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chocoreads · 4 months ago

Text

my favourite parts <3

"a cloud of hyperactive fireflies" that tickled my brain so well!

a rly beautifully woven paragraph <3 i like that it portrays the magic as an extension of the reader. her magic being gold is like a reflection of her pure soul and that's what gives it the lustre.

"one-of-a-kind snowflake that melts as soon as it lies in your hands" okay :(( i jsut threw up

GET HIM HIS SNOWFLAKE ROBES RIGHT NOW!!!

okayyyyyy you ate with that!

yeoubi. // chwe hansol

여우비 (yeo-u-bi) : noun. literally “fox rain” — when sunlight filters through rainfall, creating a golden shower.

PAIRING : vernon x f!reader

INFO : east asian historical fantasy(ish. i kinda made up my own mythology), fox demon!vernon, silver!vernon, immortal!witch!yn, fluff, magic, strangers to lovers

WORD COUNT : 22.3k+

WARNINGS : blood mention, injuries, slight discrimination against yokai, cursing

NOTES : for the @camandemstudios winter with you collab! i had so so so much fun writing yeoubi and it's genuinely one of the best things ive done this year. writing a fantasy au soft vernon fic was never something that i thought i needed to write, but now i have, and i love him and i love this and i hope everyone loves yeoubi just as much as i do too <3

SYNOPSIS : living as a magic, immortal healer in a rural, human mountain village means most of your existence has been rather peaceful. that is, until one cold winter when an injured yokai stumbles into your life; and though everyone else is terrified of him, you take him in, nurse him back to health, and show the others that some demons aren’t that scary after all. (...and maybe, just maybe, you end up falling for the pretty fox yokai too.)

For the first time in years, the river freezes over.

During winter, it’s often a lot harder for you to notice things like this, as the cold dulls your senses and numbs your fingers, so you’re only informed of this fact when the village children come to your cottage in the morning, their high-pitched voices blending with the mismatched beats of their fists knocking against your door.

“Miss Witch! Miss Witch! There’s something wrong with the river!”

“The river is all solid, Miss Witch!”

“Miss Witch, we can’t play in the river! Can you fix it for us, Miss Witch?”

Blanket wrapped around your shoulders, you open the door with a groggy smile, squinting down at the children on your doorstep.

“Hello, little kids. What are you doing here?”

“Miss Witch!” one of the children chirps. “Good morning!”

Despite being half-asleep, you can’t help but laugh a little at their chipperness. The children are, undeniably, your favourite people in this entire village.

“Good morning,” you say, bemused. “How may I help you?”

Their voices rise in volume again, all of them clamouring to be heard over each other. It can’t be any later than five in the morning, and your fingertips prickle with the cold grey of the mist as you blink down at them, surprised at their energy.

A girl tugs at the end of your blanket, wide-eyed. “Miss Witch, the river is all hard. We don’t know what’s going on.”

“Ah,” you say gently. “I see.” Crouching down so you’re at eye level with the kids, you ask, “If the river is hard, solid, and cold, what do you think that means?”

The children blink at you.

“What else is hard, solid, and cold?”

One of them brightens. “Ice!”

“Exactly,” you say, smiling. “The river has turned into ice. It’s nothing to worry about, but it does mean it’s very, very cold right now, so why aren’t any of you wearing any hats or scarves, hm?”

You ruffle the hair of the nearest child, and she shakes her head, giggling. “We were helping the grown-ups, of course! Something happened at the river, an’ they told us to go away.”

“So we came to you,” another boy pipes up. “They said something’s wrong!”

You tilt your head. Whilst it’s certainly been several decades since the river last froze over, it’s no reason for the villagers to worry that much about it. It’s also not something that your magic can fix, or something that needs to be fixed, so—

“Y/N!”

You look up at the call, and see a man in the distance, jogging down the pathway towards your cottage. It’s still far too dark to see clearly, but you smile at the familiar voice.

“Soonyoung,” you call back. “Good morning! Are you here to tell me about the frozen river, too? Don’t worry, it’s completely normal and not dangerous at all.”

His reply, if he has any at all, goes unheard as one of the children suddenly cries out, as if he’s had an epiphany.

You look down at him, amused. “What’s wrong?”

“I just remembered, something else happened at the river,” he says brightly. His remark makes some of the other children perk up too, as if they also remembered this other thing that had happened.

The kids are all at the age where something like a leaf falling onto their heads would be remarkably significant, so as you wait for Soonyoung to come closer and deliver the actual news, you decide to humour them, smiling and tilting your head interestedly. “Oh, really? What was it?”

“There’s a man in the frozen river, Miss Witch!”

“A—” The smile turns to stone on your face. “A what?”

“Not a man,” Soonyoung says. He’s finally reached your doorstep now, and you notice that his usual easy smile is nowhere to be seen. He frowns down at the children, displeased. “What are you all doing here? We told you to go home, not to Y/N.”

“They thought I could help,” you say placatingly. “It’s okay. And if there’s a man stuck in the river, you might need my help after all.”

“Not a man,” Soonyoung repeats, his face darkening. “It’s not a man.”

You raise an eyebrow at the graveness in his tone. “Well, then you certainly do need my help, it seems. What is it?”

Soonyoung sighs. His exhale clouds the air, and your fingers prickle even more at his next words, like invisible icicles piercing through your skin.

“It’s a demon.”

───────────── ‘✽,

You are not exactly a human.

Certainly, you look and dress like one—and you have to eat and sleep like one too, otherwise terrible things happen to your energy levels—but that doesn’t mean you are human. There are some things which make you slightly different.

One of those things being that you live forever.

“What do you mean you don’t know if it’s hostile?” Soonyoung demands, struggling to match your strides as you hurry towards the river. “Of course it’s hostile. It’s a fucking demon!”

“When you’ve lived as long as I have, you come to realise that some yokai aren’t hostile,” you respond, frosted-over leaves crunching under your feet. Soonyoung squawks back something unintelligible, too out of breath to make an argument.

After encouraging the children to return back to their homes and sleep—since it really is five in the morning, and none of them should be awake—you and Soonyoung began making your way to where the rest of the villagers were.

The river flows down from the mountain that the village is located near. The further up you go, the more dangerous the terrain becomes, and you pause on a jagged rock to frown down at Soonyoung, who’s gasping as he tries to keep up.

“Did you really find the yokai over here? Why were any of you up here in the first place?”

“We didn’t,” Soonyoung said hoarsely. “I’ve been trying to tell you for ages. The demon was found near the edge of the woods.”

“Oh.” You blink. The two of you had marched past the woods a decent while ago. “Okay.” And then you float down from the rock, lightly hopping over frozen patches of land, past Soonyoung again. “Come on, let’s turn back, then.”

Soonyoung sighs, turns around, and begins his clumsy, human descent. “You could at least use your magic to help me down too, you know.”

And that’s the other different thing about you. Magic. It’s such a flimsy, weak word for what you can do, but it’s also the best way to describe it. There are certain things about you, certain things you’re capable of in the way that no human can ever truly be.

Without even looking back, you wave a hand, and a glowing stream of wind nudges Soonyoung’s feet towards the easiest path down. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. And hurry up before those villagers aggravate the yokai even more.”

Demons, or more traditionally, yokai, aren’t something you’ve encountered in countless decades. As technology and weapons developed, and the human population expanded, many yokai simply faded out of existence, unable to sustain themselves in the less wild, less natural environment that humans created. Others were smart enough to recognise they now had less of an advantage over humans, and tended to stay away from densely populated areas, preferring to target any lone travellers who ventured too far into their territory.

Yokai values and morals are vastly different to humans, and they are so incomprehensible to mortals that yokai gained a reputation for being vindictive, vicious, vile, and all other negative ‘v’ words. That doesn’t necessarily make them so, however, and over your lifetime, you’ve encountered some who don't quite fit the stereotype that humans are all too eager to place on them.

It takes you and Soonyoung long enough to get to the river that the sky has lightened ever so slightly, but the lacey edges of morning mist are still blurring the edges of your sight, and you can only barely see what the villagers are looking at, especially with them all crowding around and pushing against each other to get closer to the river.

You crane your neck, standing on tiptoe, before huffing. Scratch that, you can’t see anything.

“Move out of my way, please,” you say sharply, adding a little volume magic to your voice so that it carries over the whole crowd.

Most of them instantly look back at that and clock your presence, eyes widening. Some of them begin rushing towards you, looking almost like their children as they begin talking over each other all at once.

“Y/N, there’s a demon—”

“Absolutely vile creature, is there any way—”

“—river’s all frozen, how did it even get here—”

“Okay, okay, okay!” you interrupt, adding even more volume to your voice to be heard. “Minah, yes, I know there’s a demon. Soonyoung told me. And no, Joongseok, we don’t know if it’s truly vile yet. And Woongri, yokai often work with magic, so it could’ve gotten here in a variety of ways. But if you want me to do something, you have to let me through. Yes?”

