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sunflowerforhaechan-recs · 4 years ago

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I'm in LOVE :(

The start was pretty interesting! Pleasant as one would say, but I snorted as soon as I read 'Charles Bass' hsjlklf (is it just the poor old me or is everyone else getting the reference too?!)

Date draw night sounds fun (not if you're the MC though haha but in general, I think it's sweet and very entertaining). The whole thing was hilarious and I loved it!

Wait. There are rules?!!! Ok, this is serious than I expected it to be haha Poor MC is banned from flirting before the date draw?! That's a clever plot point though 👀 (no flirting/no practice -> poor flirting skills -> Haechan helps!!!!)

Seeing the MC practically drool over Hyunjin was unexpected, but I get it. A handsome guy reading one of your favorite books? Droolworthy.

“I’m dying alone with my eggs shriveled up, and I want you both to know it’s all your fault.”

FDJHSKL girl, I feel you.

Hey, aren’t you the girl who flirted with that guy on that bench? Like, four days ago?

Sucked is an understatement.

Geez Lee Haechan, do you really have to?! lol

You spend the next week and a half bent over your master plan Google doc, which Haechan covertly names SEX TOY RECOMMENDATIONS :P under your name. Really, not at all infuriating. You find it funny, though, and it stays like that the entire time.

This!!!! I love their relationship. So playful and chill… it's just goals.

On the eighth day, Haechan texts you to meet him at an entirely different part of the park. You get there, confusion written all over your face, and find him sprawled across the grass, denim-clad legs splattered with yellow paint and glitter.

This sounds like a dream, and the craft addict in me is excited! I'm saving it as a date idea :)

"Thai, with a side of betraya—oomph!"

“My professor,” says Jaemin, “was revealed to be in an affair this morning. It’s wild, honestly.”

"None. Just plain”—he stares right at you—“betrayal.”

Omg Jaemin lol this is like a movie scene I can't take my eyes off of hfgsjkl

You dogsit Genghis Olaf for the first time on the tenth day of your planning.

Please, the dog's name :(

Your thoughts are just full of Haechan’s jokes, Haechan’s dog’s new dress, Haechan, Haechan.

I- 😔🙌

The whole rooftop scene had my heart going crazy. It was doing flip flops and somersaults- :((

Jeno + Jaemin’s Certified Heartbreak Checklist!!!

I'm saving this too :)

“I don’t need this,” you say through a wad of snot. “I’m not heartbroken. I’m just confused.”

Jeno looks over to Jaemin, panic written all over his face. Jaemin mends it quickly, grabbing a Sharpie from the counter and scribbling over the word heartbreak, replacing it with the word Feelings?, much to your confusion. He does a bad job of it, though, and after he does it it looks more like Heartings?

God, if you can hear me, please send me friends like them.

And after two epic confessions of love 🥰

There's this snksijkl

“Trust us.” Jeno slams a manila folder on the desk, and opposite him, so does Jaemin. “We are high-tier selectors of love interests. Our past clients…client, rather, is extremely content with their love life.”

Ahh this is a great piece! And it's been a while since I've read something like this, I'm practically gleaming haha

I LOVE (really, LOVE!!!) the writing! It's smart, it's funny and it never stopped being interesting! Very creative! Very impressive! Kudos, op! 💚

without warning / ldh

pairing: Lee Haechan x fem!Reader

There is always a certain breaking point to a habit. For you, it was Haechan and not falling in love. It just happened in the most unorthodox way.

word count: 8.6k

genre: college au, fluff, angst (a little bit)

notes: reader is besties w nomin :)

hi!!! a bit overdue, but happy birthday haechan! also my photoshop crashed so please bear with the banner until i can make one that i enjoy seeing lol hopefully its okay :) ! I hope you like it pleaase leave feedback!

—

You like to pride yourself on the fact that you’ve never played into the mushy love bullshit.

You’re a stark contrast from your best friends, Jeno Lee and Jaemin Na, who, when boiled down to it, are basically a married couple who love to employ plausible deniability. They’re constantly teaming up to tease you/comfort you/set you up on god awful blind dates, and they’re self-proclaimed hopeless romantics. Which means there’s virtually no room for your anti-romantic philosophies in the apartment you share.

No, literally. Your DVDs are all romcoms. Your Netflix list is all Nancy Meyers. Your library is all cheesy romance volumes, overshadowing your preferred type of literature. It’s living hell.

“Are you ready for a date draw?”

“There’s Craig Cruz from my Bio class, Matt Lennox who’s my TA, Brad Aoki from my Spanish elective, Rex Smith from debate club, aaaand Lucas Wong from my football team.” Jeno offers the names to you, and before you can even form a coherent response, Jaemin is quick to follow up.

“Oh, have I got a roster for you. Nathan Davis from Physics, Charles Bass from my golf club, Jason Rodriguez from Creative Writing, and my mentor’s son’s best friend, Mark Lee. He studies in California.”

Jeno and Jaemin have long arranged date draws for you: a night where you pick out the blind date of your dreams, based on their extensive CVs, handpicked by your depressingly single best friends. (Any/every girl they manage to charm is scared off by how early they drop the L bomb.)

From your place propped up on the sofa, you hum contemplatively. Clearly, the two guys are nervous and stressed to see whose recommendation you’re going to pick: it’s always like this on date draw night, because it’s become somewhat of a competition between them to see who’s going to find your soulmate. Half the guys they recommend suck, and the other half, just a little less.

You spoon Chunky Monkey into your mouth. “Moving on to the next round: Lennox, Wong, Bass, Lee. Two even.”

You can’t deny the way you enjoy these biweekly nights of picking out your next date, even if the results are usually poor. They buy you ice cream and popcorn and let you watch something that doesn’t revolve around a couple falling in love in the Midwest/Paris/New York City (you’ve had enough of it.)

You hear noises of triumph as they quickly crumple up the paper resumes they have on your rejections. “Let me hear about Bass first.” Jaemin lets out a small yes! as he pulls up his file on Bass, reading aloud from it.

