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goldenscript · 7 years ago

Note

Uhm would you write a drabble with the title "a slight smell of strawberry shortcake" about nct's jaehyun working in a bakery? I noticed you haven't written anything about him yet and I am interested in how you portray him 😶💞 thank you for your effort!!!!! I'm always amazed how you come up with such high quality content and I'm always waiting eagerly for updates from you 💕💓💘

pairing: jung jaehyun | readergenre: slice of life au / fluffword count: 2,948author’s note: i’m so elated that you sent such a lovely request in! i’ve been meaning to write about him, so i’m super happy you’ve given me this opportunity. i definitely have a few portrayals in mind for him, but i decided the soft, adorable route would be great for this one! i’m just… thank you. it really makes me happy to know that you think my work is high quality and you wait for my updates ;w; you’re a high quality reader, and you gave me so much motivation for this!

You wondered if he remembered you.

If somewhere deep down, he has you etched into his memory like you have him etched in yours, forged by the seldom chance meetings in the hallways and occasionally met glances on this very same street. If somewhere deep down, he actually remembered that day. It was a silly thought, of course. But when you peered out the large expanse of glass with the fleeting view of vagabonds and the beckoning shop across the street where he manned the frontline with a smile as warm and inviting as the bakery itself, you found it hard to forget him even after all of these years.

“You could actually try talking to him, you know,” Ten pointed out. He snickered when you jumped at his close proximity and sudden appearance, only letting loose a single sharp peal of laughter upon your display of nearly dropping a rather hefty volume on self-help about mindfulness onto the carpeted floor.

You scowled slightly in response. The only sound emitting from you was the book getting placed carefully in its slot, punctuating your meager embarrassment with an unintentional thwack.

“How long has it been since you’ve giving him the love eyes, Y/N?”

“I have not—!” you paused. Your frown deepened at his amused stare. “What?”

“You’re absolutely bullshitting! Why don’t you actually try talking to him? This isn’t high school anymore, y’know. You can actually go up to a man and ask him out.”

You guffawed at the sheer prospect of doing that. Of course, you could. But would you do that? Hell no. You liked to think that Jung Jaehyun was part of a time where nothing really mattered besides letter grades and grade-point averages.

High school in itself was a fleeting moment in time that you both cherished and kept at a distance, though he made himself an exception just by existing; you just didn’t know what to expect if you decided to open up that can of worms. He was perfect, really. A basketball point guard, top student in English, music, and most obviously, home economics, and kind, invigorating, and enigmatic all the same. You didn’t know him like you wanted to, nor did you really know him very much at all (unless you counted that one meaningful conversation you shared with him). To talk him again would be nice, to catch up over these past couple of years, to finally have a moment that lasted more than just a couple minutes in between classes. God, that would be a dream.

But that was all it was, wasn’t it? He probably doesn’t remember me like I remember him… You shook your head, hoping that was enough to will away the thoughts and the very faint memories prickling the back of your mind.

Ten deadpanned and met your gaze, “So, you’re going to spend your entire time back in town just staring at the love of your life through windows instead of actually pursuing him like you’ve been dreaming of for God-only-knows how long?”

“I don’t love him,” you retorted, rolling your eyes as you went back to stocking up the bookshelves. This time shifting the large cart between the two of you for easier access, and to create a barrier for whatever he was trying to insinuate. “I’m back to help out the shop, not stroll down memory lane with some guy I talked to like once in grade school.”

Naturally, it was a failed effort.

Just as he grabbed a book, gaze flickering over the title to put it into place, he said, “Perhaps letting you know that he stopped by the store a few times to ask about you wouldn’t mean very much then, huh?”

You paused. Your eyes narrowing from the silver font of the title to the silver-haired man beside you.

“Hm?”

“What?” he blinked his stupid, cat-like eyes in innocence. “Did you need me to repeat myself?”

“When did he—?” you paused for a second time, already knowing you fell right into Ten’s trap. “Stop messing with me! There’s no point in getting my hopes up when I know he has never thought of me like that.”

“So, you do care then?”

“I don’t,” you responded stiffly.

“Are you sure?”

You shook your head. Of course, you fucking did. You just didn’t want to give that little shit the satisfaction of being right, again.

“When have I ever led you astray when it comes to Baker Boy over there, Y/N? You were so sure he had no clue who you were back then, but can you remember what I told you and what happened after that?”

Your lips formed a small thin line, almost a pout but without the playful pretenses as you’ve always flashed at him.

Of fucking course you remembered. It was one thing to know Jaehyun knew your name, but it was another thing to actually talk to him about your writing and hear him read his favorite poem to you aloud. You didn’t know why or what possessed him to do this, but it was senior year. And it was all you could think about even now, returning for summer break, back to where you got to see him without the crowd and watchful eyes of peers.

“C’mon, Y/N. Was he really just some guy from high school?”

“Shut up,” you sighed, sideying him as you put a few more books up onto the shelves. “It was ages ago.”

“And somehow you’re still thinking about a what-if with him.” Another thwack punctuated the statement.

You didn’t like where this was headed. And you stated so with a grumble, “Or you’re pulling some wizarding bullshit on me just so I’ll do what you have planned in that evil, little brain of yours, demon.”

“Actually, I prefer being called Cupid.”

He laughed as soon as he turned back on his heel and met your perturbed expression. A part of him leaned on the entryway toward the reading room, where a few passerby congregated. Some of which appeared to be couples of different tiers—the old-timers, the honeymooners, and the just-beginners.

The feigned discomfort on your visage faded while one of longing took its place. You didn’t particularly care for relationships now, but you remembered wanting one so badly when you were younger. You remembered a time where you only dreamt of interacting with Jaehyun, somehow only seeing him at the far distance most people saw any idol of a sort, before that day in Miss Calinao’s classroom. You remembered talking to him and watching the crush fade into something else, a possibility that perhaps you weren’t a stupid kid secretly chasing (read: ogling) a guy after all. You knew now that you didn’t need a relationship, really, that if you were to engage in Jung Jaehyun, then it was simply to catch up and reminisce, nothing more.

But what if there is more? The voice asked, sounding more like Ten than what you would’ve preferred. He was off finishing the rounds for strays on the coffee table, returning some of the teacups to the kitchens for later washing. You had drifted from that area to break room after double checking your checklist and found nothing else needed to be done to your relief, though it left more room for your mind to drift than you preferred.

A small wave of a hand blocked your focus, while the bemused titter of your coworker snickered at you once more. Instead of saying what you heard in your head like part of you expected, Ten asked, “Did you hear me?”

You shook your head before letting a loud sigh loose. “What do you want now, demon?”

“You’re on your fifteen, right?”

You glanced at your watch and then nodded slowly. It hadn’t occurred to you until then. Perhaps you could wander around the street… maybe glance at the bakery on your way to ShareTea. You had no actual reason to walk inside anyway.

“Do me and Nana a favor—!”

You blinked, “Wha—” What’s he up to…?

“—and grab us something from across the street.”

Goddamn demon.

Your own heart trembled as you walked toward the cream- and sky blue-colored building.

The very path was familiar.

Each step taking you back to a simpler time, where daydreams were less about your future job and more about ways in which you could bridge the acquaintance gap with Jung Jaehyun and become something. It was purely innocent back then. Always a hope and a scenario that brought you two closer; after all, you were both workers to neighboring establishments. How cute would it have been if you two had gotten closer back then and gone to work together? Left for home together? Maybe he could’ve walked you home. He seems like the type—

You cracked a small smile at the thought and felt your cheeks burn as soon as you got to the sidewalk. There were hardly any people around, a result of the summer heat, that made the prospect of entering both frightening and actually quite relieving. There wouldn’t be any possible familiar faces trying to engage either of you in conversation, or, well, engage Jaehyun in conversation. You could see him at the cash register and a few others scurrying in and out of the kitchen, but the sight wasn’t what beckoned you forward. It was the smell.

Even from the entrance of the book shop, you could smell the vanilla extract wafting off the assortment of sponge cakes. Some of them came in small and stout, tall and long, and somewhere in-between, each in a vast variety of colors and designs that made your stomach ache for a taste of the familiar softness and warmth only they could elicit above all other desserts. The most popular and your favorite, hands down, was the strawberry shortcake.

It reminded you of him the most.

You knew he decorated that one the best. Each one a work of his, right down to the way the dollop of cream perfectly stood beside the carefully sliced strawberries to the carnation circle wrapped around the middle. The scent was like a blast from the past, taking you right back to the days when you stopped inside for a few treats for your coworkers at the bookstore and when Ten decided to push you inside in hopes of giving you the necessary push that you always needed when it came to your highschool crush. But what gets you was the scent, because that was very much Jaehyun as well.

His smile was exactly like the dessert he was best at—soft, sweet, with just the right amount of warmth. And the moment you met eyes with him after the chime of the doorside bell, you were greeted with that very smile.

Truthfully, he looked very much like his high school self. Still handsome as ever, with his features much more filled out and prominent. His head of chestnut locks fell atop his forehead in haphard array, cropped at the bottom so the top was the fullest; dark brown eyes still alight with interest and invitation; and, small dust of flour brushed across his nose and near his cheekbones.

He said your name with a greeting. You realized it was with a hint of surprise and an undeniable twinge of happiness that you have only ever been privy to once a few times before, but you couldn’t deny your own swell of happiness as you walked up to the counter with a smile of your own.

“Hey, Jaehyun.”

For once in a very long time, you were saying his name to him directly, and it felt like a flutter off your lips. Almost so casual it was unreal.

His smile matched his eyes as he asked, “How’ve you been? I take it you’re back for summer break as well?”

You nodded, “I’m helping back at the shop across the street. Like old times.”

“Old times,” he repeated, giving an appreciative nod. “Well, I’m glad. It’s nice to see such a familiar face these days.”

Glancing around, you could definitely see the lack of people. A part of you hoped that his statement meant more than just seeing anyone from high school, but the realistic part of you knew that that was a silly, high school-like desire.

“I see that. Seems like baked goods aren’t very popular in this heat huh?” You tilted your head at him, “you really haven’t seen anyone from high school?”

“Unfortunately, I’ve seen too many people from high school. The ones I don’t talk to as much, I mean.” An interesting look passed over his face, something akin to fondness you would say. But you didn’t think that meant anything. Even if he did say that not many people he talked to stopped by… all things considered, you should be in that category, really.

“Well, I hope I’m not part of that unfortunate high school bunch,” you laughed a little. Part of you already expected some change in his expression. Maybe something that would give away his true feelings, but he merely looked alarmed and shook his head quite fiercely.

“No, no. I promise you, you’re part of the best bunch. In fact, I was hoping to see you around.”

You blinked hard, wondering if you heard him correctly. He gulped immediately upon your lack of response.

“I—I—I mean, well, yeah. I stopped by the bookstore a few times—for books, of course—and to see if you were around. And I did see you a few times not too long ago, I’m sorry for not stopping by myself. I, truthfully, have been working some courage to do just that.”

“What? Really?” You couldn’t even stop to mask the astonishment, and your cheeks paid the price for it.

“Y-yeah,” he laughed nervously. “It’s just… I feel like we didn’t talk as much as I hoped we would in high school. I know we got to before graduation, but I wished it had been sooner. I’m not sure if you remember, but what you said about my recitation really meant a lot back then. Gave me quite a bit of courage to go off of these past few semesters.”

“I—um—I’m really glad to hear that. It’s a pretty big surprise for me, honestly. A wonderful one at that. I’d like to thank you for what you said about my work, too. It’s helped me with all these writing workshops I’ve had to do for class. I think back to that day and it keeps me going forward with everything, even when it feels like writing is the bane of my existence.”

“I’d like to hear about how those are going, maybe see what new things you’ve cooked up since you last shared your work with me… if you don’t mind, of course.” It was like him to be considerate. And, the soft velvet tone of his voice only accentuated this.

Even when your heart was trembling with nerves that it may actually fall out of your chest and onto the tan wooden floors, you told him you didn’t mind at all.

“Really?” His eyes lit up when he asked, and you nodded with a smile.

“Yeah, I’d love to catch up over lost time with you sometime. I’m free in a few hours actually… if that’s alright with you.”

He nodded, “It’s perfect. I’m done at four. Have you tried that one poke place on Anderson yet?”

You shook your head, “I’ve been meaning to, though!”

“Would you like to go there with me then?”

“Sure, I’d love to.” You paused, letting out a sheepish laugh before asking. “Today at four, right? I just need to make sure I’m not dreaming.”

He laughed as well, allowing some of the dust on his nose to fall just a little.

“At four,” he said to reassure you. “So, I totally side-tracked you from whatever made you come in here but anyway—what can I help you with?”

“The usual, if you can remember.” You added, “It’s alright if you don’t—”

“—Two strawberry shortcakes, a three cookies, and a mocha log, right?”

“O-oh, yeah. Wow,” you said, a little dumbfounded. “You remembered.”

“Of course, I remember all the orders of my favorite customers,” he said this so casually, yet you could see the hint of flush becoming prominent beneath the flour.

You snorted, hoping to mask your own bout of embarrassment. “Now I find that a little hard to believe. But that’s cute.”

“It’s true! I promise, it was a pleasurable pastime to have you come in for my strawberry shortcakes. Even before I was actually any good at them.”

You remembered that, though this “rough” period hardly lasted a few weeks before he got the hang of the inner-workings inside the bakery. You still loved them to this day. Probably would’ve loved them even if they were terrible anyway.

“They were… decent.”

“Well, I appreciate you for enjoying my decent shortcakes, and I hope they’ve gotten better with time.”

You handed him the cash as soon as he handed you the bag of goods, and received the necessary change before walking toward the door.

“Well, I’ll let you know at four.”

“I can’t wait.”

Both you and your inner high school self smiled to yourselves, Me neither.

(When you returned, you found Ten’s attention fully on you, with eyebrows raised and an awaiting smile. You knew what he was waiting for, but you simply shoved his mocha log his way before grumbling and short and sweet—

“Shut up, Cupid.”

“Don’t you mean dem—you know what, I accept this. You’re welcome, by the way. Thank me at your wedding, okay?”

“Demon.”)

#kfluffnet #jaehyun scenarios #jaehyun fanfic #jaehyun fluff #jaehyun au #jaehyun x reader #nct scenarios #nct 127 scenarios #nct u scenarios #nct fanfic #nct 127 fanfic #nct 127 au #nct u fluff #nct u au #nct fluff #nct 127 fluff #nct u fanfic #d:milestone #emswriting

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goldenscript · 7 years ago

Text

35. there’s a first for everything

↳ prompt: the night we shared when i asked you to stay → delivery boy!jimin

pairing: park jimin | reader genre: college au / fluff, romance word count: 3,702 author’s note: most of this was written listening to taeyeon’s “something new” mini album, so feel free to listen to that while you read this (and when you aren’t because it’s lovely)! also, this was kind of messy but be kind since it’s been a while since i’ve written anything! <333

The way to Room 313 comes as second nature.

Each step and turn like a dance he’s memorized like the back of his hand. It has become so heavily embedded into his mind, he can practically visualize the décor and feel the dips before they can make him stumble. He has done this way too many fucking times, each moment somehow all culminating together in the back of his mind. But he has long since found the reason to stop caring, because every single step he takes is one distance short of being in your presence.

God, you. The tenant of 313. The very reason that keeps him coming every week. The same person who has almost always done everything in your power to keep him and whatever feelings blooming inside of him at bay in the worst possible ways. You’ve told him time and time again that relationships and attachments are foreign concepts to you, that being with anyone that isn’t yourself is fated to end in disaster, that there isn’t anyone in this goddamn world that can change that. But somehow, somewhere along the way, he fucked that up.

When you called Bangtan’s for delicious food and quick delivery, he’s sure that the last thing you expected was him. This isn’t to say that he’s some magical being with the ability to make anyone and everyone fall in love with him, because he is far from magical or being that lovable. It’s just him. He knows that he isn’t perfect. His friends tell him he is, but he doesn’t see it. He sees someone who does his best, even if it doesn’t feel like it; someone who cares with every ounce of his heart, even if can be a little too much at time; and right between the seams, someone who fears the unknown waters of love.

That’s how you two come together. The connection that entwines you both in this small, quaint tale of a delivery boy and a tenant that somehow spiraled out of the routine of just another come-and-go. Because love, for the both of you, is overrated and quite frightening. There’s a level of uncertainty that two self-sufficient people can’t seem to grapple with, especially with the unpredictability and irrationality of loving another person.

As someone who has only ever experienced love in occasional spurts, one of which took hold of him the greatest in his junior year of high school, Jimin remembers the sadness that came when he got stood up at Jack’s (only later to find out why he was stood up was over another boy from a different town who was better in ways that he simply couldn’t match up to). It felt surreal, disappointing indefinitely, and an epiphany struck him that he could’ve loved that girl as he trudged on home that day.

While you are someone who just doesn’t want to be in love. You don’t trust what it has to offer. In fact, you detest how blinding it is, how irrational it makes you, and how much power it entails to another person and their ability to hurt you. You experienced it twice before: first time through settling, and the second through misplaced trust. All before coming here for a fresh start, years before, but still there are still memories pressed deep within you, with reminders in the form of doubts and fears that perhaps forever is a trap and love is nothing more than a facade.

Still, equating that moment in his life to this current one is a far reach from being similar. After all, you’ve never stood him up. You never cheated on him. That was in the past. A set history that he has been trying not to let happen again.

Jimin shakes his head, trying to reassure himself that these moments with you are uncertain things, not set in stone.

When he gets closer to your corridor, he remembers how his knocks on your door with the food and a smile on his face, ready to greet you with the cheesy albeit mandatory, “Are you ready for Bangtan?” led to engaging you in some brief conversation at first. His consistency seemed to make it easier to open up. Falling in line with your range of who you can open up to being only a few-month-old tenant to the building for the school year. Your reason for the lack of desire in friendship: the notorious transfer student “Well, I’m going to pick up and leave in a few years anyway” mentality. Despite all initial doubts, he couldn’t shake his own urge to make getting to know you on these 20-minute deliveries his own personal goal. Especially after seeing you every Wednesday for more than a month straight.

Maybe you picked up on this inquisitive decision, and decided to humor him for the sake that he was your delivery person for a third of an hour. Or maybe you just couldn’t find it in yourself to reject that friendship that he was involuntarily offering. He still doesn’t know. And really? He doesn’t care either. What he does knows and what he has come to know is that with every step toward your door, with food in hand and his smile curled on his lips, Jimin can’t wait to see you today.

This is the first time you’ve called for him thrice in a week.

Usually you keep these interactions to at the very least once a week. Sometimes two if you’re feeling that generous. But it isn’t like he ever asked for your number. To him, that’s crossing a bridge like asking you out. And despite being somewhat confident that he isn’t the only one feeling something in these brief times together, he doesn’t want to push you and ruin such a good thing going on already. He knows he can’t keep blaming himself for what happened in the past, that you’re a completely different person to her, but he can’t stop the small bout of fear that wraps around his heart like a protective layer.

Apparently, that layer only seems to weaken when you answer the door with your smile in tow.

“Jimin! Long time no see, huh? I hope you haven’t missed me too much since we last saw each other.” You say this all with a smile before settling on his Bangtan hatless state with a raised eyebrow. “Is this a break in uniform protocol I see?”

He lets out a weak laugh. “Actually… you’re my last stop for the night. So, I figured the hat was unnecessary and still too ugly. But please don’t tell Hobi. He’d probably kill me if he heard that I was shit talking his prized hat choice, again.”

You snort, nodding in recollection to the last time Jimin and Hoseok bickered over the stupid hat. Jin joined in and made the entire situation worse over the phone. But you agreed with Jimin that a giant llama didn’t exactly scream Bangtan and that was all he needed to get them to shut up about the llama even if it meant they wouldn’t stop pestering about you as soon as he returned to the shop.

“The hat has its… qualities. It has character too. It’s kinda cute in that way,” you comment with a small pout. He knows you’re just trying to tease him, but it still works.

The sight makes him groan in mild frustration. “Who’s side are you on? Now you’re starting to sound like Hobi and Jin.”

You shrug, shifting your weight to your foot closest to the doorframe. Somehow the hallway overhead lights illuminates your features in just the right way, revealing the glint of jovial mischief swimming in your eyes. “Perhaps they had some decent points… the llama is the attention grabber, after all.”

“Quit teasing,” he says with a scrunch of his nose. What was he worrying about again? He can’t seem to remember right now. It feels like those small anxieties become nothing more than a small voice in the background of his mind.

Only dissipating further when you giggle in response. Holding up your hands in surrender, you say, “You got me there. S’okay, Min. You’re the real attention grabber here.”

“Yeah?” He perks up involuntarily, earning another small chime of bells from you. He blinks. “What?”

“You’re just adorable.”

“How so?” He tilts his head to the side, unable to fight the grin curling on his face.

“You’re the first person I’ve met that actually wants to beat out a llama.” You watch as he shifts the bag of food you ordered to his other hand. “And the only delivery boy that doesn’t judge me for ordering out every week.”

“What can I say? You’re Bangtan’s best customer. Who am I to judge?”

“Good, because my cooking ineptitude needs to benefit me somehow.” When he laughs, you crack a smile and step aside. “Come in won’t you?”

He slowly stops laughing and blinks. He suddenly becomes aware of how new this all is for him and you from the apparent flush tinging your cheeks. “Is that alright?”

“I—I wouldn’t have asked if it wasn’t,” you try to tell him nonchalantly, but he can’t even pretend that he didn’t see you just stumble over one of your shoes just now. He’s about to ask you if you’re alright, but you beat him with another question. “You said this was your last stop for the night, right? Would you like to stay for dinner?”

He manages a nod to your first question, only stopping when he hears the second one faintly to the loud beating in his chest. This is definitely new territory. It’s so new that he isn’t even sure how to comprehend his next course of action, because without a second thought, he’s telling you ‘okay,’ and letting you lead him inside toward the kitchen.

Jimin has never seen the inside of your apartment before. Save for the view from the doorway, but what greets him at his usual vantage point is a small tile floor to store your shoes, a side table leaned against the adjacent wall, and a hallway that leads to the kitchen, living room, and dining room hybrid area. The walls are all the standard white expected from the university apartments, littered with a few framed photos of you and who can assume are your family and friends from your hometown.

You’re neat, too. Your shoes are lined altogether in rows by the doorway, the keys on the doorside table are contained in a ceramic bowl with a blue stripe going all around it, and even your living area is in order without too many books crowding the far left corner of the black two-row shelf. Despite how crowded with schoolwork the coffee table is, it isn’t scattered beside your laptop. They’re simply stacked into one pile with your pens and pencils for note-taking.

“It’s a little messy,” you say with a sheepish exhale. “Sorry about that.”

He looks at you incredulously. Because this a far cry from messy. “If you ever want to see messy, you should see my place. I’m kinda jealous. I have two other pigs for roommates, so living alone must be nice.”

The counter that leads into the kitchen is sparse if not for the bananas and oranges tucked at the corner of it. There are stools positioned in front, two of them beckoning you two forth, so he sets the food there just as you direct him to. He also takes a seat, watching as you go to your fridge in search of beverages.

Glancing at him from the open doors, you ask, “Bottled water’s good, right? Or, well, I have Coke too.”

He nods, “Coke’s good.” He immediately stands and goes to help you when he realizes that you aren’t a two-trip person. Your attempt to make it with bottled water in hand, the liter of soda, and a cup could lead to disaster, so he makes use of his nerves by pouring his own soda and laughing at you.

“I could’ve made it! I was only sort of tipping.” It’s a weak defense, but he can see your embarrassment and he simply shakes his head.

“Sure, if you say so. I don’t mind helping anyway. I’m equipped for kitchen aid, y’know.”

“Yeah, I know,” you say as you open the water. “But you do enough for me already. I wanted this to be a thank you.”

“I’m just doing my job,” he says, flushing once again. He uses the excuse to put away the soda to avoid letting you see his face, but he can’t seem to stop staring at the sight before him. “Y/N, is your fridge always this empty?”

“Er, maybe?” When he glances at you, he can see you already standing and going over to close the door. “I just haven’t gone to get groceries in a while.”

“A long while, apparently.” He looks at the closed door and back at you with raised eyebrows. “You should take care of yourself too…”

“I—I know. It’s been a busy couple of week with school and work picking up.” He gets it. The end of the quarter is always the hardest. With only ten weeks of classes, the important stuff builds up and gets overwhelming if you let the workload wash over you. And it’s even more harrowing knowing how hardworking you are with your assignments and projects, because you don’t half-ass any of it, not even when your body craves rest and nourishment, you simply work your way around those things with caffeine and take-out.

He tuts you still. Shaking his head when he remembers the bareness of the shelves and replies, “Well, it’s almost over, and I know you got through those two research papers already. No excuses this time.”

Despite the roll of your eyes, which he knows is nothing more than your way of expressing how right he is, you tell him you will. “Thank you,” you also say as you two make your way back to the seats.

“It’s really not a problem,” he reassures you, taking the initiative to take the extra paper plates out of the bag. You ordered your usual: the House Special chow mein and a side of still fresh sweet and sour pork with the sauce on the side. But he realizes that the amount is a size larger than your normal when you spoon enough noodles on your plate and his own. His eyes narrow slightly and he asks, “You planned this huh?”

Jimin tells you he doesn’t mind that you did this for him at all. Actually he’s glad you did.

“Why?” you ask him, slurping the noodles as he begins to talk.

“I mean I’ve really enjoyed getting to know you these past few weeks. It’s kind of been the highlight of my shifts, well, of my Wednesday shifts. But still, it’s nice. I like this. I like you...”

You stop to wipe your mouth and look at him with wide eyes. It seems he has finally (well, sort of) addressed the giant elephant in the room.

“You do? I mean you like me?”

Putting his fork down, he nods. He decides that he should just be honest. If he really wants to know if you feel the same way, then he has to take a risk and just tell you how he feels first.

“I mean I thought I was pretty obvious about it…” he points out shyly. “It’s not every shift that I talk to just anyone the way I can with you. I don’t know if I’ve been reading into things, but I just feel like I can connect with you. You have this quality that I can’t stop thinking of. It’s nice. And, if you feel the same, that I’m not the only one feeling this way, then I’d like to see where this goes. Not have sex or anything but just talking, getting to know one another more, and maybe going out on an actual date… or something.”

He didn’t realize how much you were staring until he found his eyes wandering right back to yours. He sees relief, happiness, and… tenderness. It relieves him even when you don’t respond right away.

“I really don’t want to be that person who just says ‘same here!’ or ‘me too!’ but that’s how I feel, too. I dunno. I didn’t expect to get to know you like this or at all, really. No hard feelings. You know how my mindset was since coming here.”

“Was?” When you look away, he looks at the bananas and oranges.

From the corner of his eye, he can see you nod with a small smile. “Yeah, was. You kinda fucked up that ‘I’m not gonna get close to anyone’ thing. I mean ‘close’ close. Like this. I didn’t intend for this to happen. But it did. And as much as I’ve said that I wouldn’t be okay with it, I am. I mean I’m scared shitless of what might happen… but I’m willing to see what will happen this time. With you. If… that’s alright. I mean you just said you’d go out with me and all that, but even I’m still not sure of anything, really.”

There’s a long pause before you two meet eyes and laughter fills the still air.

“God,” you say with a hard exhale. “When did we become such shy little shits like this?”

He shakes his head, feeling the smile the laughter has elicited lingering on his lips. Even with all the uncertainty in the air, he still feels lighter in the chest. “I have no clue. I guess I fucked up your ‘no attachments’ thing, huh?”

“And I fucked up your ‘no relationships’ thing, right?”

“I mean I don’t mind. Whatever this is feels right. Whatever it becomes, I think it’ll be right too.”

Your lips twitch into a small smile, and he receives a nod in response. “I think so too, Jimin. I like it. I like you, by the way.”

“I know. Well, I had a feeling,” he admits a little sheepishly. “I mean I thought it was safe to assume that you didn’t treat just anyone the way you’ve treated me lately.”

“You’re right, this isn’t. I mean maybe at first but vibing with you over dance and music changed a lot of things. At some point, you weren’t delivery boy anymore, and at that point, I didn’t want you to be just that either.”

“I… I’m glad. Thank you.”

“For what?” You tilt your head in confusion.

“For humoring me, I guess. Letting me get to know you. And for this.”

“I’ve been meaning to thank you somehow. And yet here you are thanking me for thanking you.”

There’s another opportunity for the two of you to laugh until the aroma of the House Special reminds you both to eat once again. It proceeds without silence, though you both nod at one another like profusely thanking one another is some kind of commonplace exchange for you two.

More conversation and laughter seem to waft the little island as the two of you find more things to talk about until the clock strikes well past midnight. It isn’t like either of you want to move from your spots, but Jimin refuses to let your food go soggy now that a substantial amount has passed and with a decent amount of leftovers even from both of your attempts to eat it all. You take care of his cup by putting it in the sink, watching as he carefully places the bag onto one of the shelves.

With you leaning there behind him, he can’t help but turn as the door shuts and look back. He wonders if he should ask you out now or wait until the next time he sees you. Or, he considers the fact that he should ask for your number now and ask you out tomorrow. Or do both.

“Maybe you should stay over tonight.”

He blinks, thoughts now going silent as he looks at your visage. “What?”

“I mean it’s pretty late and I don’t want anything to happen to you if you’re driving… and I… I don’t really know. I’m kind of going by impulse right now. We don’t have to do anything but sleep and talk, too. I just don’t really want this to be over yet, if that makes sense.”

“I’ve never done this before, but there��s a first for everything right?”

“Is that a yes?”

“Yeah, why not?” he says, smiling.

“Then you can tell me what you were thinking so hard about just now.” Before he can ask about a very important issue, you add, “And don’t worry about a toothbrush, I definitely have extras.”

(What happens after is simple. The two of you talk until the peak of dawn arrives, where limbs become entangled and breathing syncs, and Jimin awakes to you beside him, looking adorable with strands of loose hair clinging to the sides of your face and mouth ajar with soft breathes heaving your chest up and down. He really doesn’t know what will happen today or the day after and certainly not in a few weeks from now, but he likes the idea of the present, of the now you’re both in. And, he can’t wait to see what that will bring. Especially now that he has your number and a yes to that future date.

And Jimin’s first course of action besides brushing his teeth, of course, is sifting through your cabinets for some flour. He has decided that your first date together can be breakfast in bed.)

#bts writing squad #btswriters #btssunshinenet #bangtan bookclub #sfwbangtan #kfluffnet #jimin scenarios #jimin fluff #jimin au #jimin fanfic #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts fluff #bts scenarios #bts au #bts college au #jimin x reader #emswriting

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goldenscript · 7 years ago

Note

congrats in hitting your recent milestone! as for my request how about... "a whisper of love" with jungkook. thanks so much!

pairing: jeon jungkook | readergenre: soulmate au / fluffy fluff bc my brain did a thingword count: 1,652author’s note: i just want to tell you the deepest thank you’s, love! this is much later than anticipated, but i hope this piece was worth something!

I love you comes in many forms.

Some are bold. (“I love you.”) Some are uncertain. (“I… I think I love you.”) Some are quiet, almost unnoticeable to the naked eye. But they’re there. They’re wordless and powerful. They’re the kinds of I love you’s that count when the circumstances permit, and you feel it without question. In your case, you hear it without second thought. And it is always in his voice.

You’re certain you have met him before, felt his presence linger across your skin where your palm is flat and open on a picnic table getting kissed by the sun’s rays, and a light breeze caresses your cheeks. You know him. Yet, you don’t.

Not yet, at least.

I can’t sleep, you tell him.

Me neither, he replies. I want to see you.

You laugh, you have seen me.

You can imagine him shaking his head, maybe a pout forming on his lips you’ve etched so perfectly into your mind.

Pictures don’t count. I want to “see” see you…

I know, you sigh aloud. Me too.

Soon, he promises. I’ll get enough money to see you.

Yeah, one day.

It’s been like this for over a year now.

You can hear his voice, see his face, even talk to him on the phone or through video chat. It’s simple. It’s easy. But you’ve never seen him face to face, felt his caress on your cheek, or even went out on a proper date. When his mother says you’re miles away, that much is true, by approximately five thousand miles. He lives a literal ocean away, and yet something as simple as an airplane ride to go see you or vice versa feels virtually impossible in a world where money still plays as a huge deterrent for soulmates trying to meet one another for the very first fucking time.

You hate it. You hate wishing he was here. You hate that the barrier isn’t just distance, sometimes it’s even language. You hate that he feels like he needs to learn an entirely new language just for you. Even when he says he doesn’t mind, that working day and night while going to school just to see you is worth every paycheck, you can’t help but hate that the universe has let you find one another at the worst of times.