You’re tired, and cold, and dealing with stressed adults is not the best way to start the day, so you're more blunt than is perhaps necessary, but it gets your point across. The villagers look sufficiently contrite and finally shuffle to the side, making way for you to get through. Seungcheol, the village leader, nudges his way through the crowd until he’s by your side, face solemn.

“Good morning,” he says. “Sorry about the chaos.”

“Good morning,” you say back, voice now normal volume once again. “It’s okay. Everyone’s scared. You don’t call me at ungodly hours unless it’s serious, so I don’t mind.”

Seungcheol nods, looking both grave and apologetic. “We only ever want you to use your magic for good.”

It’s a terribly human thing to say, and you smile dryly. “Of course. What can I help you with this time?”

“Well… You can help with that.” Seungcheol points to a mound of warped ice a little ways down the river. “How can we get rid of it?”

You squint in the direction Seungcheol’s pointing at, peering through the tendrils of mist, and then gasp. Half-buried into the ice of the river, you can make out a blurry, pale-coloured figure clothed in pale silk. Dark liquid pools in all directions surrounding the motionless body, and anyone can tell the yokai is very badly hurt.

“It’s already bleeding half to death, so it shouldn’t be too hard to finish— wait, Y/N!”

Ignoring Seungcheol’s shouts, you step onto the frozen surface of the river and rush towards the yokai, and your blood runs cold as you take in the sight before you.

The yokai is a fox demon, you notice, with white ears and soft silver hair and a gorgeous white tail, which is partially being crushed by a river’s worth of ice. He’s waist-deep in the frozen water, and a thick layer of more ice has begun to form around the yokai’s torso from where he’s slumped against the surface of the river at an almost unnatural angle, causing his poor tail to be twisted and buried both in the river and the new ice.

“Oh, darling,” you whisper, kneeling down beside him, tracing a finger across the yokai’s cheek. Your finger comes away stained dark with blood, and you swallow thickly, heart constricting.

The crushing ice isn’t the end of the damage: there’s blood pouring from seemingly unknown sources, matted into the fox demon’s hair and streaking down his neck. He must have been in some sort of fight before getting stuck in the river.

Gently, you thumb over the yokai’s cheek, taking in the pale skin and delicate eyelashes. This fox demon is devastatingly pretty, and seeing him so badly injured makes your heart hurt even more.

Something rustles near the riverbank, and you look back to see some of the children hiding amongst the leaves, peering curiously at you as you kneel next to the yokai. Further up the river, Seungcheol is approaching you, wanting to know your thoughts on the demon, and his eyes widen as he also notices the children in the bushes.

“What are you doing here?” he says in their direction, the disapproval clear in his tone. “It’s dangerous! You shouldn’t be looking at this. Where are your parents? Didn’t Soonyoung tell you to go home?”

“But we wanna see Miss Witch,” one boy says, eyes wide. “Please, can’t we stay?”

You frown and open your mouth, preparing to reprimand them, but then the yokai makes a soft, pained sound beside you, and you instantly return your attention to him, bending down even closer to his face.

Seungcheol cries out, this time in your direction as you lean towards the yokai. “Y/N, what are you doing? Stay back!”

You ignore him, reaching out a hand to brush matted hair out of the yokai’s eyes. “Hello? Hello, can you hear me?”

The yokai scrunches his eyes up, whimpering in pain. The moment he’d returned to consciousness, he’d started shivering intensely, struck by the cold of the river.

“Hello?” you repeat, gentle. You move your hand away from the yokai’s face, directing it towards the ice surrounding his back instead. Silently reciting an incantation, the ice begins to glow orange under your palm, slowly beginning to melt away. “Can you tell me your name?”

The yokai shivers, mumbles something unintelligible. Then he looks up at you, golden irises shuddering in fear, every movement of his face telling you it hurts, it hurts, it hurts.

One of the children lets out a shriek, and you whip your head up in alarm. They don’t look hurt, but the yokai notices the sound too, raising his head to look at them with wide, unsettling eyes, and the children shriek again, all of them frozen in fear. You can kind of understand why: the fox demon is covered in blood, and anyone unacquainted with the supernatural would find his slitted golden eyes petrifying.

But before you can say anything, do anything to reassure them, the ice around his back makes a cracking sound as it melts under your hand, and the yokai’s mouth drops open in pain. He coughs, splattering blood over the ice, more of the black liquid dripping from the corners of his lips as he starts writhing and scratching against the river, hauling himself up onto his elbows, eyes fixed on the children in the distance, and all hell breaks loose.

The children are screaming, ear-piercingly loud, and Seungcheol is screaming too, and the yokai starts writhing even harder, yipping and gasping like a distressed fox, his hands sticky with his own blood as he tries to push against the ice.

“No, it’s okay— don’t do that—Cheol, let me think!”

It’s obvious Seungcheol wants you to kill the demon, especially with the way he’s screeching at you right now, but the yokai looks so pitiful, ears shaking, eyes wide, still bleeding from gashes all over his body.

“Think about what?” Seungcheol yells, children cowering behind his legs, and he shields their eyes from the river. “Y/N, please, you have to get rid of it!”

You look at him, and then down at the helpless yokai beside you, and really, it takes you less than a second to decide what to do.

“I’m so sorry,” you say, getting to your feet. Seungcheol tenses, sensing something wrong in your tone as you look down at the yokai again, leaning down with your hand outstretched. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Your fingers come into contact with the yokai’s forehead, and there’s a golden glow before his eyes flutter shut and he freezes up, before collapsing against the ice.

Hidden safely behind the village leader, the children stop screaming. Seungcheol also doesn’t make a sound, still staring wide-eyed at you, and now the yokai is no longer moving, the early morning air is frozen still once more. You look back at Seungcheol, and he blinks, his face unreadable.

“Please tell me you killed that thing.”

You smile weakly, dried-up demon blood on your fingertips. At your feet, the yokai’s shoulders move up and down ever so slightly with every shallow breath he takes, unconscious.

───────────── ‘✽,

“Bad idea,” Seungcheol admonishes loudly from outside your window, and even though there’s a whole wall and a thick pane of glass separating him from you, his disapproval is crystal clear. “This is a bad idea. Y/N, let me in. We have to talk about this.”

You don’t look up from the boiling pot on the stove, simply lifting a hand and giving Seungcheol the finger.

“How dare— Y/N, you cannot let that thing live. It’s a danger to us. Especially the children! Y/N, think of the children, please, it could hurt the children.”

Seungcheol raps against the glass insistently, but you ignore him, humming to yourself as you ladle some of the boiling concoction into a wooden bowl. Gently, you blow on the steam, inspecting the lilac colour of the liquid before nodding, pleased, and heading over to the yokai asleep on your couch.

It’s been some hours since that moment on the frozen river, where you’d decided to save the yokai trapped in the ice rather than kill him. None of the humans agreed with your decision, however, so you’d had to make the tiring trek down the mountain yourself, a heavy, unconscious yokai in tow. That’s partly the reason you’re so tired right now, arms aching as you set the bowl down on the coffee table, where you’ve laid out bandages and various dried bags of poultices and face towels to help clean up the yokai.

Said yokai is still unconscious and bleeding all over the fabric of your sofa, the golden threads of magic you’d used to briefly staunch his wounds already beginning to fray open once more. You sigh, settling down beside him, and begin inspecting the more serious injuries on his forehead and down his arms.

“What happened to you, hm?” you say softly, ignoring Seungcheol still rapping against your window. “Why are you so hurt?”

Living as the only magic user-slash-competent doctor in a rural village means that you have plenty of experience in patching up the particularly nasty injuries that the villagers sustain, and your hands are careful and practised as you dip a towel into the warm, disinfectant potion you’d made, swiping it over the yokai’s skin. He’s injured practically everywhere: deep gashes are scored along his arms, his hands, and there’s one slashed across his chest. Not to mention his definitely-broken tail, the still-bleeding head wound and, judging by the way blood had been pouring from his mouth out on the lake, some internal injuries you can’t see.

You wince, taking a towel into your hands. “Sorry,” you say, heart twinging in sympathy for the yokai. “I’m so sorry this happened to you. But don’t worry, I’m here to help.”

Ideally, you’d run a bath first and scrub the yokai clean of all the grime and blood before getting to tending his wounds. But he’s a fox demon—ridiculously tall and with a fluffy tail and delicate ears, so he won’t fit in your tiny tub and it’ll end up being more troublesome than anything else.

So, you’ve resorted to magic, dipping a cloth in the potion you've made to melt and dissolve all the dirt into thin air.

The wounds are all worryingly deep, most notably the still-bleeding one on his forehead, and if he were human, you’d be concerned that he’ll suffer a serious concussion afterwards, along with an inability to use his hands for a long while. But as it is, the ancient demon-magic that he’s made of will mean that he’ll heal pretty quickly, and there should be no grave threat to his life.

