“Lia?”

You’re not even sure if you want to scream at him, or sob, or laugh—because how dare he. How dare he touch you like that, kiss you like that, look at you like that, when he knew—he fucking knew—he’d fucked your best friend and said nothing.

The same best friend who held you while you cried over him for a year. Who told you it wasn’t your fault. Who had her arms wrapped around you less than an hour ago trying to comfort you about him. 

You hold out his phone, pointing to the screen. “You fucked my best friend, Hyuck?”

He freezes. He lifts an arm reaching out towards you or towards his phone, you can’t tell. Probably the phone to see how much you know so he can spin it. Twist it. Try to manipulate this—manipulate you—again.

“Angel—”

“My name is Y/N.”

The words are a blade. His hand drops.

“Y/N,” he breathes, swallowing thickly, “it’s not what it looks like—”

But it is. You both know it. 

“Yeji seems to think it’s exactly what it sounds like.”

And then it hits you. All over again. Yeji knew. Your other best friend. She knew. 

Did everyone know? Everyone you loved? Everyone you trusted? Everyone you thought was safe? 

And suddenly your knees give out. You drop to the floor, spine hitting the edge of the bed on the way down, but you don’t even register the pain. You’re already somewhere else, hands trembling, vision blurry, gasping like there’s no oxygen. 

That fucking necklace around your neck—the one he gave you, the one you swore you'd never take off—isn’t fucking helping. So you rip it off. The chain snapping in your fist and you throw it. It lands at his feet. 

It’s the first time you’ve taken it off since you were sixteen.

“Y/N—”

Hyuck’s voice sounds panicked now. Hurting. He kneels in front of you, eyes wide, reaching for you—

“Don’t you dare touch me!”

You flinch so hard you nearly hit the nightstand. You can’t stand the idea of him touching you now, even though you know there isn’t a part of you he hasn’t touched.

He freezes. Arm stopping in the air. His face furrowed. And you know that face. The face from the night, the one carved from guilt and horror and regret—but it’s too late.

It’s so late.

You’re sobbing now. And it’s ugly—gasping and choking and curling up on the floor. 

“I—I didn’t mean for it to happen like that,” he whispers. “I never wanted to hurt you—”

You laugh. Actually laugh.

“You didn’t want to hurt me?” You shake your head, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, spit and snot and mascara streaking your face.  “Hyuck, you fucked my best friend. And then you came here, tonight, and touched me like…like I was still yours.”

“You are—”

“No. No, I’m not!” You snap. “I don’t even know who I am right now. But I definitely am not—and never will be—yours again.”

“Please, Y/N,” he whispers. “Let me explain. It wasn’t—”

“You’ve had time to explain.” Your voice trembles, but the words are steel. “I gave you so much of myself. So much trust. So much love.” You swallow hard. “But it wasn’t enough, was it? You needed to fuck my best friend. And keep it from me. And somehow rope the other one into it too, so now—”

Your voice cracks.

“So now I can’t trust anyone.”

He opens his mouth, maybe to argue, maybe to lie, maybe to beg. But then he doesn’t. He doesn’t say a word. He just looks at you, regret written in every line of his stupid, beautiful face.

He doesn’t deny it. And that’s the last straw. You fold in on yourself. Arms wrapping tight around your knees as you bury your head and whisper: “I need you to leave.”

He doesn’t move.

You look up—eyes glassy, voice so quiet and weak.

“Get out, Hyuck. Now, please”

And this time, he listens. And you’re glad he listens. Because this time it feels different. This was it. The final fracture. Whatever you had with him? It’s dead now. You just wish you hadn’t kept it on life support for so long—wish you hadn’t clung so tightly to something already bleeding. 

That thousandth cut finally bled dry.

[taeeflwrr]

sam 𓆉 18 𓆉 she/her 𓆉 bts + nct

vmin biased | tae ult

sunflower ❁ valentine

nominhyuck

𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ ⋅𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝𓇼

love the moon, ocean, baking, and music ☾

current obsession: 'HAECHAN, 2025'

this blog is basically just fic reviews?

i read mostly hyuck fics! jeno and jaemin too

let's be friends!! ♡

[taeeflwrr]

god i love hyuck so bad

eight letters !

𝜗𝜚⋆₊ summary ! you have always been the type of person who never let’s anyone actually get too close, that is, until haechan makes you put all your walls down.

pairing ! nonidol!haechan x fem!reader.

genre ! kinda friends to lovers, angst, fluff.

warnings ! mention of alcohol, drunk haechan, reader has avoidant attachment, reader is a bit mean, a little of he fell first and harder, reader is younger for like two years, best friend jisung, description of panic attack, bullying, lmk if i missed smthg.

word count ! 11.8k

𝜗𝜚⋆₊ notes ! well, i used to be a why don't we fan and now that i can't listen to their music anymore,, the title is bc of their song, give my boys the chance of re-recording their music pls. anyway another haechan fic. this is also longer than what i had planned. also let me know what you think i appreciate your feedback !

i.

when you met lee donghyuck, your first thought was ‘can’t believe anyone would be his friend.’

the concept of the word ‘friend’ is simple: a person with whom one has a bond of mutual affection, for you, the implication of a gentle feeling of liking, was complicated.  

ever since you were a little kid, you would prefer to spend your time alone, the mere implication of having to interact with another human being and define it ‘pleasant’ was a very stressful task. for you, making friends was a waste of time and you couldn’t understand the worried look on older people’s eyes because you had none.

‘ignore them, i want to be alone’ that’s what you though, you remember the first time you tried it out, a four year old with a deer plushie behind her mom as she dropped you in daycare, a bigger kid walking to you as soon as your mom left, calling you her ‘new friend’ receiving a disgusted reaction from you, then she tried sharing her toys but you simply ignored her and sat there holding onto your deer staring at nothing.  

in kindergarten, it was exactly what you would do, and when other kids were crying, being too loud or even just sitting too close to you, you’d get annoyed. there was an exception, a shy crying boy of whom you took a liking, mostly because he would change his strawberry milk with you but also because he was quiet, so he became the only kid you could tolerate. 

living in the same zone and studying at the same school, made you form a friendship with that little boy, and you would say that even years later when you turned into a teenager, nothing really changed. that shy crying boy who doesn’t cry much anymore has become your best friend, you two would spend all your time together, and you would ignore anyone else who tried to talk to you, because you didn’t care about making other friends, and you considered that one real friend was enough. 

so you’d have to thank your best friend, park jisung, he is the reason you met donghyuck in the first place. 

you met him a couple of years ago, on your second week at college to be more exact, you could recall that moment from your memory. it had been quite hard to adapt to the campus life, it was something totally new, far away from everything you used to know but you knew you were going to be okay, as long as jisung was by your side. that day, even though it was nothing special, you’d go to the cafeteria to meet up with your best friend for lunch.