Just like him, you’re amidst school, burrowed beneath a thesis for a masters while still trying to stay afloat. Student loans are no joke. Neither are airline tickets. Not to mention rent and the cost-of-living itself. You envy everyone else who gets to see him, to hear him with their own ears, and to feel him through embraces without a second thought. They’re privy to these things, while you are, unfortunately, not. And you don’t know why the universe chose you for him and him for you. You don’t know why the universe decided that hearing his voice would be a match made from the heavens, literally forged there, would perfect for you, complete you like you’ve learned. You just don’t understand.

What’s wrong? He asks you this suddenly, alarmed by the sudden influx of thoughts that must be bombarding him at the back of his mind among his own artillery. But these ones are in your voice, signalling a silent call for help that you find hard to utter when you need it most.

You don’t speak, finding words harder to come by, because how is it possible to miss someone so badly without having ever met them in real life?

We’ll see each other soon, I promise.

There’s no rush, you always tell him. This time is no different. You don’t like that he’s working so hard to see you, straining himself when he has to juggle midterms and finals like you are. You understand that this is a circumstance that you both must take your time with, because life is life. It doesn’t always play out the way you want it to.

But wouldn’t seeing each other on the twenty-second of June be a nice way to kick off summer? This is definitely a thought you’ve pondered and hoped for. You both officially started talking in summer, some time after coming to grips with the soulmate business in November, but it’s a dream… right? He doesn’t trail off like he usually does, and you don’t feel any hint of a lighthearted joke either.

You have to pause, immediately reaching for your phone to dial his number despite the 16-hour time difference. It’s 1:30 PM where you are, and 5:30 AM for him, while you’re simply ending your short day, he is beginning his longer one.

“You’re joking, right?” you ask as soon as the ringing stops. “You have to be joking. You had to help your mom with utility bills two weeks ago. Right?”

“Good morning to you too,” he replies, punctuating the greeting with a chuckle. His voice is still rough from residual fatigue, but it brings a small, faint smile to your lips nonetheless. Your heart just hurts to think that you won’t hear that same voice face to face quite yet. You would playfully whine if only you weren’t feeling the faint traces of disappointment creeping up on you. If he is joking, then you think it would be best to get off the phone right now.

But he stops you.

“I’m not joking though. My mom actually paid me back, made my friends give me the money for the tickets, and well, I’m coming to see you on the 22nd of June for two weeks.”

“Two weeks,” you murmur under your breath. What he’s saying is still processing in your brain. The very reality becoming potent with every affirmation he supplements to you.

“Hang on, okay? I’ll be there in less than two months. Will you be able to take some time off work for that long? I know this is kind of last minute, but I really wanted to surprise you somehow because I—I know this has gotten rougher—”

“—i-it’s no problem. I can get the time off,” you reassure him with a smile you’re sure he’s trying to picture right now. “Thank you, Guk.”

“Of course, I lo—” He coughs before he can finish, and when you ask him if he’s alright, he replies, “I can’t wait until June.”

You laugh, agreeing and semi-knowing what he truly meant to say.

It’s June 22nd. At exactly 7 AM.

The small peak of canary is rising behind the floating white wisps of clouds, getting wider and bigger as minutes countdown to the half-hour mark. You don’t expect to see Jungkook for another hour, but he’s gone quiet on his end of your shared connection, probably asleep or even too groggy to say anything at all. A part of you has always wondered what would happen when you two would meet—for example, what would you two do when you first see each other, what would either of you say, and what the hell would happen to this connection of yours?

It suddenly strikes you that it might fade into existence now that you and Jungkook are finally meeting, and that makes you bittersweet for many reasons. Perhaps neither of you will ever be able to share those hidden moments again, the ones where you need him to calm you after a stressful day, where the thoughts and pressure of your current living situation are too much to bear, or the ones where he just needs to hear your reassurance that he’s doing the right thing in school or the telling him a joke when he’s been studying too hard. You suddenly remember the first time you both spoke to one another and opened up to this idea of sharing thoughts with another person. It felt so foreign and so alleviating to hear someone have struggles like yours, to know that you weren’t alone even when you knew you weren’t, it was just nice to have that reassurance without necessarily having to ask for it. And—!

“You think too much, you know that right?”

That voice brings you back to reality. The faint grogginess, the roughness etched within the amused question. You know his voice better than your own sometimes.

You look up to see him, to finally look into his warm, brown eyes, and feel the swell of happiness bloom within your chest.

When you say his name, he doesn’t say a word. He washes his gaze over you in your short and loose top form and stops right at your eyes. His suitcase and his dufflebag are left forgotten a couple of meters away as he steps forward and closes the small gap between you and him in the small waiting area. His arms wrap around you like he promised you once before, and they’re warm and secure around you. He smells like bergamot and fresh laundry, reminding you of a home you’ve been waiting for. You’re at one. You feel at peace.

“I didn’t get to tell you this on the phone because I wanted to say this right now,” he murmurs into your hair. You ask him what despite knowing, because you already felt it that night. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

(After that small exchange, you both decide to grab some brunch at one of the cafés in downtown, and you tell him if you had known he touched down already and got through check-in, you would’ve been waiting there by the gate.

He simply takes your hand in his in response.

“Seeing you and being able to do this is enough for me.”

You grin and breathe a laugh, “Well, at least do that for me when I come down in December, okay?”

“Okay… wait, what?”

“You’ll see in December.”

I can’t wait already, he tells you.

You laugh aloud and nod, Yeah. Me neither.)

#bangtan bookclub #sfwbangtan #bts writing squad #btswriters #kfluffnet #jungkook scenarios #jungkook fluff #jungkook fanfic #jungkook au #bts au #bts scenarios #bts drabble #bts fluff #bts fanfic #jungkook x reader #emswriting #d:milestone

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goldenscript · 7 years ago

Text

08. thin ice

↳ prompt: the night we shared with spaces between us → athlete!jungkook

pairing: jeon jungkook | reader genre: hockey au / drama, angst word count: 3,961 author’s note: forgive me for taking ten years to post anything! i made this especially long, so i hope that counts for something. <3

When he was eight-years-old, Jungkook had the opportunity to play with the national hockey team.

Born and bred for the ice, bruises, split lips, and the occasional (okay, frequent) scuffle so normal to his life before the prospect of video games or even playground interactions ever crossed his mind. He knew more about defensive plays than how to play wall ball, and his ineptitude in social interactions showed most even before the Game.

Sure, he was blessed with the chance to play on the ice with his idols. Some of which has signed his stick and wished him the best of luck in his athletic endeavors with necessary truth and tips lined behind each well wish, and that was the best experience a little, doe-eyed boy like him could ask for. And, this was something his father prided him in. In fact, it was something everyone in his hockey league seemed to pride him in.

However, just about everyone else feared him for it.

Hockey has been known as for being violent, even volatile at times, with nothing to gloss over and make pretty. Even the skating couldn’t be saved—its aggressive, almost feral nature, especially between the competitors all too wince-inducting and jaw-dropping because how was any of it legal?

The sport itself immediately conjures up an image that a hockey player is someone hulking, giant and absolutely terrifying, without an ounce of self-control that could easily unleash a bout of anger so great it’s like watching a real life Incredible Hulk.

As expected, this was what everyone saw, even with Jungkook playing on the field, that fate Sunday afternoon: they caught him in all his glory, a natural on the ice without so much as a falter after his first round on the ice, and when they looked at his doe-like eyes in search of the innocence and curiosity that often sat on the hickory hues, they saw the fire burning in his eyes in its stead. It was different, almost frightening to see for anyone who wasn’t playing alongside him on the ice. To new viewers, he looked like a completely different person.

So, to say the very least, this made him a very, very, very lonely child without too many playmates besides his own teammates, and even then they were spread across the districts in the city, too far and too busy with their own lives and practicing making up a good portion of their schedules like his own.

It made for many lonely afternoons after homework was finished and only Joohyuk to bug when opportunity arose. Jungkook just wished for one friend, one person to understand him better than his family, someone.

Perhaps Fate heard his plea, because just as soon as he wished for someone to come into his life, you appeared.

Like a scene taken out of those ridiculous romantic comedies, you moved to the empty house next door, welcoming him with a smile so warm and inviting, he was tempted to befriend you on the spot but the thought that you might actually denounce him once you caught wind of all the horror stories going around about him, all he wanted to do was keep away. Hope, as he had grown to see it, was a thing for suckers or the non-monsters that everyone didn’t equate to the Hulk.

Of course, it was no surprise to anyone besides Jungkook that someone saw past the presumptions. As a newcomer and his next door neighbor, you saw sides to him that others did not. The sorts of things that made him more human like rollerblading in the yard and nearly toppling over into the bushes, playing catch with his older brother despite the immense difference in strengths and the myriad of times that he had to shyly ask you to toss the ball over from your side of the fence when you shrieked at nearly getting pummeled by the flyaways, and growing frustrations when life was too hard for an adolescent kid because how does one function without proper friends?

He was lonely and sad, in need of companionship, and after the two weeks of rejecting the suggestions made by his brother to just befriend you, their curious, little neighbor, you took matters into your own hands (with the help of Joohyuk, of course).

Hopping over the large brown fence with ease as soon as you saw a chance, you nearly cause him to dive headlong into the netting of the hockey goal, eliciting laughter from his older brother as he came over to you to give you a hand from the stony ledge that carried the hedge-less dirt. You introduced yourself to Jungkook, unwilling to take rejection for an answer because there was no way that this kid who spent so much of his time alone during school couldn’t some form of companionship. You knew it. He knew it. And the culmination of seeing you plop into his yard with an outstretched hand and a toothless grin (which in your defense was still a pretty damn cute sight to see you with your two front teeth), with the prospect of friendship, of understand, of a courageousness that he sometimes wished he had— after all, you’re the one who took the leap of faith and prompted him to follow.

Over the next decade comes adventures, memories that you’ve both held so tightly in your hearts that it’s no wonder that at some point a bridge was crossed and the friendship that so closely entwined you together became a relationship that everyone saw coming. You’ve support him in his hockey endeavors from the gnarly violets riddling his body to the very often black eyes, all because it makes him happy and gives him a space of belonging. It’s all you’ve ever wanted for him.

And, to your (and his) relief, adolescence does get better.

It has become no surprise that everyone else you’ve gone to school with has gotten over their fears, giving Jungkook congratulatory handshakes when they see you two traipsing down the hallway together. It’s better. When you glance over at him and catch his quiet smile, your heart can’t help but swell because he is pumped for this game, spending extra hours at practice to get his backhand for the moment he can finally end Mingyu’s winning streak. They’ve been friends for ages, but their rivalry runs deep.

To see it come to head like this is a work of miracles, and you only bear one thought in mind as he has you switch his home jersey for the away one.

“Be careful.”

He shrugs on the jersey over the heavy padding, flashing you a sunny grin too breathtaking to maintain the creases embedded on your forehead.

“Always,” he says before pressing his lips to your forehead.

You don’t let him escape so easily, encircling his waist with your arms and giving him a tight squeeze. He still has a few moments, and like every game, he likes to spend those spare ones with you. Switch jerseys, stay with you, go out on the ice. This is his routine. His lucky routine. His favorite routine. And, naturally, your favorite as well.

Unfortunately, the heavy weight in the pit of your stomach refuses to cease. It only seems to grow as the seconds tick down.

You don’t want your unhappiness to show, but knowing each other for a decade isn’t just you reading him when he tries to hide an injury, it also means he knows when there’s something wrong. His eyebrows knit together and he immediately asks what’s wrong as soon as you look up at him.

You shake your head, wanting to will away the ill thoughts. “It’s nothing.”

He raises a brow.

“Really, don’t worry. Just be careful,” your bottom lip pouts a little. “Please.”

“Careful won’t help me win, you know,” he teases lightly. Like your nature to worry, something you’ve developed since befriending and loving him, he is prone to ease those anxieties away. He likes to soothe them away with laughter, smiles work too but his favorite pastime is watching when your throw your head back and release spurts of giggles just because of him.

You say his nickname halfheartedly, turning away from his eyes just to give him another squeeze.

“Hey,” he says after a moment, grunting a ‘go away’ when footsteps approach. His large, firm hands leave your back to find purchase on your shoulders.

This time you can’t escape to his chest, but there’s some comfort in seeing his hickory eyes. They bore into yours with warmth, its assurance trying to rid away the dark thoughts that have bothered you since finding out he had to stop by the hospital after a practice. Jungkook’s been trying to convince you that it’s nothing, but a part of you still finds it too significant to believe him. But looking at him like this, after seeing the adrenaline already waiting to pump inside him and the peeks of ember floating across his eyes, it’s hard not to believe that it’s going to be okay.

“I promise everything’ll be okay, alright? I’m okay. Tonight will be okay. I’ll play, you’ll cheer, we’ll celebrate with kisses and I’ll take you out.”

You snort, “Shouldn’t I take you out?”

“Are you offering?” he asks with the corners of his lips twitching. You’re trying not to smile, but it’s too damn hard when he looks at you like this.

“Offering?” you scoff, falling into his clutches. “I’m telling you, Jeon. I’ll take you out when you win.”

He replies singsong, “Since you said so.”

You laugh in response, placing your hands on top of his.

Jaehyun’s back again, signaling Jungkook’s need for departure. You flash the ash blond a small smile before giving Jungkook’s hands one final squeeze. Before he leaves you for the locker room, you make sure to ask if he’s sure he’s okay.

He nods with a smile for good measure.

You kiss him before you’re off to your seat in front of rink.

(Him and Jaehyun watch as you depart.

Jaehyun raises a brow at him and asks, “She still doesn’t know, huh?”

Jungkook shakes his head, dismissing the subject with a simple answer: “I’ll be fine.”

His lips tingle but his heart screams at him with guilt, but he’s sure that the game won’t do anything worse than practice already has.)

The stands are filled with onlookers from both schools cheering on their favorite players in flurries of scarlet and azure banners, with hushed murmurs of gossip and eyes of anticipation. You’re almost certain that this turn-out is far larger than last season’s game when the lineup was exactly as it is now. There’s some of the local news cameras propped at the team entrances, while it appears that some of the reporters have already gone into the locker rooms for the pre-game interview.

A normal game of high school league hockey lasts an hour and a half, sometimes even as long as two if there’s overtime. And with a team like Jungkook’s, there’s almost always a guarantee for overtime where playing Mingyu is concerned.

Among the throng of conversations surrounding you, the hottest topic of them all is the showdown between Jeon Jungkook and Kim Mingyu. Both of which are individuals with skills in hockey unparalleled to many of those in their junior league and with opportunities laid out on the line for this sole game. Their rivalry is nothing more than friendly, but a part of you feels the twist of nerves when you see how closely everyone is going to be watching them.

Jungkook has never thought twice about the crowd, what matters the most when he plays is playing, knowing that he is putting in his all and coming out with a win, but you know better. The pressure is insane. He doesn’t tell you often, but the immensity of attention he can receive in a game can tear him up and leave him with nerves bundled so tightly you would’ve thought he was back to eight-year-old him when he was just getting to know you.

The only thing you can truly offer him right now are loud shouts of encouragement alongside the crowd. You stand and cup your hands around your mouth to call his name as soon as he passes your side to enter the rink. He glances over with a tight-lipped smile in your direction, only giving you a small wave before Jaehyun’s ushering him forward.

It’s not odd, but your eyebrows furrow when you see him wince at the sudden blare of an air horn pierces the air and reverberates around the arena like a signal to start. Of course, the teams must shake hands and wish one another luck in the most cordial way possible, but where rivalries stand, it’s almost hard to imagine anyone else on Mingyu’s team acting right aside from him.

The moment comes and goes, and it isn’t long until the buzzer sounds and the game begins.

The opposing team has the puck first. They lobby it to and fro as they skid toward the goal. It’s far too easy, but a goal nonetheless. And as soon as there’s a jeering of sneers and ridicule dropping out onto the rigid ground, Jungkook’s ready and willing to give his all. You know that. His dad knows that. Everyone knows that. And truthfully, it frightens you how easily he loses himself in these games.

He is quick, lithe, and almost hard to see if you even so much as blink. Sometimes he skates circles around Jimin for shits and giggles, but when he’s in this tier of focus, it’s hard to believe he’s the same guy that drinks banana milk like water when he plays League of Legends in his free time. Most of all, there’s a burn in his eyes that could make anyone cower away.

There is no vehemence or malice in him, but in fact, only passion and determination that transcends normalcy. You’ve met plenty of passionate people in your life, even known yourself to be quite a passionate person, but when Jungkook enters that plane, he loses his usual joviality, taking on a persona that one could classify as absolutely ruthless. One might consider him to be like who he once was back in third grade, though no one dares to bring up those days lest it’s in congratulations.

Without fail, he turns the tides of the one-point lead and begins to rack up points for your school. The first twenty minutes fly by with your school leading by five points, and half of the second already obtaining another five on top of that.

Twenty to fifteen, the scoreboard reads right before the zero transitions into a one and Jungkook’s skating to his position for defense.

It seems there’s nothing stopping him right now. Not even the loom of an injury that leaves his teammates, his coach, and his father at the edge of their seats as they see him pirouette into one of the opposing team members.

At the bottom left corner from where you’re seated, a position that feels too close for your liking when you can see him so closely and too far with the plexiglass keeping the action inside the rink, you flinch as if you’re taking the brunt of the impact instead as the collision reverberates through your ears among the hullabaloo shrouding you.

The opponent is one of Mingyu’s team members, Dino, they call him is apparently one of the youngest on the team with a particularly solid build that they consider as lethal as a T-Rex (Jungkook’s words, not yours.), and taking any sort of blow from him is a miracle in itself, considering even Mingyu has trouble with him during practice.

Jungkook makes it out, however, relatively unscatched.

(This is something relatively uncharacteristic for Pledis High, what with the ratio of volatile players on the team much to everyone else’s dismay. There’s a roaring faction of clean players like Mingyu and his pals, Dino, Seungcheol, and Wonwoo, and dirty ones that only want to win at all costs. And that small altercation with Dino is more than enough to elicit an uproar or even retaliation.)

Until a runaway body comes barreling into him.

“What were you thinking, Jungkook?!”

“C’mon, Ji—”

“—No! Don’t you fucking ‘c’mon Jin’ me, you little shit! I put you in because you said the doctor gave you clearance, and here you are picking a fight with that other punk. Don’t you dare pull that shit again or I swear to God I will bench you for the entire season, got it?”

The protest in Jungkook’s throat is caught, visibly torn between two things you aren’t all that well aware of, but whatever the case is, you step into the nurse’s office and rush to Jungkook’s side. Your first three words are ones you’ve offered in place of a regular greeting from all the times he’s returned to you in a worse shape than the last—”Are you okay?”

Your eyebrows are furrowed together as you look to him then to Jin, “Should I take you to the hospital? Should I take him to the hospital?”

“No, don’t! This is nothing, I swear.”

Jin glares at him for a moment before his hickory hues soften upon meeting your concerned ones. He nods.

“Please take him. Tell his parents what happened, alright? And make sure he stays awake,” He claps a hand on your shoulder with a small smile, both for reassurance, before sending Jungkook a final glare and exiting back into the rink, where the game continues.

“Don’t, this is nothing,” he wheezes. He gives a shudder that makes your stomach drop once more.It pisses you off.

“Like fucking hell I’m believing you,” you spit at him. You don’t know what is more appalling. The fact that he doesn’t want you to tag along or the fact that he, Jeon Jungkook, was ready to propel himself off the wall and plow right into the asshole who knocked him right into the wall with a resounding thump that still plays over in your mind.

Your gaze only softens at seeing the dark splotches of purple prominent against his cheekbones.

“Of course, I’m taking you,” you tell him, flashing him a small smile.

“I’ll be back on the ice before you know it—” he pauses, wincing hard. His eyes clamp shut right as his jaw clenched, and the only response you receive is a sharp exhale that dissuades you from leaving this alone. He doesn’t even bother fighting you when you coax him up and toward your car.

The drive to the hospital is stiff with silence, but it’s gets even worse when you take him back home.

At the hospital, your worst thoughts are confirmed. From Jin’s warning to his previous visit to the hospital, you actually knew something was wrong. You felt it the moment you woke up today. Every part of you was screaming against Jungkook playing, and despite your best efforts, they were fruitless. And for every reason anyone would have when it comes to someone they love acting stupid and putting their themselves in danger, you are incontestably furious.

His parents aren’t home, but you make a mental note of letting them know what happened whenever they get back. It won’t be uncommon to see you there in the morning or even at the ass-crack of dawn, but that’s just a given of having your neighbor also be your son’s best friend. Regardless if they were there, you still wouldn’t show an ounce of mercy to Jungkook right now.

“Concussion, really Jungkook?” you ask after tossing his hockey gear to one of the corners of the room. It makes a soft sound, but you still feel a pang of guilt when you see him flinch from the corner of your eye.

You see him plop onto his bed, sitting up against the headboard before exhaling a brief, bitter laugh. “Well, you heard the doctor, didn’t you?”

“What the actual fuck? Why—why didn’t you tell me?”

He shrugs, fueling on your irritability, “I’ve had wounds before, enough scars that you’ve seen. What’s the big deal about this one? It’s nothing.”

You scoff, “You must be shitting me right now. Nothing?”

“Yeah, nothing. We’re here in my room for absolutely nothing. If anything, I should be back at the rink, still playing. The doctor basically gave me clearance anyway.”

“This isn’t nothing, Jungkook. The doctor mentioned brain damage if you continued playing! Or is that taking effect now?”

“Y/N, I got treatment. We’re home now. I know you’re not taking me back. Are you really that upset that I didn’t tell you about it?”

“Of course, you lied to me. You told me everything was fine. Everything is not fine. You have a concussion and for some fucking reason despite knowing all of that stuff about it already, you wanted to pick a fight with Asshole Number Two.”

“It’s nothing!”

“It’s not!” You huff with a small shake of your head, already feeling your heart thumping erratically, “Why do you insist on convincing me otherwise?”

He exhales just as hard, a lot more carefully considering the state of his head at least before responding, “What good could it have done for either us? You would’ve been worried about me. I would’ve been worried about you. And the last thing on my mind would be playing the actual game, winning Champs, beating Gyu… all that. Would me telling you be worth all that fuss?”

There have been days where you feared having this conversation. It’s not as simple “it’s me or it’s hockey,” though that in itself is complicated already. No, this has been a topic you’ve tried answering yourself time and time again.

Jungkook’s life has always revolved around hockey. He lives it, breathes it. It’s something that he’s grown with, and his promise in the sport is phenomenal. He does have a future in it. But what scares you the most isn’t that he’ll drop you for hockey, because something deep down tells you that he’ll always choose both. Rather what scares you is what hockey does to him.

He changes. He becomes someone different. And right now shows that more than ever.

It’s quiet for a moment before you ask him a question that weighs on your mind. You’ve always guessed the answer, but you decide it’s time to hear it from Asshole Number One himself.

“Is your health really that insignificant compared to hockey?”

He gets quiet this time. His own frustrations melting off his visage as quickly as it had come. With you, everything else, even the world, stops being so loud. His own voice seems to shut up, because it knows you’re right. You just want him to be happy and healthy even after all of that. You don’t care if that means a stop to hockey or if it means having to take care of him yourself, you’ll do it. It infuriates you that the last person he thinks of is himself sometimes, especially in these moments, but if you have to be that person—as pissed as you are—you’ll do it.

The only response he offers you is a small, “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, me too.”

Instead of leaving like you know he expects because you are still angry with him, you take a seat on his swivel chair before you tell him to hit the showers, and even when he returns, still half-expecting you to leave, you’re there at his desk to make sure he doesn’t fall asleep.

And there you stay even until morning.

#sfwbangtan #bts writing squad #btswriters #bangtan bookclub #gguknet #jungkook scenarios #jungkook drabble #jungkook au #jungkook x reader #jungkook angst #bts scenarios #bts au #bts drabble #bts angst #emswriting

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goldenscript · 7 years ago

Text

claw machine.

pairing: jeon jeongguk | reader genre: friends with benefits au / fluff word count: 2,115 ↳ “let’s go out tonight.”

author’s note: i’m wishing miss @tendershepherd / @ralph-mountainlodge / @threepreludes, the happiest of birthdays. it’s a day early but i got so excited! thank you for existing. i love you and may your special day treat you well!

» (more than) a one-night stand drabbles

“Let’s go out tonight.”

You raised your eyebrows at him, meeting Jeongguk’s eyes to find them steady as ever. The hint of nerves coated the words in the faintest way so much so that had you not known him as well as you did you would’ve missed it. It didn’t mask the abruptness though, nor did it stop you from propping yourself upward on the couch in interest.

Here you were probably thinking that tonight was going to be a normal night in, possibly spent with movies, take-out, and the second meaning of “Netflix and chill,” which was expected with him, but tonight was different. Namjoon told him that the element of surprise was always one way to make you happy, and for reasons that Jeongguk could only somewhat comprehend, he wanted to see you.

“This is a first,” you commented with a Cheshire-like smile.

His cheeks burned and he licked his bottom lip nervously in response

You seemed to noticed then that he was dressed in dark denim jeans, a white T-shirt (surprise, surprise), and one of his many black bomber jackets that always draped over you like a blanket and seemed to fit him like a glove. Although the attire is nothing new to his usual outerwear, there was no doubt that the arrangement of his chestnut-colored locks styled away from his forehead would catch your eye. And it had the smile curving on your face deepening at the realization that this was his intention upon coming over all along.

“Wasn’t this an agreement for companionship? Can’t I ask you out?” he said without defense, rather with a playfulness that told you he really wasn’t trying to explain himself. More so out of embarrassment, really, but it was no surprise. This was Jeon Jeongguk after all.

The casualness that has become your relationship was refreshing, relaxing even. Next to having someone to relieve stress with, you now had someone to hit up whenever you decided to go out or if you wanted to try a new restaurant in town. No longer having to solo it out when your girlfriends brought their significant others and vice versa for him. When it was just you two trying new places or just grabbing bites to eat, it was mostly you initiating the outings, what with his somewhat reserved nature creating a wall in the beginning and establishing a shy distance, he felt this desire to begin to doing the same thing. .

When you didn’t respond right away, his fingers fidgeted with the hair carefully. His own bottom lip already caught between his teeth. Had you been feeling extra playful you would’ve prolonged this, but he could see that your own curiosity wanted to be satisfied.

You stood up to grab your purse and a coat, quirking a brow at him and asking, “And where did you have in mind, Jeon?”

The violet and scarlet neon lights blinked once, then twice as soon as you both arrived. He weaved through the walkway with you curled into his side in ease. By then, the bright white pics were struck down by the bowling ball before the sequence rolled again. Jeongguk watched with inner glee your amazement at the sign before looking away to open the door for you.

“So, bowling huh?” you nodded appreciatively. He hummed in response, trying not to laugh when your nose scrunched at the overhead heater.

After the abrupt gust of warm blew at you both from above, he quickly shut the door and led you both toward the kiosk for a lane and shoe rentals. You both paid and settled at the fifth lane, even ordering some pizza and snacks for the time being. It was nice.

“You never told me bowled,” you commented after watching his strike. His form and his stance were precise, professional-looking even. Your surprise was sort of expected, Jeongguk never really mentioned this hobby of his besides once in passing. It didn’t come up often, so he didn’t feel the need to elaborate. He did expect Namjoon to tell you since the older man was the matchmaker to all of this.

He shrugged, exhaling a sheepish laugh, “Joon didn’t tell you? It’s sort of a—well, it’s not some family trade secret or anything, but bowling does run in the family. I do it as a hobby though.”

“The hobby, I vaguely remember,” you said, surprising him. Through the slew of text messages, phone calls, and videochat calls, he didn’t expect you to remember it, especially when he was as shy as he was back then. He almost wanted to choke his past self for being so awkward and stiff when you were visibly trying to get him to open up. “I just didn’t expect you to be that good at it.”

He laughed again, waving you off. “I can go easy on you. It’s not like I’m that good.”

You rolled your eyes and pointed to the overhead screen with both of your scored in full display. He already scored a full twenty points to your measly seven.

“Don’t B.S. me, Jeon. This is gonna be a sad outcome for me.”

“Like I said, I can take it down a notch—!”

You gave a resigned sigh, stretching your arms and preparing for your turn, “No, no. This is fine, I promise. I’ll take the loss and still try anyway.”

Staying true to your word, Jeongguk saw you put in a great of effort. In turn, he got to see you in your competitive glory. It was adorable. The way you would try to line your aim up with the pins, the small pouts you gave when the ball didn’t go in the direction you wanted, and seeing the absolute joy in your face when you obtained a two full strikes. What came after that took the entire cake of the night, because you rushed into his arms and he pulled you into firm, spinning hug.

The incandescent lights shone over you in the softest way, etching your visage deep into his memory. He could feel the happiness you extruded. Its very warmth eliciting his own bout of joviality.

Just as quickly as the night came, it ended, but he was greeted with revelations at the end of it.

“How come you didn’t tell me you were a bowling prodigy?” you asked, again curling back into his side as you both trekked back to your apartment. “And why no bowling trips? That was fun!”

“Ah, it’s not something worth mentioning, y’know,” he answered, feeling sheepish again. Truthfully, Jeongguk hadn’t taken too many people to this place. Mostly out of his own comfort. To him, this was his happy place. Sometimes he went there by himself just to let off some steam if the gym just wasn’t cutting for him.

Being one of the youngest in his friend group and going through the motions of school made it a little difficult on him. However, meeting you helped a lot, and he didn’t actually go to the bowling alley as much as before. Namjoon knew that. It was honestly part of the reason why the older man decided to set him up with you.

You scoffed at him, “Shut up, it’s so worth mentioning. But I mean if it’s something you do in your free time then I get it. Sometimes it’s better to keep that kind of fun to yourself, hm?”

He nodded. “Yeah, I guess you could put it that way.”

“Well, I’m glad you decided you could take me with you.”

“Yeah,” he smiled. “Me too. It’s funny my friends always said something about me bringing someone that wasn’t them to a bowling alley.”

The moment you two passed by the only brightly lit object in the vicinity of closed shops about two blocks from your place, your eyes lit up. You pointed at the claw machine in interest and took him along with you. “Oh, Guk! Have you tried this before?”

Inside he caught sight of a plushie in the form of a dog with the notoriously black ears and blue T-shirt, along with a few other semi-recognizable plushies. He laughed and hesitantly told you, “If there’s one thing I’m actually shit at in this world, then it’s claw machines, so no luck there if you want that Pochacco doll, babe.”

You waved him off, letting go of him to reach into your purse for coins. “Luckily for you, I’m good at these.”

“Yeah?”

This time you hummed in affirmation, allowing determination to wash over your visage like a newfound mask, and goddamn did you wear it well.

He leaned against the corner of the machine, opting to hold your bag as you played. It was like watching you bowl all over again. Although this time there was no intention of beating him or scoring something, rather he got to see you navigate a metal claw for the one character you’ve gushed about to him time and time again.

Watching you again in your competitive was just as adorable as it was in the bowling alley. Only this time he didn’t have to take a moment to complete his turn. Instead he could watch as you tried to best that damn machine. Each time closer than the last, leaving you undeniably frustrated as you reached in for another set of coins for another try.

He realized something then. What he was going to tell you earlier was that his friends always told him that he must really love someone if he brought her to his safe haven. And the procession of thoughts that came after love led him back to you. From your tenacity to your openness to your smile to the way you look when the morning light washes over your visage. He can feel the softness of your skin and your hair even when he’s by himself.

When he came to you tonight, his only intention was to take a chance and take you out for once. When he said he wanted to see you happy, he didn’t realize that perhaps it was because he could actually love you, that perhaps he already was.

Jeongguk looked at you then. You, with the stray strands of hair getting in the way as you tried once more to get Pochacco out of that prison. Even when the small plushie fell out of the metal claw and you turned to him with a pout, he felt his heart flutter and the butterflies in his stomach that were always a presence really began to take hold of him.

He loved you. Truly.

“R-ready?” he managed to ask as you made a grab for your purse.

You released a sigh and a small nod, “Yeah. Next time I’ll get it. That stupid thing is rigged, but I was so close, Guk!”

He felt his heart skip when you said his nickname.

“Y-yeah, damn shame too.”

You leaned your head on the side of his chest as you resumed your previous position from before. He wondered if you could hear his heart, if you could feel what you did to it. One of your arms slipped around his waist, making him and you both remained that way until you made it to the all too familiar hallway of your floor.

“Hey,” you said suddenly.