Hopefully. As long as he doesn’t develop an infection from the open wounds.

You finish cleaning up the blood and then wipe down his face with a cool cloth, frowning slightly at how his skin still feels unusually hot. Infections will make his healing process much longer and much more arduous. The poor yokai looks like he’s already been through more than enough, so you really hope the fever dies down soon.

Seungcheol is still yelling at you from your window when you finish your preliminary clean-up, and you sigh heavily, beginning to develop a headache from how annoying he's being. So you walk over to the window, wrench it open, and jab a bloodstained finger in his direction.

“Seungcheol. Kindly, please, fuck off.”

Seungcheol blinks, both startled by your abrupt confrontation and a little affronted, but before he can say anything, you carry on.

“Currently, this yokai is injured, and it’s my job to take care of injured people, regardless of who they are, so you can take any thoughts of me killing him and shove them up your ass. It’s not happening, and it’s never happening, and you’re also disturbing my patient with the racket you’re creating, so please go away.”

If it were anyone else talking to him like this, Seungcheol would have blown up with anger a solid thirty seconds ago—as it is, he simply stares at you, still looking affronted, before he sighs, and all of the energy drains out of him. He knows how headstrong you are, and when you get like this, he knows there’s no way he can sway you. He’ll have to wait until you’re no longer brimming with obstinacy to get his thoughts across.

His gaze drops from yours to your bloody finger, and then he sighs again, folding his hands behind his back.

“Give the demon my wishes for his speedy recovery,” he says at last. “But we still have to talk about this later, Y/N. Okay?”

You huff, and lower your hands. “Fine. Later.” With a resolute swish of magic, you shut the window once again and turn your back on Seungcheol to return to your patient.

As village leader, you can understand why Seungcheol may have concerns regarding a yokai entering a human village, but that doesn’t mean you like how he has no qualms with telling you to just kill it in an instant. Discrimination against magical creatures is half the reason they’re so hostile to humans, anyway, and you’d know firsthand how painful it is to be targeted and attacked purely for being who you are.

It’s not like you ever asked to be magic. And yet, people end up hating you for it.

You look down at the unconscious yokai, with his silver-white fur and gentle eyelashes and those heart-wrenching injuries. Then, wordlessly, you pick up one of the poultices and get to work.

───────────── ‘✽,

Hansol wakes up to the strong, warm smell of chrysanthemum.

It’s an unusual scent to wake up to, and his ears prick up, alarmed—only for him to cry out a few seconds later, upon realising the action sends a sharp bolt of pain throughout his entire body.

“Oh!”

A voice sounds from somewhere above his head, and he startles even more, trying to open his eyes and locate the sound, before realising he can’t see.

He cries out again, panicking at the pitch black that surrounds him, flailing around before realising that that action also causes him debilitating pain, and he begins panicking even more. How did he end up here? What happened? All he remembers is being chased through the forest and then tripping and crashing into a river, and then hard ice and the cold water and the throbbing in his head and then— and then—

Something damp and heavy gets lifted from his eyes and he gasps, freezing up as bright white light almost blinds him.

“Sorry, sorry,” the voice from before says, sounding terribly apologetic. “I’m sorry. I should’ve warned you before doing that.”

Hansol scrunches his eyes, and then squints, vision all blurry from having been unconscious and now being blinded by bright light. He can’t see who’s speaking, but whoever they are, they carry on, the words steadily flowing out faster and faster as the person rambles. He can barely keep up with the onslaught of noise, twitching confusedly and trying to see what’s going on. The world feels like it’s spinning. He’s pretty sure the world isn’t meant to spin this fast.

“That was probably really scary when you woke up, huh? I’m so sorry. The towel slipped from your forehead and covered your eyes, and I’m sorry I didn’t notice. I didn’t expect you to wake up now, but I guess that’s a good thing, ‘cause you’ve been out for a whole day, and any longer and we’re veering into coma territory, which would mean that you were really, really hurt. Which is, like, definitely not good, you know? But you did wake up, thank goodness, so that means there’s a chance you’ll get better very soon. Plus, your fever isn’t that bad anymore, so it seems you really are on the road to recovery, which is all very—oh, wait. Sorry. It’s still too bright, isn’t it?”

Another wave of chrysanthemum hits Hansol’s senses and a hand comes up to his face, creating a shadow over his eyes so he’s no longer squinting furiously up at the disembodied voice.

“Sorry,” the voice says, apologising yet again. “Is that better?”

Hansol blinks, slowly opening his eyes fully to look up, and then, the whole world abruptly stops spinning as he finds himself looking at the most beautiful being in the entire history of the universe. He doesn’t say a word, mouth falling open in shock.

You smile down at him, made anxious by his silence. “Hello,” you say, hand still shielding his eyes from the brunt of the winter light. “My name is Y/N. What’s yours?”

Hansol squeaks, a small, high-pitched sound that instantly floods him with mortification when it accidentally slips past his lips, and he screws his eyes shut and curls into himself, knocking your hand away hurriedly in his rush to hide his face. He tries to bury himself into the couch, shaking.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” you say, gently, worried you've scared him. “I promise. I want to help.” Perched on the edge of the couch, you lean over and slowly lower the yokai’s hands from his face, coaxing him to look at you again. “Can you please tell me your name?”

You smile, again, and Hansol feels a little faint as he looks up at you. His vision is still slightly blurry from his eyes being shut for so long, and the way you’re backlit by the light makes you look like you’re glowing, a gentle halo of silver light surrounding your form. That, coupled with the way you have the prettiest smile he’s ever seen, is making him feel all dizzy. And a bit warm. The air feels like it’s suffocating him, actually, but all of that is made irrelevant by how pretty he thinks your smile is.

There’s a possibility he’s still in the process of getting rid of his fever, because he blinks slowly, focused, and when he opens his mouth to speak, the next words spill unbidden from his lips.

“My name is Hansol,” he says, “and I think you’re the prettiest person alive.”

Your eyes widen at his words, a flush rapidly creeping up your cheeks. Hansol looks at you, worried that you’ll suddenly hate him for what he’s just said, but you just laugh, flattered, and bring your hand up to his forehead. The touch is cool against his skin, like a soothing balm.

“Thank you, Hansol,” you say. “Your fever seems to still be pretty high, if you’re saying stuff like this, huh? I’m currently brewing some chrysanthemum tea, and I think it’ll be a good idea for you to have some too.”

Hansol blinks slowly again. “Chrysanthemum tea,” he muses. He looks up at you. “That must be why you smell so warm and pretty.”

You laugh again, flustered, subconsciously brushing his hair back from his forehead and cupping his cheek, your fingers feather-light. “Perhaps. So would you like some tea?”

“Yes, please,” Hansol says. “I’ll have anything… you… give m…” His eyelids and ears slowly droop, and before he can even finish his sentence, he drifts back off to unconsciousness once again, head leaning into your hand.

Open-mouthed, pink-cheeked, you look down at the one-more unconscious yokai in your hands.

“Wow,” you breathe out. And then you smile. “You’re adorable.”

───────────── ‘✽,

Over the next few days, the yokai—Hansol—constantly drifts in and out of consciousness, his fever fluctuating in intensity the entire time.

It’s difficult to pull coherent sentences out of him, and anything he says is a mixture of your name, his name, and also how pretty he thinks you are.

You chalk it up to his fever.

His demon-magic must have taken a serious blow from the extent of his injuries, as it takes him a lot longer than you’d like for him to finally shake off the infection. A whole excruciating week goes by, and you almost cry with relief when, as you get up to check his temperature in the middle of the night, you find that his fever has finally broken, and he’s able to breathe easily once more.

When the weak sun finally peeks out from over the horizon, you enter your spare room to check on Hansol. Sometime after his first bout of consciousness, you’d gathered enough energy to move him from your couch to the spare bedroom in your cottage. It had taken a lot of work, and a lot of magic—weakened by the stress of taking care of a dying fox demon and trying to fend off any curious and judgy villagers, it takes a lot of energy for you to do anything strenuous lately—but you managed. And it certainly seemed to help, as he slept a lot better in an actual bed.

Humming absentmindedly to yourself, you make your way over to the guest room, fingers dancing and causing golden threads of magic to tidy up the state of your house as you go along.

To your surprise, the yokai is wide awake when you enter the room, and he startles when you noisily open the door and step inside. The moment you make eye contact with Hansol, you freeze, the song dying off your lips at the same time as your magic drops a partially-fluffed up cushion in the living room.

“Um.” You blink, hanging off the door handle, staring at the yokai picking his bandages in bed in the middle of your guest room. “Good morning?”

Hansol doesn’t respond, continuing to stare at you, wide-eyed.