“Rich, golfer, business major. His philanthropy involves animals, cute baby animals, and he wants to run for mayor of New York one day. Rundown of pros and cons—rich, owns houses in Europe, but we have an unclear visual on his political stance.”

“Does he wear suits and talk like a douche?”

Jaemin’s silence is affirmative, so you follow it up. “Who’s his role model?”

“…Mark Zuckerberg and Jeff Bezos. Said it himself on his Facebook biography.”

You gasp.

“God, Jaemin! You can’t just leave that out! What if I picked him?!” You heave a spoonful of Chunky Monkey again. “Gross. Bass, out. Jeno, you’re up.” Jaemin groans, crumpling Charles’ paper and catapulting it into the garbage across the room.

Jeno speaks up, elated. “I’ve got Mark Lee for you. My writing mentor’s son’s best friend. He’s a church guy, but I hear through the vine he’s freaky in the sheets”—at this, you audibly gag and remove your ring to chuck it at him—“and he’s super ambitious. Wants to become a writer, settle down in the city with kids. Voted for Biden, but dislikes Biden—that whole shindig. Con: Soundcloud rapper.”

“Sounds okay,” you grimace, attempting to ignore the last bit, “but is he willing to do this long distance thing? Opposite ends of the country?”

“I was thinking it might be ideal,” Jeno explains. “So you don’t have to face the clinginess all the time.”

“So he’s clingy,” you deadpan. You allow no room for explanation and wave him off. “Jaem, go.”

“Damn it,” curses Jeno under his breath, frustrated. Jaemin is quick to remedy his previous mistake, fast in his talking.

“Lucas Wong, basketball star. 6’0, born in Hong Kong, knows how to cook. Con: kind of a man whore.”

“I don’t slut shame,” you respond, intrigued. “Go on.”

Triumphant, he proceeds. “He’s delicious, man. I mean, I’m saying this so honestly right now. He’s also super caring, a Chem Engineering major, and constantly shares his decent political opinions online.”

You sit up. “Oh, my God. He’s perfect.”

“Right?!” Jaemin’s smile is wide and he’s so, so close to reaching his victory. It’s cut off rudely by Jeno’s knowing scoff.

“Please. Jaem, tell her the real con.”

“Real con?” You quirk a brow, your head cocking to the side. “Jaemin Na, what is the real con?”

He falters, spluttering. “It’s—it’s nothing. A minor setback.”

You spoon the last of your Ben & Jerry’s into your mouth. “Now, Jaemin!”

“He has a girlfriend,” he says fretfully, refusing to meet your sharp gaze. At this, you burst into a loud yell, throwing your hands up in the air. “What the hell, Jaem?! Second straw much?”

He hides his face from view, but you persist. “Jaemin! You were going to turn me into a homewrecker, you enabler! You should be asha—”

“Tell ‘em,” Jeno says with a scornful smile. You turn on him immediately, though, eyes fiery.

“Oh, like you didn’t know and chose to use it against him so you could win today’s date draw. You make me sick! Both of you. The next five date draws are cancelled.”

The words are uttered with a vile, ugly tone that sends your best friends into a downward spiral. It’s evident immediately, what with the way their faces fall instantly and Jeno’s is the epitome of the world flummoxed. They quickly turn to each other, vexation in their eyes as they begin to swat at each other.

Being of similar height, the swatting quickly intensifies, but Jeno’s tendency to poorly control his strength results in Jaemin hitting back twice as hard.

“—I was gonna remedy that before you ruined i—” Poke.

“How do you remedy an ongoing, committed relationship—?” Hit.

“I have my ways, Lee!” Swat.

“If you just let me get to my final recommendation I would’ve won, Na!” Slap, smack, strike.

You tsk disdainfully, walking away to dispose of your Chunky Monkey. Considering the kitchen isn’t too far from the living room, your ears quickly pick up on the progression of their fight: you hear more chaos, then it fades away. It takes you five minutes to drink a glass of water and wash your spoon, and when you return, they’re cuddled up to each other on the sofa watching Me Before You.

“Insane,” you mutter dismissively.

“No non-romance for you,” says Jeno, through a mouthful of popcorn. “Rejecting our picks.”

“That’s the angle you took? 2 versus 1? Instead of you and I teaming up against Jaemin for condoning homewrecking?”

He ignores you.

But you’re blissfully unaware that the events of tonight would lead to you meeting the guy who would reach far beyond the standard set by Lucas Wong, your one that got away, so you shut your bedroom door behind you and work instead.

—

Jeno and Jaemin’s cardinal rule when it comes to date draws is to not interact with any male presence in a flirtatious matter for at least a week to purge yourself of any potential matches, so that you can fully immerse yourself in the experience.

Knowing date draws happen every two weeks, this allows you only one week to fully appreciate any cute stranger in your life. Knowing that, this basically declines your flirting skills to a good 6. You’re well aware of the pretty privilege card you hold, so it’s all you have, because your smooth talking skills have well diminished.

So here you are, perched on a bench, staring at the opposite one intently. Sat on it is a tall, and handsome guy reading—oh, God—Arendt?

The grip you have on your Journalism supplementary book turns your knuckles white, your mind struggling to think of something to say. You curse under your breath as your body gets up on its own accord, your body walking to him and offering a stuffy smile.

“Hello,” you giggle, breathy.

“Hi,” he says, and you melt inside. He must be some sort of dreamboat.

You take a seat beside him, hesitant but spurred on by his smile. You introduce yourself quickly, and he tells you his name is Hyunjin, and that he’s a Humanities major. You sit in tense, but comfortable silence, intermittent smiles and hums of affirmation filling the void of the conversation.

“Are you a fan of Aren—”

“You’re hot,” you say in one breath. What the hell.

“Oh,” says Hyunjin dumbly. “Thanks?”

“You’re welcome. You are. So gorgeous.”