He blinked and tilted his head, “Yeah?”

“You know you never finished telling what your friends said when you bring someone to the bowling alley.”

He had almost forgotten how well your memory worked. Even in your own excitement, of course you would think of him.

“Ah, I’ll tell you next time.”

When you made a face, a protest already forming on your lips as you entered the warmth of your apartment, he couldn’t help but grin lopsidedly. He wasn’t sure what to say or to do in a situation like this. He felt his nerves take hold again, and the small voices of doubt whispering as he considered what to tell you. Could he really fuck this all up because of his feelings? Could he really do that? After all that progress, here he was, messing things up.

He gulped right then as you pulled him inside and shut the door behind him, “How about we go out again and I’ll tell you then?”

“Okay,” you smiled, leaning up to press your lips to his. “I’m holding you to that then.”

He nodded, responding instantly to you. Like second nature, he cupped your cheek and pinned your back to the wall, pressing your bodies closer to together.

He would deal with it when the time came. It would be okay. He hoped.

Stupid claw machine.

#btswriters #bts writing squad #bangtan bookclub #gguknet #kfluffnet #jungkook scenarios #jungkook fluff #jungkook fanfic #jungkook au #jungkook x reader #bts au #bts scenarios #bts fanfic #bts fluff #emswriting #(more than) a one night stand drabbles

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goldenscript · 7 years ago

Text

baby, i would die for you

pairing: kwon soonyoung | reader genre: fantasy au / romance, drama, i mean... it’s demon!soonyoung and witch!oc, basically cole and phoebe from charmed word count: 3,273 description: [loosely based on this prompt] It’s the first time in three months since you’ve decided to take on a mission with Kwon Soonyoung, and it makes you nervous for reasons unbeknownst to you (or so you think). author’s note: happy birthday @boosoonhao! aj, this one’s for you, my love <3 tbh i always knew that my first soonyoung fic would be for you. have a lovely birthday, ok? i love you!

You hate this. Between coming damn near empty-handed to toting around that stupid demon, you’re almost certain that tonight’s mission is going to be a bust.

“I should take a picture of this moment,” Soonyoung muses with his eyes set on you. His lips are curled into a stupid smirk that looks far too good on him even with strobe lighting. This only deepens your indignation.

There’s a flash of molten gold gleaming the nightclub’s name from the overhead windows, eliciting a glare that you send in the demon’s direction. Somehow the regret of bringing him only manifests now that you both are at the venue with only a vial of the vanquishing potion, two knives (or was it three?), a bottle of holy water, and two good spurts of energy if your powers would just cooperate, and it certainly doesn’t help that the amount of power radiating from somewhere inside this godforsaken place makes you nervous.

What’s going on with you? For fuck’s sake, you shake your head at yourself before turning your full attention on Soonyoung.

“And, what’s that supposed to mean, Kwon?”

“Joy would have a field day seeing you here tonight,” he says with a snicker to punctuate. “Especially in that.”

You look down, semi-glowering at the obnoxious scarlet clinging to your body like under armor. If it were armor, you probably would’ve felt more secret no matter the weight physically weighing on your shoulders. With this stupid thing, the material is light and velvety, definitely easier to maneuver in than Seulgi’s options, but it doesn’t stop you from detesting the fact that you still somehow feel underprepared in it. If you were in your cargo pants and thermal you wouldn’t be exposed like this, and you sure as hell wouldn’t be wondering if you brought that damn back-up knife either.

In response, you simply scowl.

“It’s not like I had a choice. It was either this or Seulgi’s two-piece leather, BDSM-y set.” You shudder at the afterthought. How she managed in that during nights out are still beyond you.

Soonyoung quirks a brow at you, a small snicker passing between his lips as he switched his position from his chest to his back against the counter.

You huff when he still doesn’t say anything, “What?”

He looks you directly in the eye just as the corners of his lips curl upward.

“Y/N, relax. You look good,” he tells you. And it pisses you off, because you can’t even glare at him when you know he’s being sincere.

Instead, you stiffly respond, “T-thanks, Soonyoung.”

You give him your own once over, unsurprised, of course. It’s no surprise to find him donning the usual black button-up and jeans combination that he still manages to make his own look, trademarking it with black leather shoes. He looks good. Unbearably so. So, you look away to the crowd of dancers.

None of them strike you as odd, in fact all of them are simply partygoers enjoying their Friday night. Sunmi certainly doesn’t appear to be among them. The unmistakable head of cerulean is nowhere in sight even with your third sight active. And whether she’s responsible for the surge of energy shrouding the building or not, you decide that you and Soonyoung are better off mingling around, much to your dismay.

You turn to him, “Hey—”

There he stands with only a few inches between your visages, halting you. You don’t even realize how loud your heart’s beating until you find him leaning in, smoothing down a stray hair before returning back to his initial position and a flush of color dusting across his cheekbones.

“Sorry,” he says with breathy laugh. “That would’ve bugged me. What’s up?”

“R-right,” you clear your throat. “Let’s split up. We won’t get anything done just standing here.”

He nods despite his gaze not meeting your own, cocking his head to the side.

“Soonyoung? Did you find her already?” you ask, turning to your head to find the possible perpetrator.

“Oh—!” He shakes his head, grinning at you. “Don’t worry about it. I just thought there might’ve been some possible energy over there.”

“I’ll go with you then,” you say, ready to turn around.

He shakes his head along with his hands. He says with a hint of exasperation, “No, no. Really, if it’s nothing, then it’ll be a waste for you to come along too.”

Your eyes narrow.

“Are you lying to me?”

“When have I ever lied to you, Y/N?” He feigns hurt, but you and him both know it’s a fruitless attempt at deflecting. He knows how much it upset you afterwards, and it’s been months since you felt like you could take him on as a partner. Even still, he wasn’t your first choice for this anyway. Had Irene or even Yeri been free, you would’ve snagged them (and if they allowed it, you might’ve actually done this alone).

“Last I remember it was exactly three months ago.”

He says your name when your lips form a thin line. The ghost of his touch on your shoulder rouses you from falling back into the memory, the feelings that overtook you that day. Instead of remaining and meeting his eyes, before you can fall back in and forgive him like you’ve told yourself you already have for the past few weeks already, all because you want him to feel like he’s on eggshells, because that agony of the thought of losing him aches you.

Like him, you decide to deflect the conversation, figuring you might as well show him some mercy now that you’re both out on this mission. Instead of wondering what if you took him out on another mission, you can see him in action once more. And hopefully without the same recklessness as before. “Well, I gotta check out upstairs, so don’t do anything stupid, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t worry, Y/N. You can trust me.”

You snort.

“You can!”

Without thinking, you retort, “Yeah, well, the last time we did a mission together I do recall someone trying to die.”

“I wasn’t trying to die, Y/N! I was helping you. Dying just happened to be a possible consequence,” he mutters the last part. But you don’t even want to think of that word and him within the same proximity.

“No, you we—you know what? Let’s not do this right now. Sweep down here and I’ll be upstairs.”

When you meet his eyes, he gives an understanding nod and you both part ways.

There’s an undeniable presence following you as you make your way around the upper-half of Lotto. It feels like the loom of a shadow, predatory even, and it elicits nerves that gives you reason to consider the possibility that perhaps Sunmi’s contact has found you out and yet another scenario in which you find yourself at death’s helm. Or worse.

Soonyoung. Your eyes immediately flicker over to the dance floor in search of him. There are waves of purple, green, pink, red, and blue moving in succession as the bass bounces off the walls, but among the throng of dancers in the middle, none of them take his shape.

Your eyebrows furrowed, feeling the sudden surge of power from one of the corner doorways.

That has to be her sign.

You know for a fact that she wouldn’t sell you out. Questionable characteristics aside, she’s far from unreliable. Right as you take a step in that direction, you feel a jab at your ribcage.

“So, what was that about not doing anything stupid?” Soonyoung asks, quirking one of his eyebrows at you.

“I couldn’t find you downstairs!” you defend yourself, though you are well aware of what you’re doing.

“I guess I can’t trust you either then,” he hums, matching your pace to the back room on the eastern side of the building. “You could’ve called. I’d be there in a flash.”

You don’t say anything, however.

There really is no excuse for you trying to leave him out. Much of it is selfish, but you want him safe and having him out here tonight makes you nervous. You don’t know what he’s planning, what he might do for you sake, and what will come of tonight, but you hope that he survives the night.

“Yeah, well, you’re here now, aren’t you?”

Before he says another word, you both come to a stop at the door and take the opportunity to kick it down. In that instant, you lob the vial of the vanquishing potion right as soon as the poor victim passes out from the meager loss of her life force. There’s a flash of flames engulfing the contorted face of the soul-sucker and a strong stench of burning flesh before it dissipates just as quickly as it came.

He heaves a deep sigh, “I better get her to security. But, for the love of God or whomever the fuck is listening, take your own advice, Y/N.”

“Soonyoung—”

“—I’ll be back.”

Within moments, he takes the girl and leaves you to yourself to clean up the scorch marks etched into the Venetian red carpet.

As soon as you shut the door behind you, someone asks, “Leaving so soon, pretty lady?”

You blink, looking up at the stranger with straggly strands of hair and carnivorous eyes take your form in. Although he’s not familiar, his certainly aura is. And you find yourself immediately moving toward the entryway where the rest of the crowd is.

“Hey, hey! Not so fast. Let’s use that room you just walked out of.”

You reply stiffly, “No thanks, I gotta go.”

“What? You got a boyfriend or somethin’?”

You consider answering, but decide to keep walking.

“Hey, I’m talking to you!”

He grabs your wrist, and just as you’re about to tell him to “fuck off,” you see a familiar figure approach almost instantly.

His voice is a low grumble, but nonetheless dulcet in your direction.

“Are you alright?”

You have no words for Soonyoung, only a small nod that’s caught by the rapidly blinking lights from above.

Although the touch of his fingertips are foreign on your waist, you do not freeze and tense away like with the man whose grip tightens on your wrist. Unlike that man, you welcome this man—your savior—with sable locks brushed away from his forehead and a glare that could wither away flowers. His furrowed eyebrows indicate anger from this altercation, obsidian hues flickering to your captive limb before he pulls you free.

“What do you think you’re doing with my girlfriend, asshole?”

The sweet sounds of Soonyoung’s voice have dissipated like melted popsicles in summer and replaced with livid tension that one could expect from the sun’s burning heat. His anger is boundless, unfettered despite your best efforts to drag him away from the beckoning man, because you and him both know who’s coming out of this scuffle unscathed, and you’re scared to find out the outcome. But without so much as a look in your direction, your friend steps forward in your place, receiving a blow to the face.

You don’t know what shocks you the most. Seeing a club fight up front or the fact that Kwon Soonyoung of all people—correction: a notoriously ruthless demon of the Underworld—took that punch without setting fire to the mortal who threw it. And unlike any of your other expectations, between the fire and the soul damnation that often comes with involving yourself with your sworn mortal enemy, you find it in you to trust him not to do something would result in your vanquishing of him. Because somewhere deep down you know that he isn’t that kind of person.

Contrary to common belief, Kwon Soonyoung is a soft man with hopes, dreams, and ambitions. It’s true that he won’t think twice about ending a life, but it’s also true that he is more willing to give second chances, even third ones. Meeting him came from chance, and showed you that demons aren’t just bloodthirsty creatures—in many ways, he shows more humanity than most humans too.

Luckily, the fight doesn’t last long. Though it does get you both kicked off the premises while security detained the pervert. You both decide to go home.

Had you not met him during one of the biggest crises of your life, you don’t think you would be here. And with how much of a constant he has become in your life, you don’t think you could see your life without him anymore. Seeing him almost die before your eyes because of you tears you up, honestly, and seeing how casually benign he was about the whole thing solidifies your guilt all the same.

It strikes you that as soon as you both apparated into his apartment that being called his girlfriend made you happy, that losing him frightens you to a point of irrationality, and that all this fucking time, you knew exactly why you didn’t want him going on any more missions with you. You almost want to curse at yourself on the spot, though you nearly trip over a pile of T-shirts on your way to the restroom.

“Careful,” he murmurs, still keeping a hold of your waist. You don’t make a move out of it either. You just let him guide the both of you to his bathroom for his first-aid kit.

You look at him underneath the fluorescent lighting, noting the unsightly cut on his lip and the dark purplish hue of his right cheekbone. And when you both move to the kitchen, that’s when you catch his busted knuckles among his short life of battle wounds. His dark hair is slicked back from the sweat and grime of the club while fatigue shadows his now hickory hues. As a half-demon, his susceptibility to injuries should be expected, much to his dismay.

“Fuck—!” he cries instantly. The feeling of the disinfectant-soaked cotton pad stings like a bitch, but you reassure him that this will be a quick patch up. “You must be enjoying this payback, huh? I know I probably shouldn’t have fought that guy but… I mean I did, so there’s no going back on it now.”

“But why’d you do it?” you ask, preparing the cotton pads for his knuckles.

He looks at you with the corner of his lip curved upward.

“You really don’t know?” When you shake your head, he gives a laugh. “Y/N, c’mon, you’re telling me you don’t know how much i care about you?”

You snort, now applying the bandages. “Well, I mean I know that—!”

“Apparently not,” he mocks, admiring your handiwork with an admirable smile. “Thanks, by the way.”

“Anytime.” Then, with a warning glare, you huff, “Unless you’re dying, then I’ll kick your ass after I get you patched up again.”

“Noted.” His smiles fades into a soft one, leaving you two in a brief silence. You rise to get the both of you beers, and just as you take a seat, he speaks. “And, I am sorry about what happened.”

His name rolls off your tongue in a sigh. You want to tell him it’s fine. You want to know that what happened three months ago and what happened now is okay, but he stops when with a look. One that is so undoubtedly him but foreign all the same. It’s like the feeling of his hand on your waist. Somehow you relish in this.

“I mean it. I know it was stupid and reckless, but—but I think it’s time you know why.”

You nod for him to go on, deciding you might as well hear him out.

“I don’t want to lose you, Y/N.”

It takes a moment for that alone to sink in, because the way he says it isn’t casual or playful. It’s serious. Sincere. And you know he’s being sincere when he looks at you with a gaze that is steady as ever. It’s like he’s telling you that it’s the truth, and of course, you believe him. How could you not? After all this time spent together, all the missions, the dinners, the hang-outs, everything. It has somehow whittled down to this very moment, and when you consider what else swims in his eyes, he tells you exactly what it is.

“I love you.”

He nods twice, allowing his words to sink in before he continues, “If I could lay down my life for you, I fuckin’ would. I don’t care what happens to me, but I want you safe. When I saw a chance that you would get hurt, I had to jump in. This goes for what happened earlier too. God, I know it was really stupid to get into a fight at that stupid but… god, I don’t think very well with you around. I just want you to be okay. You are okay, right? He didn’t hurt you?”

Your gaze flickers between him and your wrist, though the latter has suffer little to no damage compared to him, you can’t help but let out a strangled laugh.

“You… god, you’re something else, Soonyoung. Out of all things, you want to check up on me when you’re the one who was fighting. How am I not surprised?”

He can’t help but laugh, giving a small shrug. He tries to hide the wince that follows but you catch it anyway.

“I—I… goddamn you.” You let out a nervous laugh, “I didn’t think telling you would be this hard but I mean yeah I love you. I think I would be crazy not to, what with the kind of history we’ve had and how much I would pretty die for you too. I guess you could consider me an idiot alongside you because losing you would be the hardest thing I would have to do in my life, and I’ve been to the Underworld twice, okay? Kwon Soonyoung, I love your dumb ass, too much. And I need you to stop being so damn reckless for me!”

“I can’t help it!” He laughs, looking at you with elation. “I really can’t. Not when I know I’d take anything for you. A bullet, a knife, a fire ball…”

You laugh, shaking your head. “No, I want you here alive with me. I don’t think I can live with myself if I somehow killed you like I could’ve last time.”

“You didn’t.”

You nod defiantly, “I did. I mean I threw that vial and then you were there when it got deflected. Like Soonyoung, if it had worked when—when—when he had it… you could’ve….”

“But I’m here,” he whispers, carefully reaching for your hands. “I’m here. I’m alive. I’m with you.”

There’s warmth and comfort when he entwines your fingers with his own, the small circles he rubs into your flesh is soothing to the anxieties that plague you now. He manages to quiet the doubts the closer his visage leans in toward yours as well.

When he presses his forehead to yours and a smile curves on his lips, you reciprocate the gesture.

“Thank you for that save though. Your timing’s impeccable.”

He closes the distance once to press his lips to yours, and once again you reciprocate the gesture.

“Told you I’d be there in a flash.”

(“How about this? We live so we can have more moments like this,” he says, holding up your hands from the bed.

You roll your eyes at him, stroking his soft cheeks. “Sounds like a deal to me.”

“I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you too, Soonyoung.”)

#sfwseventeen #soonyoung scenarios #hoshi scenarios #soonyoung au #soonyoung fanfic #hoshi fanfic #seventeen scenarios #seventeen fanfic #seventeen fluff #seventeen au #svt fanfic #svt scenarios #svt fluff #svt au #soonyoung x reader #hoshi x reader #emswriting

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goldenscript · 8 years ago

Text

cursed

↳ prompt: “you shouldn’t have eaten the pumpkin” au + vampire!jeno

pairing: lee jeno | reader genre: fantasy au / fluff word count: 7,179 description: much to your utter dismay, you and your lovably human best friend, Lee Jeno, have fallen into Joy and Yeri’s matchmaking plan. author’s note: thank you @jungnoir for reading this over and reassuring me that it was fine. I also hope that @calemiel enjoys reading this request of hers!

As per usual, the morning is a conundrum of shrill squeaks followed by a resounding boom that reaches the second level of the gargantuan abode. The very aftermath seems to follow into your room, as if the perpetrators and their massive mistake is inside your room with you. It’s almost tempting to ignore, probably even mute them with a simple charm just for a few more moments of peace and the lull of dreams that beckon you back to slumberland but it’s no use. The heft of responsibility outweighs the temptation of sleep, and the idea of a certain bull-headed boy appearing in his costume before you can shield him from Yeri or even Joy’s wrath makes you move a little faster.

The sound has reduced by a mere hum and the wisps of smoke have dissipated enough not to elicit a coughing fit by the time you’ve reached the bottom of the stairs. The house itself is in pristine condition, a faint twinkle if you squint hard enough without the usual mess of stray pizza boxes or stray ingredients dotting the coffee table. It’s even more amazing to find the kitchen table a devoid of its usual clutter, and instead only covered with delicious treats for the ensuing feast later on minus the one empty spot besides your apricot-colored goodies.

As promised you’ve created your euphoric pumpkin bites, each one created in replication of the other so not to cause any uproar among the coven. Many of your sisters are enamored with the dessert, crave it whenever you’re all gathered together in celebration, because not only do they taste good but they make you feel good too. (In truth, they’re really just short bread with some hints of enchanted pumpkin inside, but not many treats in the grimoires are as tasty.)

“You’ve prepared the treats right?” Irene raises a brow, straight-faced and inquisitive, as she balances a spellbook in one hand and a whisk in the other. She asked you specifically to make them to appease the Elders, some of whom have been a little testy lately with the mix of progress at this specific coven, so it helps everyone that you’ve done your part.

You reach over to assist her with a stray bowl, nodding as she eyes you with slightly narrowed eyes, still probably reeling from one of the other girls’ kitchen mishap. “I got it, and I promise I won’t be late tonight.”

“You better not be, or I’ll turn your boyfriend into a toad,” she deadpans, only laughing when you almost drop her cupcake batter. “I’m kidding!”

Walking with her back to the kitchen, you simply huff, “He’s not my boyfriend… and he wouldn’t suit being a toad.”

“Just don’t be late, alright?” she offers you a soft smile. “Perhaps he’d suit something else…”

Before you can ask, she walks off with a knowing glint in her eye. The implication leaving you with a wave of queasiness because have you always been that transparent? Was “I think I love my best friend” tattooed on your forehead? Or was there something in your future that she saw?

“You do, you know,” Joy quips, her scarlet red lips curved into a smirk and giggles tumbling out into the open air as you nearly jump out of your own skin. Had she seen the exchange with Irene and heard you fumble through your words too?

“I do what?” you ask, eyebrows furrowing.

Her voice rises an octave, though it’s nothing akin to how you think you sound, “Is ‘I love you, Jeno’ written all over my face? If Irene knows, then does he know?”

Your mouth falls open, a light flush warming your cheekbones before you immediately shake your head. “No! There’s nothing to know. Jeno and I are best friends, and that’s that.”

The way your words squeak out bemuses your raven-haired beauty of a sister, only encouraging her titter because you are awful at lying, not only to others but especially to yourself. But denial is all that’s been keeping you afloat across the sea of emotional mess.

Joy shakes her head, eyes narrowing slightly because she can see right through you and your meager facade. “Liar. I mean, c’mon Y/N, you’re not fooling anyone. Deny it all you want, but you love him and we know it.” She lets out a deep breath, her usual teasing flare faint within the edges, “We accept him too.”

To think that after all these years, Lee Jeno would become more than just your confidant and rock seems almost impossible. You’ve known him for too long, going back as far as his awkward stages to even the horrendous first dance spectacle that he begs of you to forget (though how can you forget the time he nearly tumbled off the stage?). From the days in the sandbox making castles to the prepubescent years treating him better and better as each month had gone by, you’re almost floored to think that the boy you had once considered nothing more than a thorn in your side (and one of the funniest, sweetest guys you know) is the love of your life.

“Joy…” you try to shake your head, perhaps to try to deny the truth once more but you find yourself more at a loss of words. Part of you didn’t think the others would be very accepting of your feelings. You certainly hoped so, but the interactions between mundane and magical world draws at a very thick line meant to keep both parties safe. Even letting Jeno in on your secret is a huge risk that could wrong, but it gnaws at the back of your mind to consider something might happen to him rather than something happening to yourself.

“Anyway,” she says, striding over to tuck a stray lock of your hair behind your ear. “He’s here.”

She walks away before you can say another word, only a wave meeting your gaze when you try to call her back. As she predicted, the familiar voice of a particular blond-haired boy hits the now-clear air with specks of anxiety as Yeri guides him with a lazy drawl.

“She should be here.” A glint of knowing in her eyes as she meets your now sobering gaze.

You feel an odd twist in the pit of your stomach, though you can’t help but ignore immediately as you see curiosity flash across Jeno’s eyes. You’ll admit the table looks delicious, mouthwatering even, but just the idea of Jeno eating one of the unpredictable treats on that cursed table is far from watching him launch a load of M&M’s into his mouth after trick-or-treating.

So, without a second glance at the short-haired brunette, you walk over and smack Jeno’s hovering hand.

“What’s the number one rule today?”

You ask this question with narrowed eyes poised on the one boy who has almost always done everything in his power to do the exact opposite of what you tell him. And normally, on any mundane occasion, you wouldn’t have minded his tendency to eat anything in sight. Perhaps you would even indulge on the impish whims since sneaking away for actual pizza those few times instead of that gross cardboard rendition for lunch constituted necessities for the sake of oth your stomachs, or, hell, even jinxing that stupid money-eating claw machine for that one measly stuffed animal that he insisted you keep, have both been memorable keepsakes to a friendship that has withstood nearly a full twelve years. But when a day as crucial as Samhain rolls by, you have to put your foot down, if not for his sake, then for your own sanity, because as much as it might disdain Joy and Yeri, you’re quite fond of Jeno, a little too fond, if you ask them, but you never do—it’s endless and incessant rapture otherwise—and if being a little strict means keeping him safe from whatever magical property practically oozing out of the plethora of treats on that mahogany table, then so be it.

He whines at the sharp pain that ignites his flesh, if only to unleash your own bout of stinging on yours as well before you retract from his hand as soon as his arm is back at his side.

“I know, I know!”

It’s the same response every year, but you can’t help but feel a pang of guilt this time around. The small out on his lips is far too adorable to be fair, so you simply look elsewhere.

Starting from the top of his head with his mop of tousled blond locks cooperating now that he’s gotten some hair product in it and making your way down, you find him donning a well-replicated Dracula costume with a black cape lined with red to finish off his loose-fitting white top, black pants, and heavy-duty black boots. The boots him additional (and unnecessary) inches for height, making you feel even more dwarfed in your ironically curated ensemble of a navy blue T-shirt dress and bright red bow, but your costume gives you the warm and fuzzies from the annual Studio Ghibli movie marathon you two shared not too long ago.

He takes notice of it, eyes set alight as he inquires about your after school plans. It’s customary to share the few hours of trick-or-treating together, as childish as it seems, but it’s something you’ve both looked forward to every year since your first outing together in elementary school. You don’t want to say what the titillating butterflies mean in your stomach but you smile at him regardless, nearly forgetting Yeri’s presence altogether.

The short-haired girl jolts you out of your reverie by quipping, “Don’t you two have school to get to?”

“O-oh, r-ight!” you half-laugh, already scooping up your backpack as you take a few backwards steps. “C’mon, Jeno!”

“Go ahead, Y/N. I’ll just give him some of the candy for the trick-or-treaters now so he doesn’t steal it all later.” Yeri giggles, leaving you to twirl your keyring about the door for a few minutes.

There’s some incessant whispering that you crane to hear in case anyone decided to drop your secret on him. God, how Hell would break loose.

“Ah—! Here, before you go!”

“—Are you sure?”

“Yes, I wouldn’t give it to you otherwise!”

“T-thank you…”

You straighten yourself out, giving a few taps of your foot before you drag Jeno out by the arm and into your driveway. He’s chewing on something but all you can think to do is get him far away from the house, already feeling the all-knowing smirks of your sisters on you as you drag the taller boy down the familiar path to school.

The day ensues as normal as it always does, though you can’t help but feel like something’s off.

It’s not the buzz of students, really, witches thrive off the hullabaloo that humans make about Samhain. Hell, just seeing your peers dress up actually eases you, because you’re finally in your truest form. Okay, well, sort of. Not everyone at Samhain dons the same attire as Kiki or anything, but this is as close to traditional as you’re getting, because no one in the household accepts wearing the frumpy long dresses unless it’s made over by Irene (again). (Somehow those buggers keep coming back in potato sack form, so you’re actually more willing to wear what you’re wearing now than anything else.)

But still, there’s a particular feel in the air that is off. As if the universe is not quite right here, and that makes you queasy.

You stop by the bathroom for a breather from Psychology, figuring a break from Freud and his need to express desire rather than hiding it would do you some good. On the way, you see a familiar head of blond at his locker, probably admiring himself in the mirror you helped him install since it was more useful than suffering from the stench of the boys’ restroom, something you’re blessed you’ve never had to suffer through, ever. You know the blond’s been different for him, some days he adores it and other days not so much. Of course, you do your best to convince him it looks good, because it most certainly does! So, instead of immediately going to the restroom, considering you don’t actually need it anyway, you stop to see him.

Your steps are light and careful, part of you holding your breath as you go over to surprise him. But as you pause from slamming your hands onto his shoulders, you can’t believe what you see on the white-framed mirror.

Naturally, you see yourself. But there’s a complete devoid of Lee Jeno, and all you can do is spin him around with wide eyes and a rather terse whisper.

“Where’s your reflection?”

You know damn well you never placed a gag hex on the mirror. You could’ve but you only let Joy do that once just for shits and giggles, and for obvious reasons, you didn’t let her this time around—part of it was you deciding it was overdone and another part didn’t want to mess with Jeno so much. But you feel your heart pounding in your chest, the possibilities for what could’ve caused this racing through your mind quicker than Jisung and Chenle’s last race, a rather poor decision, but still nonetheless a moment akin to the speed of light (on Jisung’s end).

He still doesn’t say a word, looking guilty and confused. A part of him actually looks a little scared too. And as much as you want to panic—okay, you really want to panic—you try to calm your nerves and ask once more, softly.

He shakes his head, giving a shrug of his shoulders.

“I-I really don’t know…”

You want to inquire further, but he moves when the clouds uncover the sun just a little in his direction, only strengthening your own anxieties, because this isn’t just a prank from one of your sisters. You can see the visible pain in his eyes from the window behind you, and that makes your stomach churn. This is exactly what your sixth sense for the bad shit was referring to.

The longer you look at Jeno, the more you see that his costume has become part of him. How this came to be is still slipping over your head, however. A strong part of you finding more reasons to dote than get extremely angry right now. At the very least, the horrible feeling that something awful is going to happen to him is lessening a little as you give him something to help with the sun allergy from your always handy, endless pouch, knowing that one of Jisung’s spare rings will help him out.

The realization hits you that maybe it was something he ate when he hung back with Yeri while you waited by the door. It had to have been then. Otherwise, how else could he have eaten anything without you seeing? But it still doesn’t make sense to you.

Obviously I didn’t give him anything… and the last person to give him a treat from the candy bowl was…Yeri— Your eyes narrow at him, feeling better to see the pain in his eyes no longer flooding them but still feeling the swell of irritation now taking anxiety’s place, because he still ate the damn thing despite all your warnings not to!

Lowering your voice down several octaves into a deathly growl, you grunt, “You—”

He gulps. He knows he’s in for it now. (Not that he’s the only one, Yeri’s definitely going to get it too.)

There’s only been a handful of times when you’ve gotten this upset, and the other few offenders involved stealing your broom and even worse the time Joy let him read your spellbook. And although those have been forgivable offenses, you can’t help but feel even the heft of your temper as the anxiety of what could happen to him in this state troubles you the most.

Seeing you this bothered must be worrisome, his eyebrows furrow and his lips are pulled into a small frown.

With his hands up, he tries to talk, sounding a lot smaller than his usual grovel, “Y-Y/N, I’m sorry—”

“—Sorry?” you whisper harshly, wanting nothing more than to will those words away. It’s a weakness for you. To hear him say sorry in such a small and genuine way just makes you want to forgive him. “No, no. Don’t, Jeno.”

He bites his lip. Carefully, of course. The fake fangs he had on this morning have now molded into the real deal.

“Did Yeri give you the orange treat?”

He nods, looking guiltier.

You hate doing this. You really do. But you need to confirm your own theory, and cross your fingers that it isn’t anything like Joy or even Wendy’s snacks, because you can’t even imagine the aftereffects of what their can do to a mere mortal.

“Didn’t I tell you not to eat it?” When he nods, you ask, “Why did you?”

And okay, a huge part of you is still pretty pissed that he went ahead and ate your dessert despite you telling him not to.

At the very least, the effects of your pumpkin treats are nothing lethal for humans, part of it only filled with enough magic to give a euphoric sensation for species like your own and another part might’ve been dulled down by the pumpkin puree on the off chance something went wrong, and you were right to do so it seems.

“I-I know, and that’s why I’m sorry. Yeri said it was fine, so I did it without thinking!”

You exhale loudly, shooting him a brief glare before it softens once again, “Well, you need to make sure not to do anything stupid until after school. I won’t see you until then but you’re not to leave my side until that wears off, alright?”

He nods fervently, blurting out, “I’m really sorry, Y/N—!”

“—Get to class, love birds!” Your head turns to the hall monitor wandering the halls, and of fucking course, it’s Chenle.

There’s a mischievous look in his eye at seeing you and Jeno together, an all-knowing smile to some unsaid secret that you’ve become more and more aware of much to your utter dismay. That very look only seeming to get stronger at the scene before him. You’re sure just the very sight of you looking pissed with Jeno and him looking very apologetic at his locker is plenty of couple gossip for that purple-haired imp and everyone else in the group, but that’s far from your present issues.

Before you can ask for another few minutes, you see Jeno nodding fervently to Chenle, who looks just as surprised as you do when you both find him scurrying off to his Anatomy class right after flashing you an apologetic look, because he can practically feel your fury in waves.

“Be careful, dummy…” you hiss, knowing full well he can hear you with his newfound enhanced hearing. He stiffens only slightly but doesn’t stop as he goes to class. You take this opportunity to let out a deep exhale because there’s no way in hell you’re returning to class in an even worse state than when you left.

Before you head back to class, Chenle, with his goofy grin and all, calls after you, “Have your lovers’ quarrel after school! Go learn, Y/N!”

You refrain from flashing the purple-haired boy the bird but chuckle to yourself nonetheless. You can only imagine how he’s going to make up for this major fuck up, a part of you already forgiving him while another part wanting nothing more for him to just go back to normal so nothing worse happens today.

The moment the final bell rings, you immediately tear out of that final class in search of Jeno and his unforgettably blond mop of hair.