 it had been a long week, so naturally you were happy you could eat together and finally talk about anything. when you entered the cafeteria, it took you around ten seconds to ubicate where jisung was, sitting beside a shorter boy who was laughing at something your best friend had said, his laugh was loud and it seemed to attract everyone’s attention. your first thought was ‘oh, he already made new friends’ and you were good with that but it made you hesitate to approach him for a second, because what you did not like was him trying to make you have new friends.  

after taking a deep breath, you decided to at least try, so you walked to the table and sat there with them, finally getting the chance to see him properly. you weren’t going to lie, he was easy on the eyes, his brown hair gently falling over his forehead above his pretty brown eyes distracted you for a second. cause even though he seemed to be really nice to jisung, god, not even five minutes in and you have already decided he was the living example of the definition of ‘obnoxious’ and as normal, you decided you didn’t like him. 

you loved your best friend, you would say he is the only person that you care for, but no matter how much you love him, there was no way you’d be friends with his new ‘cool’ friend. 

first of all because you couldn’t understand why anybody would want to be friends with someone so loud. 

even though you have always liked to be alone, for some reason, you had no problem with being with jisung, he is very similar to you, quiet, introverted and in his own world. yet, he can make friends easily, you think it is mainly because of his generous nature, people are drawn to him. 

“ji, can you-. . .” before you could even finish your sentence, he was already switching his strawberry milk with your banana one, earning a smile from you.

“why would you even ask,” he rolled his eyes as he sat beside you, “sometimes i think you only like me for the strawberry milk.”

you were about to say something about how that is not even true when a loud ‘dude’ was heard in the whole cafeteria, naturally your eyes searched for the culprit, noticing him sitting a few tables away laughing with his group of friends. ‘that’s the coolest shirt i have ever seen’ as you heard his voice again you couldn’t stop yourself from rolling your eyes. 

“how can you even like him?” you asked your best friend without taking your eyes off donghyuck, he seemed to attract the attention of everyone. 

“who?” he was not even looking at you but at his banana milk while opening it, “hyuck?” it seems like a coincidence, as soon as he said his name, the boy whose name it was and that you were staring at, locked eyes with you before flashing you a dimple-showing smile.

you immediately shook your head as a barely audible ‘iugh’ left your lips, “yes, he’s so. . .-” you tilted your head as you thought about what word should you say, ‘annoying’? yes he is but that’s not the one, ‘in need of attention’? no, that’s a phrase. . . ‘sung’ oh, his voice again.

he was standing in front of you, smiling at your best friend and before he could say anything, “loud, he’s so loud,” you muttered, standing up as you took your strawberry milk, not even sparing a glance at the older boy before leaving the cafeteria. 

-

something you would never understand is why would anyone try so hard to be liked by someone they don’t even know? 

you wouldn’t say you are a nice person, you tend to ignore everyone unless you actually like them, so it was strange to see donghyuck being nice to you when you were the opposite to him. he was so unlikeable, loud, annoying, talkative, but the worst of all he is incredibly nice. 

every time you saw him around the campus he would smile at you and you, of course, would act like you didn’t even see him. you would blatantly show your disgust when you would be looking around the cafeteria and he would wave his hand trying to get you to sit with him, and you, without blinking, would choose to sit far away from him. you ignore his presence, you would be with jisung and he would appear and talk to the both of you, you would leave not even saying bye to your best friend. 

but a month later, you started to feel bad about your attitude with donghyuck. it was new, every time your best friend tried to introduce someone and you ignored them, they would stop but he didn't. 

so one day when you were walking around the campus looking for a spot to sit and listen to some music, you saw him sitting under a tree with a laptop in his lap, as soon as he saw you, he waved his hand and motioned for you to sit down with him. and you were about to ignore him, why would you even consider another option than walking away? but that’s when you really saw him for the first time, a glimpse of sadness in his face as his smile faltered and brow furrowed.

you stood there, looking at your shoes for a few seconds, starting to wonder if you should go and sit with him, maybe give the loud and talkative boy another chance and have an actual conversation. you shook your head and then, before you would change your mind, you took decisive steps towards him and sat down beside him. 

“hi,” even if you were trying to be friendly, your voice sounded monotonous, you had no idea what you were going to say to him but you were already there.

his face was adorned by a very notorious confused expression, his head was tilted and his eyes were wide open, he looked like a cute deer, “wow, you didn’t ignore me this time,” he mumbled more to himself than to you. 

you looked away for a second, “yea, maybe i should apologise for that,” you nodded a couple of times before continuing, “sorry for ignoring you, that was a bit rude of me-. . .”

“a bit?” he interrupted you, raising an eyebrow while looking directly into your eyes, and even though you admit you feel bad, you still couldn’t find a reason to like him.

you opened your mouth to say it but a quick debate in your own head made you not to, “well, very rude, sorry,” it was awkward, at least for you, who has never apologised to someone for ignoring them, or at least not without being forced by your mom or jisung, “is a honest apology, don’t mean you have to accept it,” as you felt he was going to say something, you motioned your hand before quickly adding, “doesn’t mean i'm going to sit with you or talk to you, you are jisung’s friend, not mine.” 

he seemed a bit taken back with your words, his eyes blinking a couple of times and his mouth opened as a barely audible ‘oh’ slipped from his lips, “can-. . . umm,” he cleared his throat, “can i ask why?” 

“i don’t like you,” you simply said, not feeling the necessity of explaining your reason further, he was just not someone very likeable, even if the whole campus would disagree with you.

“oh-. . . but why? i don’t-. . . haven’t done anything to you,” it was strange, why was he so fixated on this, oh maybe he is one of those who wants everybody to like him, you thought. he was looking at you for some answer you wouldn’t give him.

you sighed, “most people would say you are nice, i don’t exactly disagree,” you shook your head, “but you are too loud,” he was listening to you carefully, “and draw too much attention,” you pointed at him, you decided to talk to him because he was alone, and everybody knows that’s unusual.

he was silent for a couple of seconds, as if he was processing your words, “i can be quiet too, you know,” he said offering you a dimple-showing smile. 

you didn’t expect your reaction to be a silent laugh that escaped your lips, rolling your eyes as the words did from your tongue, “except you can’t,”and then, without waiting for him to say something, you smiled at him for the first time as you left him sitting there alone.

-

you thought that the insignificant conversation would cause him to stop being nice to you, but for some reason it seemed like he really couldn’t bear not being liked by everybody. 

stubborn, that’s what jisung would call you sometimes, ‘cause you refused to give his new best friend a chance. you could name at least two reasons to not like donghyuck, yes, you can think more but he was simply not worth your time, and for you, those two were really valid. 

you knew that there was an external force plotting against you, cause lately you would see donghyuck more than you would like. and of course, you didn’t need to be the smartest person in the room to know that the ‘external force’ has a shape and name, the tall couple of months younger boy, you call best friend, park jisung.

for example, for the past two months, your best friend has been inviting you to hang out, without any specific reason, not that you would complain about spending time with him. and you did notice that lately, every time you had ‘plans’ with him, donghyuck would appear out of nowhere. sometimes he would be just on his way to the same place as you, or he would also have plans with your best friend, and casually, decide to walk with you to his dorm. 

that not very strategic plan, was not going to be successful, jisung is not that smart, how could he try to get you like donghyuck? it was not going to happen. 

the small knowledge you had about donghyuck was learned by accident or because jisung slipped it in a conversation, but what you didn’t expect was to have something in common with him, some people would say life is full of surprises.