He smiles, politely now instead of warmly, and makes up a shit excuse to save himself, walking away quickly. You groan inwardly at your mishap, slamming your textbook against your forehead in frustration.

This is one of many reasons you detest date draws.

—

You make your anger clear to Jeno and Jaemin by refusing to cook them Friday dinner. All of you can cook fairly well, but perhaps because of your natural affinity with a cookbook, you’re magical at it. So, every Friday is reserved for your amazing cuisine and the rest of the week is devoted to takeout and the others’ subpar cooking skills.

“You promised you’d cook us bibimbap,” gripes Jaemin. “Jeno and I miss home. How do you expect us to survive in a city populated by white people?!”

“Well, find a Korean restaurant and order a bowl for yourselves,” you say cuttingly. “I’m still upset over the entire date draw catastrophe from two days ago. I tried flirting with a cute guy today and, thanks to your cardinal rule, failed.”

“But you make good bibimbap,” sobs Jeno theatrically, ignoring the latter part of your sentiment.

You narrow your eyes and swat them both with your textbook. “I’m dying alone with my eggs shriveled up, and I want you both to know it’s all your fault.”

You tell them the full tale of your foiled coquetry from earlier that day, and they stifle guffaws behind their clenched fists. You hit them again, for good measure.

“You love us.”

“I hate you,” you say sharply.

—

“I love you guys. I’m serious,” you say delightedly, scooping more frozen yogurt into your mouth. You’re spending your Saturday in the Upper West, shifting through ice cream parlors and corner cafes and halal delis and watching Jeno show off his skateboarding skills. You’d stopped at a small frozen yogurt joint where you found the cups to be way too overpriced, and upon your defeat, instead found that an extended February 14 promo meant a couple gets one cup for free.

The plan was crafted ingeniously: you and Jeno would hug subtly to show that you were a couple, playing into the heteronormative bias of the cashier, and get two cups with unlimited toppings for the price of one.

However, in the middle of your planning, the shifts changed and the new cashier found Jaemin and Jeno to appear more lovey-dovey, revising the plan on the spot.

“Very cute. Love is love,” the middle-aged woman says. Jeno nods, smiling and holding Jaemin closer, despite the poorly disguised grimace on his face. You play along, a stuffy smile on yours.

So it goes that you get one for yourself and the other two fight over theirs, wooden spoons clacking against each other as they fight over the yogurt.

“Love you both, so so much,” you say happily. “So much.”

“Real quick, does this mean date draws are back o—”

“No,” you retort.

“Yeah. That checks.”

You glare at the mere suggestion, averting your attention back to your yogurt. Humiliation still courses through you, blazing your every thought with your fiasco at the park. Hyunjin is probably having a permanent freakout over your foolishness, and in your frantic attempt to pin the blame on somebody other than yourself, the fault falls on your two best friends.

Not even frozen yogurt can help it. But it’s getting there.

—

Your designated bench at the park is yours for a reason. It captures the breeze perfectly, and the sunlight filters just right through the trees overhead. You get a good view of the buildings, and the nearest exit gives you just a ten minute walk to your apartment. Granted, it’s “your bench” from 2PM to 6PM, since any other hour you’re either home or at class.

Yours anyway. Blissfully empty. Except it’s 1:15PM and somebody’s sitting on it.

“Hey—do you mind?” You gesture to the empty side of the bench and the guy sitting waves you off with a polite nod. Smiling calmly, you take a seat and draw out your study materials, getting to work on your latest news piece.

The sun is high and the park gets the brunt of it, heat surging through the walkways. Damn early classes. Now it’s too hot. You pout in mild frustration but continue anyway.

You’re in the middle of typing out your concluding paragraph, and your mind is in the middle of thinking of dinner, froyo, and the ducks at the lake altogether, when your train of thought is tersely cut off.

“Hey, aren’t you the girl who flirted with that guy on that bench? Like, four days ago?”

Fear floods your body and renders you frozen, your head inching bit by bit to face your certified day ruiner. Your eyes land on a guy about your age, nose buried in a Murakami book. He quirks a brow, beguiled by your sudden reaction. “So. Are you?”

Your jaw drops open, mouth spluttering for something logical to say. “Er, yeah.”

He laughs loudly, an unabashed guffaw leaving his mouth. “Woah. That sucked.”

“Did it really?” Your woeful tone catches his attention, his head whipping in your direction.

“Yeah—I mean, I’m not trying to insult you or anything. But I—”

“No, it’s okay,” you muse. “I’m just getting really bad at flirting.” You turn to him, a polite smile on your lips.

He smiles back. “Hyunjin’s an acquaintance of mine, you know. If you want another chance. He liked you.”

Your heart beats impossibly fast. Dangling in front of you is your chance at redemption, a date, possibly getting laid, and above all, proving to Jeno and Jaemin that you do not need their godforsaken date draws to find love.

You’re halfway through this epiphany when you realize—

“Who are you?” You blurt out, confused. “Sorry. I mean, what’s your name? I just met you and it feels like you already know me.”

“That’s ‘cause I do—I mean, when you flirted with Hyunjin, I was just over there”—he points at a nearby bench—“and then after it happened, I just saw your name being dropped on the groupchat.”

“I was made into groupchat material,” you fret. “That’s like, the worst of the worst.”

“Not really—it was talked about for five minutes tops and then somebody mentioned a deadline, so. I’m Haechan, by the way.”

“Oh,” you say simply. “Well, I’m glad that’s over. I was just. It sucked.”

“Sucked is an understatement,” says Haechan through gritted teeth. “Anyway, if you want a second date, I’d be happy to arrange that.”

You bite your lip, weighing the pros and cons in your head. You could earn yourself a new boyfriend and turn the flirting affliction into a meet cute story, but it could also go to shit. You could get laid, but who knows if he took some sort of celibacy vow. You don’t need a boyfriend, but you desperately need to prove your two best friends wrong.