You cough, feeling terribly awkward, attempting to adjust your stance and take your hand off the doorknob in the most natural way possible. “Hello. I’m, uh, Y/N. How are you feeling?”

There’s another beat. Then Hansol finally opens his mouth, only to completely ignore your question to say, “You’re the one who smells like chrysanthemums.”

“I— Sorry, what?” You blink, taken aback by the abrupt and unrelated question, before nodding. “Oh, yeah. I guess you remember the chrysanthemum tea I made you?” You smile slightly. “I can’t believe you remember that. That was when you were the most unwell.”

“Oh.” Hansol’s ears twitch, and he continues to look at you with his golden eyes, somewhere between bewildered and amazed. (Amazed by what, you aren’t entirely sure.) “I do remember, though. I remember you.”

You blink rapidly, trying to push down the blush that threatens to rise up your face. Having a handsome yokai stare at you with such focus, saying that he remembers you even when he was deep in the throes of a fever is such a heart-fluttering thing to experience early in the morning. You aren’t nearly awake enough for this conversation. If you aren’t careful, you could accidentally fall in love right then and there.

“That’s nice,” you croak, and then shake yourself. You have a job to do. Hansol’s a patient under your care, and you need to check his condition. “Um. Sorry. But, uh, I do have to check if you can remember anything else,” you say, slipping into healer mode as you step further into the room, walking towards the bed. “Do you remember your name?”

Hansol nods, intently following your movements as you draw closer. “My name is Hansol,” he says.

You smile, relieved by the coherency of his answer. The fact that the yokai remembers his own name is a very good sign. “Yes, you are. Do you remember how you got here?”

“Yes,” Hansol says obediently. “I was in a river. Trapped in the ice. And you… saved me.”

That makes you smile a little wider. “I took care of your wounds, yes! It’s really good you’re finally awake and able to answer questions, ‘cause it’s a sure sign there’s no lasting internal damage. I do have to check your bandages, though, so… may I?”

You make a gesture towards Hansol’s bandaged arms, and the yokai obliges, raising his arms to let you see.

You take Hansol’s hand in your own, preparing to lift his arm up higher—but the moment your palms brush, you gasp, fingers tightening around the yokai’s at the sudden sensation. Hansol, too, lets out a small noise of surprise, looking up at you.

The yokai’s hands are firm, strong, and perfectly healthy, but they also thrum with magic. You can feel every spark and fizzle of the magic as it dances under his skin, spinning and zipping back and forth like a cloud of hyperactive fireflies. Like the magic can talk, and when it noticed the magic that lives inside you, it seems to yip with recognition, spinning itself around in excitement in the yokai’s hands.

“It’s so strong,” you say, amazed. “I didn’t realise magic could be this powerful.”

Hansol’s also staring up at you, similarly in awe. “You’re magic too?” he asks, looking like he’s never fathomed such a thing is possible. “You’re like me?”

You laugh slightly, made a little giddy by the feeling of how alive the magic is under Hansol’s skin. “Not exactly,” you say, releasing Hansol’s hand to finally reach for the bandages, feeling around to see whether his skin is still tender underneath. “I don’t have the ears or the tail, do I?”

Hansol’s ears flick. You’re decidedly focused solely on the yokai’s bandages, but you can feel Hansol looking at you intently as you work.

“But you’re very pretty,” Hansol says. “Are you sure?”

fuck. Hansol has to stop saying things like that, because they’re very bad for your poor heart. Very bad.

“I’m sure,” you say with a smile, straightening up once again. “I think all your wounds are healing nicely. Now your magic’s come back to its full strength, it’ll help you heal the rest of the way in no time.”

You can’t help but reach for Hansol’s hand again, once more feeling pleasantly surprised by the light zap of magic when your hands touch. Now you can feel the thrum of it under Hansol’s skin, it’s easy to realise how unwell the yokai was before, when his hands had been deathly cold with no fizz of magic in them at all. You’re just endlessly relieved that you can feel that fizz once again.

Hansol looks down at your intertwined hands, and then up at you, a smile lifting up the corners of his lips. “Thank you,” he says, so very sincere that it melts your heart. “Thank you for looking after me.”

You can’t help but smile back, squeezing Hansol’s hand once. “Of course. It’s my pleasure. Really.”

Hansol smiles even wider, ears twitching pleasedly, and you once again have to try and valiantly fight away your blush. fuck. This yokai really needs to stop making you blush so easily, and fast, else you’re going to start having problems.

───────────── ‘✽,

It turns out, the blushing thing ends up being the least of your problems, because later that day, Hansol tries to leave.

Sometime after bringing Hansol a breakfast of soup and chrysanthemum tea (since he really seemed to like the tea), you’re drying away the breakfast dishes when a blast of cold air slices through the cottage, and you look over to see Hansol holding open the front door, looking like he’s about to step out.

“H—wait! Hansol, what are you doing?”

The yokai looks over at you, still holding the front door, confused. The bottom half of his tail is still bandaged, making it difficult for him to move it around, but it still sways from side to side unsurely as he blinks at you.

“I’m leaving,” Hansol says, like it’s obvious. “You took care of me. And I’m now better. So I’m going to go.”

You gape, jaw almost dropping to the floor at the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever heard.

“Like hell you are,” you say, marching over to the front door and firmly shutting it with your still-soapy hands, and then ushering Hansol back to the guest room and into bed. “You are very far from being better, Hansol. Your tail is still all bandaged up! I’m not letting you leave until you’re back to full health, so don’t you dare think for a second that you get to go before then.”

Hansol makes a noise of confusion as you fussily tuck him back into bed, fluffing up the pillows behind his head and arranging the covers around him. “What? Why would you let me stay?”

“Why wouldn’t I let you stay?” you counter, patting down the duvet and absentmindedly brushing away the strands of hair that fall in his eyes. “I want to take care of you. I want you to get better. I can’t exactly do that if you go off into the woods all by yourself and get up to heaven knows what, can I?”

Perched on the edge of the bed, you smile and pat his head.

“I’m not letting you out of my sight for a long while yet, mister,” you say, the faux-scolding adding a light playfulness to your tone. “You’re going to stay with me and get better until I say so.”

Hansol looks up at you, tilts his head, and scrunches his nose just slightly as he smiles, shy. “So you’ll let me stay as long as I like?”

“Obviously,” you say, smiling back. “However long it takes you to heal, and then some, if you want. Of course, unless you have somewhere else to go.”

The yokai hesitates, ears flicking unsurely. “Not really,” he admits, lowering his gaze. “I’ve never actually had anywhere real to stay.” He looks back up at you again, golden eyes glinting hopefully. “So if it’s okay…”

“Oh, of course you can stay here,” you rush to reassure him. And then you pause, deflating a little. “Although…This is a human village, so they don’t really like… your kind. It might make life a bit difficult, but since you’re with me, they shouldn’t bother you too much. Though I understand if that makes you hesitant to stay.”

Hansol shakes his head, smiling slightly. “That’s okay. I like it here, so I don’t mind staying with just you.”

“I’m glad,” you say sincerely. “Seriously, you can stay here for however long you want.”

Hansol ducks his head shyly. “Thank you. Genuinely, thank you.”

You awkwardly pat his hand where it lays on the covers, a little embarrassed in the face of his obvious gratitude, and instruct him to rest up before exiting the room. You’re glad that the brief misunderstanding had been cleared up, because you don’t want Hansol to feel anything less than welcomed. Being a yokai, he won’t have received similar acts of kindness in the wild, and as a magical being yourself, you know how that can feel. No one deserves to feel unwanted, least of all an injured yokai who’d obviously been hurt intentionally before you found him.

Unfortunately, though, the trials of Hansol’s first weeks of consciousness do not end there. Some days later, at some point during the afternoon, Seungcheol comes knocking on your door.

You hadn’t intended on inviting Seungcheol in. But afternoons are always a miserable time during winter, when the sky darkens far too early for anyone’s liking, and it’s difficult to find one’s way through the cold, barely-lit paths. That’s why you often get people coming to your door during the late afternoon, lost or confused or panicked because they’ve lost their way, and your cottage, shimmering with gold magic and warm lights is the only beacon they recognise.

So that’s the only reason why, when Seungcheol turns up, you accidentally open the door for him. Not that you have anything against the village leader, but—Hansol’s only been awake for a week at this point, and you don’t have the mental capacity to deal with a talk about getting rid of him.

Unfortunately, when Seungcheol already has one foot in a door, he will not go. Literally.

“Get your foot out of my door,” you say exasperatedly, struggling to push the door shut as Seungcheol pushes back. His foot is still wedged in the doorway.

“Let me in,” Seungcheol says.

“No. You’re gonna tell me to hurt the yokai again.”

“I’m going to tell you to get him out of here.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes,” Seungcheol says, finally giving up on the little game and pushing his way through the door like it’s no difficulty at all, making you let out an indignant hey!. “We need to talk about this, Y/N. You cannot harbour a demon in our village without discussing this with anyone. He needs to go.”