“jisung, you are no longer my best friend,” you said as you closed the door of his room. finding him sitting on the floor in front of his bed with a very happy donghyuck by his left side playing mario kart.  

without even sparing a glance at you, he said, “oh, don’t be so dramatic.”

ignoring the ‘hi, yn’ from the other presence in the room, you sat down in his bed with a loud sigh.

two minutes later, as you saw that your best friend was winning the game, you quickly took his controller off his hands and ran out the room. a loud ‘i won’ from the older male was heard the minute you stopped at the front door.

“yn, give me back the controller.” he said, reaching at you with his hands. 

you stuck out your tongue at him, hiding the controller behind your back the minute he was getting closer to you, “no, you said you were going to watch the series with me today,” you pointed at him.

“yes, but i also made plans with hyuck an-. . .” you let out a loud gasp, putting one of your hands over your chest, as donghyuck stood by the door watching the two of you. 

you looked at the boy mentioned, he simply shrugged his shoulders as he stared only at you, a small hidden part of you thought that maybe he could watch the series with you two, he has to keep his mouth shut and then you would finally get jisung to watch it after two weeks of begging. “you made plans with me first!” you were about to throw a tantrum, and you would if that unwanted presence weren't there.  

”let me play one last game,” you rolled your eyes, not believing a word he’s saying, “and then we’ll watch building murderers or whatever,” as you were about to make him picky promise you, donghyuck voice caught your attention.

“you want to watch only murders in the building?” he asked you, a tiny drop of genuine curiosity could be heard in his voice. 

you slowly nodded, “i already watched the first season and there’s the new episodes of the second one-. . .” you stopped yourself before getting too excited about the series, “ i just want jisung to watch it an-. . .”

the taller boy interrupted you, “she wants someone to talk about it.” he said, trying, again, to take the controller out of your hands only for you to hit him in his arm before he could do it.

“i didn’t expect jan to be the killer, you know,” that was the last thing you expected the older boy to say but it made you look at him.

blinking a couple of times before turning your whole body around to talk with him, “it was so so obvious! what are you even talking about. . .” 

if someone had told you that some day, you would have an interesting conversation with donghyuck, you would never believe it, but it was indeed a surprise, at least for you, having something in common to talk about with him. 

-

for you, people who would try too hard to be liked by others are mostly fake and shouldn’t be trusted. 

you swear you weren’t planning on eavesdropping, you just happened to be sitting there close to him and his other friends. even though you have never cared about other people’s conversation, damn not even when people talked to you. 

“dude, you have to come tonight,” that characteristic ‘dude’ and the tone of the voice, you could tell it was mark. yes, you didn’t care about meeting other people but you knew all of jisung’s new friends.  

“c’mon, you can watch that series later or something,” this time it was jaemin talking. as you were about to put your headphones on and just ignore the noise, mark’s voice caught your attention. 

“do you really think she is going to like you just cause you watch the same show?” was the ‘she’ he was talking about, you? no, it doesn’t make any sense, why would he try so hard for you to like him? “dude yn probably doesn’t care you watched it just for her.”

you shake your head as you decided to stop listening, “dude, are you like in love?” no, it wasn’t that, it would be ridiculous for him, and honestly you didn’t care about his answer, so you got up and walked to your dorm. 

you couldn’t deny how curious you were after hearing that conversation, if it was true that donghyuck watched the series just so you would stop ignoring him and have something in common, you would feel a bit weird. you really could not understand why he was trying so hard for you. 

- 

you can’t trust in someone who is friends to all, ‘cause that means he is actually friends to none. 

yes, you may have taken the taylor swift lyric as advice, but so many people would agree with her, and you are one of them. the process of making friends involves something called ‘morality values’ and being friendly towards people who don't share the same values as you, it’s clearly someone who doesn’t have integrity. however, you do understand that there are people who are polite to others even when they don’t like them. 

so there you were, narrowing your eyes, staring directly at him, some guy you don’t even know and don’t care to do so, while he was having a friendly conversation with donghyuck. you didn’t like him and in another occasion you wouldn't even acknowledge his presence but he was talking with someone who is supposed to be jisung’s friend. 

you remember that day when you went to look for your best friend at the soccer field, you had plans with him but first you would see him play, he mentioned wanting you to be there supporting him, of course you said ‘no, i don’t even like sports.’ so there you were, outside the lockers waiting for him. 

closing and opening the same apps to try and bare the waiting, some voices could be heard it wasn’t until you recognized jisung’s voice that you paid attention to what they were saying. ‘can you leave me alone, please’ it was your best friend, his voice was not as loud as the others but as soon as you heard it you stepped closer to the door, ‘oh, little boy is scared’ was this some kind of joke? you hoped so, ‘your girlfriend is not here, neither your boyfriend’ as you heard something that sounded like someone being punched, you quickly entered the room.

when you entered, the first thing you eyes searched for was jisung, finding him against the lockers with two boys around him, as you eyes found his, he was pleading you to leave, but that was not going to happen, “jisung,” he was clearly punched in his stomach, “move-. . .”

“yn, it’s oka-. . .” he interrupted you, not finishing his sentence as he saw you pushing the two boys. you stepped on your tiptoes to hold his face, your eyes searching for some bruise or something.

“your girlfriend came this time but-. . .” you rolled your eyes when you heard his voice, turning around to see him standing in front of you, “she won’t always be here.” 

“oh, shut up,” you pushed his shoulder with one hand, as the other went to hold jisung’s hand, pulling him with you, “as if we are scared of a stupid idiot, move.”

as you were walking with jisung towards the door, you saw donghyuck, who seemed to have entered when you did. 

now, you could not understand what he was thinking as he was having a friendly conversation with that boy, when it comes to jisung, everything it’s personal, so you can’t believe anyone would be his friend.

ii.

if someone asked you what is lee donghyuck in your life, you would probably say ‘a really good friend.’

the concept of ‘befriending’ consists of: acting as a friend to someone by offering help or support, for you, accepting help from someone else, is not very easy.

ever since you were a little kid, you would assure adults you could do anything on your own, it didn’t matter if you knew you could not do it, you would try to. sometimes even after you failed, you would refuse to seek help. maybe this was something you learned from your mother, she was always strong, and for you, she would do anything.