It’s like second nature to navigate across the smooth linoleum in search of him. Usually he’ll come meet you, probably with one of the canned coffees in hand or sometimes the fruit jellies that Donghyuck sells on the side, but you can’t help your impatience to find him. Your heart is thundering far too loud to be calm without having him in sight, and it’s irrational. God, so unbearably overbearing, but you can’t help yourself as you round the corner and find him with Donghyuck near the auburn-haired boy’s locker.

You don’t even need to say anything to announce your presence either. All Jeno has to do is look up, catching a whiff of your all-too-familiar scent. It’s heightened with him temporary, newfound abilities, but he can’t help but feel compelled to lock eyes with you, just to soothe the erratic beating of your heart. At least that’s what it feels like. But you just saunter over with a greeting parting your lips as soon as Donghyuck notices you.

His own Halloween entire is a rather lazy attempt at Wally West from The Flash comic books. His T-shirt is the infamous lightning bolt logo, while it’s all dressed down with a pair of dark denim and Chucks. But before you can rip him a new one, he just snarks, “Hey, hey. Don’t bag the merchant! Your boyfriend here is getting a really good discount from me just so you’ll forgive him for whatever the hell this punk did.”

The younger boy shakes his head at Jeno, giving him a high-five and tilting your bow a little too far off center before running off to find Mark and terrorize him.

You grumble under your breath, “He’s such a brat.”

Adjusting your bow, you glance over at Jeno from the corner of your eye as the two of you begin to walk toward the double doors at the front. What Donghyuck said is still fresh in your mind, earning your best friend an eyebrow raise in question.

“What was Hyuck talking about anyway? You trying to buy my forgiveness?”

The rustling at his wrist hits his thigh and yours, its contents much heavier than the usual load. You might’ve expected some jellies and perhaps a juice but it feels quite substantial from the way its weight leans against your leg. Still, you receive a breathy laugh in response.

“Not buy it, per say… soften, more like,” he admits, meeting your side glance with his own uncertain one. “Unfortunately, he ran out of coffees and juices.”

Why does his small pout have to be so cute? You frown in response. Those previous times he disobeyed you against his better judgement, he begged and grovelled for your forgiveness, especially if he caused something to disrupt the balance of things. After knowing him for so long and expecting such type of curious behavior, you’ve found yourself more and more lenient with him despite your own better judgement. And as much as you would like to make him feel guilty, you know most of your ill emotion is just from anxiety that something will happen to him rather than yourself. (Plus, you’re just a damn softie for him.)

You sigh, nudging his arm with your shoulder, “We can stop by the convenience store and grab some juice before we go to your place. And just maybe that’ll lessen our sentence.”

He raises his eyebrows, “Really?”

You grumble semi-begrudgingly, “Consider yourself lucky you have such a forgiving best friend.”

He smiles a lot brighter after that, probably brighter than he has all day, and your heart can’t help but swell at the sight.

“Just try not to cause any more trouble, alright?” He gives an affirmative hum, switching the plastic bag to his other wrist as you’re both about to cross the street. He grabs your hand without warning and it takes you a moment to register your interlocked palms. You look at him. “Jeno?”

He looks at you, casually answering, “Best way to keep an eye on me right?”

Honestly, it takes everything in you not to completely go weak in the knees at the way the corner of his lips curl upward, not quite as bright but there’s something gentle in the gesture. You’ve seen plenty of smile on him, god, even the ear-splitting, shit-eating grins that you swore took the cake out of all the ones he had, but this closed-lip smile is on another tier of endearing, it’s almost a little cringey how quickly you commit it to memory.

The walk passes as quickly as it starts, and the usual 7-Eleven is surprisingly sparse of people, but you suppose it’s because Halloween is on a Tuesday and most people would most certainly not be partying or hanging around stores when there’s still life to tend to. There’s a few choice characters, some group of boys you don’t really recognize but they seem to be interested on the magazine rack than anything else, the handsome clerk, and a couple of older ladies who flash you and Jeno kind smiles before going about their day.

You two wander to the fridges filled with an assortment of drinks near the magazine rack. There’s an uneasy air extruding from the group of boys you hadn’t been paying much attention to, but now that you see them from your peripheral vision, you recall seeing one of them hanging around Jisung during one of his family shindigs. It was an unfortunate decision to go on your part, what with the plethora of his relatives either talking your ear off spellcasting laws to the occasional dirty look due to your association with the rapidly growing boy. You’re only grateful that this was a joint thing with your family’s and his for an annual reacquaintance that you wished Jeno could’ve came to had he completed his stupid biology project ahead of time. Everyone else is a mystery, but something in your gut tells you that you both need to steer clear from them just to avoid any incidents.

You can feel Jeno’s hand tense as his senses pick up on their scents, probably the repugnant stale aroma of metal, salt, and a pinch of death to punctuate the average vampire scent, and out of the sheer anxiety of having to interact with others of his albeit temporary kind. Giving his warm palm a squeeze and feeling his calloused fingers tighten around your own in response, you two browse quickly for the Calpico bottles until you’re satisfied with the respective strawberry and mango flavors and wander over to the brunet behind the register.

Taehyung’s a kind college student with a knowing glint in his eye and a rather lazy grin curled on the corners of his lips to mismatch. He’s worked there for a while, definitely well-aware of yours and Jeno’s friendship despite you saying absolutely nothing of the matter to him even when you’re alone to shop. He rings you two up, though. Even bids you both a “Happy Halloween!” that is returned with bright smiles, especially from your blond-haired vampire.

Taehyung then chuckles, “Nice set of fangs, kid! Seems like the vampire trend’s coming. Even those kids are dressed as ‘em.”

“O-oh, really?” Jeno laughs, briefly glancing over at the group by the rack. Many of which return the look, a glint of interest now gleaming in their eyes as your best friend runs a hand through his hair.

“Very small world, right?” you pipe in. This gives Jeno some breathing room and pay while you places the drinks in the bag of treats.

“Should’ve gone as Tombo,” Taehyung comments, clicking his tongue at your companion. His chest rumbles out a laugh after you’ve prodded Jeno in the ribs to agree with him, waving you both off despite how uneasy you feel now that the attention you didn’t want on Jeno is doing the exact opposite of your bidding.

You tug him along and ask as soon as the sliding doors shut, “You alright?”

He nods, gulping. “Did I seem scared?”

You hesitate to answer, patting the top of his hand with your free one. If he wasn’t a vampire with a devoid of bodily fluids, then you’re absolutely certain his hand would’ve been so clammy in yours. It makes you try to soothe his fears with a gentle smile, which only seems to half-work.

He sighs, “How scared did I look?”

“Nothing like the time we got chased by Freddy and Jason at the corn maze, if that helps…”

He curses under his breath.

You give his hand a squeeze to reassure him. “Don’t worry, we’ll be at House Velvet in no time. No one’s gonna bug you, lil’ fledgling.”

He pretends to scowl, but the worry you’ve been feeling roll off him dissipates just a little.

You’ve both rounded the corner, now walking alongside the fenced housing areas that are always akin to ghost towns. Pumpkins sit on front porch steps, streamers of orange and black covering large front windows, and it seems the scent of pumpkin and the very subtle hint of cinnamon are wafting the air in a very delicious beckoning.

There’s a sudden rush of air that makes you blink, vaguely swearing there was a sound of rustling before the atmosphere seems to settle. You don’t even have time to think when you hear the quick pitter-patter of feet trailing behind you.

“Hey!”

You and Jeno turn to find one of the boys from the small group in the corner. He gives a sharp exhale, pointing a thumb back in the direction of the 7-Eleven. “You let your drinks back at the store.”

“What?” you blink. You swore you put the bottles inside the bag…

“Yeah, the clerk wouldn’t let me bring so you guys gotta come back to get it.”

You begin to feel a little uneasy, stealing a glance at Jeno to make sure he’s okay. You give his hand a squeeze and make a decision.

“I’ll go with you.”

You can feel Jeno hesitate but you merely shoot him a point look when your back’s turned to the vampire boy. As if to tell your best friend, “I got this… let me handle it.”

“It’ll be really quick anyway,” you reassure him. “Try not to wander off, yeah?”

He sighs, “Okay.” Be careful, he wants to say. But he remembers your little visitor and lets go of your hand.

You quickly depart, feeling queasier as you get as close to the parking lot of the store. The boy who led you there has been talking nonstop but you don’t hear much as you enter to find a befuddled looking Taehyung.

“Y/N?”

You laugh sheepishly, “Hey Tae. Left the drinks, didn’t I?”

He nods, scratching the top of his head. “I dunno how since I saw you put ‘em in. I swear they weren’t there a second ago and when I turned to help one of those boys out, there they were! But here you go.”

“Thank you,” you say, giving a rather stiff nod. When you look over your shoulder for the vampire boy, you find that he’s whistling by the gum rack as if this didn’t scream vampire mischief.

Oh no, you feel your stomach drop at the realization. Of course, they guessed you would go instead of dragging Jeno along. They wanted him alone.

Turning on your heel after flashing Taehyung a smile, you grab a hold of the vampire boy and drag him outside. “You guys did this, didn’t you?”

He guffaws, “Caught us, huh? What a smart little witch.”

He wiggles out of your grip, already trying to flit away.

“Hey!” You almost shout, finding the sound caught in your throat when another voice pipes in.

“You know it’s rude to run away when someone’s talking to you right?” There’s bemusement in Jisung’s tone though there’s some edge to it when he cranes his head in Jeno’s direction. “I should really have a word with Johnny about how you’re terrorizing innocent people like this.”

“P-please don’t!” The boy gulps, giving you both a bow. “We just wanted to have fun with the fledgling!”

Jisung blinks and glances at you, “Wait… I thought you were with Jeno?”

“I was,” you mutter back. “He’s kind of a vampire right now.”

“Well, um, shit. This is what I get for missing a day of school huh?” He laughs before giving a sharp clap. He looks at the younger vampire. “If I catch you doing this again, I’ll really tell Johnny… got it?”

The kid gulps, nodding.

Before your blue-haired friend can say another word, you take off running where you last left Jeno. He’s much farther up as the younger vampire directs, leaving you mildly breathless once you arrive to an abandoned park with your poor best friend in a circle of vampires all laughing at him. There’s some chatter but you only catches and pieces—

“—And just what made you come up with such an original costume, fledgling?”

“Yeah! We’ve never seen you at any of the gatherings, so what’s up with that?”

“Yeah! You even have one of Jisung’s rings too!”

“He’s probably too young to fight anyway. Couldn’t even protect his witch!”

There’s a bubbling urge to just zap some of the kids getting closer to him, especially the one who looks like the leader of the ragtag group. He’s the one you remember hanging around Jisung the most. And there’s an envious shade of green looming over his head that makes you particularly irritable. Even with their decoy telling them to cut out their antics, they don’t seem to want to stop as they make moves to take Jeno’s ring from him.

There’s a soft whoosh as soon as you make a step with your hands inadvertently forming an energy ball.

“I got this,” Jisung tells you, flashing a crooked grin before sauntering over to the group with a calm demeanor. “Leave him be, kiddos. This guy,” he wraps an arm around Jeno’s shoulders. “With me, so any trouble with him means trouble with me. Dunno ‘bout you guys but I’m sure Johnny wouldn’t be very happy about this either.”

“Oh shit, it’s Jisung!” someone murmurs, looking particularly nervous at the mention of Johnny.

“Chan, I’m not sticking around for this,” one of the boys says, backing away.

Soon enough, everyone besides Chan is still standing there, looking particularly displeased.

“C’mon Jisung, we were just teasing him!” he tries to reason. You want to scowl, knowing fully well that the boy was also acting out for Jisung’s sake. It’s no excuse, really, but you can’t seem to care when you look over at Jeno. He’s not quite as scared or as stiff as before when he looks at you—in fact, he looks rather relieved.

Why? You blink, tilting your head at him with a raised brow.

He mouths once more, “I’m sorry,” though you can’t seem to get the imagine of those vampires encircling out of your mind. The very stern, almost pissed look on his face when one of them mentioned something about the witch, and it makes your heartbeat skip, because you’ve never quite seen that look on his face. Or ever seen him look remotely ready to fight back, but the defensive stance he took up makes you also consider what could’ve happened had you not come on time, and that’s what fires you back up.

You refrain from exploding in front of Jisung when you walk over to Jeno, looking quite terse yourself. Your blue-haired friend merely wraps an arm around Chan’s shoulders, flashing you and Jeno his own shit-eating grin before waving you two off with his fingers. As if saying, “See you lovebirds tomorrow!” And what you get as he passes you is a simple, “Go easy on him, Kiki. Tombo means well.”

You glower at him, patting his shoulder before turning to Jeno with furrowed eyebrows.

“What was that earlier?” you ask him carefully. When he looks confused, you add, “When I got here I saw you looking ready to fight back against an entire group of adolescent vampires.”

“Well…” he hesitates to answer, biting his lip. “I couldn’t just stand there.”

It’s a valid reason, of course. You can’t necessarily blame him, but again, your mind’s a little clouded at the moment.

“Don’t you think something could’ve happened to you if they weren’t just playing around? Did you stop to think that doing that would incite a fight? Jeno, c’mon.”

“Y/N… I couldn’t help it, okay? I thought something happened to you.”

You feel your breath stop halfway inside your throat, steadily aiming to choke you when it hits you just how small he sounds.

Goddammit, no. I have to be strong. You remind yourself.

Shaking your head, you huff, “I can handle myself, but you, on the other hand, cannot apparently.”

“But—”

You can’t even stop yourself now that you’ve started. Every emotion you’ve been trying to simmer down since you found out he ate the stupid pumpkin treat is finally boiling over.

“Why don’t you ever listen to me, Jeno?!” Although you pose the question with the impression of giving him an opportunity for a response, you immediately cut away from his time to go back to unleashing your frustrations. “It’s always something with you, whether you touch my broomstick or read a spell aloud, but I’ve told you time and time again that anything on the kitchen table on today, of all days, is off limits! And now, look at you! Look at the mess we could’ve gotten in if Jisung hadn’t been around, huh?”

“Y/N, I’m sorry,” he says this softly, looking deeply troubled now that you’ve gotten a little pink in the cheeks. It’s rare to see you this worked up, the very lack of composure that borders on irrational throwing him off entirely.

You say indignantly, feeling more angry at yourself but still at a refusal to relent for obvious reasons, “You shouldn’t have eaten the pumpkin.”

Yes, you are indeed angry. But what frustrates you more is the fact that you stepped away for a measly second and he was immediately put in danger. You stepped away and suddenly he becomes a real vampire for the next twelve hours. It’s positively frightening just how easily the magical world can affect his life, all because of you, and you feel so guilty for doing this to him.

“You are the biggest idiot ever.”

Without a warning, you wrap your arms around his torso and allow him to envelop you automatically. You give him a tight squeeze, banishing away your dark thoughts because this is Lee Jeno. Your Lee Jeno. He is here. He is unscathed. He is safe.

“I’m sorry,” he says this again. This time he rests his chin atop your head, allowing you both to stay where you are for fear that this moment will slip away once more.

“Why were you so worried?” He tries to meet your eyes, but you barely manage to scoff out a response.

“Well… why wouldn’t I be? I can’t trust you anywhere. It’s like you’re cursed you know…”

“I may be an idiot but I’m certainly not stupid when it comes to my best friend and how she’s feeling you know.” He gives you a long stare, raising a brow at you. “What’s really going?”

“I-I,” you turn away, feeling your cheeks bloom in heat. Now that you’ve let out all your inner turmoils, it’s hard to keep it going. Especially now that you’ve “What makes you say something’s wrong?”

“I’ve never seen you look that scared and panicked before…” he sighs softly. “Look, Y/N. I’m really sorry for putting you through all of that. I know you’re scared that something’s going to happen to me and sometimes you debate on whether you should just wipe my memory and make me forget you and stuff but I don’t regret any of it. Dangerous or not. Anything and everything that I’ve done or enjoyed is infinitely better with you in the picture too. I’m not me without you either.”

You scowl at him, at least you’re trying to, but your heart feels too full and jovial to feign any distaste in his presence.

“Damn you, Lee Jeno.” You step away from him, craning your head upward to look at him.

“Y/N?” he tries once more, squeezing your heart in just that one look.

“I love you too much, Jeno… I can’t lose you ‘cuz of me.” You let out a somewhat bitter chuckle before murmuring, “Today showed me just how bad I have it for you.”

His eyebrows rise slightly, but he doesn’t stop smiling. “Really?”

You nod, muttering, “This is so embarrassing. And cliché.”

“Why?” He strokes your hair, giving the dishevelled red bow an adjustment and meeting your eyes in the most gentle way you’ve seen them. “What if the feeling’s mutual?”

“W-what?”

He nods, the corners of his lips curling upward, ceasing without to ignite erratic heartbeats within your chest. “Yeah. God, only someone as stupid in love with you as I am would be more than willing to take on an entire group of vampires just to know you’re okay.”

You laugh, breaking out into a wide grin. “Well, you’re a dummy either way. I can always handle myself.”

“That doesn’t mean I don’t worry, you dummy,” he replies, bringing you back into his arms. He presses his lips to the crown of your head. It only worsens your heart condition, but you can’t deny just how elated you are right now.

“God,” you chuckle, lifting your head from his chest. “Everyone’s going to have a field day about this, y’know?”

He grins, “I know. But s’okay. I’ll be safe with you, won’t I?”

“Of course, I put Jisung to shame in a race to get over here. Don’t think I won’t kick anyone else’s ass on your behalf,” you scoff.

“Thank you, really,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “And I am sorry for all the stress I put on you. Oh, and for worrying you constantly.”

“I forgive you, but,” you say, pausing to grab a hold his hand. This time you entwine your fingers with his and truly feel the comfort of the heft of his palm in yours. It makes your heart flutter as it’s been since as long as you can remember with him, but now you can happily say he feels the same. “I still don’t trust you when you aren’t by my side, so I guess this is the best way to keep an eye on you.”

He throws his head and laughs, giving your hand a squeeze like the hold he had on your heart. “Whatever makes you happy.”

And so, you two walk back to House Velvet together hand in hand.

(Much to your dismay, you do thank Joy and Yeri for their far-fetched antics… after a much needed scolding about the stupid pumpkin treat.)

#jeno scenarios #lee jeno scenarios #jeno fluff #jeno fanfic #jeno au #nct scenarios #nct dream scenarios #nct fanfic #nct dream fanfic #nct dream au #jeno x reader #emswriting

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goldenscript · 7 years ago

Note

for the requests, i really like the idea of a fluffy freelance web designer idea - title would be something like "the cryptography of your heart" (oh god that was greasy nvm) with namjoon?

pairing: kim namjoon | readergenre: slice of life au / tooth-rotting fluffy fluff, youtuber x freelance web designer word count: 1,529 author’s note: the title isn’t stupid at all!!!! i think it’s lovely <3 & so much for under 1k kjdsfsdfshfdsfd gg me

How to tell someone I like them, the Google browser reads.

Cluttered around the stark white screen are the search results consisting of endless results for tutorials, articles, and even Pinterest boards about how to go about the perfect confession. While some are witty, tempting even, there are others that actually elicit an abrupt strangled sound from the researcher.

“What do I do?”

“Just tell her,” Jimin tells him dumbfoundedly. The younger man’s expression matches his tone, looking at Namjoon as if this was simply ordering a caramel macchiato from the coffee shop down the street. As if casually telling his client that he likes them and wants to date them and hold their hand and kiss their cheek and take them to his favorite bookstores and listen to their music recommendations and their childhood stories and—! (Well, you get the picture.) But from Jimin’s tone, it is as though telling Y/N is easy. As if it weren’t enough that you were severely out of his league as it is.

In response, he simply frowns.

“What?”

“It’s not that simple…” Namjoon sighs, already knowing what the conversation that will ensue engails afterwards. He decides he would rather nip it in the bud now than listen to the incredulous accusations later. “And before you ask me how it isn’t that simple, then you gotta understand that I’ve never told anyone that I liked them before.”

Jimin blinks, tilting his head to the side. It is the first he has heard of this sort of thing from Namjoon, but then again relationship talk just hasn’t been the hot topic between the two of them. Jimin knows that Namjoon isn’t keen on leaving his apartment unless it’s for coffee and his job, sometimes if he’s forced out by him or Jungkook (on the days that Jungkook isn’t tempted to sit in and tinker with film editing software, of course). It’s strange to consider though.

When Jimin really thinks about Kim Namjoon and his dating life, it hits him how nonexistent it is. He realizes the great deal of lacking that he never once considered, and a sympathetic look glosses over his cherub-like features before contorting in confusion.

“What do you mean you’ve never confessed to anyone before?”

It’s the dreaded question. One that Namjoon feels the anxiety prickle on his nerves as he glances back at the screen, taking mental notes of the successes and failures that have come with confessing to a crush. That is why. He has heard the horror stories, watched them unfold in adolescence, and dreaded suffering from the same fate.

He is no brave man, you know. Laying his heart out on the line is a hefty deed that makes his stomach queasy and his heart the exact replica of mush. Instead of going into any elaborate detail, not that there is a huge amount to talk about in the first place, he simply shakes his head.

“I just haven’t.”

“…Like not even once though?” Jimin tries once more, wanting to comprehend this statement. Surely, Namjoon had done this at least once.

“Really, I haven’t,” he repeats, looking a little more distraught. He is so new to the idea of romantic love that it’s actually kind of debilitating. And he knows he likes you a whole fuckton. When he thinks about going over to a café to work on your website with you, he can’t help but feel butterflies flutter in his stomach. When he hears about your day, he wants to keep hearing you talk. And god, when you ask him about his and about what he likes and dislikes, it’s… different. In the best way possible. “It never occurred to me that I should. At least until now.”

“You really like Y/N that much?” Jimin muses, eyes flickering to Namjoon’s second screen where your website is pulled up.

Namjoon nods, “A fuckton.”

“She’s supposed to double-check your code before it goes up right?”

Namjoon nods slowly, trying to comprehend. Of course, he’s quick to answer, “I mean she has another comp-sci friend to check it for her though.”

“But she’d still look it over too, right?”

“Yeah, she can be pretty anal about that stuff.”

Jimin giggles, earning a glare from Namjoon as he asks, “So, what are you getting at, pervert?”

“I’m not a pervert!” Jimin pouts, though Namjoon can tell he’s still trying to stop his quivering lip. “But why don’t you just confess to her in the code?”

Namjoon’s jaw drops, “You’re shitting me right? That’s so cheesy…”

“Well, do you have anything better? Can you go up to her and actually her to her face that you like her?”

“Well… no.”

“Then? What else do you have to lose?”

Namjoon considers Jimin’s words as carefully as problem sets from Professor Lim, knowing that despite all his certainties, some attempts are still a hit-or-miss. He knows that whatever happens, happens. He either takes that leap of faith or stays by the ledge, wondering what-if.

His gaze flickers up to the second monitor right then.

He sees your smile etched in between the little symbols, the memories of conversations spent just deciding on a color theme, and a hope that maybe you saw something in him through all that time too.

And with that, he comes to a decision.

“Might as well just leap. It might hurt less.”

“Check your code.”

You blink at Yoongi, almost alarmed at the sudden drawl of his voice. As soon as you got the green light from Namjoon, you had Yoongi come over to look it over for one more final look and you’re not sure how to feel about the blond’s curving lips. “What? Why?”

His brief amusement melts away as soon as he clicks his tongue at you.

“It’s a rule of thumb to always check your code, dipshit.”

“You say this like I was the one who created it. I hired someone to do it, y’know. And, I’m having you check it. For free. Like the good friend that you are.”

He rolls his eyes, “Yeah, well, still. Check it.”

“Is there something I should know about?” you ask, wondering if somehow Namjoon made a mistake. Is that why he made you pay less than the estimated amount? You frown at the thought, wondering if maybe he was having an off day the last time you both finalized the code. Though if you’re being quite honest you do know you’re going to miss meeting up with him.

“Er… well, I’ll let you be the judge of that—it’s definitely something you needa check out though.”

You even receive a shake of the head, a deflection that doesn’t go unnoticed, earning your long-time friend a small glare before you change tabs from YouTube to your website’s url. It piques your interest knowing that maybe this might be another reason to see that adorable chestnut-haired man again.

“Alright, fine.”

You scroll to the lines where Yoongi instructs you in the Python program.

‘’’

Hi Y/N. I’m sure you won’t overlook this message, and I’ll understand completely if you decide to delete out or if you never talk to me again, but that last day we spent together I wanted to tell you a lot of things. I wanted to know more about you. Not just from your videos, but from you. The real behind-the-scenes. I think about it a lot. I think about you a lot. Um… God. This is my first time so have a little mercy, okay? I like you. A lot.I’d like to take you out for an espresso. Wait. You hate those. What about brunch at flâneur? I hear it’s great. I honestly don’t how this works, really, so if this goes completely wrong, please put all blame on Park Jimin, a dance major at Seoul University. Anyway…. um, good luck! (God, please tell me if I just fucked up my first confession, ever, because I could take all the pointers I can get.)

‘’’

A smile curves on your lips when you look at Yoongi, who only snickers at you.

“I told you so, dipshit.”

A ding emits from his nightstand.

Namjoon has to hold his breath, wondering if maybe it was another message from Jimin asking if you talked him about what he left for you in the code. He admits it was pretty lame and stupid, but was there really another way? Could he really face you without being tongue-tied and pink in the cheeks? His visages contort in embarrassment at the thought, releasing a deep sigh before unlocking the phone without a second thought.

[11:34 AM] y/n <3: interesting final touches on the code. I have to say I accept. I think flâneur is perfect. how does today at 2 sound?

[11:34 AM] y/n <3: btw, no pointers or pointed fingers needed. it was pretty perfect already

He grins to himself, unable to contain his cries of joy or the flopping of his limbs. The sun is bright and the day is so fucking beautiful.

He tells you that it’s perfect and that he can’t wait.

The leap isn’t so bad after all.

#bangtan bookclub #sfwbangtan #bts writing squad #btswriters #kfluffnet #namjoon scenarios #namjoon fluff #namjoon fanfic #namjoon au #bts scenarios #bts au #bts fluff #bts fanfic #namjoon x reader #emswriting #d:milestone

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goldenscript · 8 years ago

Text

the consequential discovery | one

pairing: park jimin | reader genre: friends with benefits + college au / fluff word count: 8,510 description: Your mother always warned you about the boys that were after one thing, yet she never warned you about the boys like Park Jimin. Unlike any of his predecessors, he’s taught you that your core isn’t the only thing that can burn — your heart can too.

THE START

You feel free for the first time at a party.

For once, this party doesn’t follow the norms of a college house party but rather takes advantage of the beach located a good half-hour away where seawater and the burn of the sun await already half-dead college students relishing in their last few weeks of summer vacation. Students find themselves basking in warmth and the thick air that only this time of the year can offer. It warms them, inviting them to dig their heels into the sand and enjoy the heavily-incorporated bass music as it ascends into a higher plane, just to prepare the listeners for a proper drop, along the waves with the few people that know how to surf, to taste the deep bitterness of the keg and other assorted alcoholic beverages all crowded around the picnic tables, and to free themselves from any other thoughts that are school-related in some way, shape, or form because the moment mid-August hits their freedom is stripped away.

Each of them have been stripped of worry lines or frowns, all things you expect from college students. Those closest to the shore are playing on the dry parts of land, tossing around a football in the sand and alongside them are a few boys playing soccer; within moments, they are hollering in elation as successful passes and goals are made all-around. These jovial sounds meld with the sounds emitting from the ones in the water, its seafarers running to and fro like the ebbing waves. It’s all set to the invigorating, lyrical sounds from the music booth adorned with a small crowd of bodies dancing together in a lopsided circle. Everyone is in their own little zone enjoying themselves, even the ones just lazing around with drinks in hand.

Among the plenty that are already relishing in their pre-game concoctions, you have a red Solo cup in hand while your best friend, Jisoo goes off to find some more for the two of you. It’s an experience you both decide to try together, so you beam at her when she approaches you with two more cups with different-colored liquids all sloshing around inside.

Once you managed to down the first cup of the keg beer, washing it down with a quarter of the half-empty Sprite bottle as a chaser. When your friend offers you a multi-colored mixture reeking with the sharp scent of tequila and some other unidentifiable drinks, your visage scrunches the moment you take a sip.

“What did you do it?”

Jisoo’s nose scrunches as she laughs sheepishly, “Sorry. I saw a bunch of stuff at the table, so I just mixed whatever.”

“Couldn’t you have watched somebody before you did that?” you guffaw, switching the cup for the bottle of Sprite. The carbonation thankfully fizzing away the godawful mango margarita aftertaste. She makes only a slight face and claims that you should’ve gone if her bartending skills were going to be an issue. “I mean I’m not judging… okay, I am, but Jisoo, try that and tell me if you actually like it.”

The red-haired girl shrugs, reaching for your rejected cup and doing as you suggested. Her expression is the same as yours, and you take this opportunity to laugh at her.

“See!” You grab a safe-looking cup from her other hand, feeling grateful when she chokes out that it’s Blue Moon brew. “Thank god—”

In the distance, you swear you heard someone yell something but it all falls on deaf hears and melts into the discordant sounds around you two. Somewhere in the mix, the part where you might’ve zoned the fuck out with batting an eyelash, you find yourself unscathed one moment and suddenly a projectile target the next.

“Well, oh shit—!” Jisoo looks at your top with a half-open mouth before she shoves the cups onto a nearby bench. “Lemme go find something to clean that up.”

You don’t even know how it happened exactly nor do you really register that Jisoo has scurried away, but the beer in hand winds up all over your cropped T-shirt and the pungent scent is your reality check. The already thin material clings to your skin, making you wish that you had packed extra clothes like you intended when you found out you were coming to the beach.

To your right lies a black soccer ball adorned with red lines for accents, and you immediately regret standing so close to the play area.

Should’ve seen that one coming. You look down at your poor T-shirt. Just great.

You look up and around in hopes of finding the perpetrators—scurrying away or not—or Jisoo, and to your surprise, you’re met with an attractive boy with a head of sable locks brushed toward the back of his head. He couldn’t have been much older than yourself, but getting a good look at him had you stop mid-thought as it registered in your brain just how handsome he is. With olive skin and dark-brown eyes the same shade of coffee, you especially note how plump his lips are as he speaks to you: “Fuck, I am so sorry! My friends and I weren’t paying attention to how close we were getting to the crowd until—well—that,” he gestures to you, “happened.”

You blink, shaking your head as you look at him and back to your shirt, and it suddenly becomes clear on what he was referring to. You immediately cross your arms over your chest, feeling your cheeks burn even hotter than before you stepped out of the dance floor with Jisoo for those cursed drinks as you reply, “I-it’s fine. Accidents happen. U-um—”

“—Shit, I’m still sorry. Did you bring any extra clothes?” he asks, scratching the back of his head. He takes a step back and reaches over to grab the ball from your right, giving you a small peek of his lean arms.

“I actually didn’t.” You huff under your breath, “unfortunately.”

“—lemme guess… sorry?” you say this in hopes of turning the bitter moment into something a little more lighthearted. Although you could’ve been raging at how incompetent him and his friends were, you can’t help but feel a little lax about the situation. At the very least, he came over to apologize, and not many guys or even people alone would do that, so you’re kind of grateful to find out he’s not an asshole. Well, sort of. That depended entirely on how this guy would going to react to your minor quip.

He feigns surprise (though his eyes briefly showed it for real), even clutching his chest as he replies, “How’d you know?” He leans closer, and you swear your heart skipped a beat. “Are you a psychic?”

“Mind reader, actually,” you correct him, cupping your ear after an idea passes your mind. “Oh, I’m getting something from you though.”

“Oh really?” He raises his eyebrows at you, a grin curving on his lips when you nod. “What is it?”

You feign a small gasp, “You brought extra clothes and you want to lend me a T-shirt?”

It takes him a moment to process what you’ve just said (something a part of you only mildly feared that he would brush you off considering most people who pause like that do not appreciate your humor), but to your surprise, when your words do reach him, he throws his head back and lets out a full-bellowing laugh.

“Was that a yes or no?” you ask after the sound dwindles down, unsure of whether that constitutes as a good response or a bad one.

“Right,” he says with a nod, much calmer than a moment ago. “You’re in luck! I do.”

You let out a breath of relief and mutter, “Oh thank fuck. You’re a lifesaver—oh, what’s your name?”

“Jimin.”

“Well, thank you, Jimin.” you say with a smile. “Seriously, you’re a lifesaver.”

He waves you off, “It was my fault anyway. Me and my friends weren’t being careful.” It takes him a moment of standing there until he takes the opportunity to ask, “What’s your name? Unless you prefer going by Mind Reader.”

You laugh and shake your head, “No, you can call me Y/N. Calling me Mind Reader would be way too obvious. Someone might report me to the CIA or somethin’.”