“I’m in,” you say. “It has to be the best date ever. I’m talking dinner, a walk, a sports game, that whole thing.”

“Are you suggesting I help you arrange that?”

Roping a stranger into your dating agenda was definitely not on your list of things to try in your junior year.

But, well. “I’m graciously asking you to.”

—

Haechan Lee, you quickly learn, is an energetic, bubbly, class clown-y Econ major. He laughs at that’s what she said jokes and doubles over every time he sees the numbers 69 and 420, especially if he sees them consecutively (not hard, given the city’s size.)

You learn over the course of three coffee outings that he takes all his coffee with three extra shots of espresso. (He tries to make you freak out using this fact, but you combat it with Jaemin’s all time record of eight shots.)

You find out he always separates the corn bits in fried rice, and that he’s an oversharer. It’s obvious he is, considering you’d known all this prior information in the course of just seven days.

Maybe you just like to observe a little more, too, but that’s besides the point.

“I’m thinking you attend a Yankees game, dinner, then a Hudson boat ride. Hyunjin likes that stuff. He won’t admit it, he wants people to think he’s a rugged New York man, but he likes to get fancy. I’m saying this like we’re best friends, but. You get it. Boat, sports, the works,” he says through a mouthful of pad thai.

“I’m thinking you chew your food before talking,” you comment pointedly, and he nods, swallowing. You continue. “That’s nice, but I’m broke and I’m not willing to spend my existing money on a date. I said extravagant…ly cheap.”

“Boo,” he laughs. “I could get you Yankees tickets for free. Then…you split dinner and you rent the boat.”

“Perfect,” you say victoriously. Then. “This is weird. This is full on Pavlov-ing.”

“Mmm, no. Pavlov was the dog guy. Conditioning? Sound? Yeah, er, this is Cyrano-ing.”

You nod in agreement. “Nerd”—you gesture to him—“hot dude”—you gesture to yourself—“nerd helps me get the hotter girl. AKA Hyunjin.”

“If I’m going to be branded a nerd, this isn’t going to work out.”

“Oh, shut up.”

—

18 days until: JUNE 8 DATE DAY!!!!

You smile amusedly at the reminder ping on your phone that Haechan had set up for you. When you look up, the smile is quickly extinguished by Jaemin and Jeno’s trenchant expressions, piercing right through you.

“What are you smiling at?” asks Jaemin with faux nonchalance.

“A TikTok,” you fib easily. “Something about the whole Paeka issue.”

The conversation switches easily to the issue you’d mentioned, and soon Jeno and Jaemin forget you had even smiled at your screen, playing Call of Duty on their Xbox and leaving you to your own devices.

U busy? You read when you’re done downing a packet of Caprisun.

No, you type back. See u.

You’re well acquainted with Haechan at this point, having seen him regularly over the course of the past week. You’re growing less and less unused to the sight of him on the bench you’d previously branded as your own.

“Hello, Cyrano,” he says with a cunning smile. “Since we’re both free, I thought you’d like to know more about Hyunjin. Also, when I’m with you, I get free food because you get hungry so much.”

“It’s easy to fall into the quirky cafe temptations in the city,” you remark. “Isn’t the date supposed to make me get to know him?”

“Yeah, but remember—this is all for Jeno and Jaemin.”

You’d established your objective for this entire master plan of a date three days ago. As handsome as Hyunjin is, you know you’ll probably find some minor flaw about him and fixate on that. So, your motive is to charm him into maybe a fling-sized relationship so Jeno and Jaemin would lay off your back.

Working? So far. Ish.

“Alright, so Hyunjin Hwang, HH, HHJ, HJ, Jinnie, Jin, Hyunnie, he has lots of names ‘cause he’s popular. Philosophy major, writing legend, blazer wearer. Smartass. Hipster.”

“So every guy then,” you deadpan with an enigmatic smile.

“See, you get it!” He sits up a little, “For that, I’d like a cup of coffee.”

—

On the first day, Haechan sends you a Starbucks drink. Scrawled on it is the name Dildo, and you groan and hide it with your own Sharpie, lest one of your best friends find it in the disposal.

On the second day, Haechan introduces you to his dog. His height and his build gives you an impression that his dog would be, maybe, a bulldog or a Lab. Instead he approaches your usual park bench with a tiny, tiny Pomeranian in his hands, attached to a pink leash.

“This is Genghis Olaf,” he states proudly, his eyes crinkling with his smile of adoration.

“She’s very c—” you cut yourself off with your own chortle, attempting uselessly to hide it behind your sweater-clad hand. “She’s cute, I swear,” you breathe between bouts of laughter. “Just. Her name is what?”

“Genghis Olaf,” he says seriously. “A very nice name for my strong dog.”

“She looks so tiny, though,” you coo, but she bites deeply into your finger when you attempt to pet her. Haechan’s laugh rings treacherously in your ears.

On the third day, you watch Annabelle: Creation on Netflix Party. He makes big talk of not being scared, but half the time his camera is shielded by his blanket.

On the fourth day, you admit your unabashed love for Taylor Swift’s music, and Haechan admits his for One Direction. You sing Dear John and replace the “green eyes” lyric with “brown”, and it makes Haechan blush. He sings Drag Me Down and matches Harry’s high note.

—

On the fifth day, your meeting place deviates from one section of the park to another, to avoid the spookily overcast weather.

“It’s not so rainy here,” rejoices Haechan, doing a small happy dance. You roll your eyes and sit beside him.

You make it a good ten minutes with your laptops open working both on Hyunjin and your own schoolwork before you notice droplets of water growing more and more frequent on the spreadsheet you’d pulled up.

“Oh, shit,” you curse, wiping it hastily and stuffing it into your bag. Haechan follows suit, but the nearest exit is a ways to go.

“Could you run any faster?!” You wail, covering your head with your tote bag, to no avail. Your hair gets the brunt of it, and so does your black tee, since the mild drizzling intensifies into heavy rain within seconds.