‘i am okay, i can do it’ is what you always tell yourself, you remember the first time you repeated that phrase in your head like a mantra, you were around ten years old when you got lost at a school event, your unstable breathing, your heart beating so fast in your chest, and your whole body trembling, it was the first time you had a panic attack, you don’t remember well what happened next, just a very worried teacher and a crying jisung. 

you would say, that made you close yourself even more at the idea of new things, and helped you to be more observant. one perk of being able to sit down, quiet and going unnoticed, was observing other people, and in that way you can learn about them, their mannerisms, likes and dislikes, even notice little things they don’t. 

for sure, you can not exactly pinpoint when you had changed your mind from ‘iugh, how can anyone be his friend’ to ‘hyuck is my friend’ but now, after observing lee donghyuck for around a year, you would say that he genuinely cares, and then acts nonchalant about it.

short version of the things you hate list: noise, people, tomatoes (for some reason) and a sad jisung. you loved your best friend and would do anything for him, even if that meant getting out of your comfort zone, so when he insisted on going to his friend’s party, you said no but when the day came, you dressed up and went to his dorm. 

and he knew you like the back of his hand, parties weren’t your type of thing so he promised he would not dare to leave your side. you felt a little bit bad though, he probably wanted to go and chat with his friends or maybe participate in the games, but he was stuck at your side.

so as the twenty first minutes went by and the precious ning yizhuo came to talk to the both of you, you knew she mostly wanted to talk to jisung. and the minute you saw your best friend blushing, you felt like it was time to leave them to have time together. you may not know where to go but it didn’t matter, you were nineteen years old, you can spend at least five minutes alone at a party, right? 

while they were busy talking about zodiac signs or whatever people your age used to flirt with, you excused yourself from the conversation, and left to go to a less crowded place.

except, you couldn’t find a quieter place, as you walked away from yet another room where strangers were all over each other, you felt your hands tingling and you knew you were starting to feel bad. you blinked a few times, trying to concentrate on leaving the house, but as the time passed it was getting even more difficult to breathe. 

‘i’m okay, keep walking’ was the only thing you kept repeating to yourself in your mind, as you ignored the constricted feeling growing in your chest and walked through a small crowd of sweaty dancing bodies, the sensation of as if you were being choked was unbearable.  

you wondered why you could not be like other people while you were concentrating in taking deep breaths to calm yourself, you don’t like being in crowded places, or being around many people. when you thought you were calming down, a strong feeling of danger clouded your mind and as the touch of something wrapped around your wrist, you became even more anxious, your instinct to hit whoever was touching you was quick. 

when you turned around to hit and run from that person, you saw donghyuck standing in front of you with both hands up, worry took over his facetures. you did notice he was talking as you saw his lips were moving, but you couldn't hear anything. still you forced yourself to say, “i am okay.”

he shook his head, “you are not okay, you're shaking. what can i do? please, just let me help you." the older boy slowly stepped closer and motioned to his hand, and you for some reason you trusted him so you simply let him do whatever he was thinking of doing. 

he used both of his hands to hold your face, looking at your face for a couple of seconds, he knew something was wrong. your whole body language was very clear but he needed to check if you were physically hurt, as he was checking for any wound or something alike, you finally found the strength to talk, “can-. . . i want to leave.”

before he could even react, your hand reached for his, who was still holding your face, so he smiled at you, nodding and as you were passing through a sea of bodies to get to the front door, his hold on your hand was stronger. 

once you were standing outside of the party house, he waited a couple of minutes, giving you time for you to come back to your senses. the first thing you noticed the moment you calmed down, was that both of his hands were caressing yours.

“umm. . . sorry,” you cleared your throat, “thank you, donghyuck,” it was the first time calling him by his name, and it didn’t feel awkward, “you can. . . go back inside, i-. . .” 

he interrupted you ”oh, the party was boring”, shaking his head, “i was on my way home,” you felt a little glad he helped you when he pulled away from you, letting your hands fall by your sides and started walking. 

as he walked you home that night, talking about a new series he started watching just to distract you from your own mind, you thought that maybe his loudness wasn’t that bad. you’d like to think that was the moment you started to grow fond of him, when you started to see him as a friend.

-

since you met him, you never believed the ‘nice act’ he would put on but now, you would say he’s actually nice. 

when you are stressed you tend to not eat, not because you aren’t hungry or something like that, it’s because you don’t find the time. as of now, you were starving, since you woke up this morning, you decided to spend your day studying in the campus library, it was exams week and you have a very important french history test, but you couldn’t get yourself to remember anything of what you were reading. 

while you were reading the same paragraph you have been trying to memorize, someone placed a strawberry milk and a croissant in front of you. 

"did you eat today?" you heard hyuck’s voice as you put the book down, he was sitting at the chair by your side while drinking an iced coffee. 

you blinked a couple of times, your eyes going from him to the things he placed in front of you, “i. . .- thank you,” a grateful smile took over your facetures. 

“it’s just cause jaemin canceled on me, that was for him,” he shrugged his shoulders as he reached to open the milk for you, another ‘thank you’ left your lips before taking a bite of the croissant. 

he took the book you were reading, acting as if it was interesting but as you drank your strawberry milk you saw through his ‘nonchalant act’, no one believes that when he is the most chalant person ever.  

-

even someone who’s used to do everything alone, there were times when you couldn’t like when you are at the supermarket and you want something for the top shelf, when you are peacefully living and out nowhere you see a cockroach or when you are so sick you can’t leave your dorm and buy medicine. at times like these, there was only one person you would ask for help, your best friend. 

you would say there’s a couple of things worse than being sick, that is having a flu when you are on your period and on top of that not having any medicine, so you did the only thing you could, you texted jisung so he could do it for you.

“holy shit,” oh god, there was that loud voice again, “i thought you were dead! never do that to me again!” you heard hyuck’s voice as you opened your dorm door, with a blanket over your shoulders as you hugged yourself. 

“don’t,” you said as you felt like your head was going to explode,  “leave me alone,” you let out a dramatic cry, “i thought you were ji,” as you were to close the door, he gently pushed you away so he could enter the dorm. 

he put his hands over your shoulders, “sung told me to bring you the medicine,” as he made you walk to your bed and lay down, “i. . .- there’s also soup, really efficient my grandma made it,” you looked at him as he was taking the things out of the bag and putting it over your nightstand.

“ji? why did he send you, i asked him to do it,” you said closing your eyes, clearing your sore throat, “also. . . your grandma?” 

he shook his head, handing you the medicine and  a water bottle, “yea, my brother is also sick so. . . just take your medicine, “ he said as he opened the bottle, “i have to go, text me if you need anything else.”

that moment, as he left your dorm, you couldn’t even express how grateful you felt to have him in your life, he was indeed a good friend. you would say, since that day, he became the second person you’d trust the most and would ask him for something if jisung couldn’t do it. 

-

for you, changing your mind about certain things is impossible, so you still couldn’t understand why he was friendly with everybody. while being his friend, you noticed how he always try to evade conflicts with other people and would just let them walk over him sometimes.

the second you found out why he tries so hard to be liked, you knew it was your turn to care about him. 

getting to know lee donghyuck was way different than how you expected, since the minute you met him, you thought he was like an open book and that he was easy to read, but turns out he wasn’t. knowing he was the type of kid who was always left out and hearing him say he never wanted to be alone again, you decided you were always going to be his friend, kind of like you are with jisung. 