The grin on Jimin’s features grows wider, a gesture that has you feeling obligated to return even if it is starting to hurt your face muscles. You can’t help but note that he has quite a nice, rather contagious smile. Before he can say a word, someone yells his name and soon a taller brunet donning a white T-shirt and a pair of basketball shorts appears.

“Hey, everything okay over here?” he asks, looking between you and Jimin.

There’s a breeze that has you crossing your arms tighter over your chest, though you still give a nod as Jimin replies, “yeah, I’ll be back. I’m gonna lend her a shirt, so you guys continue the game.”

The mystery boy nods, looking at you and then Jimin once again. His doe-like eyes reminding you of a child’s as interest piques in the dark hues. He smiles at you and you return the gesture, watching as he leaves with the ball to a boy with chestnut brown locks and one with fiery red hair. The other two boys in question look over in your direction with the corners of their lips turned upwards though you make no comment of it as you turn to look at Jimin, who seems to be fishing in his pockets for his car keys.

Once he manages to locate them and you nod, you two begin to walk toward his parking spot. You decide to send Jisoo a text message that you’ll be back in ten minutes (of course citing that you found a spare T-shirt but leaving out the beer spiller in question) just so the poor girl won’t lose her head when you aren’t where you’re supposed to be.

“I’m surprised you’re not fuming that some idiotic guy spilled beer on you.” he says as you both make your way away from the rest of the party.

When you accidentally bump him while shrugging, you take immediately take note of how warm he is and continue on to responding, “It was an accident, so why am I going to get mad?”

“You’re surprisingly lax too,” he says, looking over at you with the corners of his lips still upturned. “Blunt, too.”

He’s awfully observant, isn’t he?

“Is that a bad thing?” You even throw in, “This is how I usually am, by the way. I’m not drunk…” Taking a moment to pause, you admit, “Okay, I’m like almost tipsy but still a-okay!”

You two have made it onto the wooden steps, where he has you step first. He follows close behind and muses, “It’s not bad. Just different.”

Truthfully, there’s just something calming about being at the beach, so as much as you probably would’ve freaked out at him had this been at any regular house party (because let’s be real, who in their right mind would play soccer indoors in a crowded frat house anyway?), you realize you didn’t feel the need to with him as you both approach ‘96 muted gold Volkswagen Hatchback. That one specifically catches your eyes as it stands as probably one of the oldest cars in the lot. Plus, it makes you smile, because it reminds you of your mother’s Nissan Altima from the same year, and much to almost everyone else’s amazement, that thing’s still kicking (even now in your possession).

He lets out a sigh, warning you, “Don’t rag on Ash, alright? He’s an oldie but runs well enough.”

You look at him incredulously and relinquish a small laugh. “You’re one of those guys?”

“What?” he says, walking backwards past two other cars. “There’s nothing wrong with naming your car. I bet you named yours.”

You roll your eyes and give a small shrug. “Okay, yeah I did. But Ash? Didja get that from Hatch?”

His mouth drops open ever-so-slightly, he stops right in front of the trunk so you do the same.

You blink, “What?”

“How’d you know? Most people think it’s ‘cuz of the color.”

“Well, when you say Hatch the ‘-atch’ part is almost like Ash,” you explain, seeing some strange relief flood his eyes. “When I was a kid, I used to say ‘hash.’”

“Funny, me too!” Patting the trunk, he adds with a breathy laugh, “This used to be my Dad’s so I just kept up the name I guess.”

From the looks of the scratches and the chipping paint, the car is pretty well-worn for wear but you understand from your mom that old cars like those could still run good as new. Probably even better if taken care of properly. It’s literally a hunk of metal, and in any given situation involving a car crash with a newer model, the oldies are the ones that would come out relatively unscathed. Your mom drilled that into your head and even did the same as Jimin’s dad with your current car, gifting it to you as a parting college gift so you know the desire to name your car comes from sentimental value.

“Cute, you can definitely tell he’s seen a thing or two. Is it a he?”

He rolls his eyes this time, “duh!”

You laugh, “Well, he reminds me of Jiji.” When Jimin looks over at you with his brows drawn upward in curiosity, you reply, “My mom’s old car. I loved Kiki’s Delivery Service and the car’s this interesting shade of black that can come off as this glossy, deep forest green in the sun, so I just thought the name fit.”

He can’t contain his smile, “Cute, I bet he’s seen a few things as well then.”

Your mouth falls open slightly, not missing the pronoun that falls off that stupidly plump lips, “You’ve seen it?”

“I liked it a lot, actually. Among many other Ghibli films...” he admits. “Plus, who would I be if I hadn’t seen those movies? All of them are classics.”

“True, I’d have to disown you as my lifesaver for that.” He snorts in response, only fumbling with his car keys once.

You don’t say another word after that, deciding to let him continue his task so a silence ensues as he pops open the trunk to rummage through the assortment of bags, a few empty chip bags and cups (an exception to his silence as he cursed his friends), and even a few cups of Gatorade before he settles on a faded red duffle bag. Inside he has a pair of jeans, a T-shirt, and a hoodie, with a few other things though you pretend not to notice the Trojan wrapper as he hands you the plain black T-shirt.

“Thanks.” The scent of whatever cologne he used already wafting the open sea air and mixing with the sea breeze. To say the least, it wasn’t a surprise that it smelled so nice or that it was fresh and warm, like him.

“No problem!” He says with the trash in his hands, “Can you get the trunk for me?”

“Yeah, sure,” you say, shutting it as he walks toward the trash can by the stairs, and mumbles a few more curses at his friends. “I’m gonna change real quick!”

He replies with an affirmation and remains where he is as soon as his keys land safely in your hands. His gaze seems to be locked on the descending sky.

Rather than escaping to the bathroom near the edge of the party with a line far too long for your liking, you wedge yourself his car and some grey Lexus, opening the back door and making sure the tree in front of you can cover you once you’ve crouched down and strip off your damp shirt. The back of your shirt is used as a makeshift rag to get off the residual moisture on your abdomen and part of your bra, although it’s nothing like rinsing off in an actual shower, you’re feeling exponentially better as the soft, dry cotton his shirt kisses your now semi-dry skin. Some of his cologne even doing some work to staunch the alcohol fumes.

Once you come back up, you see him by the stairs and make your way over. He lets you go first, gesturing to the steps with an extended arm parallel to the rusted metal railing.

There’s a spring in your step despite the reminder of what could’ve been a ruined evening still cradled in your arms. But then immediately after thinking of your ruined shirt, you can’t help but think of Jimin and how helpful and fun it’s been just getting to know him in such a short amount of time. It makes you happy, half-tipsy or not.

“So, favorite Ghibli movie?” you ask, looking at him over your shoulder. He looks like he’s debating something from the way his bottom lip is caught between his teeth, but as soon as he finds your gaze trained on him, he simply runs a hand through his hair and smiles at you.

“How much are you gonna judge me if I say Spirited Away?”

You scoff, a smile curving on your lips, “I would not, that’s a classic! Who am I to judge?”

“Good, ‘cuz yeah. That one.” He says this right as you ask, “So, why that one?”

You two laugh, unconsciously slowing down as you reach about halfway down the stairs.

There’s a point where it levels out, a particular drop that is about a step and a half farther than you remember. The sudden loss of footing that you must’ve miscalculated happens far too quickly, and your heart is practically thundering in your chest like after you’ve abruptly woken up from one of those dreams where you’re falling. But it’s in that moment where your brain is even more aware than usual, its hyperactivity sensitive to the feeling of his chest pressed against your back. His arm latched around your shoulders like an awkward back hug, but you don’t really notice it so much because 1) he’s so goddamn warm and 2) he’s still holding onto you even after you’ve gotten your balance back.

“Careful there,” he laughs, his grip on you firm and slightly calloused but still gentle. He leans close to your ear with a lighthearted titter. “Maybe you aren’t just tipsy after all.”

You retort, trying to hide the fact that you nearly toppled over, because you’ll be damned to acknowledge that part of the reason might’ve been due to him and his close proximity. “Maybe the beer fumes are messing with my motor functions, thanks to someone.”

He points out, “Well, you have a clean shirt on so what’s your excuse now?”

“Secondhand beer fumes from my skin, duh.” You look over at him when his arm slips away from your shoulders (despite your hand acting on its own accord to brush against his right hand), watching as his eyes form adorable half moons. The hickory hues aren’t focused on some ridiculous scene at the party in amusement either; in fact, they’re trained on you. “What?”

“You’re really cu—”

“—Jimin!” Before you can hear his answer, there’s a loud shrill of discombobulated sounds at the edge of the partying group. There are four boys beckoning your new friend over, goofy grins plastered all over their visages even in the incandescent street lamps lighting the general vicinity. The red-haired one is whispering something to the chestnut brunet and another brunet different from the one earlier appears to be laughing about something while the dark brunet with the doe eyes looks on expectantly.

Jimin catches your attention by speaking: “Sorry.” He scratches the back of his head, breaking your eye lock to see his friends still waving at the bottom. “I better get going before they get annoying.”

“Wait, what were you gonna say?” you ask, raising a brow at him. You feel inclined to ask, though you would’ve been fine to let him go anyway. You just can’t help but want to keep him there just a little longer. You notice that when he glances over at the quad of boys, he actually appears more embarrassed than hesitant.

“Right, I’m sure they can spare this a second… I think?” he lets out a small huff, part of it exhaling as a laugh, a rather nervous one at that. His cheeks dust with a prevalent shade of rouge, his plush, pink lips parted to repeat his previous words: “I was saying you’re really—”

Until the sound of your name halts him, breaking your attention from him to your own red-haired friend waving at you with a free hand. She says something but you can hardly hear her as you feel guilt creep up on you for the sudden interruption and it only deepens as both of your friends continue to wait there with expectant expressions (and that’s enough for you feel unnerved because you assured Jisoo you wouldn’t be meeting anyone at the party either).

“Jimin, hurry up!”

His hand grazes yours as you both walk onto the sand toward your respective friends, both parties seemingly watching the exchange with a glint in their eyes that neither of you could necessarily decipher from the dim lighting and from the sheer uncertainty. Of course, you’re absolutely certain that Jisoo’s going to inquire further about him, her eyes are wider than ever because the shirt on your form is not the slick T-shirt from earlier but rather a bigger and baggier one that’s fitted for a guy. And you can already hear murmurs from the boys awaiting Jimin, something about Yoongi and Joon, so you assume they’re going to meet up with their other friends.

You barely look at him as you both arrive to your friends, though you catch sight of the shy smile on his lips at the jeering of the four other guys. Many of which have gotten a better look at you underneath the light before turning their attention back on the dark-haired man and slapping him on the back as they lead him back to the beach for an excursion of games, perhaps even some actual partying now that the rest of the goers have lit the bonfire.

He tips his head back toward you one last time, a small smile in your direction until the taller brunet leans over to whisper something. Of what, you have no clue so you just watch for a split second before your gaze flickers back to your red-haired friend. You sneak a look but you don’t see him because the small group has already managed to disappear into the sea of people.

You begin walking once Jisoo latches an arm around you, smiling mischievously. “New shirt? And a boy?” she comments before taking a sip of her cup. “Please tell me you’re gonna share the details.”

With a laugh, slipping your arm out of her grasp to sling it around her shoulders. “Honestly? His name’s Jimin and he was the beer-spiller.”

Jisoo looks at you, slack-jawed. She guffaws, “You’re kidding! You didn’t kill him either. Wow, you must be getting softer considering he didn’t come back crying.”

Even just the mention of that incident has you huffing, “Shut up. That was one time!”

“Anyway, he’s hot, Y/N. Kudos for scoring his number,” she says, bumping your hip. You let her move you, but she wraps an arm around your waist to keep you beside her.

It dawns on you that the one thing you did not do was one of the most simplest, especially considering you’d have to return his shirt sometime. Literally all you had to do was ask, yet it managed to go over your head. “Well…”

She tilts her head at you and asks, “You didn’t get his number?”

Fuck, now how am I going to return this to him?

From the silence she receives, your best friend has her answer but that doesn’t deter her from straightening her head and grinning at you even wider than earlier.

With furrowed brows and a semi-scowl on your lips, because what did she know that you didn’t? You inquire, “What?”

“I mean Jennie tells me that just means he intends to see you again. Preferably before the night ends.”

“That’s ridi—”

“—Is it though?” She even arches her brow at you. “You do have his shirt. Even better if it’s his favorite one. And from the looks of it, you two seemed to be getting along quite well.”

Still, you shrug, trying not to read too much into the whole fiasco. No matter how attractive Jimin is, you have a way of rationalizing your way out of those sorts of speculations.

Perhaps he just forgot.

“I’m not too worried about it. Whatever happens will happen.”

She rolls her eyes at you, pinching your side and ignoring the yelp you give. She again ignores you and the pointed glare you send her way, “At the very least just know that his friends are pretty certain he digs you.”

“You heard them?” She nods, chugging down the rest of the cup’s contents. You harden your features just to see the pout on her face, simply responding, “That doesn’t change anything.”

Because it doesn’t.

“Brat,” she say, tapping your head with the empty cup. “Let’s just go drink and dance. Maybe we’ll see your boy toy along the way!”

Before you can protest her comment, she slips out of your grasp and wiggles her hips to the beat of the electronic bass. She beckons you forth with her index fingers, leading the two of you past the heart of the circle and toward the beverages. She grabs another two keg beer cups—obviously (read: thankfully) learning from her initial mistake—and slips one toward you.

She holds her cup out toward you and says, “Cheers!”

You roll your eyes at her, feeling a swelling in your heart as you tap the edge of her cup and utter a fuck it.

“Cheers!”

You slip away for a moment. One fucking moment. And you return to your group’s meeting spot after braving a half-hour long line to use the restroom and wiping away the sweat that accumulated at the corners of your forehead with the back of your hand, powering through the burn in your thighs from an hour-and-a-half long dance session with the girls—and that in itself has become nothing more than a blur of swaying, bass, and heat emitting from your friends’ bodies—and the minor headache throbbing in the back of your head. All for the crowd (that has already gotten significantly smaller than earlier) without Chungha, Lisa, or Jennie in sight.

Jisoo’s there, perched on a log in all her red-haired glory by her lonesome, somehow swaying to the beat of the song. The previous DJ must’ve left because the music is different from earlier, much more akin to songs blasting radio music from a portable speaker than the songs playing earlier on an actual speaker system. But all you can think is where the fuck did our friends go? Because you’d be damned not to spot Lisa’s orange hair anywhere, but for reasons beyond you, she isn’t there.

“Where’s everybody?” When you take a seat beside her, she cranes her head toward you with a smile curled on the corner of her lips but still no answer. “Ji—”

She lays her head on your shoulder. “They left!”

You blink, trying to meet her eyes in some way but they’ve shut already. “What do you mean they left? They’re our rides.”

“I told them about Jimin.”

You groan, fearing that the answer you have in your head is the one she’s about to tell you. “Why would you do that? What did you even say?”

“That he’s your cute boy. ‘nd you didn’t get his number yet,” she answers, trying to bury her head further into your body.

“So that made them leave?” You know damn well that Chungha wouldn’t have done that unless someone told her they’d manage a ride otherwise.

“I said that we’d manage.” she pouts at your visible frown. “I’m helping you!”

You groan loudly, shaking her off to kneel in front of her. Her whines are pointedly ignored as the log becomes her pillow. “You dummy! Why would you give up our ride like that?”

“He’ll give us a ride,” she says, opening one of her eyes. “I know what’m doin’.”

You glare at her, raising a brow. “And how do you know that?”

“B’cuz his friends said they’d carpool with other people so he’d have room for you.”

You blink, tilting your head at her as both eyes shut once again. You continue to look at her anyway. You’re unsure of how to feel exactly with this news considering the reality that you two are half an hour away from campus without a ride. Of course, you could always call Chungha back but that was your last resort with the chance that security wouldn’t allow her to leave without signing out. And the hard truth is a part of you kind of liked the news Jisoo just supplied you with; you hadn’t even said a word about Jimin supplying his friends with rides, making her story check out to some degree. But the glaring extent was the fact that her own credibility was compromised by the simple fact that she was very much drunk so whether it was true (you hoped) or not was entirely a crapshoot.

That alone has your legs ready to give out from underneath you at the sheer exhaustion of the situation. Even if she was correct about Jimin (you highly doubted it) that still meant trying to find him and coaxing a ride out of him. It might’ve been possible if he hadn’t left already and he was just that nice of a person but there was still no saying who had left and stayed from the looks of the party. Plus, you hadn’t seen him once since you two parted ways (and you know damn well you looked as best as you could in your position).

“For all we know, he could’ve left already,” you sigh, looking over at Jisoo as her features contorted now that the alcoholic influences were catching up to her. You would’ve laughed had you not felt so stressed. You stand up to ease your stomach and look around for any familiar faces—Jimin or not—for the sole reason in asking any other friend of yours for a ride back to the school.

“Maybe someone we know is still around.” you say, turning on your heel to go back into the crowd. You crane your head back over to Jisoo, only slightly scowling (not that she could see it) to say, “Stay put, I’m gonna go find us a ride.”

“Bu—”

“—No but’s. Just stay,” you huff, already walking into the even sparser circle. You don’t spot anyone you know, feeling a knot of anxiety formulate in the pit of your stomach.

Goddammit Jisoo.

“Fu—” you stop yourself, stay calm.

You’d like to think you’re a relatively calm person anyway, especially as you’re walking past unfamiliar people who are doing a mix of actual dancing and half-assed swaying. Even with no one somewhat familiar in sight, whether it’s a floormate or someone from the same dorm building, you try to keep your cool as you weave between bodies, feeling the heat of the fire as you stop at the outskirts of the group circle to catch your breath.

Damm—

“—Y/N?” You blink at the sudden feeling a hand on your shoulder. Out of a reflex, you reach over and almost smack the perpetrator’s chest with an open palm when it registers that the voice belongs to the very devil himself—Jimin.

“Jimin?” you ask, looking over at him and dropping your hand. “You’re still here?”

He laughs, looking the same as ever—still breathtakingly handsome—as he says, “Yeah. I was just helping my DJ friend pack up and load his stuff.”

You muse, “No wonder the music started sucking just a few moments ago.”

He smile broadly, “I’ll be sure to tell him that everything he played was a hit.” He tilts his head over at you, “you’re still here. Did you lose your friend?”

You shake your head, feeling a little embarrassed to admit the true circumstances of your predicament but he continues to look at you patiently. “The rest of my friends left, so I’m looking for a ride for me and my best friend actually.”

He just laughs and says, “How about I give you two a ride then?”

Dammit, Jisoo.

You’re scratching the back of your head, feeling your own cheeks give away your emotions. At least until his words register and then you say, “What about your friends? I thought you’re in charge of carpool?”

“My friends ditched me for another driver.” he fake sniffs, straightening his head. “So, what do you say?”

“You’re sober right?”

He nods, holding up his hand. “As sober as can be. Scout’s Honor.” He sniffs indignantly, “I was the DD earlier after all.”

It’s nothing to really ponder that intensively, his offer is simply out of convenience after all, so you make the executive decision of nodding. “Sure,” you smile as he does. “First the shirt, now a ride home. You’re seriously a lifesaver.”

He winks, extending his arm outward to say, “I have to make up for being a beer spiller somehow. Lead the way.”

As you begin toward Jisoo, you can’t help but look over at Jimin and say, “Y’know your friends planned on ditching you right? Jisoo overheard them.”

He exhales sharply, nodding. “I suspected that when Yoongi—that DJ friend of mine—sent me back onto the beach to double check if he left anything. And believe me, if you knew him then you’d know how anal he is about leaving anything out. Especially his equipment.”

“This wasn’t some plot of yours to get me by my lonesome was it?” you ask, raising a brow at him. You make sure not to sound too serious, because you would actually be flattered that he would (solely based on the assumption and hope that he wasn’t a psychopath, of course). “You’re not going to kill me on the side of the road or somethin’?”

His brows have since arched upwards at the beginning of these inquiries; however, it isn’t long until he’s giggling as they register. “Don’t worry. As much as I was hoping to see you again, this wasn’t intentional on my end.” By now the two of you are a good meter away from Jisoo. “And, for the record, I am not going to murder you on the side of the road. Or murder you, period. Mind reading powers or not, I’d prefer you live long enough to save the world.”

“And how do you know I intend to use these powers for good?” you quip, earning a laugh from him. You turn your attention on Jisoo when you’re a good foot from the log she’s still perched on. “Chu, you good?”

The aforementioned raises her head, one eye peeking open as she gives a small shake of her head.

“My tummy hurts. T’won’t stop going ‘grrr!’” she whines, turning onto her back. Luckily, she has a large green flannel to keep her warm from the oceanside air beginning to roll in now that midnight was bleeding into 1AM. It’s almost hard to believe that time has flown by this much, but even just trying to recollect everything is hazy on your brain at the moment.

You’re about to say something but your best friend beckons you forth (which you unwittingly acquiesce and kneel in front of her) and cups her hand around her mouth to loudly whisper, “Can we get something to eat?”

“I dunno if Jimin—”

“Sure, we can.” He smiles at you when you crane your head up at him. “How does 7-Eleven ramen sound?”

To which, Jisoo lets out a cry of happiness.

The car glides across the roadway, while a soft ocean breeze passing between the cracked windows. There’s music playing softly, though you don’t know the song that well, you can’t help but smile as you hear Jimin hum along. He looks like he’s in his element even in that briefest instance, completely sober without another thought or worry in the world as he turns into the semi-familiar parking lot, with the bright lights of the 7-Eleven peeking into the car. Their windows are adorned with falling posters of Big Gulps and coffee, but those do nothing to make your mouth water compared to the small cups of ramen adorning the shelves.

Looking down at Jisoo, her head still nestled atop your thighs and eyes still shut tightly, you actually feel a little bad for disturbing her from the much needed rest she’s going to need after tonight’s adventure. But the idea of her stomach hurting after ingesting all that alcohol makes you lean forward and poke her cheek, though that does nothing to stir her. As you whisper her name, allowing the tips of your hair to graze her face, you see her nose scrunch.

She doesn’t say anything above a whisper, “I want chicken ramen.”

She raises her head only to give you enough room to scoot out but she curls back into a ball and lays her head down onto the seat. “J’st go! ‘M tired.”

“Alright, one chicken ramen coming right up,” you sigh, giving her shoulder a pat before shutting the door. You’re immediately met by the cold and Jimin, the latter shoots your friend a sympathetic look before he turns to you.

His brows are drawn upward as he asks, “she okay?”

While he makes sure the doors are locked, you respond, “Just sleepy. She requests chicken ramen.”

“Beef’s where it’s at,” he laughs, beginning to walk alongside you toward the well-lit building and the solace of warmth. You can practically feel the heater as you’re underneath the proximity of the store’s brick-red canopy.

“Right?” You pass him by as he opens the door for you, letting the door flutter shut behind and banishing the cool air.

Inside is as comforting as the sight outside with a long green table by the hot water kettle toward the right upon entering to the cozily placed shelves that made the vicinity feel a lot smaller than you would think. Albeit it’s brighter than your eyes have adjusted to, you do so gradually and feel the blasting heat smoothing your gooseflesh away. It’s pretty much a utopia of brightly packaged snacks and other roadside foods, with the scent of coffee beans wafting the air alongside the distinct pinch of sugar that has your stomach rumbling even more than before. Your cheeks are still cool to the touch, but you know that it’d burn on any other given chance.

“Hungry?” Jimin quips though he receives no response, just a small, playful eye roll. Nudging your shoulder, he begins to lead you toward the goods by hand. His palms are still remarkably warm, and still notably soft as he sifts through the shelves for the desired packages. Soon enough, he comes back with two beef-flavored and a chicken-flavored Maruchan soups.

The cashier accepts Jimin’s money before you can fish out your wallet, pointing the two of you to the hot water stations. The latter doesn’t look back at you, only accepting the narrowed look you shoot his way until after he receives the receipt. Of course, you wouldn’t have minded paying for yours and Jisoo’s but you still admit your gratitude to him since he did pay (and did so much more) after all.

When he comes to the table bearing the gift of the glorious noodles, you move Jisoo’s still packaged soup to the side so your food is front of you. With a pair of chopsticks bestowed to you, you smile at him and get ready to say yet another admission of gratitude.

“Seriously, thank you,” you say, allowing him to fill the cups by holding the chopsticks. “You’ve done more than enough for me tonight.”

He meets your eyes, looking at you with a soft smile. He replies, “It’s no problem. You haven’t been a burden or anything.”

“Are you just saying that?” you ask, raising a brow. “Because I’ll try to repay you somehow.”

“You don’t have to—”

You laugh, trying to look even more stern though probably failing, “Oh yes I do! I work at the campus coffee shop by the Quad, so please come by okay? I can bestow you with the best gift all college students would kill for.”

His eyes light up. “Free textbooks?”

You laugh again, giving his arm a light smack. “Me and you both wish I could do that.”

“Well, I’ll remember your offer the next time I need a caffeine fix then.”

“Promise?” You don’t mean to be so childish but of course you can’t help but stick your pinky finger out just to see what he’ll do. It’s a little thrilling to see just how he’ll respond to your antics, not that many people can truly say they agree with them, but seeing him as he laughs and goes along with it makes you very happy.

Hell, he even presses his thumb to yours and says with feigned solemnity, “I promise.”

A comfortable silence falls over you two, giving you an opportunity to dig into the cup of noodles. You relish in the taste, allowing the warmth to soothe your muting stomach and feeling a lot more sober. It’s nice just to sit there beside Jimin, knowing that Jisoo’s comfortably in the backseat of his car where she couldn’t be causing any more trouble or running all over the place had she taken something with a little more strength. You know she won’t mind you eating now, with her resting for tomorrow, she’s sure to unleash a ball of gloating your way because she was right about what she told you on the beach. Still, you hope she forgets so you don’t have to hear about it.

As you glance over at Jimin yet again, the reminder of what you were supposed to ask him strikes you. He’s just eating like yourself and looking just as peaceful. He seems to feel your stare, turning to meet your gaze.

“Yeah?” he says after finishing his bite of food.

You do the same, muttering an apology before you say, “I have two questions for you.”

“S’fine, shoot.”

As you’re placing your chopsticks atop of the cup, you ask, “What were you going to tell me at the party? Y’know before we were so rudely interrupted by your friends and mine?”

He laughs at your exaggeration but it sounds off by a few octaves, causing you to narrow your eyes ever-so-slightly. He scratches the back of his head, this time a breathy chuckle chases after his sharp exhale. “You still remember that?”

You laugh, noting the way his cheeks turned an even rosier shade of red. “I might’ve been sort of tipsy but I’m certainly not an amnesiac.”

“Well…”

“What?” You tilt your head to the side, a smirk teasing at the corners of your lips, “shy all of a sudden?”

“Kind of? Like I said before, you’re so open and upfront it seems so random to tell you.” He admits sheepishly, “Plus, I have a very strong feeling that this is gonna come off as either very fuckboy or very cheesy to you.”

When he rolls his eyes and cheeks still reddening, you amend the situation just a bit, obviously still very much curious. “C’mon you can tell me. It wouldn’t be as random as saying you like the swedish meatballs from IKEA or something.“

He bursts into laughter, eliciting a smile of your own, again. Your brain is very loud and clear in voicing just how nice that smile of his is, and you’re not even going to attempt to deny that much. Instead you focus on his lips as he says, “True, well,” he pauses, glancing at the table. “I was gonna say you looked really cute earlier.”

“How so?” You add as you see his mouth open, “That’s not my second question, by the way. Consider it a follow-up and totally unrelated.”

He nods, still smiling, “Just when you were teasing me it struck me even more than when I first approached you.”

This time you nod, happy to see his eyes so you can say, “Well, thank you.”

”You’re welcome.”

After a moment, the two of you actually taking that break to get another bite of the noodles, he says, “So, question two?”

“Oh right!” you say, still holding onto your chopsticks. “How am I supposed to get this shirt back to you?”

He doesn’t say anything immediately afterwards. Like at all. He just pauses, eyes darting to the solace of the soup. The rouge on his cheeks are creeping upward like vines, decorating his skin with flowers blooming on a spring day, and it actually makes you curious as to what he’s thinking. From what you’ve accessed about him, he’s a bit of a flirt with loads of bashfulness peeking between the cracks. Definitely the type to know what he wants, but not the kind to know how to voice it too seriously. Just the fact that he’s struggling to articulate himself makes him even more adorable especially when that conflicted expression of his melts into something akin to confidence.

“I was thinking we could actually exchange numbers….” he answers, slowly meeting your eyes.

“Who knew you were one for being forward?” you say, leaning closer to his pink-cheeked visage. “Sure.”

He can’t help but remain trained where he is, probably registering the fact that you are indeed this close without a bat of your eyelashes. Of course, your brain is screaming at you for being this close in his proximity, but another part of you doesn’t seem to care. In fact, if you lacked any more self-control than you already did, you might’ve actually leaned in to kiss him.

He suddenly blurts out, “Y-you look good in my shirt.”

His fingertips graze the hem gingerly before he looks back up at you raising a brow at him. The deathly serious look on your face only lasting long enough for you to ask, “Is that your way of saying that I can keep it then...?”

And right then, he does that thing where he throws his head back and laughs again, “No! I actually really like this shirt, okay?”

You hold your hands up in surrender, replying as soon as it seems like he has nothing more to say, “Thank you.”

When you look down at your styrofoam cup, you find it a devoid of noodles and much soup. Much like Jimin, the two of you are quite dismayed at the lack thereof, because it means you have to part ways. You know you have to go, but it feels like you’re only just beginning to get to know him. And still, there’s feels like there’s more to do even if what you have visualized in the back of your mind is merely an impulse touch of your lips and caress of fingertips. You’re feeling brave too. Maybe it’s the booze or maybe it’s your own brain telling you not to miss out on this moment, because carpe diem right? (Or carpe noctem to be more specific?) You’re young and isn’t this the type of shit you’re supposed to do on nights like this anyway?

Before you can say a word, he slides his phone open and pulls up the dialer. “Number?”

You recite the digits for him. He does the same for you, even posing for a contact photo just for you. He’s simply smiling but the way his eyes form half moons, and his lips stretch across his face, revealing his dimples makes you feel smile as well.

“You want your picture taken too?” You laugh, smiling anyway. He snaps it quickly, looking satisfied. But he can’t seem to take his eyes off you as he sets his phone down.

“What?” you tilt your head at him.

“You look really cute.”

“You told me that already,” you giggle, leaning on your elbow and unconsciously moving closer to him.

“You tell me something then,” he suggests, following in your example.

“I’d let you kiss me right now.”

He lets out a small laugh directed to himself as he mutters, “Jesus, you’re really the forward one here.”

Curiosity washes over your eyes as you ask, “But would you let me?”

He pretends to think for a moment, glancing at you with feigned exaggeration and a smile. “Yeah, I truthfully would.”

You decide it can’t hurt. You’re young and maybe this is dumb, but you certainly can’t say that this is something you’ll regret. Perhaps after you return the shirt, you’ll never see him again. His numbers nothing more than a forgotten contact like the ones you accumulate within a quarter until they become useless in the next one. It’s a pessimistic way to see new people, but you know that’s just the reality of college.

Before you can lean in, he looks at you earnestly and asks, “You won’t regret this, right?”

You shake your head, leaning in closer, “and you won’t either, right?”

This time he doesn’t answer, you assume for fear that he might not actually be able to respond with a stutter or even a show of hesitance, but determination washes over his features in the most minute way you almost miss it. And the thudding of your heart ricocheting all around your chest is the only thing you can hear besides the thrum of the slurpee machine besides you.

You can feel Jimin’s hand finds its way onto the far side of your face, comfortably placed at the juncture between your start of your jawline and your hairline. He leans in first and kisses you.

And, of course, you kiss him right back.

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goldenscript · 8 years ago

Note

rosé blackpink and coffee house ? ty

pairing: park chaeyoung | readergenre: coffee shop au / romanceword count: 818author’s note: for my girl who loves ggs @baechuni (lov u nini!) & my fave chaeyoung stan @gukhopes <3

The bell chimes as soon as you pass through the door.

A trail of sharp wind prompts meets its end as soon as the dark mahogany shuts completely behind you, and the encompassing warmth envelops you wholly as you saunter closer to the counter where your favorite barista resides.

Jennie grins at the sight of you, already beginning to punch in your order. It’s simple and to the point. Your favorite out of all the places you’ve been, and at a steal of a price considering its competitors have only since jacked their prices a dollar or so more to their two-quarter jump. It’s almost too good to be true like a café straight out of your poor college student dreams.