“Sorry I’m trying to protect my phone!” He cries back, maneuvering between garbage cans and other people in your way who have actual umbrellas.

You make it out, though, after a chaotic five minutes, and you’re one subway ride from your apartment. Haechan’s is way nearer, though, so you part, both absolutely soaked.

Before you do, he tugs a dry shirt out of his bag. “You might get sick. God knows what kind of bacteria you contract with wet cloth in the subway. Maybe even murder evidence.” He plays it off but your heart blooms with gratitude, taking it.

“Thanks, dumbass.”

You skip the sixth day and meet on the seventh.

You’d officially grown used to each other’s company, nearing three weeks of knowing each other. You swap your usual park bench for a cafe, but on the cab ride there, Haechan constantly changes his mind.

It’s Indian first, then Thai, then American, then Korean. Then Chinese. Then coffee.

“We’ve been in this cab for ages,” you whisper-yell. “Have some shame!” But he doesn’t, persistently switching the destination. It turns into a minor roadtrip around the Upper East. You pull out your laptop to work on a paper.

It only stops when Haechan abruptly yells for it to, so he can puke his guts out. Well. At least you know he’s carsick now.

—

“Yours, hers, mine,” Jaemin says, gesturing to the folded piles of fresh laundry. “She’s never even home anymore, lately. I miss her bibimbap.”

“Could you just get to folding the clothes so I can play Overwatch with Sungie?”

“You don’t care that our best friend is never home?!” Jaemin’s voice is saturated with offense and betrayal. “She’s probably out partying.”

“You mean having fun, like people our age should,” corrects Jeno sternly. “Don’t be so worried and hand me that gray shirt.”

Jaemin grumbles, but does so, despite the reluctance in his actions. “Who knows what she’s mixing herself with out there? New York is a danger zone. Scaffolding is lethal enough.”

Jeno folds up the tee with an amused scowl on his face. “You know, she’s having fun, doing schoolwork, and if she’s happy, we’re happy. That’s how best friends operate.”

Across him, Jaemin pouts. He knows this is true, and beneath the petty feelings he harbors, he’s genuinely happy that you’re having fun. “I guess,” he grouches. “But I hope she’s not sad we cancelled date draws.”

“Temporary cancellation,” Jeno says. “Also, I doubt she’s sad. She insisted we cancel it. She ordered the cancellation, so. Shirt.” He chucks the folded tee into Jaemin’s pile.

“Touche,” sighs the latter, “but I gu—hey, what? This isn’t mine, dipshit.”

“Oh,” Jeno says. “It’s mine, then.”

“Wh—it’s not yours, either.” He unfolds it to reveal the faded, bleached pattern of the Sex Pistols logo, and they squint.

“Not mine,” says Jeno quietly. “Guess it’s hers.” He tosses it onto your pile, but Jaemin snatches it before it lands.

“No way it’s hers,” he comments, inspecting it. “She’s never worn this, and it’s not branded, but she hasn’t gone thrifting in a while. She did last week, and this wasn’t in her haul.”

“So? Some band geek’s laundry got mixed up with ours,” Jeno says, but Jaemin’s quicker to come to a different conclusion.

“Are you kidding? It’s the third week of the month. She got it washed herself at the laundromat self service. This is from our apartment. Is this what you think—are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

Jeno nods slowly.

“Say it, on three,” says Jaemin. “Go!”

“A guy is living in our ceiling!”

“She snuck someone into our house!”

“She snuck—yeah, that’s way more likely.”

—

“Hello,” you say, “I’m not at all confused by what I’ve walked into.”

“In exchange for being your Cyrano nerd,” he begins theatrically, “I only ask one thing.”

“All the cups of coffee I’ve bought you?”

“I only ask several things,” he remedies. “Coffee and your help with my little sister’s crafts project.”

You eye the expanse of white canvas on the grass, untouched by Haechan’s skills, or, rather, his lack thereof. You roll your eyes.

“Okay. What do you need to paint?”

“Anything yellow,” he says. “New York preschool art teachers are super hipster, so their assignments are graded on a college basis. I’m half-joking.”

“What makes you think I want to help you?”

“Your date thinks so.”

“I suck at crafts, Haechan.”

“I’m sure you don’t. Now, paint!”

You take the brush and get to work, dirtying yourself up in the process. By the end of it, you’ve crafted a kiddy-sized abstract masterpiece, dizzyingly yellow and sunny and bright. It’s just a bunch of brush strokes and fingerprints in a vast array of yellow, but you’re sure it’s a show stopper, since Haechan’s little sister is a five-year-old.

“If your sister is stamped a prodigy after this, I get a portion of her earnings.”

You beam down at Haechan, but you miss the way his gaze lingers on you for just a second, smearing a brushful of canary paint on his face.

A second.

Considering he’s the sole reason you talk to Haechan, you don’t remember the last time you talked about Hyunjin. You don’t mind, though, running along the open grass while flinging all sorts of shades of sun onto Haechan’s face.

—

“Honeys, I’m home!” You yell, dusting dried paint off the hem of your jeans. You deposit your keys at the entrance and make your way to the kitchen, sliding your shoes off. “What’s for dinner?”

“Thai, with a side of betraya—oomph!” You can’t catch Jaemin’s last word, Jeno’s elbow hitting his gut before he can enunciate it.

“Thai, with a side of biryani. Sounds perfect, you two,” you swoon with an appreciative smile. “Bibimbap next week, I promise!”

“Yup,” Jeno says through a strained breath. “Go get changed, you!”

You shrug off the odd behavior and follow suit, shucking your clothes off once you’re alone. You spot a neat, folded pile of fresh laundry at the foot of your bed and stop in your tracks upon seeing the familiar gray one atop it.

You touch it, a little hesitant. Jaemin and Jeno must’ve seen this, then. Your heart races inexpainably quick at the possibilty that the insinuation would be that you were dating the owner of the shirt.