“He’s hurt,” you say. “He can’t go anywhere! And he won’t hurt anyone, I promise.”

“You can’t know that.” Seungcheol furrows his brow, his tone grave. “He’s a demon, Y/N. You don’t know what he’s capable of. You can’t keep him here.”

“Yes I can,” you insist, “because he’s a fucking real-life being with feelings, not this scary, evil harbinger of doom that you’re making him out to be, and I know this, because he’s been here with me, in my own home, and he’s quite possibly the nicest person I’ve ever met.”

Over the last several days, Hansol has been healing rapidly, so much so that most of his bandages have been removed and he practically glows with magic every time you see him. It’s incredibly relieving to see, and it’s also allowed you to get to know him better: sometimes unintentionally, as a natural side effect of living with him now, but also, sometimes quite on purpose. Because he’s pretty, and he’s interesting, and you want to know who he is.

Turns out, one of the key things about Hansol is he’s the most adorable being you’ve ever met.

He’s adorable, in an awkward sort of way, from the way he hovers hesitantly in doorways to the way his tail always fluffs up with contentment when he feels the tendrils of your magic brush across the room.

Unlike yokai, who simply have ancient magic embedded in them from birth, you are born of magic and made entirely of magic, so the stuff practically spills out of you wherever you go. The magic can’t only be felt from under your skin, but extends out and away from your being. You’re not used to having guests in the cottage, so you weren’t aware of the extent of how much you let your magic run free when in the safety of your home, until you noticed how Hansol reacted. He always blinks in surprise, lifting his hand palm-up, fingers curling inwards, as if your magic is some elusive silk strand that constantly evades his grasp. It’s as if he can truly feel it, and he always seems to like it.

“Can you actually feel my magic?” you ask one day, and he looks up from his hand, surprised. His tail is all fluffy and big, lazily waving from side to side and creating static against the decorative pillows on your couch. You’re sitting on an armchair next to him, smiling at him amusedly from over the book of hexes you’re reading. He doesn’t even seem to notice what his tail is doing, too occupied with the invisible tendrils between his fingers.

“Yeah,” Hansol says after a moment, closing his hand and resting them both back in his lap, a little awkward. “It feels warm. Nice.”

“Really?”

You can’t help but smile at that, oddly flattered. To you, your magic is just… yours. It doesn’t feel like anything in particular, nothing more than a familiar tingle in your hands and a weight against your skin. Though you like describing it as gold, in reality, your magic doesn’t have any colour or any real tangibility to it apart from a fleeting pressure. The idea of it being “gold” is just how you feel about it. It never occurred to you that others could feel it, let alone feel differently about it—living amongst humans, your magic has always subconsciously curled tighter around your arms when you interact with the villagers, not wanting to weird them out with your abnormality or make them feel intimidated by you.

Hansol nods, tail swishing once more. The static has caused all his white fur to stand on end, making him look even more fluffy and adorable. “Yeah,” he says again. “It’s so much calmer than the way my magic feels. It’s really cool.”

He’s looking at you earnestly, as if expecting you to totally agree that your magic is “calmer” than his. And even though you’ve only felt his magic twice before, you nod along in agreement anyway, and Hansol nods back, satisfied with your assent. Then he lowers his gaze back to his lap, opens his hand again, and goes back to playing with your magic.

An endeared laugh bubbles up into your throat, and you smile at the top of Hansol’s head before turning back to your book. Goodness, Hansol is so ridiculously cute.

That interaction only happened some days ago, and whenever Hansol smiles at you or stiltedly asks if he can help you around the house, the surge of affection comes back even harder. So you cannot stand Seungcheol standing here, right now, frowning at you like you’re being unreasonable in your decision to treat Hansol like a normal being.

Seungcheol continues to frown, and you simply stare defiantly back, arms crossed. You don’t let him walk further into the cottage, and a stare-off commences there in the front hallway, neither of you willing to back down.

That is, until there’s a loud crash from further inside the house, and both of you flinch in alarm.

“What was that?” Seungcheol asks, and you look back to where the sound had come from. Connected to the living room, behind a door disguised as an unassuming bookshelf is your own personal library, filled with all the tomes and books on magic and alchemy you’ve collected over the centuries. That’s where the sound’s originated from, which is definitely a cause for concern, but you don’t say so, lest Seungcheol uses this to fuel his argument against Hansol.

“Probably nothing,” you say, though you still glance over in the direction of the library. “You know my cottage. Everything’s old and falling apart.”

Seungcheol looks at you suspiciously. “That’s a lie. You always keep everything in perfect condition.” He begins to move past you. “I bet it’s that demon, isn’t it?”

“No, I—” You try to stop Seungcheol from investigating, but it’s a futile effort. “Cheol, come on, you shouldn’t go see him, he’s still unwell and you could end up distressing him—”

Hurriedly, you trot after Seungcheol through the bookshelf door and into the library, only to end up slamming face-first into his back when he stops abruptly, stunned at the sight before him.

You’re quite proud of your library. It’s an open secret that the bookshelf in your living room leads to it, which is cool all by itself, but your library is also made of magic. What appears as a normal, small study behind the bookshelf turns into a large and sprawling library with high ceilings and mahogany shelves and rows upon rows of books when you step inside.

You’d allowed Hansol access to the library when he’d asked what was behind the bookshelf, and as far as you know, he’s been peacefully situated there the entire day. But, as you peer over Seungcheol’s shoulder to see why he’s suddenly stopped, you realise you can’t see the yokai at all.

In the middle of the floor, there’s a large… fort of books. A book fort. With four walls built of books piled on top of each other, complete with battlements made of upright books and towers with open books as turrets, it’s actually quite amazing to see. The only drawback is how some of the walls are falling down, books tumbling from where they’re piled up.

Also the large spread of ice coming from under the fort, that’s very slowly continuing to pool further and further outwards.

Seungcheol blinks. “Uh… Y/N… you wouldn’t happen to be doing this, would you?”

You shake your head. “Weather magic is my weak point.”

Suddenly, two white ears and a head pop up from behind one of the crumbling walls, and Hansol’s eyes widen when he realises you’re here with a guest.

“Oh!” He ducks his head down, and then straightens once more so he can fully see over the walls of the fort. “Hello. I was just building a castle. One of the walls fell down, ‘cause I sneezed, but I can fix it.”

The tip of his nose is slightly dusted with glittering frost, but he doesn’t even seem to notice that or the ice that’s creeping across the wooden floor. His eyes are shining as he looks at you, infinitely more relaxed than when you’d first seen him, and he inclines his head respectfully in Seungcheol’s direction, looking as humble and polite as possible even when half his face is covered by his book fort.

“Hello to you too. It’s nice to meet you.”

You’re not sure what Seungcheol is most flabbergasted by: Hansol’s gentle manners, or the book fort he’s quite amiably making in your very respectable-looking, very grandiose library, or the circle of ice that’s very clearly coming from the yokai. Hansol is very close to giving the village leader a heart attack any time soon, it seems.

“I— This is— You’re using Y/N’s books to do this?” Seungcheol eventually manages to ask, looking both confused and horrified. “She let you?”

Hansol’s ears droop just slightly, but there’s no obvious change to his expression. “Well… no. But none of the books are damaged, and I’m going to put them back once I’m done with them.”

“It’s fine,” you interject. “I could probably fix a few ripped pages. You can do what you like.”

You couldn’t, probably, fix a few ripped pages, because each book is nearly as old as you. But you’re not going to say that, because you don’t want the confusion on Seungcheol’s face to turn into grim disapproval, and you also don’t want Hansol to feel guilty for what he’s doing.

“Although,” you say, looking down pointedly at the floor, “do you think you could stop the ice?”

Hansol peers over the wall, eyes widening when he realises what you’re talking about. “Oh, sorry. It just happened when I sneezed, I think. Everything is still going haywire… I think I’m still sick.”

The movement of the ice slows to a halt, until only a spattering of frost manages to creep over to where you and Seungcheol are standing. It covers the whole expanse of the floor, now, and there’s not a single patch of the warm brown that’s not frosted over, but it’s okay. That is definitely something you can fix.

Ignoring Seungcheol, who’s still standing there like he can’t believe he’s looking at a walking, talking yokai, you move forward and make your slippery way over to the fort. Hansol moves away a column of books, allowing him to step out of the fort and meet you.

“Is this one of the humans?” Hansol asks in a low voice before you even say anything. The sweetness in his face has disappeared, replaced with an icy look of anxiety. “He’s one of the mortals who don’t like me, isn’t he?”

You try not to wince. “Yes. He’s Seungcheol, the village leader here. He… wants me to get you out of here.”

Hansol regards you for a moment. “You make it sound a lot nicer than what he actually means,” he says. “He wants me killed, doesn’t he? At the very least, badly injured and banished from here.”