“is now a bad time to tell you i’m claustrophobic?” you heard hyuck’s whisper as you were peeking through the closet door, his breathing hitting the back of your head while he was nervously fidgeting with his hands. 

you turned around to look at him, not minding how close you were, “and what-. . . god,” you were never again helping him to prank someone, “just-. . . here, hold my hand,” you didn’t know how to help him, so you extended your hand hoping it would help him somehow, he gently took it and started playing with your fingers. 

oh, to understand how you got into that situation, it was because you received an “i need help, 911, someone help me,” text from him. you should have known better after he told you jisung refused to help, so there you were in mark’s closet hiding from him, because hyuck’s great idea of a prank did not go well.

as you were thinking about a way to distract your friend from panicking, you laughed at your own joke before saying it to him, “are you finally coming out the closet? i knew you liked mark but you didn’t need to make it so literally.” 

“he. . .-” before he could finish saying anything, the closet door was opened, mark staring at both of you with a not surprised expression on his face, “why are you guys in the closet,”

“so. . .- you know i am such a great friend and i was helping him with his claustrophobia,” you said letting hyuck’s hand go and stepping out the closet, “as his roommate you should kno. . .”

“so it has nothing to do with the box of fake snakes that is on my bed,” he interrupted you, pointing out the box.

you closed your mouth, pushing your friend towards mark, “his idea, i have nothing to do with that,” you quickly walked out their shared apartment, as you motioned your hands as goodbye.

-

when you celebrate your birthday it always goes the same way: jisung buys a cake, sings happy birthday, sometimes a gift and that’s it. and to celebrate his birthday, it’s also the same, sometimes a diner with his other friends but nothing too big. now that you have another friend, there’s another type of birthday but there’s a big difference this time, he does like big celebrations. 

so there you were with your best friend, at donghyuck and mark’s shared apartment, many balloons scattered all over the floor as you guys were thinking about how to decorate the living room. you are not used to doing all of this, but here you were going over the top with a birthday party. 

“maybe we should move the table to. . .-” you stopped talking as you heard the front door opening, you saw jisung with a panicked expression over his face before turning around and finding donghyuck’s eyes looking at the balloons and then to the both of you. 

“you guys. . .” his voice full of emotion as he opened his arms waiting for a group hug, you pushed jisung towards him, there was no way you were going to hug hyuck when he was all sentimental. 

“why are you here? jaemin was supposed to keep you busy” you said, walking to sit on the couch, as hyuck squeezed the hell out of your best friend. you were going to kill jaemin, he had one job and it was the easiest! never again including his other friends in a surprise.

even though he was very happy, you were sulking because your surprise had failed, a pout adorning your face as you were sitting there listening to hyuck expressing how grateful he was to have both of you as his friends. 

-

who would have thought that after two years of knowing donghyuck he would became the second person you trust the most, you would still get annoyed by his presence sometimes, but it was normal, it would happen with jisung too, so being friends with him for around a year made you realise how wrong you were when you met him, you would say that now, you can understand why anyone would be his friend. 

the cold breeze made you shiver as you stepped out jisung’s dorm building, hyuck by your side as he was going to walk you back to your dorm, your best friend wanted to ‘celebrate’ your friendship and decided to make a home cooked meal to do that, but after trying his food, you decided you would never let him near a kitchen again. 

“oh god, i could sue him for food poisoning,” you groaned, even though you tried only a bite and then decided to buy some pizza, you could still smell the horrible pasta he had made. 

“how can someone mess up cooking pasta?” he said laughing and it was true, cooking pasta is one of the easiest things ever. 

“it’s jisung we are talking about, hyuck,” his nickname was barely a whisper as you felt his hand gently take around your wrist for a couple of seconds, guiding you to the other side of the sidewalk. you felt your mind going blank for a second, before looking directly at him, “i thought you were mean for a long time, you know,” you confessed, taking him by surprise. 

“mean?” he let out a barely audible laugh, “really?” you could see he was taken aback by your words, but he still looked at you and smiled.

“you were too nice with everyone,” you shrugged your shoulders and rolled your eyes as he whispered ‘most people are nice’, “no, but for me you were so fake, hated that jisung was close to you.”

“oh? that sounds like you were jealous,” he said, getting close to your face to say the last word, “do- you. . .” cleared his throat, hesitated to say what was on his mind, “do you like him?”

“jisung? oh god no,”  you fake vomited as you shook your hands, “he’s like a brother to me, you know. . . and no, i was not jealous,” you were about to hit him in his arm but he was faster than you and moved before you could, “it’s just. . . i remember you were nice to that idiot.”

he stopped walking, staring at you with his head tilted, “who?”

“you know, the one that was bullying jisung,” you said, stopping in front of him, even though you were close friends now,and jisung never cared about that, you did, and it definitely bothered you. 

“oh,” it was barely audible but you were close enough to hear it, “yn, i-. . . i was not being nice with him,” you opened your mouth to say something, he was not going to take you for crazy, but he quickly said, “i told the dean about it, so he was going to be suspended,” oh, so that’s what the conversation was about, “he was trying to convince me to talk with jisung. . . and i was not letting him get close to sung,” you really misjudged him, “sung would probably forgive him or something.”

you definitely knew you should apologize to him, because two years ago you were the rudest person to him, the sweetest person who could ever exist. you were grateful that donghyuck was part of jisung’s life. . . and yours. 

iii.

lately you have been thinking that lee donghyuck may be the best thing that has ever happened to you. 

the concept of ‘best thing’ does not exactly imply someone, is just something that’s amazing, innovative, or extremely useful, also could be say one of the greatest inventions or ideas. for you, hyuck is amazing, and that is no good.

it’s been years, four to be more exact, since you saw donghyuck for the first time in the cafeteria and many things have changed. 

for example, your best friend left the college dorm and moved into hyuck and mark’s apartment, you would describe them as ‘dumb, dumber and even more dumber’ trio, everyone is surprised when you tell ‘em that dumb is hyuck, and the other two are mark and jisung.

them being roommates made you, naturally, interact more with mark and their other friends, they weren’t that bad, except when they are all together because they would be really loud and that’s when you leave, too much noise for you. so, you would say, you are more social now. 

also, you are closer to donghyuck now, sometimes jisung would joke about how you have forgotten about him and often says something like ‘hyuck replaced me’ and has now taken his place as your best friend. it’s not totally a lie, recently you have been spending more time with hyuck and you would say that the dynamic between the both of you has shifted a little ‘cause you have started to pay more attention to him, and you would say there are three things that you have noticed, first of all he knows you better than anyone else, and he would probably say the same to you. 

there are some things you think are never going to change, like how uncomfortable you feel in crowded places, it’s exhausting. still, you would try to have a good time with your friends. it was mark’s 25th birthday and of course your friends wanted to celebrate with more than a dinner, donghyuck did everything to convince you to go, mentioning how you could leave early if you wanted, so there you were at an amusement park, the friend group consisting of mark, jaemin, chenle, hyuck, jisung, ning and, of course, you.