For many other reasons, coming here has been a means of solitude away from the usual hustle and bustle of the campus coffee shops and the other surrounding shops. They’re great on some days, but most of them have left you with a sense of longing and newness. This place isn’t like the others, whether it’s the people, the drinks, or even the prices, you can’t say with absolute certainty, but the alluring quality reaches its highest peak when you hear soft melody emit from the front corner.

You hear her voice.

The bashful greeting that hushes the occupants with awe as the daily performer sings another one of her songs. They’re always different, always of a varying mood that manages to touch your heart in a profound way.

(“Hi everyone, this song’s a little different but I dedicate it to a special someone. Ahh, I hope you like it!”)

This song is sweet and touching. The resonating tune has you turning away from the waiting area to face the front with awe like the rest of the onlookers.

Of course, that is nothing new.

Since the arrival of the strawberry blonde, you’ve found yourself coming back to the quaint shop time and time again. At first, it was due to the cheap prices and the interesting way of entertaining customers (it’s the first time you’ve seen someone perform in a coffee shop, and you hoped it wasn’t the last). Each time afterwards became her doing—Chaeyoung was no longer an enigmatic singer-songwriter-guitarist. She introduced herself and encouraged your daily visits, and like someone bewitched, you could hardly say no (not that you wanted to).

Her music touched you in a way that you never imagined. There was soul in her voice and in her lyrics. Each one so carefully chosen and yet so effortlessly strung together, it felt like she had been doing this for decades upon decades. As if she was already a signed artist with no other interest in the industry, so she found her way here in this meager place for fun. You remembered the wide-set grin that curled across her face and the contagious laughter that filled the air of the empty couches by her stage, because you had to be pulling her leg (her words, not yours).

You remembered how she held a mug of coffee in hand, while yours held tea. Instead of singing, the words spilling out of her mouth as quickly as she emptied out her cup came in the form of stories and thoughts. She wears everything on her sleeve. All the things you heard on-stage and off were bits and pieces of her heart, and knowing those things she felt were akin to yours made this camaraderie all the more perfect.

Since talking to Chaeyoung, your mind can’t get enough of her. Like caffeine, you’ve become to addicted. Having your daily dose is only enough until you part ways and all your mind can do is think about the next time you’ll see her, hear her, and when you do, you find yourself more and more enamored with her softness.

Sometimes you wonder if it’s the feeling is mutual, if the connection you feel with her is as strong as you feel it. But you don’t have the guts to ask. As soon as she opens her mouth, you lose yourself in her voice.

“I’m falling in love, slowly but surely

You’re here in my heart

And I hope you know

This is for you”

Your gaze snaps away for the barest moment for your drink with questions pressing in your mind, Who could this be about? Me? Is there someone else?

(You don’t even notice Jennie’s knowing grin.)

Just as you’re about to walk over to your spot on the muted orange couch, you hear her shakily call your name between the set and meet your eyes from across the way. Her cheeks burn brightly and she tucks the stray hair that almost always gets in her face behind her ear as a shy grin widens across her visage.

And, your heart thuds as she says to you and only you, “This one was for you.”

#blackpinknet #kfluffnet #blackpink scenarios #blackpink au #blackpink fanfic #blackpink fluff #blackpink rose #rosé scenarios #rosé fanfic #chaeyoung fluff #rosé fluff #roseanne x reader #rosé x reader #girl group scenarios #girl group fanfic #emswriting #d:milestone

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goldenscript · 8 years ago

Text

requite

pairing: kim taehyung | reader genre: first date au / fluff word count: 4,465 description: To be clear, this is not an unrequited love. It is the gradual fall in which two best friends find themselves on a journey, navigating the waters of uncertainty on their very first, official date. author’s note: I dedicate this to my dearest @jungnoir -- happy holidays, my dear. Thank you for being a lovely human, and more importantly, for being my friend. You make everything just a little more bearable <3

It all begins when Taehyung decides to change everything.

He’s always been the proactive one between the two of you. The go-getter. The trendsetter. From starting the whole bandana epidemic in high school to fighting for a slot in the top fifteen percentile in high school and still aiming for it in college. He dreams big and loudly. His voice, an unabashed timber, steady as ever even in the face of adversity. It’s in this same voice that has almost always supported you and your endeavors, when your fears are taking hold and barring you from your own dreams like a dragon in front of the treasure, he imbues you with strength and gives you that push to defeat the doubts and take that leap of faith. And in many ways, being the basis of your strength has given you the drive to provide the stability that he needs. Where he is the sun shining optimism in his wake, you are the moon bringing things back into perspective.

Between the two of you, it has always been like the push and pull of the waters. Ebb and flow. A back and forth collaboration that can make not only wonderful outcomes but disastrous ones as well. Sometimes you just can’t keep up with him. The way he goes about life so quickly and so passionately. And yet between all his efforts to give himself a good life, he has never once forgotten about you and the help you’ve lended him. All the times you’ve imbued him with strength is everything that keeps him going, and he’s more than grateful for the time and effort you’ve both spent in late night studying sessions, phone calls when sleep eludes you both like a phantom confronted with reality, and every night since the end of high school, you’ve plagued his mind like a six-second video, only this time it doesn’t just play through your childhood. These videos show him the way the light hits you just right even with sleep threatening your half-lidded eyes, how the corners of your lips will curl even when he’s not doing anything at all, even how you feel from the moments he’ll wrap a lean arm around your shoulders, you’ll lean into him and the whiff of freesias and vanilla meet his senses, pressed so deep into his mind that you are the only thing that his mind will conjure up when faced with those two scents.

The beating of his heart augments fervently at your voice, the way his name falls off your lips far too beautiful for him to think clearly, and it takes everything in him not to come right out with the words that are constantly playing in his head when he sees you—I love you I love you God I love you so much—before you bring him back to reality with a small wave of your hand to remind him that your movie’s about to start. And all he can do is muster up a nod, gulping down the words caught in his throat as you lead him toward the third theater on your left with a huge bucket of popcorn in your other hand and that damn loose strand of hair that he’s always felt so inclined to tuck back behind your ear.

He can barely think as you both sit through Spiderman: Homecoming despite how badly he’s wanted to see it for the past few weeks, probably even longer since he heard about its upcoming release months beforehand, because all he can think about is how close you are and how much he wants to bare his heart to you as he always has. Although love or loving anyone has ever really passed his lips aside from his family, his other friends, and you, this is different. It’s a new caliber, a new level to this relationship that has taken more and more steps toward the platonic exit.

The beginning of his resolution came after a day of separation when his flight back home after your first year of finals is prolonged by a mishap that had him leaving almost too late to celebrate Christmas with you and the rest of your families. If only the news reports hadn’t been fuelling your anxieties for the welfare of your one and only best friend. But what came out of his worries for you and that sleepless night was his heart’s conclusion that he wanted to ease your anxieties over losing him. Because he knows you’ve equated the loss of him to losing your other half, a part of yourself that you don’t think anyone else could really replace, because he knew you like he knew the back of his hand, he felt what you felt when you were happy, sad, tired, and hungry, sometimes sharing them with you before pulling you out of your mood in the only way that he can. That following day, after the fog of the possible calamities could ensue, you clung to him with everything you could when you saw him. It eased his mind to see you, but the tumultuous rumbling in his chest made him reconsider the way he saw you, and with every passing day, every moment shared together, he has felt something bloom in him and flourished to its grandeur now.

The soft tufts of dark brunet locks that always falls into his eyes no matter what and still he can meet your eyes with the same soft chocolate-like effect, sweet and plush without an ounce of regret. His smile, toothy and all, always present even when you’re both fatigued with sleep and even now as you’re both readjusting to the shift in lighting of the theater. You know something’s up when he can’t even gush about the movie like you expected him to. His bottom lip is caught between his teeth and he can’t seem to stop fiddling with one of the three earrings dotting his earlobe. He’s handsome as ever even when nervous, and all you can think to do is ask him what’s going on in that broad and beautiful mind of his, always clouded with ideas far-fetched and thoughts abstract but witty and intelligent in ways that only a select few (read: you) can understand.

It is right then in this very moment where you two lock eyes and the rest of time slows down. His hand catches that loose tendril and finally tucks behind your ear, but instead of retracting away, it lingers a little longer on the side of your face. His heart is beating so hard in his chest, he’s almost afraid that it might fall out if he doesn’t pull back. But this is you. And you are the best thing that has ever happened to him, the most loving person, and the one that completes him without swallowing him whole.

That’s why he softly asks you, “Can I?”

And that’s why he does when you give a nod.

“Will you go out with me?”

Your mouth falls open, lips still tingling from the feeling of his chapped lips pressed against yours and reminding you that this actually happened. His cologne is muddled all over you and still fresh even with the two-feet distance, but it’s still a scent that rekindles familiarity in this sudden situation.

“W-What?” You blink, trying to register the moment for what it is, but the longer you try to wrap your head around this fact makes it still just as startling as it was when you felt his lips. “Are you serious?”

He laughs, placing his hands on your shoulders and nodding. “Of course I’m serious. I—I…” He runs a hand through his hair, though the stray locks do nothing to stay in place. But the sigh he releases is resounding and as exhilarated as he looked right then seems to fade back into the nerve-wracked boy you haven’t seen since elementary school. The same one who was too shy to even ask for a ball from the playground equipment monitor, so you stepped in to give him a hand, and inadvertently solidifying your friendship into what it is now. “I lo—I like you. A lot.”

You don’t even stop to think when you respond, heart still hammering because you’re not completely sure that you’ve heard him correctly. But you want to know. You need to know. “Were you going to say love?”

His mouth opens, falling close before he can get a word out as blood crawls up his cheekbones like vines. It’s suddenly much harder to be that shameless boy without a filter when he’s standing in front of the love of his life.

“I—uh—I…”

“You were… weren’t you?” You ask, feeling his hand slip away. The fading of warmth waking your own reflexes as you keep his hand in yours. It’s foreign now that you’ve both kissed and even more so as he seems to be baring his heart to you, but you can’t bear the loss of his comfort. “Taehyung. You love me?”

He’s willing the floor to swallow him whole. He wants the concrete to suddenly cave in beneath only his feet and close back up so he won’t face the rejection. He can’t bear it. And yet, when he nods, rejection does not come.

You give his hand a squeeze, feeling your heart flutter as you say, “Well, I’m glad this is mutual then.” You release an airy laugh, finding his beautiful eyes meeting yours like a deer caught in the headlights.

“Are you serious?”

Your brows screw together, almost offended that he’d even question you, of all people, who seldom throws the L-word around without necessary prompting. But then you see the way he lights up. His eyes flicker with relief, excitement, and adoration. The very familiarity of your reaction is probably everything he was hoping for, and the corner of your lip quirks involuntarily.

“Would I lie to you?” He shakes his head, letting out a shaky breath. “Then, I don’t have to repeat myself.”

He laughs, seeing your own cheeks flare up in a dance of rouge after a puff of smoke pushes through your lips. The cold is settling in beneath the canopy of the well-used movie theater. The warm undertones of light highlighting the scene without so much as a flicker, though it does nothing to maintain the warmth you’ve both built in your close proximities.

“So, w-will you then?” He asks, still hopeful and adorable as always.

You nod, smiling completely.

“Yes, Tae. I’ll go out with you.”

He picks you up on a Friday night. Six o’clock.

He’s nervous. You’re nervous. It’s the first official date. Not that it means the downfall of the relationship if it falls down the drain or anything, but you’re both met with anxieties and fears all over because this isn’t just anybody. It’s your best friend. But these are waters that have been teetering toward the edge of the sand dunes for as long as freshman year. Two years of falling in and out of almost-date’s and maybe-next-time’s, and the time is finally here. Of course, neither of you want to fuck to this up.

You’re dressed in a simple attire, more functionality for the biting cold than baring any skin anyway, but he thinks you look adorable bundled in the charcoal puffer jacket and slate grey turtleneck. While he dons something in similarity just because he’s always adored his own puffer and the way a heather grey sweater looks together. It’s kind of cute when it strikes him that you’ve both even chucked on your black Chucks. They’re not as scuffed as previous pairs, but it made you smile when you both exchanged these as Christmas gifts not too long ago and that’s been pressed so deep into his memory that seeing the matching pair bemuses him.

“Copying me?” He asks as you locks the door behind you. His brow quirked upward and a wide tight-lipped grin now spreading across his visage.

You scrunch your nose at the realization, immediately scoffing at him, “I’d say you copied me.”

He flashes a lopsided grin at you. “Ooh, defensive. I always knew you admired my fashion choices.”

“Please,” you say, walking side by side with him. Tonight’s venue is a venture into the city—it’s familiar and, well, comfortable. It’s perfect for the excursion and you most certainly don’t mind this mode of transportation. “Your taste is far too expensive for me, Tae.”

He pouts a little, “Hey, there’s a price to pay when you want to look good.”

“You always look good.” You admit in passing, “You could’ve worn a sweatsuit made of paper bags and I think you’d still amazing.”

“Really?” He turns to look at you with his brows raised.

“Really,” you laugh as your cheeks burning once more under his honey-like gaze. Like dropping the L-word, compliments are a rare occasion for you but tonight just felt right. “I don’t think you needed me to tell you that though.”

“It means more coming from you.” He glances down at your fiddling hands with uncertainty. He doesn’t know if you want to hold hands again or if he’s supposed to grab it, especially considering how easily you might slip through his fingertips if he is too abrupt. The fate of tonight feels so odd to him. Like he’s standing on wires with only his fingers crossed that he doesn’t dip down too low and ruin everything.

Your gaze flickers from his face and trails down to see what has his attention. Your heart thrums at the thought. Although holding his hand should be normal like it was last night, you know how vastly different it is now. This is the start of something new. An era that’s about to begin and open doors to a plane of hand-holding, kissing, and the companionship of not only a best friend but a significant other too.

He wants to hold hands, doesn’t he? Looking at him, you want to ask, Don’t you?

Instead you unhook your fingers from one another, slowly but surely allowing your left one to reside in the space between you and him. Despite the fears in the back of your mind telling you that venturing this far deep into uncharted territory could completely wreck a perfectly good relationship, you want to make this leap of faith—not only for him, but for yourself—because this is the very scenario you’ve had play over in your head during those nights where sleep eludes you and he’s the only thing that can seem to halt the anxieties with faint memories of childhood, adolescence, even last week when he made Hoseok shoot chocolate milk out of his nose.

You softly ask, “Really?”

“Really,” he says, punctuating his statement with a small nod. Looking back to you and raising a brow, he practically asks, Can I? Will you let me?

When his hand resides beside yours and it looks like his heart feels like it might fall out of his chest, he sees you give a small nod from the corner of his eye and even a smile curl on the corners of your lips.

His fingertips can practically feel the warmth you radiate, eliciting equal bouts of fluttering hearts and oh my god’s. He’s just about to close the distance and finally commemorate this moment in your newfound relationship, but before he can there’s a sudden rush and a slithering hiss of air signalling the arrival of the bus.

Instead of entwined fingers, you both dig for your IDs and show the bemused driver who doesn’t even pretend he didn’t see either of your pink cheeks and disappointed looks.

The bus flies past the restaurants of names neither of you can pronounce nor have you ever dreamt of going to. They’re beautiful in their own right. Filled to the brim with well-dressed people bustling in and out of the vicinity, many of which appear to be enjoying themselves in those milliseconds you get a gander of them. But that momentary happiness pales in comparison to the happiness that crosses your visage at the familiarity of warmth and pastel that takes place at the spot.

The bluish tint from the ceiling lights manages to give you an ethereal look. A sight to behold that makes him stop, practically frozen in time when you turn toward him and lean in close to pull for the stop. He wants to fumble through an apology but you flash him a smile and don’t even question his sudden pause. The two of you step out, feeling the sudden rush of nipping at your cheeks that gets minimally shielded with Taehyung’s shoulder in the way. And the next few moments seem to pass in seconds as he walks down the darkened steps with you right behind, toward the hidden away boba shop, until you’re both seated in front of one another with drinks of stark contrast to each of your likings.

Conversation passes easy as ever in that quaint shop, leaving nothing to chance as memories seem to pour out from the two of you. The time you and your shared group of friends ventured over here during Jimin’s shift, demanding for outrageous orders just to make the poor boy sweat. It was awful (for him mostly and for everyone else the next day), but at the same time, the cherub-faced boy has more dirt on you, Taehyung, Taeyong, and Siyeon than any of you like to admit which brings back more fond memories of that year. Nowadays if any of you come in during another (rare) drunken excursion, it’s met with ease and a crooked smile because that damn boy doesn’t forget anything. Then there are the other times where coming there were nothing but an excuse to forget about finals and midterms, debating on whether the college life was for either of you, and asking each other what they saw their future selves doing in all detail if anyone had it figured out that far ahead.

In a way, this feels like one of those days where you two come in with no plan at all. Just a just because. Not a this, this, and that. And that’s what he loves the most. He doesn’t have to think far ahead with you or worry about what comes next, because you can complete the equation with a simple answer. A grin curves on your lips while the light in your eyes shines brighter than the stars you’ve both admired for as long as either of you can remember, and suddenly, it’s another adventure, another memory. And when you two finish your drinks and the plethora of detours across memory lane, you both walk out together with the scarlet fluorescent lights shining “Arcade” in block letters beckoning you forth with the call of something new in this old-time relationship.

You turn to him at the entrance after halving the cost for tokens, “I’m not going on easy on you, y’know.”

He quirks a brow at you, almost tempted to pout at you despite knowing how fruitless that would be, “I wouldn’t be so sure of that. I’m a pro.” He opts for his boxy grin. You’re too adorable when you get competitive. “Didn’t I show you how to play half these games anyway?”

You scoff, pausing at Terminator 2: Judgement Day, “And wasn’t I the one to tell you that Terminator’s a movie and not just a videogame, you nerd?”

“Hey,” he pouts. “It’s not that I didn’t know… I just found out late.”

“So… you didn’t know.” You laugh, shoving four tokens in and smashing the start button. “It’s okay. We learn new things everyday. You just happened to learn about a classic flick a little too late into your late teen’s.”

He responds by taking a good three shots at the T-1000. Not a single miss. Not that the bastard goes down immediately. He remembers how irritating it was when he first played, going down to the arcade everyday just to get a better understanding.

“Please tell me you haven’t forgotten the movies.” He hasn’t. Gaze flickering over to your screen as you empty out your magazine within moments. Of course, they deflect off the T-1000.

“Of course not,” he replies indignantly. “I wouldn’t mind doing it again, though.”

“Yeah?” He sees you smile, your eyes narrowing at the screen as you shoot other cyborgs.

He nods, grinning broadly as he manages a decent hit, “Yeah.”

“It’s a date then.”

Of course, it doesn’t end there. Not with you two.

Despite the significant loss at T2, you assure him that you’re winning at the next game. You do equate his win to the fact that he’s been playing much longer than you, probably more than a normal boy should, and of course, he agrees. He spent an entire month going there to learn the machine and the story behind the game, so he guides you to the viridescent neon table with two paddles.

“Well, I guess we don’t have to count that one against you,” he says, shoving in the necessary six tokens to relinquish the puck.

When it deposits out from your end, you frown a little at him. “Don’t reject your win for my sake. You did a decent job.” You mutter under your breath, “Even if you didn’t know those were based on an actual movie.”

“Hey!” He pouts, deflecting your offensive play with a simple flick of his wrist. “Lay off, Miss Movie Buff.”

“Never.” You grin, going in on the offensive again. It’s your favorite tactic, and although it seems predictable to just about anyone who plays against you, you still manage to surprise even him after scoring a good three consecutive points without letting him get a word in.

After getting you both to an equal four, a mere point away from deeming one of you the winner, he says, “All the more movies to watch together, right?” He laughs breathily, “Since you did say there’s still plenty I need to watch.”

You nod. “Who would I be if I didn’t educate you now that we’re dating?”

“It didn’t stop you as my best friend,” he points out, aiming for the blind spot by your wrist. He doesn’t linger too long as he gives a particularly powerful hit to the puck without thinking too much about it.

“Well, it’s different now—ow—!” Much to his displeasure (and obviously yours), the puck’s destination is your hand and not the goal. And from the velocity of the white blur, his fear of hurting you has come true, immediately drawing him to your side to the assaulted area.

“Fuck,” he hisses under his breath, his fingers already trying to soothe away the pain with simple, concentric circles. “Are you okay?”

Of course, you stiffen at the sudden attention. It’s not completely common for him to check on you when an incident like this takes place, but when he meets your lit-up eyes and the bemused grin on your lips, he can’t help but feel like he’s overreacted.

“You’re fine aren’t you?”

You nod, teasing, “Who knew you could be such a worry wart?”

He pouts, “Of course. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I know you won’t,” you immediately try to reassure him. He feels it too. The trust you have in him, and that alone soothes his own doubts. “Anyway, this is nothing.”

“Are you sure?”

“You could kiss it better if that’ll ease your worrisome heart.”

He knows you’re joking from your smile, but he can’t help himself.

“It will.”

So he does it.

It’s only ten when your time at the arcade comes to an end with wins for the both of you, which was soon followed by a succession of celebratory pizza at the small food court inside the well-worn gaming area, and now the prospect of a stroll around the city streets you’ve both grown so accustomed to thrown into the air. It’s become second nature to hit all the familiar corners just to see the aesthetics and the new places that have started to pop up in the past year and a half.

The change from the first time you two ventured these places together to now has been astronomical, a necessary growth that has led you both to look back on your former selves with fondness and amusement. You remember having so many questions and seldom answers to them, with dreams so far and wide that’ve finally shaped and formed themselves in a tangible way. You knew going into this new world would be hard. Probably the hardest and it’s meant to get harder, even more so with another investment alongside school in tow, but when you look at Taehyung, there’s love in your heart.

The feeling squeezes you and envelops you, and although entertaining the thought that you might love him that first year led you toward this moment felt like a mistake at times, you can’t help but say you won't regret choosing it. Not that morning when you squeezed him so tight to your heart just to stop the rumbling and most certainly not right now as you shrug on your jacket and wait for him to do the same so you can both take the scenic route to the bus stop before you return to your place to watch a movie or two.

Without a second thought, your heart stutters right as he reaches past you to push open the door. “Ready?”

The biting cold already nipping past Taehyung and the protection of his broad shoulders to your exposed cheeks, earning a mixture of a whine and an affirmation in response.

“As I’ll ever be.”

There’s a prospect of warmth and familiarity being by his side, with the world around you seemingly fading as you two lose yourself in your own innermost thoughts together as it always does. The deep timber of his chuckle travels alongside the sharp gusts on the crowded streets, but your attention falls away from the sound and the feeling of others around you two, and rather onto the sight of his hand as you walk beside him.

You lock eyes with him, rejoicing in the deep hickory and practically asking, Will you? Or should I? before ultimately settling on Why the fuck not?

He smiles broadly at the tap from your hand before glancing down at the way you’ve extended it to his so subtly. The distance is only a hairsbreadth away, and all you want to do is close it once and for all, to finally feel what you’ve dreamt about time and time again. And thankfully, he does.

Though the feeling of his hand entwined in yours is new, you welcome its comfort.

#sfwbangtan #btswriters #bts writing squad #bangtan bookclub #btssunshinenet #ot7network #taehyung scenarios #taehyung fanfic #kim taehyung scenario #taehyung fluff #taehyung au #bts au #bts scenarios #bts fanfic #bts fluff #taehyung x reader #emswriting

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goldenscript · 8 years ago

Note

Hi! Congrats on your milestone! Could I request the title 'Jealousy' for a friends to lovers with Shownu?

pairing: son hyunwoo | readergenre: bffs to lovers / fluffword count: 925author’s note: thank you, angel!!!!!!!! <3333 i hope you enjoy this! i’m so happy to finally write for hyunwoo ^_^ and as permitted, i tag the ever lovely @minghaseok ~

Son Hyunwoo doesn’t get jealous.

It’s an uncanny emotion. It’s inconceivable. Insignificant.

The idea of a little green monster on his shoulder nudging him and growing large enough to envelop him so he can do irrational things seems like something straight out of a romantic comedy or one of those insanely over-the-top dramas that you coerce him into watching for shits and giggles. Like, yeah, everyone gets jealous, but he doesn’t.

He’s always been secure enough without envying other people. He’s never had to worry about being too small compared to someone, considering he’s basically a giant to just about everyone else he meets. He’s never had to worry about being lonely. Although he’s never actively tried pursuing anyone, really, he just knows he isn’t that terrible looking to where other people didn’t find him approachable. To say the very least, he’s never had a reason to be jealous.

And yet, when he looks to you, someone he’s known for more than half of his life, he feels that bubbling sensation in his gut.

It’s not like when his stomach lurched on your first outing with your driver’s license and you hard-stopped so quickly to avoid a reckless driver in downtown, truly saving his life as you often boasted. Nor is it like his nerves from the first time you ever watched him perform after all the begging to let you finally watch. Instead, this is the cliché kind—the one you and him have both ridiculed and shrugged off, because the whole butterflies, flushed cheeks, and erratic heartbeat is just a hoax, right?

Wrong. (God, so fucking wrong.)

Heat rises to his visage and thundering echoes within the confines of his chest when he’s near you. It gets even worse when you touch his arms or linger longer on your embraces. Your close proximity offers comfort and palpitations to his heart, and for reasons that have slowly become more and more apparent to him, he knows that there’s a you-shaped place in his heart, and there’s absolutely nothing he can do about it.

“Y/N, can I talk to you about something?” he asks timidly. It’s his first time confessing to someone since he tried once with Bora in elementary school. The entire thing was a disaster but you consoled him with one of your homemade smoothies, immediately soothing his adolescent broken heart. He didn’t understand what it was that really helped, but remembering you and the great effort that went into comforting him tells him that these feelings have been blooming since then.

“Yeah, sure,” you smile. “What’s up?”

“Well, I—”

Ding! Ding! Ding!

“Sorry, gimme a sec.” You look up at him apologetically, reaching over to silence the confounded thing.

However, him being him, he just nods you on. “Go for it, could be important.”

He immediately regrets it.

“Oh, it’s Minhyuk. I wonder what he wants.” You slide your finger across the screen.

But Hyunwoo already knows what your mutual friend wants.

The silver-haired man has recently started talking about how much he wants to ask you out. It’s almost like karma’s getting back at him for trying to confess to you knowing the younger man wants to go out with you, but Hyunwoo figured if he confessed now, whether you reject him and found happiness with Minhyuk (though truthfully the idea of you with Minhyuk only mildly burns his chest) or no one since he didn’t know what your stance on relationship was as of late, or accepted him, then it would make things easier.

“He wants to go to that one Thai food place we like,” you muse.

“Oh,” he hums.

Right as he asks if you’re going to say yes to the offer, you ask him, “Did you tell him that’s my favorite?”

He shakes his head, breaking his gaze to look at the untrimmed hedge of the Chae house. He doesn’t even see you set your phone to your back pocket, already catching on to his sudden shift in behavior.

If there’s something you can pride yourself in, then it’s knowing how your supposedly enigmatic best friend works. It’s almost like reading a book or breathing.

“You’re jealous,” you say with a feigned gasp.

That jolts him from his trance and he meets your knowing gaze with wide eyes. “What? How—”

“—Do all our sandbox days mean nothing to you, you punk?”

Heat rises on the back of his neck, burning more than the bright sun hanging high in the sky. He most underestimated you, even as you stare him down with slightly narrowed eyes, he sees something he never really noticed—the pinkened cheeks and luminescent hues imbuing him with warmth, comfort, and adoration, it becomes all the more apparent—you feel it too.

“No,” he begins grins goofily when he notices your empty hand. “But can I tell you what I was going to tell you now?”

You nod, matching his grin because it’s too contagious not to. “Sure, tell me you love me already.”

“I love you.”

He adds with very flushed cheeks, slowing his pace as he does, “And I’d like to take you out to our Thai place some time.”

You laugh with a nod, “How about Saturday?”

“Saturday’s good by me.” Any day is good by me.

(“Are you gonna reject Minhyuk now?”

You coo, “Jealous is cute on you, y’know.”

He doesn’t respond, though the red tips of his ears peek beneath the strands of his sable hair.

You send Minhyuk a rejection message, much to the younger man’s disappointment (and Hyunwoo’s elation).)

#mxnetwork #mxwriters #kfluffnet #shownu scenarios #shownu fluff #shownu au #shownu fanfic #hyunwoo scenarios #hyunwoo drabble #hyunwoo fluff #hyunwoo fanfic #hyunwoo au #monsta x scenarios #monsta x fanfic #monsta x fluff #monsta x au #emswriting #d:milestone

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goldenscript · 8 years ago

Text

forever in a night (m)

pairing: kim mingyu | reader genre: best friends to lovers au / fluff, smut warnings: alcohol mention (& some under-age drinking), drunk-ish sex (?) word count: 15,643 description: There’s a long stretch of history between you and your best friend, Kim Mingyu. From your first and last time as lovers to the friendship that has remained intact all throughout, but etched within the seams is the very thread that has always kept you two bonded—it’s nothing short of two hearts that beat as one with an unspoken love.

The first night is a complete accident. It’s a stupid, stupid emotionally compromised mistake that shouldn’t have happened (with your best friend no less)! Did you already mention how stupid it is?

When you’re heartbroken, you eat chocolate and ice cream and any of all the fatty, sugar-coated carbohydrates you can contain. You watch movies about heartbreak and ridicule them with tear-stained eyes and vehement finger-pointing because for fuck’s sake, they aren’t listening to you from behind the thin glass and it’s taking everything in your willpower not to chuck your remote and the popcorn from your bowl, maybe even the bowl itself too, at the screen because as angry as you are, you’re most certainly not in the mood to get up and fix the mess you’d hypothetically make.

You call up your best friend, crossing your fingers that he isn’t busy with homework or a successful love life, though the latter is actually laughable because Mingyu is even worse off than you are but you need something to get your mind off your own stupidity. That’s why you have him. He’s your go-to. Your rock. Everything you need in a man, really, but even more than that because he’s the one you need that’ll help keep your mental sanity stable enough when shit like some guy—Jung Jaehyun, to be very exact—drops you for some other better-looking chick with probably an even better personality at that. It’s not to say you’re a shitty person, but from the way he talked about her, she seemed awfully great so that’s why you do feel a little stupid for hanging around and thinking that the feelings he was kind of sure were there for you would swept away when certainty and something better rolls in. So sure, you’ve been down over meaningful shit before but this isn’t forgetting Mingyu’s birthday (one time, mind you), this actually has you down in the dumps even farther down than those bottomless trenches from the Finding Nemo movie.

Now normally, his arrival is filled with hugs and warmth, maybe even a few good (though you’d never say that), cheesy jokes about kicking Jaehyun’s ass for you but it elicits half-smiles and half-hearted hugs because you’re just not feeling much right now. It’s literally everything you need and more, but in a way, this is different because you weren’t really sure or unsure about the outcome with the bleached blond but you wanted it to work. You hoped for it. And it’s that kind of disappointment and hurt that doesn’t just melt away with an empty threat or embrace. It’s not like the time with your first boyfriend at twelve with a boy by the name of Jungkook, who was as sweet and soft as cotton candy, who like the delicious treat disappeared right as soon as you two shared a kiss. He moved away to a different city, and when Mingyu comforted you in this same method, you actually cracked a smile and took him up on his offering for 7-Eleven slurpees and other terribly delicious junk food.

You do wish it was that simple to just forget like the good, old days, but times are different now—you’re older and a little more mature than those gloriously simple sandbox days, with desires and hormones that do more of your actual thinking than your brain, who knows damn well how bad the idea is that’s floating inside your head. It’s pushing its way to the forefronts of your mind, and all you can really see is his handsome visage, because somehow Mother Nature decided your best friend’s puberty should turn him into a borderline six-foot tall baseball jock with a face that is almost too, inhumanely handsome to actually be the kid you’ve known since the first grade. It was practically yesterday when he was tugging on your hair and leading you over to the baseball field because there was no one else he wanted to watch him play but you, not even Yoohyeon (and she was best-looking girl in school!). Though as rough and annoying as he was (okay, is), he has his kind, gentle moments, like smuggling the good balls out of the closet after some snot-nosed jerk stole the one you brought for you and him or taking you by the hand to appease your fear of crowds and making sure you stayed right by his side or laying beside you during that terrible weekend-long blackout when you were home alone and your parents were out (he had his first middle school game that following day but he came running just to make sure you were okay), all because out of everyone he’s known, he’s always had a soft spot for you and childhood to even now only proves that deeper and deeper, it seems.