“Well… no,” you try to say, but yes, that’s actually exactly what Seungcheol wants. “He doesn’t want you badly injured. He’s just… scared. Of your kind.”

“Hm.” Hansol nods, expressionless. “Same thing, really. He wants me out.”

“Okay, Y/N, stop whispering with the… him,” Seungcheol says, and you look up to see the village leader making his slow way across the ice towards you. “We need to talk. Discuss what you’re going to do, because you are going to do it, for the safety of our village.”

You frown, frustrated. “Hansol’s not a threat to our safety,” you argue. Seungcheol continues to slide gingerly across the ice, and he sighs and shakes his head as you carry on. “He doesn’t have anything against humans. And if he did, he’d have been dead long before we found him at the river, because—Hansol. Tell him why you ended up there.”

Hansol hesitates, looking at you unsurely. The other day, you finally managed to ask him why he’d been so injured and how he’d gotten trapped in the river. It was nothing unexpected, but it still had broken your heart, and hopefully, hopefully, it’s enough for Seungcheol to feel a little bit of empathy towards the yokai. Seungcheol’s a good man, a kind man, and all he needs to do is realise Hansol’s not evil, and he’ll warm up to him faster than anyone could think possible.

“Some other yokai attacked me in the forest,” Hansol says slowly. “Really old yokai. Older than me. And… I got hurt.”

Seungcheol raises an eyebrow, looking at you like he doesn’t get the point of this. You simply glare at him, silently telling him to continue listening.

“It wasn’t bad. Just a broken tail and some scratches,” Hansol says, and Seungcheol blinks, surprised at Hansol’s nonchalance. “But then some demon hunters found me, and tried to get me to… attack them? I dunno. They were picking a fight, and when I didn’t give it to them, they also hurt me.”

Almost imperceptibly, Seungcheol’s face softens a fraction, and you feel a flicker of hope. You know he’s weak in the face of innocently victimised stories like this.

“And so I was trying to run away from them, but everything is kind of in pain at that point. So I end up tripping down the mountain and into your river. My magic goes haywire when I’m sick,” he adds, “so that’s how I end up accidentally freezing ice all over me, too. It kind of responds to my feelings I guess? So when I’m scared, it starts acting up even more, which is why the ice was so thick, too. Like it was trying to protect me, ‘cause it knew I was scared of someone hurting me.”

It’s the most that Hansol’s said in one go, uninterrupted, before. Seungcheol’s face softens even further, and he straightens slowly. He’s been standing still, a few metres away the entire time Hansol’s been talking, like he’s been frozen by his tale.

“And yeah,” Hansol finishes awkwardly, ears twitching. He’s sensed the change in atmosphere, Seungcheol’s empathy tangible in the air. “Then I ended up here.”

“After several, painful weeks of healing,” you add, and Hansol nods jerkily.

“Yeah.”

“Oh,” Seungcheol says gently. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realise you were so scared. But…” And then he sighs, straightening up further, the softness melting away from his face. “That doesn’t mean you’re not a harm to the others, now you’re all better. Who knows how you might feel when you’re hungry, or angry. You said your magic acts up according to your feelings, and I can’t have it acting up and hurting people here.”

Hansol’s face scrunches up in confusion. “When I’m hungry?”

It’s a bit absurd that’s the thing he’s focusing on, so you feel indignation over Seungcheol’s whole speech on his behalf, crying out at the injustice.

“What do you mean?” you argue. “You’re saying that like he’s some mindless beast.”

“He may as well be, for all I know,” Seungcheol sighs. “He’s not human, Y/N. We don’t know how he’ll act. And I need to think about the villagers. They’re… they’re like family to me, you know that.”

“I’m not human either,” you point out angrily. “And yet I’m also a part of this village. What are you saying, Cheol? Do you not consider me family?”

Seungcheol’s eyes widen, and he shakes his head instantly. “No, you are. But still, you’re more human than he is. And… there are days where I’m a bit wary of you too, Y/N.” At your outraged look, he rushes to continue, “Because you’re so powerful! But you’ve been with us for so many years, during the time of my father and his father, and his father before that, so I know you’re good. You’ve saved their lives. Saved everyone’s lives. Hansol, on the other hand…”

You scoff, beyond furious. “That’s absurd. There’s no such thing as being ‘good’, just as there’s no such thing as being ‘evil’. We don’t live in a fucking fairytale, Seungcheol.”

“I know. Maybe if you’d made different choices, I’d think of you as less good, too, but…” Seungcheol trails off, shrugging helplessly.

You stare at him, eyes so impossibly wide that it’s actually hurting your eye sockets, astounded by what he’s just said. Seungcheol? Thinking of you as evil? Just because of your power?

Beside you, Hansol stiffens just slightly, and during the course of the conversation, he’s somehow ended up so close to you that you can feel his magic simmering frantically under his skin. You don’t know why he’s so worked up, and distantly, you wonder whether it’s on your behalf.

Seungcheol, noticing how irate you’re getting, takes a step forward to try and placate you. But he misjudges his balance on the ice surrounding the fort, leg twisting and his eyes widen and he yelps as he falls forward, on course to crashing face-first onto the hard, frozen ground. Your eyes widen, and you reach out to him, before then—

There’s a blur of white fur and Hansol catches him before he falls over and breaks all the bones in his knees, gripping him loosely around the torso, getting to Seungcheol before you can even blink. He gingerly helps him back into an upright position, and you wave a hand to whisk away the rest of the ice with streams of gold before another accident like that happens again. Hansol’s still holding Seungcheol when you’re finished, but by the shoulders now, looking the village leader right in the eye, golden irises soft and determined at the same time.

“I get you have a responsibility,” Hansol says. “I used to have one too, in the wild. To keep myself alive. But my rule, and this should be yours too, is to not hurt anything that doesn’t hurt you first. I haven’t hurt you. You shouldn’t hurt me. And Y/N—” He looks over at you, eyes flashing, before looking back at Seungcheol. “Y/N has never hurt you. So don’t act like you’re preparing for the day she one day will.”

Seungcheol’s face doesn’t change, but you’ve known him long enough to detect the minute shifts in the air around him as he digests Hansol’s words and, grudgingly, accepts it.

“I apologise,” he finally says, reluctant but sincere in the way only Seungcheol can be. “That was cruel of me. To you and Y/N.”

He looks at you, and Hansol’s hands fall away, allowing him to walk towards you.

“Sorry. But you have to understand where I’m coming from,” Seungcheol says, almost pleading, and you realise that, whilst his stance on Hansol’s existence has wavered, his overall reluctance over him being here hasn’t changed. “At least don’t let others see him, if he’s going to stay. They’ll be terrified.”

“That doesn’t sound like Hansol’s problem,” you retort. “I know these villagers, Cheol, and they’ll warm up to him, they really will.”

You look over at Hansol as you say your next words.

“Hansol is sweet and kind and really rather funny, and it breaks my heart to hide him from others because he might be seen as scary. That’s just people’s prejudice talking.” You smile. Hansol’s eyes are wide, lips parted slightly, and a fluttering warmth unfurls up inside you as you continue to smile at him. “Because I’ve seen Hansol, and he’s the sweetest person I’ve ever met.”

Hansol’s entire face goes pink, and he looks away.

“Maybe so,” Seungcheol says heavily, and you look back at him. The warmth in your chest fades at his tone, dropping to the depths of your stomach. “But I can’t risk them being near him. Don’t let him out.”

You sigh, disappointed. “No. He can leave the house if he wants to, Seungcheol. He’s not some kind of housepet you can impose rules on just like that and expect me to follow through with them.”

“Y/N—”

“Get out of my home,” you say, evenly. “Go. You can take your rules and go piss off out of my sight.”

───────────── ‘✽,

You stew in your anger towards Seungcheol for several days.

He comes to your door every so often, either with a letter or a plea to talk through this, but you refuse to let him in and instead tell him to, not so kindly, fuck off.

Hansol looks at you with a mixture of affection and disappointment each time you do so. You don’t really understand why he looks at you like that—neither the affection nor disappointment—but he doesn’t say anything and goes back to what he was doing soon after, either playing with your magic, or his own, or reading your books.

Having him around the house is quite like having a very adorable, very shy, fox. You might’ve gotten furious at Seungcheol for treating Hansol like a pet, but you don’t mean it like having a pet fox: it’s just like having an inquisitive, cute being around the house who quite likes following you around as you go about your day.

It’s cute. He’s cute, with his swishing tail and his sudden bursts of frost when he’s fiddling with his fingers, and the way he stays perfectly still whenever you gain the courage to slowly inch closer to him on the sofa until you’re laying on his shoulder, at the perfect angle to peer down at the book in his hands so you can read it with him. They’re all your books, of course, so you know what they’re all about, but it’s quite nice leaning against Hansol, feeling his warmth through the silk of his clothing, and the pleasant hum of his magic under your ear.