you can’t deny you have had a great time, going from one ride to another, laughing at hyuck for being scared of heights while he pouts over mark calling him ‘a baby’ and you saying ‘i think i’m going to stay here, i’m tired, you guys go’ just to not let hyuck wait for the group alone. around four hours later, it was finally lunch time and not only were most of you starving, you guys were also tired, your feet hurt from the waiting lines and the walking all around the park. so after eating the group decided to separate for an hour to do whatever everyone wanted before sticking to the itinerary chenle had made. 

mark and jaemin wanted to try some food they had seen when they arrived at the park, chenle wanted to buy some things for his partner, jisung and ning wanted to do some couple’s things you don’t even remember. you thought about sitting on a bench and just stare at nothing for an hour, but donghyuck had different plans, he dragged you to a photobooth with the excuse of ‘we have been friends for years and barely any pic together’ then, he bought ice cream and you finally had your ‘staring at nothing’ time. 

it was nice being with hyuck in silence, while you were people watching, he was on his phone doing something you don’t even know what. you would say that it had only passed fifteen minutes when the older boy stood up in front of you and muttered ‘let’s go’. as soon as you stood, donghyuck started walking, not without making sure you were close enough to not get lost in the crowd. when passing a busy crowd, you got closer enough to even touch hyuck’s back, you felt like holding your breath until you saw jisung waving his hand at the both of you.

the group was at the waiting line of the racing cars, as soon as you both joined the group, you heard mark’s voice “yo,” he said, a little too loud, “are you guys, like, finally together?” what is he even talking about, you must have been clearly confused as ning pointed out your hands and said, “you guys are holding hands.”

oh, it must have happened when you were walking past that busy crowd, your hands must have been entwining on their own, how could you not notice that? you stared at your hands for a second before hearing jaemin say, “we have enough with ning and jisung, no more couples,” you quickly let go of his hand, as hyuck cleared his throat, “it’s not like that, she’s so dumb i thought i could lose her in the crowd.”

yeah, sure, “why are you both blushing then,” chenle pointed out making you turn to look at hyuck, his cheeks were indeed covered with a light pink blush, it was new, at least for you, you shook your head ignoring whatever they were saying and walked to jisung who elbowed you while smiling, with a ‘something happened?’ in his eyes, you motioned your hand telling him to ‘stop’ with your eyes.

…

“i told you that you’d have a great time,” hyuck’s voice could be heard over the phone as you were listening to his voice note, while you were talking off your makeup. you were finally at home and even though you’d usually wouldn’t answer the messages after spending the whole day with them, but right now you were more than happy to be talking with him.

“oh, shut up,” you started the voice note playfully, “it was nice tho,” you said as you were fiddling with the bottom of your shirt, “thank u for inviting me.”

you decided to take a quick shower before continuing to talk with hyuck, around ten minutes later you walked out the bathroom and went directly to check your phone, not stopping the smile forming on your face as soon as you saw a message from him. 

he only sends voice notes, he barely texts but when you heard the “always, yn,” you felt nervous, his voice sounded different as he was saying your name. you stared at the screen for a couple of minutes, writing a ‘it’s late, night!” text, and laying on your bed.

not even five seconds later he had already answered you, with another voice note, you took a deep breath before pressing play “good night, angel,”  your mind went blank for a minute, it was the first time he called you like that, what is wrong with this man today? you asked yourself as you put your phone on your nightstand.

you closed your eyes trying to calm yourself and stop the smile that was forming on your face as you realised that suddenly you wanted to fall in love.

 in love with lee donghyuck. 

-

there’s always a time of the year when you would feel bad, not physically, but mentally. you are not very sure what caused it this time, maybe it was that your grades have dropped down and that caused you to be even more stressed. it could also be that you were needing time to understand your feelings, realising that you may like donghyuck was something you were trying to forget, those feelings weren’t necessary, he was your friend, nothing more. 

if you checked your phone you would probably see all the unanswered messages you have, from your mom, jisung and hyuck, who has also tried to call you but you weren’t going to answer. even though you would say you were feeling better than the day before, you still decided to skip the only morning class you had. 

you wish you could skip the rest of the day, but french history is the only one you don’t care about. so for you to say you were surprised to see hyuck passing back and forth in front of your door at noon, was an understatement. 

before you could say anything, he stood in front of you, “please don’t shut me out right now,” you were taken aback, his voice sounded like pleading, you stare at him for a second, noticing a little frown on his face, his dishevelled hair, that you can imagine it’s for passing his hand through it several times. 

“i-. . . what are you talking about?” you asked as you closed the door behind you, nervously playing with your finger avoiding his eyes. 

he got closer to you, making you step back until your back was touching your dorm door, “i was giving you time ‘cause i thought you were avoiding me for. . .” he shook his head, letting out a breathy laugh, “but, jisung is also worried, you don’t answer him either.”

“i’m okay,” you simply said, shaking your head before gently moving past him, trying to go to your class. 

his hand around your wrist made you stop, “don’t lie to me, yn,” he made you turn around, this time your eyes did met, “c’mon, what’s going on,” it took you a few seconds before you actually told him how you were feeling, avoiding the ‘i may like you more than a friend’ part. he listened attentively, not interrupting you once and when you finished talking, his arms quickly surrounded you, hugging you tightly.

and that’s when you thought, hyuck is your friend, and you know that as long as you have him, you will always know what a real friend is. 

and you refused to ruin that.

-

of all the five languages of love, you would say you are good in. . . none, and for you, to be loved and cherished out loud is what donghyuck deserves.

since you met him, you knew he was a loud person and now you can say, he is a loud lover. and not even in terms of romance, he’s always letting his friends know how loved and appreciated they are, celebrating every little thing they archived. as of right now, he was walking you home after a friendly hang out to celebrate ‘jisung’s first time cooking something edible’ it was stupid but he insisted on going to the mall and celebrating.

you felt his hand on yours as you were crossing the street, you ignore it, thinking he would let it go once you reached the other side but he didn’t, “just to clarify,” he cleared his throat making you look at him, “me holding your hand doesn’t mean anything,” he moved your holding hands at your eye level, “not in that way, unless. . . you want it to mean something, i don’t mind, that’s cool” you bite the inside of your cheek to not laugh at him, still you couldn’t stop the giggles that escaped from your lips.

you’d feel totally happy if it weren’t for that small voice inside your head you were trying to block out, but the thought of knowing you weren’t meant to love him, was ringing too loud in your mind. you wish you could be as loud as he is, that you could make him feel loved like he makes you feel. 

you realised you were too deep in your thoughts the second he squeezed your hand, noticing you were right outside your dorm building. you blinked a couple of times before looking at him, who was already smiling at you, a light pink blush adorning his cute cheeks. you stood on your tiptoes to put your arms around his neck, hugging him tightly, it was the first time you initiated a hug, he let out a breathy laugh.