There’s just this moment when he cups your cheek and looks you in the eye to ask, “Are you okay?” There’s a gentleness that sets ease in your heart, and it’s the first moment since exactly eight hours ago that your mind actually shuts up for once. You don’t know what you’re doing but the longer you stare at him, falling deeper into the soft, hickory hues, your eyes flicker down to his lips and watch as they move for a split second before your looking at him again; then, you just go for a kiss.

He doesn’t fight you, surprisingly, and it’s not quite like the ones you two have shared during Spin the Bottle and the truth-or-dare circles at parties for the past few years either. But you like it. You like that your mind goes blank without the sirens or racing thoughts, without the what-if’s and what-could’ve-been’s. You like that it’s with him because he’s always been your person—that sort of comfort that is rare to come across in just anyone. And the thing is he just goes with it, his eyes shut within a moment, soon yours follows, and his fingertips take a firmer grasp on your cheek while the other rests at your hip. Before you know it, you’re both laid across your bed with no clothes, the tear of a wrapper breaking into your mutually breathy moans and the touch of his fingertips igniting burns in their wake that remain seared forever in your brain.

In the early morning when the weight of your actions dawns on you, it’s to your very surprise that he’s awake and cleaning up the forgotten popcorn bowl. His lanky limbs tidying your living room as you look on from the doorway. Your parents forgot to come home, but from the looks of the purple splotches on your collar bones and your hips, you’re more than okay with not dealing with them right now.

The only thing that crosses your mind and parts your lips is one simple question: “Can we go back from this?”

“Do you want to?” Mingyu asks with a simple tilt of his head. He doesn’t look affected in the slightest, though truthfully you find yourself pretty indifferent about the entire thing. Even though you were completely screwed over Jaehyun, you find yourself at peace, like a singular weight has just dropped from your shoulders and you can breathe just a little bit better. “Look, whatever happened last night—we’re going to be okay. This doesn’t have to change anything, y’know, you needed someone and I’m always going to be here for you.”

“And you’re okay with just screwing and pretending nothing happened?” your brows screw together, hands wringing the edges of his T-shirt.

“Believe me, I can’t pretend but I mean this really doesn’t change anything, Y/N. I’m your best friend, you’re my best friend. We fucked, so what?”

You laugh, shaking your head at his logic. “You’re way too casual about this.”

He shrugs, striding over to you in about three steps. His hands find your shoulders. “Is that so bad? You’re the overthinker. Let me be the underthinker. ‘Kay?”

Dropping your hands from his T-shirt, you give his cheek a poke. You never would’ve conceived that doing that with your best friend would be so casual, because everyone grows up with the idea that their best friend is that person reserved from those things, that they’re the ones that will pick up the pieces from a safe distance. But in a way, Mingyu has always been a different person for you. Yes, he’s your best friend, but he’s the kind that you can tell anything and everything no matter, and for the two of you to cross a boundary like that together should be weird, should be restricted from then on because what kind of best friends casually fuck like nothing?

Instead, you just go with your gut and give a nod. Because this was just a one and done right? (No honey, no it was not.)

“‘Kay~”

The second time is completely voluntary. An executive decision that you initiate (yet again) because what the hell are you supposed to do when your friends actually banked on the success of your relationship with Park Jimin? Not only was he older but he was also a college student with all access to free booze, but he was undeniably attractive like a devil disguised as a rosy-cheeked cherub. Smooth-talking and a tease. These are things you were well-equipped to handle with having Kim Mingyu, a sudden girl-magnet that senior year (it’s still beyond you considering it’s barely even October), but on the orange-haired boy, it was everything that kept you on your toes and wanting more.

That’s the thing about boys like Jimin—they want to have fun. They like to play around. Correction: they fuckin’ adore it. Of course, he’s sweet and attentive beneath all the selfishness and self-assured confidence, but his capacity for relationships longer than three months were a bigger stretch than your eight-dollar leggings from Amazon. It’s a miracle the two of you even made it into that extra two, but it was a good five-month run.

You just wanted to believe that you could change a guy like him, maybe work around the player nature. You also hoped that something about you made him keep coming back. Maybe it could’ve. Your guts had no doubts that his resolve softened with you. But as spirals come, they go. He just happened to go on his birthday, leaving behind only a simple text that he couldn’t show up to the dinner you planned or even continue what you were doing together, because punctuated at the end of it all was the very audacity of him to conclude that you and Mingyu were something more than you were letting on and his own petty nature kept him from bringing it up because it showed he cared way too much for some high schooler like you.

Knowing that makes you mad. Downright furious, actually.

For him to accuse you and your best friend of being more than just best friends. The very gall makes you convinced that Jimin’s using it as an excuse to cut ties with you, and maybe you’re being petty by calling Mingyu to that one corner boba shop in the city but you can’t control yourself. There's this selfish part of you that just wants to hurt Jimin in that way. Even if he didn't know you invited your best friend to come meet you (at the least, he probably has the thought nagging at him in the back of his mind), it's a nice feeling to know somewhere in the bubble of feelings you’re shrouded in.

The pettiness doesn't outweigh your hurt, however.

The very truth is you liked Jimin a whole fucking lot. Not just a lot. A whole fucking lot, okay. You and him spent five months together. Five, long and wonderful months together just to be whittled into this measly broken half over your best friend, Kim fucking Mingyu. That's what gets you. Of what sort of action did you display that would indicate infidelity? Was "we fucked once last year" written all over your forehead? Or did you let it slip during one of your drunken escapades? Was that it? What the goddamn hell was it? Because, despite that one night—a stupid one at that—nothing has ever changed between the two of you. In fact, it might've brought you two to a closer level of understanding because nowadays you kind of just knew what was up with him, whether he was feeling some kind of way for a girl or something, but it never triggered hidden feelings for him or any of that cliché shit. He’s your best friend. That's it.

You’re hurting. From the moment Jimin left you with those glaring text messages to the moment when Mingyu sits in front of you with furrowed brows and “What happened?” falls past his lips. Of course, you can't hide it from him. Of fucking course, you let it all loose within two breaths. And he looks absolutely pissed at the fact that this is how Jimin decided to end things. Not even face-to-face, but through texts that felt more passive aggressive and heavier to look at the more you stare at your phone screen.

Your thoughts are flying in all kinds of directions, as if it weren't enough that today would've been yours and Jimin's fifth monthiversary. You two didn't really care for that kind of crap, but it was more like an obligatory celebration to mock with some food and maybe a movie. Sometimes even a screw or two. But it felt like it could've been something. Maybe nothing like getting married after all the school’s done or anything, but it could've been like those old loves you think back on from time to time or some cheesy shit like that.

You don't know where you're going on this train, but you feel Mingyu move next to you in the booth and the warmth of his body radiating on you is enough to shut up all the detours. Like those dings on a train that get muted in the background with a pair of good ass headphones, but instead this happens as soon as as you look over at him with a half-hearted smile. Until it only dawns on you that the only way he could've beat the half-hour travel time to downtown was because of that date he should be on.

Fuck.

"You must've been busy with Nayeon huh?" you sigh, only briefly recalling how psyched he was to finally go out with her. It makes you feel even worse now. "I shouldn't have pulled you out like this."

He glowers at you, bumping your shoulder. "Don't say that. Of course, I'd come find you."

Of course you have to say it. You wouldn’t be a very good friend if you didn’t ask. "But Nayeon?"

"She's not my best friend, Y/N. You are. If she really likes me that much then she'd see me for another date," he states simply. But when you look at him inquisitively, he can hardly meet your eyes. "There are other girls anyway, y'know. I'm sure I'll meet an understanding one."

"Like anyone believes we're just friends," you scoff, patting his leg. He doesn't mind as it remains there either. But for some reason, you kind of wonder why you’re letting it rest there now. You’re usually the withdrawn type when you’re hurt. "I bet she was worried we were more than friends too."

"Well..." he scratches the back of his head. "That's true, but still—!"

"Still what? Gyu, I—I," you sigh. "I don't even know anymore.”

You don’t even know why you’re saying what’s suddenly occurred to you, but you suppose it’s because the admission of truth is often easier said when emotionally compromised. There have been plenty of times when you admitted to things while you weren’t in the right state of mind, and it seems this occasion is no exception.

Even as the words fall, you don’t even bother looking very embarrassed about it.

“Sometimes I'd rather just say ‘fuck it’ and just be with you instead of anyone else."

He laughs, ruffling the top of your head. "We could make one of those pacts to be together if we wind up single in our thirties or whatever. Like that one Friends episode! I don't mind."

"Oh shut up," you don't even stop yourself from smiling. The memory of that Friends marathon you two did well into the previous summer comes up—all the mutual complaints, the in-depth discussions, and even the expected clean-up’s after you two attacked the screen with an arsenal of popped kernels—even over the particular hilarity of that damn episode. "Let me be sad, dummy."

He leans in close, lips a damn hairsbreadth away, it actually has your breath caught in your throat. Your only worry is it wasn't that obvious. "Never, you can't be sad in my presence,” his voice is playfully indignant, but the latter half of his words leave an uncomfortable swipe of heat across your body. “I want to make you feel better, Y/N."

"That holds a lot more sexual weight than an innocent one, y'know," you note aloud, regretting it instantly. The corners of his lips curl upwards, with a flash of his pearly whites gleaming beneath in the fluorescent overhead lighting. It makes your heart flip flop all over, and you hate that this isn't the first time it's done that either. "Oh shut up."

"I didn't say anything," he says, shrugging. "But if you're really up for that, then I don't mind either."

You pull back from drinking the delicious sweetness of your earl grey milk tea, almost blanching because you don't think you've ever felt both so horrified and so intrigued, because an actual part of you wouldn't even mind screwing him right now. The part of you that feels hurt and emotionally compromised actually welcomes the thought of his hands at your hips and the jutting of them against yours. Even the thought of squelching sounds that sounded all too good to be true made you so undoubtedly tempted to just agree, but you hold back specifically for that moment.

"What?"

He watches you, deadpanning, "You heard me."

"That's a hefty offer, Mingyu. I don't think I can take you fucking around right now," you sharply point out, knowing that you are the one bullshitting. And of course, it isn't like you don't want to screw your best friend. You like that he was your first. You also like that it's him, out of anybody in the whole goddamn world, because you know for a fact he isn't taking advantage of you. But you also know damn well that you would be very much taking advantage of him (again).

It’s like, for whatever reason, the universe likes to send him your way whenever you're emotionally compromised. She probably enjoys the tease of putting you two together, only to leave the two of you two to deal with your actions in later relationships. It's silly how simple things would be just to be with him. He knows you, you know him. But at the same time, knowing that he's the kid you've basically entrusted all your secrets with could easily slip from your fingertips like Jimin makes you anxious. He isn’t like Jimin in the biggest way where you haven’t prepared yourself to lose him on the off chance he lost feelings, because that’s what you did with the older man. Unlike him, Mingyu holds more sentimental weight that forgoes a few months and actually melts into years of deeply-rooted connection and attachment that could so easily go to shit if either of you fucked up a relationship.

So, then fucking isn’t so bad then?

You suppose if you weren't getting together with Mingyu officially, then just screwing him and shooing away all those (highly possible) repressed feelings is a much safer bet.

Of course, you still feel obligated to ask him, "Can we go back from that? Doing it again, I mean."

He shrugs, wrapping an arm around your shoulders that has your mind even blanker than before. At least it's shutting up any more of your anxieties. "It didn't change much before, right?"

"True." You look over at him, washing over his features in a quick sweep as if it made much of a difference in your decision-making (it didn’t). He's gotten even more handsome, you notice, and not quite in the "holy fuck, my best friend is hot" kind of way though that has happened once, but more in a "you're a really good fucking person and that's really attractive" way. "Why did you do it last time?"

"'Dunno, I guess because you seemed like you needed someone." He gulps, Adam's apple bobbing as his own nerves go down. "And, well, to be frank, you're pretty hot."

You let out a laugh, smacking his chest with your free arm. "Shut up, you punk. Lying to your best friend is a terrible sin, y'know."

"Oh?" He raises a brow at you, cheeks becoming prominent from his ever-growing smile. "Well, why don't you show me a thing or two about absolving that?"

Your nose wrinkles, one of your fingers now placed atop his lips. "We are not doing any of the kinky, roleplaying shit, Gyu."

He asks, giving way for more internal cursing, "So, that's a yes?"

Even though you know shouldn't do this, you find it very hard to actually care at this point. You did call him over there. And, you do need someone to keep your mind off the impending heartbreak. Okay, and you do think he’s pretty fucking hot too.

Giving a nod, you warn him, "My mom's home though."

"S'okay, my parents aren't home. They took a trip down to the beach for their anniversary." He gives your shoulder a squeeze before looking at you with a flash of seriousness in his eyes. "Are you sure about this?"

That is definitely a chance to get out of this mess. Maybe leave this moment without the reality that you really screwed your best friend the same night you were supposed to probably bang your now ex-boyfriend, and it's one of those moments where if you were looking at this situation from afar you'd probably say no and walk away. Maybe take a breather for a day or two before doing some other reckless thing. However, this isn't one of those moments.

There is no narrator, talking about the complications of your life and your skewed decisions. This is on real time with a reality that whatever you do will bite you in the ass later, and it's that sort of thought that only briefly passes through your mind before things go silent. His visage is still very close to yours, and the idea of comfort and utter tranquility begins to spill back in.

The repercussions of fucking him might come back later, but you don't find many problems in it. So, without a second thought, you give nod. All punctuated with a verbal, "I'm dead serious."

And with that out in the open, he grabs hold of your hand (the one that was on his leg) before giving it a squeeze. Something about it just tugs on the jagged pieces of your heart, not that they were all that broken. They’re more hurt, like a wounded pride, because you're almost fairly certain that this is what is ailing you the most about the Jimin situation. Well, that and the fact that this would become one of those unresolved relationships that you'd never have an answer to unless you braved a mutually willing conversation with him. (Not that you would, because again, your pride.)

You feel a little better afterwards, at the least.

The third time… god, the third time is a weird passing of “I’m lonely but you’re on my mind” and “Jesus, me too” that actually has you wishing that Jesus or some either higher deity could stop you from this poor decision-making skill. Because at this point, it’s not just to forget somebody or comfort yourself from heartache, it’s actually a voluntary choice that doesn’t last more than forty-five minutes and you counted because the nagging part of you is trying to remind you that what you’ve done is with your best friend and not just any other friend that—even with a given choice—you still wouldn’t opt into, because this time the problem isn’t just your terrible life choices. No, the problem is that you might actually feel something other than disgust and repugnance and exasperation and absolute, platonic adoration for a young man you’ve known since the start of elementary school.

You blame Woozi. It's his fault. Absolutely in the "I forced you two together because I know some shit went down between you guys" way. You don't know how he knows anything in the slightest considering neither you or Mingyu ever said a word about the previous times, but it's like he knew somehow. Well, regardless of whether he actually knew or not, it's still his fault and that stupid pantry's too.

Okay, and your heart's fault too.

But you still like to believe it's because of an inanimate object and because of that evil demon you and Mingyu have the misfortune of considering a friend, because that’s much easier than facing the music for yourself. If only he had just made you two streak down the street naked or drink some grotesque smoothie or something that didn’t involve an opportunity for something that shouldn’t have been so intimate in such an enclosed space, then maybe, just maybe, you wouldn’t be put in this position.

God, if only it were that simple, because it isn’t like Woozi made you have feelings for that giant of a best friend of yours after all.

All you know is that the kiss, as simple as it was, made you do a double take. Like out of all things in life, it's not enough to say that you instantly realized you had feelings for him—that sort of thing takes time. This just made you thoughtful enough to really slow everything down. Those thoughts that you had been used to brushing off in Mingyu's presence made a reappearance, becoming a newfound factor in all your endeavors with him. Whatever you didn't think you would feel for him became something like an added layer to the already complicated relationship the two of you shared.

“Are you okay?” He asks you a few days after the incident, milk teas in hand and some take-out food you both love as sort of a celebration to the upcoming first year in college, because that's what that party was meant to commemorate in the first place. Yet somehow the whole thing managed to make you realize your stupid feelings for your stupid best friend.

You nod nonchalantly, reaching for the bag of goods. But like your chances of escaping your damn feelings for him, it slips from your grasp and hovers a little higher over you.

“Hey!” You try making a fruitless jump for it.

He doesn’t even need to budge a little bit as he simply says, “Liar.”

“Am not,” you declare, glaring at him. Sort of. “Gimme my food, you moocher.”

“Hey, I actually bought this!” Looking down at you, his eyes narrow just a smidgen. There’s a lack of malice that only tells you that this is your own intervention. Either fess up or risk starvation. “Something’s up. Things feel… off.”

“Maybe because the scales of the universe have been tipped because I, the supreme overlord, am hungry.” You try to make another jump for the food, but you realize just how much closer he’s gotten before you’re instinctively stumbling backwards. “D-don’t do that—!”

“Do what?” he asks, frowning a little. “What’s going on with you, Y/N? Why’ve you gotten all jumpy around me?

“I—I,” you sigh, rubbing the back of your neck. “Alright, I know I called you over first about hooking up but I—I dunno. I realize how weird that is, because you aren’t really comforting me from anything. It was more like easing some boredom and that was really wrong of me, y’know?”

“Oh!” His voice goes up an octave before both his tone and his arm just a bit but you aren’t even bothering to reach for the food again, “Right. Well, I mean I told you I don’t mind—”

“—Why not though?” you ask, brows furrowing. It’s still the partial truth which is hell of a lot better than a whole lie, so you’re not feeling as guilty as before. You’ve long since resolved on not saying a word of your feelings altogether. “Doesn’t it bug you that I’m doing that?”

“I mean, why would it?” You’re about to open your mouth and state the obvious (because duh, why wouldn’t it?) but he continues, “We still talk to each other, support each other, and y’know love each other, Y/N. There’s never once been a moment where I felt like you were genuinely using me for my body or for the sex or whatever. I know that you’ve been hurt and that it led you to some rash decisions and I know that what happened a few weeks ago wasn’t something very conventional for us but… I dunno, it just—it doesn’t bug me. At all. I promise.”

You feel at a loss of words. You don’t know what you were expecting from him exactly, especially considering how unpredictable Mingyu can be, but if there’s one thing that remains consistent with him—it’s his reliability. Even in your own confusion and hurt, because this does bug you for some reason, you’re not entirely sure whether he enjoys being put in this sort of position or the fact that you enjoy being in this position with him.

“Okay?” he asks, tilting his head at you. “Does that ease some of your guilt?”

You involuntarily frown a little, obviously your own guilt wouldn’t just vanish, but for some reason your heart doesn’t feel quite that heavy knowing that he didn’t see what had happened as a mistake. You already know you shouldn’t have done it. You know that doing what you both did more than once will only lead to trouble (and it has). Hell, doing it in the first place came from a place of hurt, yet that still makes you wonder why he even let it happen—after all, he could’ve said no. So why?

“What’s wrong now?” He takes a step toward you, though you make no move to slip away this time. Your heart is still going haywire, your own brain wondering why you weren’t worried in the slightest that he may hear the disaster going on in you. But you remember that even trying to hide anything from Mingyu is a futile effort. Especially now that he’s eying you at a closer level, having long since setting the food down by the table.

“I’m just…” you rack your brain for the right words, dodging his inquisitive gaze for the cream-colored tiles. “Confused.”

“Why?” You can’t even see him but you can tell he’s frowning. His sneakers with the creases in the front have come into view, reminding you that you’ve definitely got to buy him a new pair for Christmas. His warmth is so fucking close, and you swear your heart might fall out of your chest because of it. You don’t understand why you’re reacting this way towards him or why it seems to titillate the butterflies in your stomach to be put in this position with him either.

Even with the likely chance that what you’re feeling is the complete opposite to his, you can’t seem to find any courage or will to push him away from yourself. It’s silly. Probably stupid. Hell, maybe you would’ve been screaming at some actress for pulling the same bullshit. But the image that glimmers in that thought not only includes yourself chucking popcorn at the screen, but with a rowdy companion who gets a little too excited and shows off his pitching skills just to make you laugh and clean up the mess when your mom gets home with daggers aimed at the both of you.

Whatever you’re feeling and whether it transcends the normalcy of what a best friend should feel for their best friend, you know that you can’t push off the subject any more than you have already. If not for your sake, but for Mingyu’s, because he’s worried about you. His hands are balled into fists at his side, trembling from the uncertainty that touching you (close intimate contact-loving and all) may set you off and draw you further away.

“I—well—how are you so okay with all of this?” you admit truthfully. Among the many things running through your mind, this feels like the safest bet. “How are you not confused?”

Apparently so, because now that you’re looking at him, you can see the worried brows unknit while his mouth parts into a small ‘o.’ He almost looks dumbfounded that you’re really looking at him but you don’t have much time to think after he’s spoken—

“I just know that I’m happy you chose me.”

Your heart reacts before your brain can, but at the very least your lips clamp shut before you can anything jeopardizing. Instead you tilt your head and furrow your brows, doing the best that you can to emulate your confusion (because you are definitely more confused than ever) and keep your heart from really falling out of your chest.

He laughs, running a hand through his hair. His cheeks give off the slightest bit of embarrassment. It makes him look endearing. You hate it. (No, you fucking love it, and you fucking hate that you love it.)

“You trust me. And that’s not confusing.”

Oh dear god, it so is. But you smile, because it does make you happy to see him so wholesome. Even with the guilt of your feelings and the stupid things that keep plaguing you with regret, the more you think about how easily you let this get out of hand and how much Mingyu really didn’t deserve to have a best friend who would put him in this situation just because you’re too emotionally incompetent to deal with them like a normal person.

“‘Kay?” he says, this time propping his hands onto your shoulders. He makes sure to meet your eyes, a contagious grin curving at the corners of his lips. No matter what he’s still your best friend. Your heart may ache for him, for whatever it is you two share in those most intimate moments, but if there’s anything you don’t mind keeping just for a while longer, then it’s moments like this where you can pull him into you with your arms wrapped around his waist and just let the rest of the world fall silent.

Even though you feel your heart rebelling, you still find yourself nodding against his chest, “‘Kay~”

What follows the events of that summer is an expected calm before the unleashing of a storm that comes only a few months afterwards—exactly eight months since that mid-July day. And in that time, you’ve found healing in surviving gruelling classes and managing your own time as a human being, even with the dulled embers of your heart’s desires constantly at your side with a goofy grin and poorly-strung words falling past his irritably chapped lips that makes you wish you could forcibly apply a good two or three coats of ChapStick just so he wouldn’t be too lazy to do it later. You see, just because your feelings for Mingyu made an appearance didn’t mean that you would push him out of your life and let the pain of those well-shared memories together overrule your connection with him. There were years and years of history between the two of you, and to see that go away would be worse than any rejection made by him. So, you did as you did best by pushing away whatever remnants of non-platonic emotions away, because this was Kim Mingyu, your best friend, your rock, your go-to when boys like Xu Minghao make an appearance only to make you feel lonelier than ever for reasons you couldn’t quite understand from a third-person perspective, and if you had to decide between quenching your selfish desires to be with him and take on whatever challenges would come in its wakes or simply live on with the knowledge that you once wanted to date your best friend, then you’d rather live on in silence.

And tonight, as always, is like most where you find yourself complaining about the opposite sex to your best friend, who happened to belong to that end of the spectrum. It reminds you of old times, of the memories when you once complained to him about Jung Jaehyun, but you find yourself lacking the same emotional disparity and more of the sexual frustration that comes when, well, you don’t.

“I hate him,” you groan, giving the pillow in your left hand a deafening smack with the other. “I hate him I hate him I hate him.”

You can hear a groan from the adjacent side to your room, “You said that the first fifty thousand times tonight, shut up already!”

Shifting your glare from your pillow, you aim it at the dark-haired boy perched at your desk and lob your makeshift punching bag right at him.

“You shut up. You’ve been talking about baseball since you came out of the womb, but you don’t see me complaining.” He doesn’t even flinch when it makes contact with his head, just letting it sit on his lap while he rests his elbows on his thighs. “Let me bitch about your stupid roommate.”

“For your information, you have complained about me talking about baseball. Relentlessly. In fact, just this week you were bitching about my game—”

“—It was three-and-a-half hours, Mingyu! Hours. That’s goddamn torture.”

“Imagine playing for that long. Now that’s goddamn torture,” he grumbles, mimicking your tone. Your eyes narrow, another one of your pillows readily available for another attack, but you only pause when you hear him sigh. “But seriously, why are you still hung up on him again?”

“Have you not been listening to me?”

He gives you a look, “Do you really think I can decipher your girl garble when you’re like this?”

“I’d like at least an effort, y’know,” you sniff, leaning your head against the wall. “Don’t make me regret calling you over.”

His eyes soften after they give your visage a once over, a terse nod passing before he leans back in his own chair as if to say, ‘effort it is!’ “What’s up then?”

“I—I don’t know,” you let out a frustrated sigh. “It isn’t like he’s a terrible person or anything but God is he a pain in the ass.”

“Pain in the ass how?” he raises a brow. “Is he bugging you about dumb shit? Forcing himself on you? ‘Cuz I’ll—”

“No! Not that,” you shake your head, actually letting out a bitter laugh as you do. “I just mean he leaves me hanging a lot.”

“Like not texting you back?”

“Well, yes but no, that’s not what’s bugging me. I’m frustrated, Gyu.” Mingyu’s brows contort together, as if the picture weren’t clear as day. Though for someone that’s taken one too many baseballs to the head, you can’t exactly blame him for not picking up on your hints. Of all people, he should know what you mean.

That punk roommate of his seriously wasn’t bad at all, maybe snippy and grumpy (at times), he could text back more, maybe ask you to hang out once in awhile, but it seriously wasn’t any of those things that made you so mad. It was the fact that your status with one another was blatantly clear, practically crystalline with explicit photos and the occasional, cheeky mark to trademark it all. And still, even when you’re both so close to the ride of a goddamn lifetime, he pulls back and leaves so abruptly, you actually have to ask your roommate if you really did have someone over. Sometimes she can confirm it with playful dirty looks as you order apologetic milk teas equipped with boba and other jellies, but there are times where she gives you a funny look and goes, “You had someone over?” And whether it’s to genuinely fuck with you or not is still up for debate.

“Wha—”

You begin to whine, digging your head further into the wall out of complete sheepishness. You hate that Mingyu was right when he said that Minghao wasn’t the one you should mess with. It hurt your pride to be so damn hard-headed, even more so for your thick-skulled best friend to be so painfully right that your own core was screeching at you for putting it through this two-month long torture.

He waits somewhat patiently for your response but you can see the twitch of his hands from your peripheral and that has you clamping your mouth shut. Had his hands always looked that masculine? Your eyes widen, Oh fuck no.

“What?” his voice breaks into the never-ending negations running through your mind.

“Just shut up,” you shake your head, shutting your eyes for a moment to collect yourself.

You’re definitely just frustrated. There’s no way in hell you’re attracted to your best friend right now (again). This is just another one of those passing phases that come and go every now and then. Everyone goes through ‘em. It’s just one of those moments where you can look at them and say, “I could totally date you right now.” Just… y’know, with sexual implications in this case scenario, and under this rare circumstance, you know exactly how that would go down with him.

He grumbles something beneath his breath, but you hardly hear it when the sound of your heart seems to echoes up and down your body and your thoughts are running free into ridiculous circles all leading back to him and Minghao. If that auburn-haired little shit hadn’t built up your libidio this damn much, maybe then you wouldn’t actually feel those residual feelings from that night in the pantry. Or a few days ago when Mingyu drew you in for a tight hug, his hair slicked back with sweat and his uniform sticking to his lean body all too nicely. Or the husky sounds he’d make when your hair tickled his nose after all-nighters over the summer. Or the way his arms tightened around your waist just to keep you into place and snuggle even deeper that following morning. Or his lips—!

Nope nope nope. No.

“Fuck,” you mutter, opening your eyes just to see his furrowed brows and mouth slightly ajar. “You look stupid. Close your mouth before something flies in, dummy.”

“That’s golden coming from you when you looked like you just had some mind sex or some shit.” He begins to mimic what your face looked like, earning yet another pillow sent in his direction. This time you actually hit your target.

“Shut up!”

“Just tell me what’s wrong already!” He chucks the pillow in retaliation.

“He hasn’t gotten me off, alright?” The pillow misses your head, caught in your arms before you bring it close to your chest. “I’m frustrated because I haven’t had an orgasm. Is that clear enough for you?”

Please don’t fucking offer…. God, please don’t let him.

His eyes go wide for a moment before he plainly says, “Oh… well, fuck.”

“Yeah,” you huff, falling completely on your back onto your mattress. “It fucking sucks.”

Oh thank fuck.

Mingyu lets out a grunt, your swivelling chair now rolling toward the desk while he takes half a step and his weight now dipping your bed downwards as he pats your thigh. It’s warm and comforting, at least in the emotional aspect, which was all you really needed from his presence. Maybe some banter just to get your mind off your frustrations.

“Haven’t you… tried… doing it yourself though?” he carefully asks, leaning against the wall and your partially on your calves.

“Believe me, I have but if I wanted to just do that then I wouldn’t have been trying to mess around with him,” you deadpan, moving your arms behind your head as you steady the smooth, white ceiling.

“Then why mess with him if he’s not giving you what you want?”

You frown a little. Of course, you considered this, and it’s so damn simple it’s almost painful that he’d be the one to state the obvious. Mingyu does have his moments, so you’d give him props for the help. That’s exactly why you called him over, actually. Even though he could be painfully clueless with anything else besides baseball and the kitchen, he knew you and knew what to say when you needed to hear advice.

“Should I?” Your gaze flits over to his, and your brows raise in anticipation.

“I mean why waste your time, right?” He then grins, “‘Sides, you can come with me to Cheol’s party tomorrow night. Maybe you can find yourself a new toy to play with.”

Your nose scrunches at the comment and earns him a small kick to his side, but you do like the prospect of a party, especially Seungcheol’s parties. They usually wound up being really fun, whether you came home with anyone or not, anyway. The older boy just had a knack for entertaining others, always incorporating the best music and drinks, even being attentive to his guests.

Although, he often pestered you about yours and Mingyu’s status. He’s been so sure that you two would wind up together, but that just makes you curse Woozi for not letting that incident slip. Ironically, it seems you haven’t let it slip either. You don’t know if Mingyu has, though. You’ve never asked, and a part of you is a little scared to for some reason.

“Yes? No?” he asks, moving to lay by your side. His warmth already seeping through to your side as he curls in toward you.

“Maybe,” you sigh, remembering you were supposed to meet with Minghao tomorrow.

He says suddenly, “I won’t go if you don’t.”

“Why?” you laugh as he pouts, though you can’t ignore how much your heart is going haywire from this position and the sudden proclamation.

“Cheol said I’d have to pay if you didn’t come, and I’m a poor, poor college student, y’know.”

“I’ll let you know, ‘kay?”

His lips loosen curl at the corners ever-so-slightly, dark brown hues glinting in nothing you’ve ever seen before, but you don’t particularly care to decipher it. Your mind is still wrapping around the fact that you really would’ve said yes to him in a heartbeat, if not for Minghao looming right in the in-between.

The auburn-haired boy doesn’t really remain in your mind, however, instead you find your brain infiltrated with screeches as you find Mingyu’s arms wrapped around your waist. His cheeks pressed to your bicep.

“‘Kay~”

Besides a massive fuck you (which is actually a lot more normal than the average person would think), the first thing that crosses your mind when you see Minghao is your decision from last night. It’s simple, to the point, and really, it’s sitting on the tip of your tongue, so ready to just fall past your lips in just one breath. But instead of letting out your grievances and stomping out this thing like you decided, all you can think is fuck as the taste of chocolate and caffeine on his unbearably plush lips fall on yours.

It’s poor decision-making, of course. After all, you could really just push him away and say, “Woah bud, we’re through. I’m better at getting myself off than what you’ve given me these past few weeks.” Instead you continue to let him kiss you, relishing in the taste of something to sate the growing fire inside you. Terrible, you already know. Do you care? Not particularly.

All sorts of rationality begin to fly out the window as he tugs you along to push you onto the bed. The plush bed padding conforms to the curvatures of your back, dipping further as he straddles your waist and grinds his crotch harder into yours as if the constrictions of both your jeans weren’t enough to elicit delicious waves of friction. Each gyration enough to coax a louder breathy moan that feels like music to both of your ears.