He never initiates physical contact, but he seems to like having you near. He’s never protested when you’ve held his hand or laid on his shoulder or (very, very gently) touched his ears, so.

He’s quite like a fox, in that way. But he’s like a fox in other ways, too: namely, how it appears that he’s a bit nocturnal.

Sometimes, you’ll awaken at three, four, five o’clock in the morning to someone clattering around in your house. It always turns out to be Hansol, trying to occupy himself without waking you up, but always failing to do so.

“Hansol?” you murmur blearily, shuffling into the kitchen where the flurry of clatters had emitted from earlier. It’s dark, and all the curtains are drawn; nevertheless, his dim silhouette looks distinctly guilty as he whirls around to face you, pots and pans in his hands. “What’re you doing?”

“Sorry,” he says apologetically. “I read some potion in your book, and I wanted to try it out.”

“At three in the morning?”

“Five,” Hansol corrects. You fix him with a look, and he winces, demon magic-enhanced night vision meaning he can see you perfectly clearly. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

You shake your head, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. It’s cold in the kitchen, and being exposed to the chilly night temperature is gradually waking you up. “It’s okay. I guess you don’t sleep a lot, huh? You’re wide awake, even though it’s so early in the morning.”

Hansol shrugs. “Dunno. But I always just feel like I have so much energy. Like it doesn’t have anywhere to go, and I can’t sleep for too long before it tells me to do something.”

“I see.” You purse your lips thoughtfully, pondering why Hansol’s feeling like this and what could cause it. And then, a realisation strikes you and your eyes widen. “Oh. Oh, I get it. I understand why you’re feeling that way.”

The yokai tilts his head. “Really?”

“Yeah, and it’s totally okay,” you reassure, nodding your head. “Totally understandable, too. But don’t worry, it’s easily fixed.”

You wave a hand and turn all the light fixtures on so you can see Hansol properly. The yokai literally does look like he’s vibrating with extra energy, holding your cooking utensils in his hands, ears perked upright and tail fluffed up to the max. Yeah, he’s definitely understimulated and frustrated with it right now, even if he doesn’t realise that’s what it is.

You smile. This is a good way to help him and piss off Seungcheol at the same time.

“Come on, Hansol. Let’s go outside.”

───────────── ‘✽,

Not even an hour later, you’re making a trek up the mountains in your warmest clothes, lagging behind Hansol even with your magic-aided agility helping you up the hardest of the steps. The yokai is bounding on ahead, nimble and quick-footed even in the darkness of the early winter morning, and you can hear the light crunch of snow under his footsteps as he moves.

This is what Hansol needed. Some time outside, where he can finally breathe.

Some minutes later, as you’re sitting on a log on the path to catch your breath, Hansol comes back down the mountain to meet you, settling down by your side.

“It’s so quiet,” he whispers. The air around you is lit with a faint glow, courtesy of a visibility spell you conjured so you wouldn’t fall flat on your face as you walked. It makes Hansol’s face look golden as he smiles at you, eyes shining. “Everything is so quiet out here. I can hear the animals.”

You smile back, finding joy in how relaxed he looks. “Doesn’t that make it noisy?”

Hansol shakes his head, and then looks away from you, ears cocked to the side, listening. “No. This is like a familiar buzz of noise, so familiar that it becomes silent.” He looks back at you again, smiling. “Down in the village, it’s so noisy because of all the people, but up here, it’s all gone.”

“It feels good, doesn’t it?” you say with a smile, and Hansol nods so quickly that you laugh, endeared. “I’m glad. You can go off for a bit, if you want, and I’ll wait for you here.”

Hansol beams. “Okay.”

And like that, he’s off, nothing more than a faint swish of a silver tail before he disappears once more.

He doesn’t come back to you for some time, which gives you a chance to sit there and breathe in the cool air. It’s so cold that it feels like inhaling clouds of peppermint, but it’s… relaxing.

You haven’t had a chance to properly rest this winter. Winter’s a tricky time for you: the cold numbs your senses and makes your magic more sluggish. This year feels much colder than usual, and now the prolonged adrenaline that came with bringing Hansol back from the brink of death is fading, you’re beginning to anticipate feeling more worn out more often, the warm fizz in the tips of your fingers not as present as it ought to be.

Strangely, though. It hasn’t happened yet. Maybe being around Hansol and his frost-related magic has built up your resistance to the cold.

Or, he’s just so lovely and comforting that you don’t feel the effects of the winter.

That’s always a possibility. You look down at your hands, still glowing slightly with the visibility light you’ve put on yourself. It hasn’t faltered even once, a brilliant gold, and when you think of the colour of Hansol’s eyes, the light seems to glow even more.

You breathe in, and then exhale, kicking your feet out in front of you, looking down the dim mountain. You’ve been up here, thinking, for so long that the weak sunrise is beginning to peek its head above the horizon. Hansol still hasn’t come back. Though, you find you’re not too worried about that: somehow, you know that he will come back to you, though you can’t find ears nor tail of him while he’s gone.

It’s incredible how much you’ve come to trust and believe in Hansol, though he’s only been with you for several weeks. He’s been so reserved, anxious and afraid at times, especially during the early days, when he’d been bandaged up and newly healing in an unfamiliar environment, but now it’s clear how earnest and gentle he is. Something in your chest tightens and then relaxes with happiness whenever you see him smile. He’s just so—genuine, and you really like that about him.

You like him. A lot. He’s certainly an unexpected new part of your life, but now he’s here, and you can’t imagine living without the silver-furred fox yokai by your side.

There’s a rustle in the evergreen bushes to your left, and, as if he’s here answering your summons, a familiar silver head of hair pops out, golden eyes shining when he sees you.

He blinks at you, ears flicking curiously, twigs in his hair like he’s been rolling around on the forest floor. His tail is out of sight, but you can imagine how it’s waving from side to side in contentment, the morning dew slowly turning into frozen crystals in his fur. You smile.

“Hey,” you greet, the moment you see Hansol’s face. “Are you gonna come over?”

Instantly, he stands up, hops over the bush and makes his way to you. His footfalls are light, looking like he’s dancing over the rocks before he settles next to you once more, looking like he never left your side.

“Hey,” he says. “There are so many rabbits in these mountains, you know? Like I’ve never seen so many rabbits gathered in one place before, because normally they get killed by hunters or there’s just not enough food in that area to sustain so many. It’s actually insane how many rabbits you have up here.” When you just smile, his eyes widen, ears pricking upright. “Oh, is it you? Do you do something to help them stay alive? With your magic and all that?”

Hansol then launches into a flurry of questions for you, so eager and animated that it surprises you a little, before melting your heart.

At the sight of sunrise, you’d taken down your visibility spell, but Hansol is still glowing, looking so alive with his cold-dusted cheeks, shining eyes, wind-fluffed hair and the frost dusting the tip of his nose, which must have accidentally happened when he’d gotten too excited and lost control of his magic.

Hansol’s positively lit up, now he’s surrounded by all this nature. He must’ve been so cooped up and nervous before, when he was just in your house, barely anything to do. Now he’s healed, and outside, and you can tell that being out of the house is where he’s meant to be.

“It’s not me,” you admit after Hansol’s finished conjuring up crazy theories. “Well, kind of. I messed around with the mountains about eighty years ago and did something by accident so we get a lot more winter flowers than normal. The rabbits love eating them, so we get a lot of them too.”

“Oh,” Hansol says, amazed. “That makes so much sense. I saw so many flowers. I thought that was a little bit weird, but I just chalked it up to Mother Nature having fun, or something.”

You laugh. “Yeah. I guess Mother Nature was having fun,” you say, gesturing to yourself, and Hansol grins too. His eyes crinkle as he does so, the corners of his lips spread wide so his pearly whites are fully visible, the tips of his yokai fangs slightly on display. Even his big, bright smile is as cute as he is. You’ve never seen him smile this widely before. It’s… pretty.

Even though he’s all warmed up to you now, even though it’s clear he trusts you, it’s obvious he’ll always be most at peace out here in the big, wide world.

His gaze slides away from yours, looking at something behind you, and he gasps.

“What is it?” You turn to look back, trying to find what had caught his eye, but Hansol doesn’t respond. He jumps up, diving into the bushes without a word.

A moment later he emerges, and in his hands is…

“A daffodil?” you say, amazed. “What’s this doing here? Spring is very, very far off.”

“I guess it’s because of you,” Hansol says, handing you the flower.

You accept it gratefully, tracing the edges of its buttery yellow petals, such a warm, golden colour in your hands, in stark contrast to the cold white of the snow around you. It’s so pretty, so pristine, and it’s amazing it managed to survive in the freezing winter temperatures. Must be due to your magic, like Hansol said.