But then again, Jeno and Jaemin probably couldn’t care less. You shrug indifferently, chucking the tee into your bag for Haechan’s taking tomorrow and walking back into the kitchen.

“Where’s the biryani?” You ask, confused, upon seeing its absence at the table. Jeno shrugs and mumbles some excuse about it being unavailable, and Jaemin grumbles a quiet agreement.

You eat in silence for a while. “How’s class, you two?”

“My professor,” says Jaemin, cutting off what Jeno had already opened his mouth to say, “was revealed to be in an affair this morning. It’s wild, honestly.” He rolls up the sleeves of his mint sweater. You gape through a mouthful of khao pad, brows raised. “Do tell,” you say simply, intrigued.

“Well, he was happily married to his wives—wife, his wife, and then he turned and had a nasty affair and now he can’t even face the betrayal he committed. Neither can the wife,” he says quickly, his voice laced with truth and hurt.

You nod slowly. “So. That’s it? No sordid mistress? Murder ploy? Money?”

Jaemin shakes his head, pouting. “None. Just plain”—he stares right at you—“betrayal.”

You nod again, and then your thoughts are full of khao pad.

—

Haechan picking up your dry cleaning, paying for three cabs, and accompanying you on three coffee runs is the only cause of your current predicament. Not debt—you’re not so unfortunate there, thankfully—but something much worse. See, you liked Haechan. You’d spent so much time around him it was dizzying, and he was funny and a great friend.

Which meant you’d do any minor favor for him. Which means—this. It means this. And that is how you find yourself seated on a neon green beanbag listening to a roster of Soundcloud rappers on a JBL speaker.

The room is lit only by a string of pink LED lights and the light emanating from the PC setup on the desk, shades of blue and purple radiating from it.

There are teddy bears strewn around the room, almost as many as there are Nike shoes that look extremely obscure and/or expensive. This is a very specific brand of person you’re dealing with. You take a drag from the joint in your mouth, eyeing the other contraband drugs on the desk but ignoring them for the sake of yourself.

Who else would own this kind of room—closed off, dark, lit by neon illumination only? You don’t need to look far. Spray painted in a glow in the dark green on the opposite wall is the name—

“Yangyang!” Haechan hollers when the former finally swings the door open. “Thought you’d never return. You were gone for, like, an hour.”

True enough, he was. He’d apparently left to fetch his wallet in his friend’s dorm, but never came back, granting you and Haechan plenty of time to plan for Hyunjin—well, talk, actually.

“I’ve gotta go again. Sorry, you two. Enjoy the ganja. Haechan, don’t leave yet. You have that favor you owe me!”

He slams the door shut again and you stifle a laugh. “I’ll get going if you don’t mind.”

“No,” he pleads. “We can exploit the weed and the air conditioning and everything.”

“Fine,” you say, because you weren’t planning on leaving at all. “Let’s plan.”

“Nice. Hey, you know I used to own a bear just like that?” He deviates from your suggested subject, probably unconsciously, but you find yourself being grateful for it. You follow his finger to the bear leaning against the wall opposite you, a huge brown one.

You hum. “Did you also spray paint red Xs over the eyes?”

“Yes, and on the genitals,” he says with a loud laugh. “God, no. My mom was always iffy about that stuff. We grew up well. Here in the city, I mean. Brownstone and everything. My little sister still has that life, but…yeah.” He dismisses the topic and you nod.

“I get it,” you say, leaning back and taking a drag. “Well, I don’t, but. I do.”

“Yeah. I miss my mom, and my dad hates my guts, so that’s that. I just find all the solace of the world in my sister.”

“She loves you, Haech,” you say quietly, a small smile on your face. He chuckles.

“I know she does. Me, though—I’m never good with that stuff. Gotta practice saying it somehow.” He turns to you, quiet. Then.

“I love you.”

The world slows, time melting into an indistinguishable, homogenous blob of pink and green and weed. You feel like you just ingested one of the smiley faces on Yangyang’s desk, if you’re honest. You open your mouth to respond but your eyes catch on the way his mouth is slowly curving into a smile, and you lose yourself in it. Your body bubbles in confusion and indifference—why the fuck are you so affected?

He grins. “So? Sounded genuine? I hate you, by the way. Can’t have you getting the wrong idea.”

Then the world ticks back into normal speed, a haze of lights and teddy bears, and you regain composure. “No. You sounded like a Republican apologizing.”

You brush him off, but the thought of him plagues you all the way home.

—

You dogsit Genghis Olaf for the first time on the tenth day of your planning.

You’d rather not talk about it.

—

Last edited 12 days ago stares cunningly back at you as you open the starkingly empty Google doc of your date plan. You tsk at the lack of progress, but inwardly, you don’t mind so much.

Your past weeks with Haechan have been busy, and eventually they grew to be less about Hyunjin and more about genuine conversations between the two of you. You’re not dumb. You know where this is leading—and normally, you’d start to shy away from it.

You’ve got six days until June 8th, and you can’t seem to remember the details of that date for the life of you. Your thoughts are just full of Haechan’s jokes, Haechan’s dog’s new dress, Haechan, Haechan.

It’s devastating. “—are you listening to me?” Haechan’s voice flows abruptly from your laptop, which rests on your bed. You hum loudly to say yes, pulling on a hoodie and taking a seat to show yourself on camera.

“Actually, I wasn’t. What were we talking about?” He groans at this statement, raising his brows in frustration and poking his tongue through his cheek. He does that a lot. It’s—

Your door swings open and, like clockwork, you slam your laptop shut, feigning nonchalance and getting up.

The thing is, you haven’t ever thought of Haechan in that way. In a non-platonic way. (Half truth.) But around friends like Jeno and Jaemin, who love to twiddle with stories until they’re worthy of Nora Ephron films, you can’t ever keep your mouth open, lest they think of Haechan as some sort of soulmate of yours.

So your rendezvous with him were kept a perpetual secret, and the shirt you had never returned was laundered in secret. You weren’t necessarily ready to tell them about Haechan Lee, because it would mean chronicling the past three weeks of spending all your days together.