“oh, this is new,” he said as his arms went to hold you by your waist, he hid his face on your neck and you could feel his smile. but you couldn't feel as happy as him, you were hoping he wouldn’t notice it, for you, this hug felt like the last one. “i’m not going anywhere,” he joked, you quickly pulled back, he let out a barely audible sound of disappointment but still smiled at you, holding your hand again. 

you reciprocated his smile, how could you not when he looked so happy, and that got you wondering, not only you were loved by donghyuck you also have a really good group of friends, do you really deserve to be treated like that by them? that thought was too loud to ignore.

iv.

lee donghyuck is the best thing that has ever happened to you. 

the concept of ‘worthy of something’ may be complicated, you have to be good enough to deserve something, or that’s what you think. for you, a person worthy of love is hyuck; someone who’s kind, understanding, genuine and caring and you may have ruined it

you were taught that to have something special, you have to deserve it. once, when you were ten years old, you went home with a shiny bracelet some kid had gifted you on the playground, it was your first time playing with that little boy and for some reason he gave you the bracelet, you liked it, how could you say ‘no’? 

but your mom thought differently, when you went to the kitchen and excitedly told her the story, you remember her words very clearly, ‘you don’t deserve to have that’ then she made you go to the park the next day to find that kid and give it back to him.

since then, every time you are buying groceries, clothes or anything, those words repeat in your head. so you avoid expensive or shiny things, because you can’t think of a moment when you have been deserving of something good. you would say that’s your excuse for why you have been donghyuck, he is too good for you and you don’t deserve it.

as the cold of the night made you shiver, you could be found all curled up in your bed staring at your phone screen. it was a friday night and no one was surprised you texted ‘i have the flu’ in the groupchat for the third time in a row, when they were making plans. as much as you hated to admit it, you couldn’t stop thinking about him, feeling sad while looking at the few photos you have of him on your phone.

you had a movie playing to make some background noise and you couldn’t believe there was a time you hated his loudness, ‘cause now, you can’t bear this silence.

as you cross upon a video you don’t even remember you had recorded, it was the week jisung had moved into their shared apartment, you were lying by his side on his bed. filming the both of you eating some chocolate cookies he had offer you, when out of nowhere you hear donghyuck’s voice ‘i’m going to kill you’ you turn the camera and a few seconds later, he makes his appearance, he was wearing a cat pyjamas and with his dishevelled hair falling over his eyed made him look so cute, ‘you ate my cookies’ he yelled as he pointed at both of you.

you giggle as you watch the video a couple of times more, pausing the video to stare at him for a minute, how could he be so cute, you wanted to cry. you were resisting the urge to text him, it wouldn’t be fair to him, you were the one who was avoiding him and you knew he was with the boys at some bar, mark had posted a picture with ‘the bros finally together’.

you let your mind wander around the thought of hyuck tonight, with his oversized grey hoodie looking so so handsome, you pouted at the thought of taking care of him tonight, he is a very clingy drunk. but that was destroyed when out of nowhere, your brain decided to include a realistic moment of a girl flirting with your hyuck.  

you shook your head, trying to get that image out of your head, you decided to keep watching the videos you have, this one was one of your favorites, you were filming your friends.

jaemin was trying to drink a beer in one go, mark yelling ‘dude’, jisung and ning clapping while laughing, and chenle rolling his eyes. you turned the camera to film yourself at the same time hyuck gently scooted closer to you and gently rested his head on your shoulder taking a peek at your phone screen, you smiled as you saw him realise you were making a video and he was in it. 

you let out a deep breath as you closed your eyes, you could feel you were about to cry but you don’t deserve to when it was all your fault. ‘you are so stupid’ you told yourself, mentally scolding you for having done what you did. you had convinced yourself that you ran away because you care so much about him.

a gasp escapes your lips the moment your phone vibrates on your hands, seeing ‘mark’ on your screen was. . . weird, he was the last one you thought would call you, like, ever. your mind was filled with one hundred bad things that could’ve happened, picking up the call immediately. 

“mark? is something wrong?” you asked, getting ready to change your pyjamas. 

“yo-. . . yn!” he was sober and didn’t sound like something was wrong, that calmed yourself a little, still you were standing in front of your closet, “chenle stop scaring jaemin!” he yelled, oh, they were really drunk, “can you do me a favor?” you weren’t sure if he was talking to you, “yn, you hear me?” oh, he was, you let out a positive sound, “can you come to our apartment? i know it's late but. . . chenle!” you heard some sobbing in the back, maybe it was jaemin since chenle was scaring him. 

“mark?” you asked as you were putting some hoodie on, “for what?”

“oh, sorry, it’s just, yn, i think,” mark was interrupted by a very drunk hyuck ‘yn? she’s talking to you?’ oh, the sobbing was him not jaemin, ‘i want to talk to her’ you heard what sounded like him trying to snatch the phone from mark’s hand, “dude, wait, yn please, help me.” he immediately hung up.

. . .

you understood why mark needed help, as soon as you arrived to their apartment complex, you weren’t even too close but you could see jaeming running away from chenle who was chasing him with. . . a stick in his hands, jisung was nowhere to be seen so you could assume he was sober and at his girlfriend place, as you were walking towards a very stressed mark trying to calm down a crying hyuck, you felt like crying too.

“yn!” mark yelled in relief as soon as he saw you standing in front of him, you gave him a lip-tight smile, “i have to take those two home,” he pointed out chenle who was now being chased by jaemin, “can you please take care of hyuck?” he didn’t even wait for you to answer him, he immediately went to take the stick from jaemin’s hands.

kneeling down in front of hyuck, who was sitting on the floor staring at nothing, lost in thought, “hey,” you whispered, making him look up, as soon as his eyes met yours, your heart broke. 

his eyes were red, probably because he has been crying, his nose was tinted by a light shade of red was his hands reached to touch you, “yn,” a couple of giggles escaped his lips, “you feel. . . too real this time,” he was talking slowly, a sign he was drunk.

“so-sorry,” he said as his hands were touching your face, “i made you uncomfortable,” you tilted your head to the side, confused by his words, “you don’t- i like you and not you,” oh, he thinks you are avoiding him because you don’t feel the same, “let me be with you,” tears were starting to form in his eyes, “we can be friends,” you quickly holded his face wiping the tears of his face, “we can. . . i get over- over those feelings,” he hiccuped, “i want- just. . . be by your side.”

even though you were trying not to, you ended up crying with his words, “hyuck,” this time, it was him wiping the tears off your face, “let’s go inside, it’s. . . you are shivering,” you say taking his hand to get up and enter the building. 

as soon as you stepped inside the elevator, your breath hitched when you felt his hands around your waist pulling you closer to him, your back hitting his chest and he took the opportunity to hide his face in the crock of your neck. yet, when you hear him sobbing again, you bite the inside of your cheek, were you really that bad to him? 

opening the door of his apartment, he was still back hugging you, muttering some nonsense you couldn’t understand. you sighed as you entered his room, hearing a sound of disappointment when you took his hands off of you, turning around to face him, “let’s get you ready for bed, umm?” you were holding his hands.

he nodded, walking toward his bed and sitting there with you between his legs, “i don’t want to,” he said trying to keep his eyes open, you could tell he was tired, you let go one of his hands to play with his hair.