His lips look unbearably bare caught between his teeth, the reddish brown tendrils of his hair clinging to the sides of his visage as he seems to lose himself in his own ministrations. Without thinking, you reach forward and beckon him forth with the pull of his T-shirt and coax his lips free to meet yours with a fervid hunger because the daunting reality that this would end like any other relationship you’ve had before—official or temporary—only makes you want to cherish this moment even more.

The way you go about things may be odd, even so much that it even has Minghao pulling back with heaving attempts at catching up with the loss of breath but you see the alluring need reflecting off his dark hues. They’re contorted with hints of something you weren’t quite sure what to think, but the longing is different from the lust that has you blinking in confusion.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, loosening your hold on the grey material. The air feels unremarkably familiar like that plaguing distance has returned yet again, but this time you have no idea why. Was it you? Was there someone else?

“I—I don’t think we should do this anymore,” he straightens up, moving off of you. Air fills your lungs, but there’s no relief in it when you feel your brows furrowing in a deeper curiosity.

You want to half-joke, but it comes off a lot more bitter than you’d like: “That was supposed to be my line.”

“I’m sorry,” he sighs, moving toward the edge of the bed as you sit up to do the same. Neither of your legs brush up against one another, but you can tell that it’s on purpose from the way he pulls his hand away from your proximity and tightens in his lap. “I haven’t been very good at whatever this is.’

“Well, is there any reason why?” When he raises a brow at you, not that you miss the flash of realization cross his features, you sigh, “I know you’ve been holding back, Hao.”

He opens his mouth for a moment before clamping shut, any explanation now hidden behind his teeth and swallowed down as his Adam’s apple quivers ever-so-slightly. It rubs you the wrong way just a bit. To think that he was pulling away without even a reason. For multiple reasons, it hurts.

“Are you going to tell me why?” you try again, hoping to search his eyes for anything resembling an answer. Something that would make sense to this whole ordeal. Even in all your time spent with Minghao, you never would’ve pegged him as the type of person to hold back his feelings. From the countless instances you’ve seen him lay waste upon his friends and tearing earfuls into random strangers on the street for being rude, inconsiderate jerks, it’s actually hard to believe that this is the same outspoken boy in front of you.

You carefully try again, curiosity getting the better of you and stubbornness keeping you from pulling you away and giving up already. “Minghao,” the call of his name elicits a small eye dart in your direction, but you don’t miss the shame that’s washed over his dark hues. “You can tell me anything, you know that already… what’s bugging you?”

“I—fuck,” he sighs, heaving out a laugh. “You and Mingyu. That’s what bugs me.”

You feel a deep knot anchoring your stomach even further down, as if it were possible for it to sink into the deeper recesses of your body, but you find your mind clouding with far too many thoughts to actually organize a cohesive comparison. You’re suddenly thrown back to that year Park Jimin dumped you over text, how easily he dropped you and used your friendship against you to let you go. You can feel your nerves careening and hanging precariously over a ledge that would only lead to the demise of your heart. It’s only been a few months, but the connection and relationship you had been sharing with Minghao wasn’t a passing fling. If anything, you swore it could bloom into something without thinking too deeply about it, because that’s just how easy it is with him.

Of course, the more you ponder this, the more you begin to realize just how fatal this train of thought is. You’re reminded more and more of your situation with Jimin and how crushed you had been and how angry you felt that your friendship with someone outside of this relationship was the sole factor in the end of what could’ve been something. And you know that you’ve shown no sort of interest or previous emotions for your best friend. You’ve staunched away those flames, let them simmer back down into your close-knit relationship that has only ever been as platonic as you two have always been. It just confuses you how easily you’re lumped together with Mingyu when a relationship goes awry and you hate how easily you’re assumed to be acting in infidelity with him when it’s never been like that in the slightest.

You’re about to voice your feelings, each syllable ready to fall out of your lips in a semi-calm manner, but Minghao’s pierces the still air with a scoff.

“C’mon, Y/N. You can’t sit here and tell me that nothing’s going on between you two.”

He probably doesn’t mean to sound so accusatory, but you find your eyes narrowing anyway. Who was he to say you had feelings for Mingyu? He wasn’t you. He didn’t know how you felt or how much you worked to get those feelings out of your system. You wanted to make this work, to enjoy the elation of a casual relationship like this one.

“I can, because nothing’s going on between us,” you reply sharply. “I think I’d know if I was screwing my best friend, while I’m not screwing you.”

“I’m not talking about fucking him,” he shakes his head, while his brows furrow. His eyes remain trained on yours, unrelenting without a chance of backing down in the slightest. “You love him.”

“W-what?” you splutter, eyes blown wide. “Where the flying fuck did you get an idea like that?”

“I have eyes. I don’t know what the hell happened between you two for you to react like that, but I know there’s more going on between you two than you realize.” If it wasn’t enough of a shocker, he even goes as far as stating simply, “I know for a fact that he’s in love with you.”

You didn’t like what Minghao said. In fact, you didn’t like this conversation, period. It actually feets like one of those conversations you would have with yourself whenever your thoughts rotated back to Mingyu. And to have that conversation with someone you were supposed to be romantically involved with feels even more like a slap in the face. Is this how Jimin felt? Is that why he disappeared without a trace?

You shake your head, willing the influx of thoughts away. Regardless of the faint traces of familiarity, you don’t like the inkling of false hope (or the very sensation of hope in this sense at all) and you certainly didn’t like how hellbent this auburn-haired man seems on it. You could practically feel his defiance as he didn’t dare back down on his theory no matter how much you tried to convey any other conjecture with your own level stare. Because, under what kind of goddamn basis could constitute him saying such a thing ? How could he, of all people, known when you were constantly side by side with that baseball player?

You retort, “That’s ridiculous. You can’t even tell me how you know this. It’s probably bullshit anyway.”

“But, is it really?” He raises a brow at you, gaze sweeping over your visage and even resting on your twiddling fingers before the corner of his lip quirked upward. “You’re acting awfully defensive for something you’re calling bullshit on.”

“Or, maybe,” you pipe up, glaring even harder than before. “I’m defending myself because you’re accusing me of being in love with my best friend? And maybe, just fucking maybe, I’m trying to figure out where the fuck you’d get an idea—which is complete bullshit, by the way—like that.”

“Like I said, I have fucking eyes.” He lets out a deep breath, breaking your stare down just to soften his just a smidgen as he continues, “And ears…”

You don’t say anything then, brows only furrowing in response to your own anxiety bubbling in the pit of your stomach—maybe I did fuck up and slip up after all…

“You probably didn’t mean to let it slip one night, but I know you and Mingyu fucked in high school. And it isn’t like Woozi’s the greatest at keeping secrets either so I know about the kiss too.” You feel a lot warmer than he’s ever made you feel, even when the distance seems to become clearer and clearer the long you’re there. “I dunno what really went down between you two and if whatever either of you say is bullshit because I never bothered to confirm it with him, but what I do know is that he’s crazy about you and I don’t think I can… get in between that.”

Without saying the words, it’s like he’s telling you: “And now I know you love him too.” His very voice, the downcast in his eyes—it’s everything you least expected to see today, and yet it’s also under your own whim that you rise from the bed and hesitate with words on the tip of your tongue. What could you possibly offer Minghao that could comfort him? You don’t even know how long he’s known any of these things, but knowing them altogether must’ve put him in a weird position. For him to end things with you… well, you get it.

Although part of your pride wants to argue with Minghao just to denounce all his claims and make him feel like shit for ever bringing it all up in the first place, another part of you knows that there’s really no of convincing him otherwise. He’s stubborn and well-natured. Even if he is an annoying smartass, he cares about Mingyu (and you) enough to let go of you. And even though you can’t exactly see his whole point in doing it, you also can’t help but find yourself muttering an apology to him anyway.

The last thing you remember doing before you leave his room is press a kiss to his cheek. Then the rest of your actions blur together and Seungcheol’s becomes your next destination.

Just as Seungcheol is about to charge Mingyu, you come bounding up the stairs of the fraternity house. It creaks beneath you but you hardly find a reason to care as you send a passing wave between the two with a tight-lipped grin spread across your visage. You try not to let the previous conversation get to you while you’re conversing with the two but it seems that any mention of Minghao goes ignored with an occasional glare to finalize your response, and Mingyu is no exception.

His eyes go wide for the briefest of moments before he drops the subject, slipping past Seungcheol and Dino with you at his side. Emotions you’ve been bubbling up inside you is beginning to spill over and a prickling pain in your chest has you reaching for the offered assortment of drinks with a fervid vigor that gives you whiplash for a second. At the least, no one asks why you’re trying to get shit-faced, but perhaps the reasons are written all over your visage now that you’re letting go of the mask.

There comes a blur of exchanging the usual pleasantries with Jeonghan and other friends that most certainly did not include Woozi (that damn bastard earned himself the bird after the raucous sounds he made at the sight of you and Mingyu together) and even partaking in the festivities of a good, ol’ round of Beer Pong and taking some time to shimmy your way around the dance floor with the dark-haired man trailing you and downing a drink each time you do tried to take two at once.

But just as quickly as you arrive to the party, you find yourself preparing to leave all because the two of you have put yourselves in a precarious situation in which the narcotics have finally kicked in and all forms of your self-control seem to fade the moment Mingyu truly comes into view in all his dark-haired and handsome glory. His visage is too close to yours but only because his cheek presses against the coolness of the wall like yours. You don’t miss the way the two of you involuntarily move closer, your dilated irises flickering between one another and one another’s lips, with the blatant urge to say ‘fuck it’ and just go for it.

Unlike the countless times you’ve brought up the whole ordeal, it’s actually Mingyu who makes the first move with a more-than-expected eye-rolling line that has you guffawing at first—

“How about one more for old time’s sake?”

Your nose scrunches as you respond, “That’s what you’re gonna use to pick me up?”

“I mean, I could literally pick you up if you want,” he shrugs, smiling even deeper as you take a small step back, because there’s really no telling what he’ll do sometimes. “But I’m dead serious.”

“No,” you shake your head, giggling again, “you’re drunk and your name’s Mingyu.”

“Silly,” he grins, looking at you earnestly. “I mean it. If it’s what you want then I’m more than okay to make you feel better.”

Of course he knows something’s wrong...

You’re about to sigh, “Well—”

His voice goes down an octave or so, “Plus, I know I do way better than Xu.”

His cockiness makes you glare at him, but not in the ‘you’re dead wrong” way but more in a “you’re so irritatingly right” way. In this very moment, your desires are pushing past all the nagging logic that has stopped you in the past. You know you shouldn’t do this. You know that jeopardizing your friendship and willfully screwing him also means screwing yourself over. But you also know how much you want to feel him underneath you. To finally have a taste of his lips that you’ve craved since senior year. The very idea of it is enough to coax a single nod, and now you’re both on your way back to your apartment.

You’re there quicker than you expect, but the blur of events is much like your encounter with Minghao. It all leads back to Mingyu and his strong hand in yours as he tugs you along the familiar, darkened path back to your room. No one seems to be home, but you’re absolutely certain that whether anyone was or not, it wouldn’t matter.

This has been a long time coming.

Each grueling month since you put an end to your fun with Mingyu has been hard, and conditioning yourself to push away the feelings you began to cultivate for him has been even harder. But with the opportunity of this night, everything is coming back and the forever you two shared begins to bloom once more.

He has you laid out beneath him, his member so closely pressed against your thigh, you’re practically itching to feel it deep inside of you. However, you can’t help but let the words tumble out, “I—I kissed Minghao earlier.”

He looks at you with a smirk poised on those beautiful lips of his like that fact doesn’t change a damn thing. Instead of answering right away, he presses his own mouth to yours, fluttering pecks before he trails a way down your neck and onto your chest where rough nips take place. “I don’t care.” His voice is low, eyes glinting in dark-eyed lust. “You’re here with me now, babe.”

His lips are back on your body, trailing the places Minghao never once touched with such a fervid flurry, your head is spinning as it tries to keep up with each of his ministrations. It’s everything you’ve ever wanted, even more than you would’ve anticipated as his kisses feather off and he lavishes the reddened areas with his tongue in soothing circles that has you squirming.

He doesn’t hold back as he makes his way down, detouring only to fondle your breasts with his hands and suckling on the perk nipples, before nipping his way down your torso and stopping right above your lower half. His hands are on your thighs and his soft exhale meets the clothed mound, squeezing your soft skin as soon as you find yourself squirming from the sheer anticipation.

You remember his playful nature from the previous time, but this time is even more frustrating with his very lips so goddamn close to the spot you’ve needed to be touched for the past two months, and not just by your own doing. You need someone who can touch you in all the right ways and hit all the right spots. You need… you need… well, fuck, you need him.

Not in the “I can’t function with anyone else but you” but in a “you can fuck me in all the right ways and you get me” way. If there’s anyone in this world that knows your body as well as you know yourself, it’s him. And if there’s anyone in the world that gets your emotional fluctuations, it’s him. And having this opportunity where his face is this close from giving you the orgasm you’ve-so-craved for the longest sixty days in this whole year, it’s almost painful to not be able to buck your hips properly because of how well he’s keeping you in place.

“Mingyu,” you whimper, attempting to move once more but find that he’s keeping you right there on purpose. The smile curving on his lips is lopsided but the light in his eyes tells you just how excited he is.

He breathes hard against your core as he asks, “Yes?”

“Please,” you squirm once again.

“Please what?” he blinks, almost innocently. You almost want to spit a proper retort at him but before you can blink one of his hands leaves your thigh just to graze across your panties. “Did you want me to touch you here?”

All you can do is gasp because holy fuck his fingers feel so fucking good against the lips, and that’s just the outer portion! To think he could do wonders (as always) when he reaches past your panties makes you quiver, earning an even wider grin splaying out across his stupidly handsome face.

“Or here,” he tries once more, actually going as far as teasing the edge of your panties.

“Please,” you gasp out, trying to wriggle, to no avail.

“Just tell me what you want, baby,” his voice is gentle, softening as they watch you with gleaming interest. He’s always adored the way he could make you come undone. Even during the previous times, there’s almost always been an indiscernible look in his eye that just told you how much didn’t hate what happened between the two of you. Whenever you saw it, your mind truly did shut up, and tonight really is no exception.

“You,” you answer, feeling your heart jump when you hear his breathing hitch. You vaguely hear him muse, “That’s not very specific.”

But you hardly control yourself as you bluntly say, “F-fuck, your fingers, Gyu. I w-want your fingers.”

And just like that, as if a switch turned on in him, a poised look on his visage tells you that what you just said was all he needed, because it takes only a split second before your thighs are free and your core is bare to the world. Your panties decorate your floor, along with his T-shirt and pants that had been thrown off since he had you laid out on the bed. He doesn’t even bother letting you moisten his fingers, instead doing it himself in at a snail's pace before pushing past your lips and tracing a circular pattern against the bundle of nerves.

You mutter an “oh my god,” throwing your head back, because this is exactly what you’ve need this year. The only thing you’ve truly desired since you put an end to your ministrations with him, because it seemed too overly complicated to deal with. But right now? It feels all too damn simple—it’s almost hard to believe you’ve been depriving yourself of this in favor of taking the high road.

Screw the high road tonight, your brain immediately pipes up, jutting your hips in a particular way that has you mewling once again.

He increases the pace of his fingers in the exact way you’ve always loved it, each thrust fueling the pent-up orgasm that’s been practically begging for you to have, because for once you’re finally accepting what your heart’s been crying out for. You know it’s wrong. You’re drunk, and you’re not in the right state of mind right now, but it almost flies out the window just to feel the blissful euphoria wash over you.

Your very essence coats his fingertips, and he makes the mistake of bringing them to his lips just for a taste and to say the very damned words that had you ready for a second round the first time, “You taste so fucking good.”

Without another thought, you put your hands on the side of his face, tugging him in for another deep and long kiss. It’s not quick as fervid as the plenty that came before, but it’s enough to have you both gasping. The taste of yourself and the Corona he had are on your lips, giving you reason to take a long, lavish lick on your bottom lips before you get ready to give him a taste of what he must’ve wanted.

However, he stops you. His hand is on your wrist, a shake falling at his head as he answers your unspoken question, “I can wait—I want to please you.”

“Fuck,” you tip your head back, propping yourself up by your elbows. “You really fuck me up, y’know?”

He smiles, pressing his lips to your forehead, “I just want to make you feel good.”

You want to respond, feeling an obligation to, but he stops you with his fingertips. They travel to the stray hairs framing your visage, tucking them behind your ears before he asks, “Won’t you just shut up and let me?”

You roll your eyes, feeling your cheeks burning beneath your overhead lights. Despite how much your heart is fluttering, the burn in your core still hungers for a real taste of what he has to offer, so without another thought to convince yourself otherwise, you give a simple nod.

“Okay, fine.”

He goes in to kiss you once more, much like your own kiss, but this is drawn out with his teeth grazing your bottom lip. As soon as he releases it, he reaches for your nightstand adjacent to the bed for the stash of condoms you keep there in case of occasions like this one and offers it to you.

With a smile, you grab it and carefully rip open the foil to place the contraceptive onto his exposed member. He’s gone a little soft in that brief intermission until he gives himself few pumps that has him tipping his own head back. He lets loose a guttural sound, the sound of your name garbled in between as his hand is no longer his own but rather it’s yours.

The control is literally in your hands, though instead of teasing him like you wish to, you decide to give it to him easy. It’s been that long of a wait, and you refuse to push it along further. Plus, the very act of a handjob is a simple task that doesn’t require much effort. All you really have to do is exert only two kinds of pressures: 1) from the grasp of your hand, and 2) from the sheer force of the pumping.

You know exactly how he likes it—it’s really no different than most boys—not quite too fast but not slow either. His immediate response is to tip his head back, letting out a low whimper that has a smirk curving on your lips. You decide to fuel the fire and add a slight press of your thumb on his tip, releasing your grip on him. He’s about to let loose a complaint, but before he can speak, he watches you take your thumb to your mouth and lavish the appendage.

His lips fall open and he says, “Fuck.”

“Are you ready?” you hum, pushing him onto his back. He nods and you begin to slip the condom onto his hardened length.

He whimpers once again. But he doesn’t say a word as you rise from your position to straddle his waist. You ask once more as you hover, “Are you sure about this?”

He blinks, looking up at you with eyes that have already stolen your heart and the soft touch of his hands are on your waist to give them a squeeze.

“I’m absolutely certain,” he smiles raising his brows at you. “Are you?”

“Of course,” you whisper, moving your hands onto his length to position it to your entrance. “With you, always.”

Without another word, you lower yourself onto him. He’s still thick as ever, but the burn of the stretch washes away as your usual ministrations begin. Your very core feels full to the brim from taking him in, even as you begin to jut your hips at a particular angle in search of the right spot. His hands remain on your waist, giving you squeeze every now and then. It’s like he’s reminding you that it’s him and not anyone else. And as full as your heart feels, your alcohol-hazed brain takes action and has you falling into your carnal instincts.

You don’t think about how this is him, and how this is wrong of you to let yourself do. You think about pleasure and how the two of you are going to feel the best goddamn orgasm either of you two have had since that summer, and although it feels like eons ago, you can still feel the waves of euphoria right now.

Having him guide you and letting you rest of your palms against his bare chest as soon as you find your G-spot is much appreciated. The small whispers he keeps repeating go over your head; however, you feel the knot inside your core slowly coming undone as the rutting of his own hips induce more and more bliss with each thrust.

“Mingyu,” you repeat in breathy moans, each one getting louder and louder and your skins slap against one another. And each time you do, his hips don’t relent, allowing you to come undone after just a few moments. The strength in your arms wanes and leaves you with no choice but to practically collapse atop his chest, though he voices no complaints. “Fuck.”

“That’s it, baby,” he mutters as he manages to move you beneath him. His finger presses against your clit, leaving you with sensitivity and a pure sense of bliss. “Let it all go.”

And in that moment, you fucking do and it feels so damn good.

What takes place afterwards happens in a blur, but you’re certain that he manages to get off as well, your name falling past his lips in the prettiest sound that has your heart going haywire. He slips himself out of you and tosses the condom away, but he doesn’t get back into the bed until he’s coaxed you out of it to relieve yourself and pull on a T-shirt, because after the first time, you two remembered just how important it was to relieve yourselves and avoid UTIs!

By the time you return from the restroom, the comforter is different and the old one is tucked into your hamper at the corner of the room. He’s curled up on the left side, though a corner is dog-eared just for you. Instead of speaking, you decide to thank him later when you two wake and take the invitation of his arms with heavy-lidded eyes and soon drift off to sleep.

When dawn arises, its gradient hues washing your side of the world in muted shades of tawny and even the barest shades of frost, you wake up.

The expected weight of Mingyu’s arm draping over your waist is yet to be found, but you know that he’s still in the bed. His warmth is seeping in onto your left side, beckoning you to the coziness of his side that only he can offer, and yet there’s a stark coldness that reminds you that there are things the two of you need to talk about before moving forward, as always. Still, this time is different. You don’t know how you know, but you just do.

Your head pounds a little as soon as he pierces the still air, but you power through because it’s that important—

“Do you still think about that night in the pantry?”

“You’re in love with each other, Y/N!”

The burning glare of Woozi would have anyone recoiling, as many people in your mutual friend group (and even those outside of it) knew just how scary he could be, especially after the Guitar Incident of freshman year that still has Mingyu deeply scarred. But unlike the others, you refuse to back down against him. Especially about his outrageous accusation.

“No, I am not!” You’ve had to emphasize this point for as long as you and Mingyu have known one another, and yet the message still fails to seep into the minds of your close friends. In some cases, it’s always been a running gag, almost a bet that the dynamic duo would finally consummate their secret love and get together, but it’s a bit of running gag of your own to know that this testament is actually bullshit, because nothing has changed since you and your best friend fucked.

You would think that something would bloom in that shared time together, but nothing has happened. Nothing’s changed. You screwed twice and you haven’t suddenly realized that you adore the way he can’t seem to sneeze in his own fucking elbow instead of a goddamn hand or the fact that he looks very adorable making spaghetti like that one time he bet you his newfound skills have reached a groundbreaking level (though eventually you did admit that it has improved since he first tried his hand at the culinary arts). But still, nothing has changed. Nothing will change.

You even go as far as saying, “It’d be impossible for anything to happen between me and him, Woozi.”

But the narrowing of the blond-haired boy’s eyes makes you want to take it back. The glint of mischief and the way he says, “Oh?” both pisses you off and actually kind of terrifies you.

There are only two times you’ve ever realized you fucked up, and this was that second moment. The first was when you let Mingyu teach you how to skateboard—to say the least, you still have that scar on your leg from the stupid fall into the bush and you still haven’t set a foot on those cursed deathtraps since then. Though somehow you kind of wish you had been on a skateboard in this moment.

“I call bullshit,” he says simply, brow raising. “I know something happened between you two. I don’t know what but I know something did and it’s making you two act weird.”

You try to guffaw, but it sounds more like a nervous choke. It only makes him narrow his eyes even more.

“Nope, nothing.” It’s a blatant lie. He goddamn knows it, but instead of calling you out like you expect, he smiles after a moment. “What?”

“So, if you two—I dunno—wind up in my pantry after this round of truth or dare, you won’t jump each other right on the spot?” He crosses his arms against his chest. “Because at the least, if nothing has happened between you two, lemme just point out that the sexual tension between you two is even worse than Dino and his right hand and that’s some serious shit.”

God, you don’t know who you want to choke more—yourself or this dude you’re supposed to consider your second closest friend. But instead of confessing, because fuck no are you going to let everyone be right (especially Woozi) about you and Mingyu. No, your stubborn ass is going to keep denying this shit until you die.

“Nope, not even a little bit, you fucking demon.”

He smirks, nodding slowly. “So, is that a promise?”

Your eyes narrow, blood pressure practically reaching its peak because no matter what he’s always known how to push your buttons. “Fucking bet.”

He holds his hand out to you, which you begrudgingly take with blatant vehemence. He looks you in the eye, “I can’t wait to commemorate your loss later, sweets.”

You scoff, “Oh fuck you.”

Before turning on his heel for the kitchen, getting ready to gather the group for the well-awaited game, he winks, “You’ll thank me later!”

Mingyu returns to your side after catching up with a few friends he hadn’t seen from middle school. His brows are knitted together at the sight of your seething visage, but he sees Woozi retreating figure as the kitchen door flutters and a daring smirk curls on his lips. “He piss you off again?”

You groan, nodding, “You have no fucking clue.”

He pats the top of your head with some sympathy before snatching two of that flavored vodka Woozi managed to convince his brother to buy and it burns like a motherfucker but you take it anyway because you know you’ll need it to get through the night. Of course, you’re not going to mention the conversation to Mingyu at all. There’s really no point in it considering his height and his somewhat intimidating looks do nothing to the short boy, and if anything, you’re better off facing off in a fight with that demon than your best friend.

And it isn’t like you have a chance to tell him anyway, because Woozi bursts into the room, this time with the hordes of people and a bottle of Fireball just to announce everyone’s required participation in the game.

You feel absolute dread in the pit of your stomach as you find yourself sitting in the circle with the endless possible scenarios in how Woozi will turn this shit on you. Even if you chose truth, you know damn well he’d make that option just as bad as the dare, and honestly, being in that enclosed space with Mingyu could hardly harm a damn thing anyway.

Even with the fear of what could happen, because what’s really there to fear anyway?, you mentally prepare yourself for whatever may come. You don’t care if the table gets flipped on you. And you don’t care about what Woozi thinks, because it’s you and Mingyu who know the truth and no one else. So, with a newfound resolve, you await your turn.

The order goes in counterclockwise, with you coming after Mingyu and a few other souls that take the easy road. The first three of them have gone, but by the time your best friend’s turn comes, you almost don’t bat an eyelash when he asks for ‘dare’ until it hits you that Woozi is his executioner, and the malignant look flashes across that boy’s eyes.

“I dare you to go into the pantry with Y/N for seven minutes.”

Your jaw refuses to drop, though you find your mind screaming at your so-called friend, because goddammit you should’ve seen this coming. You knew it was coming, and yet, to see the innocent elation flash across Mingyu’s eyes when he looks over at you, a part of your heart swells because could it really end that badly?

(God, if only you knew.)

The space itself is a little tight considering how much space Mingyu takes up. His broad shoulders squeeze together out of consideration for you, but as soon as the doors shut with Woozi’s last words echoing through your head: “You have seven minutes, love birds!”

The dark-haired boy looks at you with an adorable sheepishness, “Sorry for dragging you into this.”

You shake your head, “Nah, s’okay. Woozi’s just evil.”

“You okay?” he suddenly asks, trying to step back. “You want me to move—”

But all his back is met with is the shelves and an unopened bag of rice that had his stumbling just a bit. You’re about to ask him if he’s okay; however, his attempt to steady himself only leads into more stumbling and somehow you two wind up on the ground with him cushioning most of your fall.

“Oh fuck—!” you blink from the sudden impact, barely registering the sounds that ensue from the sudden trip.

“Ow!” he says among a few curses, blinking profusely as he sees you in all your glory right before him. “A-are you o-okay?”

You nod slowly, meeting his eyes with concern now melting off your visage. The only thing you can really focus on right now are his eyes, and the way they search yours for any hidden pain. His hands automatically finding purchase at your hips in a gentle manner. He looks like he wants to say something, but it’s like the words are caught on his tongue; you know you want to say something too, but it feels like your own words are stuck on your tongue.

The only thing running across your mind is just how much you’d like to feel his lips against yours and feel your heartbeat quickly. You want your thoughts to suddenly go quiet and to just live in that small moment with him, because being here with him somehow makes everything else melt away.

Slowly, but surely you lean in until your lips touch. You steady yourself by placing your hands on his shoulders, giving yourself enough leverage to pull him in closer. Unlike the previous kisses, even the ones from ages past, this one is completely different. It feels different. The very taste of his lips are sweet albeit laced with traces of vodka and the sour gummy worms from the snacks table, they mold themselves to yours and coax only the tenderest of pleasure to flood across your body.

It feels like it last forever, but you two pull away to breathe. You’re heaving, chests both moving inward and outward in hopes of catching your breaths, but you feel like your heart has swelled so large, there’s no room for your lungs.

“I—” He tries to say, but you pull him again, just for one more taste.

The magic happens again—the swelling of your very organ making you feel warm all over and not out of an increasing labidio. Nowhere in this are any far-from-innocent implications, only the genuine feelings of two friends, and yet that leaves questions imprinted on your mind and a sudden thought that has you blanching by the time Woozi swings open the door, snapping a photo that has you both breaking apart from the intrusive of the flash, because holy fuck do I love my best friend?

You refuse to say a word to Woozi that night, but the look on his face seems to tell you that your secret with Mingyu is safe with him. Though it makes you feel heavy-hearted from the loss of his hands on your hips and the heat that only he seemed to be able to share so damn well. Even though these are things that seem so simple and so him, you can’t help but find them… endearing and heartwarming.

Something (read: everything) changes that night, and all you can think is a simple: Fuck.

Your response is on the tip of your tongue, and you’re just about to do so until he beats you to the punch, “Because I still do.”

You blink for a moment, realizing what he’s just said, “You do?”

You turn to face him, watching as he nods with his attention still remaining on the ceiling. “I think about it a lot.”

“Why?” you have to ask. You need to know. Even if it’s a simple reason, because even if it’s far from what you’re hoping for, you just want to know. It might even set ease to your heart, and really, that’s all you can hope for.

“There’s something I wish I said before Woozi came to get us,” he admits, smiling faintly.

“Was that when I interrupted you with a kiss?” you ask, recalling the way his cheeks looked so faintly pink before it all melted away and the taste of the vodka and sour gummy worms had remained on your tongue then.

This time he turns to look at you in surprise, “You remember that?”

You nod, “Of course, sorry ‘bout that, by the way…”

His smiles even wider, reaching over to pat your head but he makes it about halfway before he lets his hand rest in the space between you two.

“Well,” he sighs, eyes wandering elsewhere. You feel your nerves tighten up, because he hasn’t acted like this in a long time. “I… was going to tell you that I love—d you.”

You want to flinch or react somehow, but you don’t. You just watch him, feeling your heart flutter in the way he hesitated in his use of the word ‘love.’ Honestly, you don’t think you ever humored the idea of him loving you back then but it seemed to make sense.

“When… did you realize?” you ask, reaching for his hand. He hesitates to hold yours, but you just entwine your fingers to tell him that it’s all okay.

“Senior year,” he answers softly. “I don’t know how but when I saw you after that game where we won champs and the first thought that came to mind was you and seeing you there… I… I guess it just hit me that if there was anyone out there for me, then it’d be you. And not because you’re my only option or anything, but because if there was anyone in this world that I’d like to spend my life with then it’s you.”

He continues after a soft laugh, “I didn’t know how to tell you, but then that kiss happened and I wanted to right then and there and…. I dunno I guess I got scared.”

“‘M sorry, Gyu…” you sigh, giving his hand a squeeze.

Before you can say another word, he replies quickly, “S’okay that you don’t feel the same!—”

“—I do!” you say a little too sudden, wincing from the sharp pain in your head. His eyes suddenly go wide, immediately asking if you’re alright. He’s about to get out of the bed just to go and grab you an aspirin but you pull him back down. “I’m fine, really, it’s just… I love you too, okay? I realized that when we kissed in the pantry and I’ve been trying to convince myself otherwise since then.”

He remains in place as you wish, eyes softening as he asks, “Why?”

You laugh, almost bitterly, “Fear, I guess? I’ve lost plenty of people before, but losing you would be the worst blow of them all. I don’t think I could take you leaving me if things went wrong.”

He watches you, almost expectantly, “Is there a ‘but’ somewhere there?”

“But, we can’t go back from this, y’know,” you point out, slowly shifting your focus from your entwined hands to meet his eyes. Without even thinking, you find yourself feeling flushed and the corners of your lips begin to feel sore.

His brows are raised when he asks, “Do you want to?”

“Well, honestly,” you admit, shaking your head. “No…”

He grins wider than ever, “Good.”

A long silence casts between the two of you, though in that time you’re finally back in his arms with his warmth now seeping through his T-shirt and your hearts swelling larger than ever together.

You feel the urge to knowing something, so you suddenly ask, “What the hell are we then?”

“Whatever the hell you want us to be, babe,” he responds and presses his lips to the top your head. “As long as I’m with you, I’m okay, ‘kay?”

Even now, it’s different.

The morning rays of the sun begin to peek in through your window, and unlike the previous moments you’ve spent together, it isn’t nighttime. But the night is reserved for the special times, for the right-now’s you shared right then, and for the forevers you will share together.

You can’t help but feel contentment in the ease of his presence and the excitement that will come as you two spend more time together.

As long as you’re with him, you’re okay too, so you simply say, “‘Kay.”

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