So. “Were you watching porn?”

“Wh—what?! Jeno, you’re sick!” You toss a throw pillow at him and he catches it, scoffing.

“Porn is nothing to be ashamed of!” He yells back. “I’m just saying, if you shut your laptop so defensively, you were probably watching porn, or…” He narrows his eyes and makes a beeline for your desk, but you’re quicker.

You jump onto his back, estimating his strength perfectly and putting enough weight on him that he slows down but stays standing. “Get off me, you nympho! Probably watching foot fetish porn, but I don’t—oomph—judge!”

“Get away from my laptop, Jeno Lee!” You wail, digging a nail into his arm so he curses and stops. He mumbles in pain and an I’ll get back at you before jogging out of your room, ensuring your victory.

—

It’s 2AM and you’re an hour from home. It’s windy, too—that fact would prevail by a lot if they had a competition deciding what was most obvious. Your hair whips across your face until you splutter and resort to tying it up. Also, you’re on the 70th floor of a building, sprawled across the cement rooftop. That would probably win the competition.

You’re also in Haechan’s arms. Now, that—okay, you’re done with this whole hypothetical fact competition.

But subjectively, it’s nice, you know that well enough. It’s nice to be out at 2AM on a cold, windy night, 70 floors above the city, and it’s so nice to be resting your head against Haechan’s chest, arms loosely wrapped around your figure as he hums a song that you recommended to him.

The rational part of your head is reeling over in shock and offense. The other is—well. In Haechan’s arms. “It’s 2,” you say, “in the morning, Haech.”

“So?”

“I’m sleepy. And you dragged me up here.”

He laughs with incredulity, and you can’t help but join him. You both know that while it was suggestion to check it out, you’d been just as complacent, since the words Hey, wanna go up to the 70th floor of my friend’s dad’s uncle’s building? just seemed to ignite a thrill in you that caused you to nod.

“Then I’ll drag you down and to the subway and come back up here myself.”

“But,” you say, sitting up. He lets his arms fall and you turn, facing him. Your faces are way closer than you expected, and while you take a sharp breath inwards, you make no move away. “Then you’ll have fun without me.”

“Then stay,” he says. It sounds like he means something else.

You gulp. “If I stay, we should plan for, um. Hyunjin, then.”

Something you can’t describe, and you barely catch, quivers through his gaze, but he blinks and looks away, getting up quickly. You lose your balance, following suit, confusion written across your features at the way he’s acting.

“No kidding,” he chuckles. “What else do we need to plan?”

“Dinner? I—I don’t know. I was joking.”

“You probably really want this date, so. It’s in a few days, you know?” You nod, but your thoughts are roaring something else entirely. “Haechan, I—”

“Well, there’s a good Italian place near your apartment. I’ll text you the address. Settled. Let’s go.”

He bends back down to tug his bag up from the floor, and you’re hit with a sudden rush of vertigo, your confusion and the cold and your racing thoughts hitting you instantaneously. Your hair flattens against your face and you rake it back. “I’m—are you—is everything okay?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” asks Haechan carefully, eyeing you.

You splutter. “I’m just asking.”

“It is,” he says, smiling. It’s forced. You can tell.

“It’s not,” you say, stepping closer.

“I’m serious. It is.” There’s soft solemnity in his face, but his gaze betrays it, flitting everywhere but your face.

“Haech—”

“Let’s just finish planning and, um, we can go back to being acquaintances.”

“Just tell me what it is, Haechan.”

“I—” he laughs, and it’s mirthless. “You don’t get it?”

You shrug, rolling your eyes. “Stop being so damn weird, face me, and answer me so I can.”

“I can’t look at you, goddamn it. I can’t see you, I can’t touch you, I can’t laugh around you, I can’t crack a joke around you. I can’t even mention your name. It—I. I don’t. I don’t know why, okay? I just—you’re so cool. You’re amazing, and you’re everything, and you’re funny and flawed, and bright and weird and hilarious and every other adjective I can’t think of right now. And when I see you, I feel all of that. I feel it all.

And it sucks, b—well, because, well, seeing you means hearing about Hyunjin, and everyday I think—what if it was different? What if. What if it was—I—fuck. I like you, okay? God, I do. I mean, who—wow. You’re just.”

He turns to the front of the building. “I like her!” He shouts. “And it feels good to finally tell you, but now, I just—I don’t—I.” He faces you, eyes hopeful, eyes sorrowful, and you open your mouth to form a reply.

It falls silent. It stays silent for a while.

—

JENO + JAEMIN’S Certified Heartbreak Checklist!!!

ben & jerry’s (preferred flavors: chunky monkey, cherry garcia)

taylor swift/early 2000s/dance music

feel-good movie i.e clueless, mean girls, 13 going on 30, superbad, project x

a round of call of duty with amateurs to make you feel better

sob session

“I don’t need this,” you say through a wad of snot. “I’m not heartbroken. I’m just confused.”

“I’m okay,” you insist fruitlessly. You’d been crying your eyes out for two days, knowing not much other ways to cope with such a frighteningly confusing situation. You’d made a list of pros and cons before realizing you didn’t need any. You wrote down a speech for how to respond to Haechan, and you’d gone all over your usual meeting spots to recite it to him.

You couldn’t find him, for the life of you. You’d gone back home instead and recited a play by play of the events in your head.

“I hate myself.”

“Don’t. Haechan’s probably just not ready.”

Minor detail: you’d also spilled the totality of your predicament to Jeno and Jaemin, whose faces morphed from giddy to anguished to confused and back, much like your feelings. While this eliminated the need to hide Haechan’s existence from them, it also opened to you the copious amount of unsolicited advice.

You rack your head to try and find ways to apologize to him. That night, faced with bewilderment and feelings, you’d gasped in air until you couldn’t, shoving the exit open and running down flight after flight of stairs.