“aren’t you tired?” you asked, tilting your head with a smile forming on your lips.

he shook his head, putting his arms around your waist, “i just,” he nuzzled his face against your stomach, “know. . . you may not be here when i wake up. . .” he looked up and you could see he finally closed his eyes, “this is a dream. . . a good one,” he looked so cute with a pout adorning his lips. “i get to see u in those now. . .” oh, you were going to cry.

you decided to try to get him to change his clothes, you knew if he continued talking you were going to cry, again. it took you around twenty long minutes to get him to change into his pyjamas and lay in his bed. you thought how ironic it was that earlier that night you were thinking about taking care of his drunk self, and now, that’s what you were doing. 

you couldn’t resist yourself as you kissed his forehead quickly, he looked so cute when he slept, his hair falling above his eyes, a pout on his lips, one of your hands being held by him while the other played with his hair. after everything he told you tonight, it was hard to leave. 

as you pulled your hand away from his gently, getting up to leave the apartment, your eyes started to water, why must you always ruin every good thing that happens to you? 

v.

you have been living under what it seems like a never ending dark shadow but lee donghyuck is the light that fills your word.

the concept of ‘love’ you like the most is the philosophical one, that it is more than a feeling. you agree with plato and aristotle, love it’s a bond between people who admire one another and therefore choose to support one another over time. in that way, you would say love isn’t totally out of your control. for you, it was clear now that donghyuck has chosen to love you.

you started to feel curious about love when you were a teenager, it was mostly because everyone around you was obsessed with it, even jisung. you remember how excited he was when he told you about a girl he liked back then, and you couldn’t understand it at first.

mostly because you only knew what platonic love was, you would say at that moment it was the only one you cared about, because that was what you felt towards jisung. but deep down, you were genuinely curious of how romantic love feels like. 

you have never been good at self expression, you tend to bury your feelings and never act on them, you avoid situations where you have to talk about how you feel, that’s how you have always been. even with jisung, who has been by your side all your life, you would always have a disgusted expression on your face every time he told you how much he appreciates you in his life. 

for you, park jisung, is the only person in the world whom you allow to help you to understand your feelings, and whom you actually listen and do as he says, that’s why when you called him a random midnight ‘just to talk’ he was surprised to say at least. he didn’t even interrupted you once you started to explain everything to him, from when you started to like his best friend and how your mind convinced you that you didn’t deserve him, to how you broke his heart and he probably hates you now. 

even though you knew he wanted to scold you for how stupid you are, his words made you tear up, ‘i’m glad you trust me enough, I've been waiting for you to talk to me ever since that day when we were sixteen, remember? the only time i saw you crying, never knew why. . . yn, yes donghyuck loves loudly, but that doesn’t mean you don’t know how to love, you just do it quietly and that’s okay.’ it was then, the second time jisung ever heard you cry, ‘you think just ‘cause you never say it we don’t know? your action can tell, yn, and also, you do deserve good things, i can repeat that until you forget your mom’s voice. . . now, i can’t tell you what he feels or not, but if you want to apologize you can do it, that’s your choice, it was you who made those bad decisions then and it’s you who is apologising now.” 

your best friend's voice echoed in your head as you were walking through the aisles of the grocery store, waiting for the rain to slow down. you were seriously thinking about going to his apartment, preparing a speech in your head to apologise to him even though you feel it is already late. 

you remember the last text message he sent you, ‘sorry for last night, won’t bother you again, stay safe’ it had already been a week since you last saw him and for you that text was his way of saying goodbye. it took you a couple of deep breaths, as you thought that you should be brave for him this time, cause now, you only want to love and cherish donghyuck for the rest of your life. 

you didn’t care that it was raining, you had to apologize to donghyuck now because maybe you won’t feel as brave later. leaving the grocery store even though you had no umbrella, you decided to go walking to the guy’s shared apartment, it was closer to where you were. 

as soon as the first raindrop touched your skin, you shivered, your bones feeling the cold of the night. 

. . .

you had taken this decision without thinking it too much, you realised when you arrived at their apartment complex, you didn’t have your phone with you so there you were, waiting for someone to appear so you could enter the building. you were standing there, soaked in the rain, with a bag full of snacks, “oh, dear,” you heard a voice behind you making you turn around, “what are you doing here?” you smile when you see the old lady who lives next to the boys, “why didn’t you call your boyfriend?” she asked, opening the door. 

“my boyfriend?” you said a little confused, as you helped the old lady with her own bags.

she nodded while walking with you to the elevator, “yes, donghyuck is your boyfriend or not?” she tilted her head confused as she pressed the bottom of which floor you were going to, “he told me that.”

“oh,” you nodded, “yes, it’s just that i left my phone and. . . that’s why i was waiting there,” you gave her a lip-tight smile, having someone think that he is your boyfriend makes you feel so giggly for some reason.

as you both say your goodbyes, you took a deep breath, knocking on the boys’ apartment. you started to feel nauseous as you were waiting for someone to open the door, your mind racing and making up scenarios in which he lets you know he hates you and never wants to see you again. 

you were so lost in your own thoughts you didn’t notice mark had opened the door, “dude. . . are you ok?” you blinked a couple of times, meeting mark’s confused eyes, “hyuck” he yells as he looks around. 

a couple of seconds later,  you heard his voice, “why are you call-. . .yn,” you were standing there, frozen, not knowing what to say. the moment he realised you were soaking, he rushed to the door, “yn,” he said pushing mark who simply said ‘dude’ and walked away, “you are shivering, here, take. . . this jacket.”

you let out a laugh as you see a big red jacket he gently put around your shoulders, you knew it was jisung’s, “sorry for. . -”

he interrupts you, pulling you inside the apartment, “let’s get you warm first.”

 “no,” you said motioning your hand, “let me talk,” he nodded at you, “i want to apologise. . . i have been horrible to you, can’t understand how you can be nice to me right now,” you felt your eyes watering, “i hurt you, i have been rude to you since the day i met you. . . and shit i don’t deserve to be here talking to you,” a sob escaped between your lips, “but, i want to. . . let you know that even though i’m a hard person to love, you have made me feel loved every day since i met you,” you used the back of your hand to wipe away the tears, “and. . . if you let me, i want to make you feel loved too,” your eyes looked up searching for his, but he was looking at the floor, “cause you are the best thing that ever happened to me,” at this point you knew you had to look pathetic, you were horribly crying, “you have always been nice to me, gentle, caring, understanding and. . .” it was hard to say those eight letters when you felt like he didn’t wanted to hear them, “can i love you?” 

as soon as those words escaped your lips, his eyes met yours and the sight of him crying broke your heart, you stepped closer to him, hesitation in every step you took, “yn,” hearing him saying your name with a smile on his face, made you smile too, throwing your arms around his neck the moment he said those eight letters to you, “i love you,” he said as you felt his hands around your waist pulling your closer to him, not caring about getting his clothes wet, “and is the easiest thing in the word.”

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[taeeflwrr]

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you finally tell him how you feel, even if it hurts him // inspired by skam couple 'noora and william'