By the time the adrenaline had worn off, you’d just made it about six floors down. You took the elevator the rest of the way and kept hoping he would enter.

It sucked. However you chose to react, it was your mistake to remedy, and you didn’t quite know how. You still don’t.

You wallow in self pity and puzzlement and a spoon of Cherry Garcia before Jaemin bounds out of his room and into yours, smile broad on his face. “Yo, dude. I just saved your life.”

“Whose? Mine, I hope,” says Jeno offhandedly, walking into your room holding a slice of pizza. Jaemin glares at him.

“No, you dumbass. Hers.”

“Not to invalidate, but looking at my grades makes me feel like my life needs major saving.”

Ignoring him, Jaemin continues. “Listen—Haechan Lee, the guy you fucked over”—this earns him a flick of ice cream—“you want to apologize, right? But you never knew his exact address. But I’m telling you now. It’s his birthday, and…”

You’re sure Jaemin says the details afterwards, but your mind sticks itself onto the fact that it’s Haechan’s birthday: a fact he’d never told you before, and one you’d never thought to ask about. It’s his birthday. Birthday. His birthday. June 6th. It makes sense, and not even in an astrological point of view. It just does.

“I’m going,” you state blindly, getting out of bed immediately. “Now.”

—

Haechan’s apartment, you quickly learn, is a very nice one with nice windows and nice doors and a nice guest list. You heave the door open, Jeno and Jaemin teetering behind you, and find a room full of people. You tug it back shut instantly, nerves pulsating through you like a bad drug.

“I can’t,” you lament, biting your lip. Jaemin tugs on a lock of your hair.

“Don’t be a pussy and do it,” Jeno says sternly. “Own up.”

You pout, but push it open again and slip inside, your two friends following suit. You weave your way through the crowd and find groups scattered along the wide area—beer pong, weed, making out, there’s a space for everything. Judging by the way Jaemin and Jeno leave your side instantly, probably single hotties, too.

Your heart thumps with uncertainty, but it mellows down after ten minutes of futile search attempts. Every time you think it’s him, your heart leaps to your throat, but it never is.

So you take it as a sign. He’s probably getting laid in one of the two closed bedrooms, or buying more booze outside. You find your two henchmen—friends—in a throng of people playing Uno and tell them you’d be back.

You navigate the building’s elevator buttons until you find the rooftop one and wait in idle silence. Of course, he’s waiting on the other side when it opens.

His back is turned to you and you’re feet apart, the wide expanse of the rooftop separating you. You press the close button furiously, not ready to confront another rooftop confession yet.

A nasty deja vu cascades through you, and you shiver. The doors are closed for one minute and then they ding open, and you see him on the other side, and God he looks great. He’s in a black polo and black jeans and somebody’s written birthday boy on the space on his cheek, underneath his eye.

He enters the elevator, swallowing and clearing his throat. It smells like him. It’s stuck to his clothes.

“I’m sorry.” The starking silence is broken and in your shock, you can’t form a reply. Your head turns to him fast, eyes unblinking.

“Don’t,” you say, and then you inhale, deep. “Don’t be. I am. I—”

“But I’m—”

“Let me talk.” You say, facing him. You realize everything you’ve wanted to say is stored in your rigid script, so you take a deep breath and let it all out. To hell with being eloquent.

“I got nervous. I got—I got shocked, I got confused. The truth is, I’ve been running in circles trying to figure out how I feel for you. I mean, you’re funny. You’re cool and you’re—I don’t know, you’re just.” You take a deep breath, trying to stop yourself from rambling. “Okay. Well, I like you, too, and I like you a lot, and I’m sorry it took me so long to figure it out. I like you! I have nobody to yell this to, but you, but you’re the only person who needs to know right now. I like you. And I like liking you. And I like not planning this date on June 8th because I don’t want Hyunjin. And—I don’t know—I’m scared, that maybe this will all go to shit, because I suck at these stuff, and so do you, but I don’t know, it feels like if I try, it won’t be so bad.”

Obviously, when you look back up at him, he’s sporting a shit-eating smirk.

“Happy birthday to me,” he says, and then you’re kissing him so he’ll shut up.

Your hands find his face, trailing your touch everywhere so you can feel the change of texture when you encounter the eyeliner smudged beneath his eye, the moles dotted across his face. He smiles into the kiss, deepening it, his hands finding your waist to bring you closer to him. It’s a kiss you’ve wanted for always, but one you never knew you’d wanted. It’s a soft kiss, but a deep one, one with laughs and one with breaths that smell of ice cream and mint.

“Give it up,” you mumble. “I hate you.”

“That’s very contradictory, considering I just received the best gift of my life.”

“Well, you’re about to get another one.”

—

It’s the 8th of June, and Hyunjin sits alone at the dinner table, wondering why Haechan, the guy from the groupchat whom he barely even knew, called him out of the blue and requested to meet him. The restaurant looked fancy, and expensive, and he began to feel nervous at the propect of having to pay for a meal.

He’s been waiting for ten minutes now, and both him and the waiters are beginning to grow antsy. He’s ordered water maybe six times, and to be honest, he’s getting a little pissed.

And then. “Hwang? Hyunjin Hwang?” He looks up, eyes gleaming in relief and then in bewilderment at his companions for the night. Politely, he cocks his head to the side, running a hand through his hair.

“Hi, do I know y—”

“Jaemin Na. This is Jeno Lee. We understand you’re in need of a date.” Two guys clad in matching black tees sit on either side of him, voices loud despite the quiet aura of the restaurant. Hyunjin doesn’t know how to react.

“I’m really not, y—”

“Because you recommended their soulmate?” asks Hyunjin, confused.

“Well…no. Actually, she met her boyfriend elsewhere. But that’s besides the point.” Jaemin extracts ten papers from his folder and Jeno follows suit.

“Hyunjin Hwang, are you ready for a date draw?”

—

hope you liked it :) drop an ask! I absolutely love all types of feedback

#haechan #fluff #angst #writing goals #💚

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