“It looks like you,” Hansol says suddenly, and you look at him in surprise.

“Really? How?”

“You look like spring, to me,” he says. The frosted tip of his nose looks pink, as do his cheeks. A decidedly warmer, blushier pink than they’d looked before. “All warm and gold and pretty. Like the daffodil. And I…” He pauses, and then seems to change his mind, shutting his mouth and blinking at you like he wasn’t about to say anything else.

You smile, so endeared that you’re practically glowing with it. “Thank you,” you say, touched, and look back down at the daffodil in your hands before raising your eyes to the definitely-blushing yokai once more. “That’s so sweet.”

Hansol shrugs, a little bashful, before standing up abruptly.

“I’m gonna go find the rabbits again,” he says, and before you can even reply, he’s disappeared.

You laugh, breathing in the crisp air and then releasing it in a sigh, feeling warm all over despite the cold. You shake your head, fond. Hansol is just so…

That’s it, you decide. You’re not going to let Seungcheol dictate where Hansol can and can’t be. You’ll let Hansol do whatever he wants, and encourage him to do whatever he wants.

Whatever makes him smile.

───────────── ‘✽,

From that day on, you make it a point to take Hansol to the mountains as often as you can.

He loves it—he’ll never say it in so many words, extremely shy when it comes to voicing his preferences for reasons you cannot discern, but it’s so obvious that those few hours he gets to spend with you, in the fresh air, away from all the people, are his favourite hours in the day.

It’s another one of those mornings when you’re up in the mountains with him. You can’t come here every day: you’d collapse from exhaustion if you had to wake up at four in the morning every day, but today, it’s a particularly clear-skied day, and you wanted to watch the sunrise with Hansol.

He’s sitting shoulder to shoulder with you, looking silently down at the village below. It’s still not sunrise yet, but the sky’s beginning to lighten gradually, and you can see some of the windows beginning to light up with orange lights, everyone slowly waking. Hansol hasn’t said a word for a while, so you haven’t either, content to just look down at everything in silence.

The entire experience is rather humbling. From the mountain, the village looks so small, like it’s merely a miniscule dot in existence, something that could be missed in a single blink. Like each mortal is worth next to nothing. Like each could be destroyed in a second.

That’s what a lesser immortal would think, anyway. For you, however, rather than how fragile life is, being this high up makes you marvel at the intricacy of it. Every person, every soul, despite being so small, is filled to the brim with so many unique experiences that no one else can ever live through as that person did. They live, and they die, but almost magnificently so. Like a one-of-a-kind snowflake that melts as soon as it lies in your hands.

You look at Hansol next to you. His eyelashes flutter thoughtfully as he looks down at the village, delicate against his pale skin.

Every life should be cherished, you think. Because if even the fleetings lives of humans are that complex, then what of the immortal creatures, who live forever? No one should tell them to hide themselves away.

“I can hear you cursing Seungcheol in your head,” Hansol says abruptly, pulling you out of your thoughts. He’s staring at you, now, no longer focused on the village, and he tilts his head bemusedly when you meet his gaze. “You’re still mad at him, aren’t you?”

You blink, and then smile. You were kind of cursing out Cheol in your head, you admit, and it’s kind of funny that Hansol picked up on it.

“I am,” you sigh, looking down. “Well, now I’m more annoyed, really. I know I should be glad that he’s not going to extremes, like some other people in the world, but…”

Hansol nods slowly. “I get where he’s coming from, though,” he admits, and you look up. “What? Seungcheol cares for his village. These people… they all mean a lot to him, and he doesn’t know me, so I guess it’s natural for him to be cautious.”

You roll your eyes. “That’s no excuse. These people all mean a lot to me, too. I watched them all grow up! And Cheol should know I wouldn’t suggest anything that puts them in danger.” You frown. “It’s frustrating. It feels like he doesn’t trust my judgement, even though he’s literally known me his entire life.”

The yokai hums, and reaches over to pat your hand placatingly where it rests in your lap.

“Also, it pisses me off that he’s saying all this without ever making an effort to get to know you, and see if his judgement is right,” you say, looking at Hansol, catching his hand in your own when he begins to move away. “You’re just—you’re just so lovely, and how dare Seungcheol try to hide you away, like you’re something taboo, or something to be ashamed of?”

Hansol’s eyes widen, and he blinks rapidly, before averting his gaze to your intertwined hands. “Oh,” he says, after a moment, clearly embarrassed by your sincere compliments. “That’s… nice.”

You laugh, fond, squeezing his hand comfortingly. “I’m always nice,” you tease. “I’m the nicest person in the entire world, actually.”

To your surprise, Hansol doesn’t smile back at your joke, and simply ducks his head shyly. “You are.”

And then he keeps lowering himself down until he’s laying in your lap, the tips of his flickering slightly at the contact as he adjusts himself until he's practically lying down in the log, head in your lap. You stiffen in surprise, and Hansol slowly shifts so he can blink up at you with innocent, gold eyes.

“Can I lie here?” he asks, even though he's clearly very much lying there already, and you smile, relaxing.

“Yeah, I guess,” you say, and Hansol smiles, closing his eyes as your hand goes to his hair and begins to gently run through the strands with the tips of your fingers.

You stay like that for some time, running your fingers through Hansol’s hair and over the soft fur of his ears. Abruptly, he playfully flicks his ears as you trace a finger through the fur at the base of them, making you yelp in surprise, and he smiles, pleased at having made you jump. You lightly tug at a few strands of hair, teasing, and he smiles wider, eyes still shut, the slight points of his canines visible.

Too distracted with Hansol’s face, you end up completely missing the full sunrise, and eventually it becomes late enough in the morning that the village fully awakens, bustling with noise as people go about their day. But curiously, you can’t hear a single thing. It’s like your world has narrowed down to you, your hands, and the yokai laid comfortably in your lap.

He really is very pretty. You notice the small spattering of snowflake-like freckles on his cheeks, and smile. He’s so pretty that it isn’t even fair.

You trace a thumb over his cheekbones, opening your mouth to comment on them before Hansol’s eyes snap open, and his ears suddenly tilt towards something down the mountain, listening. Your hand freezes, and you let him turn his head, alert.

“What’s wrong?”

Then, you hear it: the crunching of twigs underfoot, and the telltale huffing and puffing of a human making their way up the mountain. Your hand falls, and you get ready to stand up before—

“Y/N?”

Soonyoung, clad in winter furs and holding a woven basket in his hands, blinks at you in confusion, and then he glances to the yokai in your lap, and shakes his head, his expression becoming even more mystified than before.

“What are you doing here?”

“What are you doing here?” you ask back, equally confused as Soonyoung. “You literally hate climbing the mountains. What are you doing?”

Soonyoung looks at you oddly, lifting up the empty basket. “I’m here to collect wildflowers for you,” he says. “I asked you the other day if you could make some of that non-dangerous magic fire you did last year. You said you needed wildflowers harvested at sunrise to make that potion, so I’m here to get those.”

“Oh. Did you really ask me that?”

“Yes,” Soonyoung says. “You said you’d make them for me. And also complained for like five minutes because I tried to pay you, and you wanted to refuse ‘cause you said I was paying you too much. As if there’s such a thing as being paid too much money.” He rolls his eyes for emphasis, and you laugh.

The conversation comes back to you now, and you shrug sheepishly. “Yeah. Sorry. I forgot about that.”

Soonyoung makes a disgruntled sound, feigning annoyance before his eyes crinkle as he smiles. “Don’t worry about it, boo. Just as long as you remember to make the potion, it’s all fine. The children’ll love it for the bonfire tonight.”

Your eyes widen. “You want me to make it for tonight? There’s a bonfire tonight?”

“Yes,” Soonyoung says. “I specifically told you when I asked, as well. Goodness, you’re forgetting everything today, huh?” Then he gestures casually to Hansol, who’s still lying in your lap, looking unsurely at the villager. “Don’t tell me, you also forgot you have the injured demon in your lap, too?”

He points to Hansol so naturally, so calmly that you look down in surprise, as if you really had forgotten the yokai was there. Soonyoung laughs, shaking his head as he bends down near a bush, poking through the dirt to see if there are any flowers. He turns his back on you and Hansol, craning down towards the ground to see better as he continues to talk.

“Cheol told me all about the demon and how he disapproves of you keeping him alive,” Soonyoung says. He manages to find a few wildflowers, and lets out an aha! of pride, putting them away in his basket. “Not gonna lie, I agreed with him a bit. But then I come up here and find him in your lap as you pet him like a cat, and now I’m thinking, maybe not so much.”

Soonyoung turns back to face you once again, and somehow, during those thirty seconds, he’s managed to get dirt all over his nose.

“Plus, you seem to like him,” he carries on. “So he can’t be bad, can you? Because you’d kick his ass if he was.”

You quirk a grin at that, proud. Then you nod down at Hansol. “He has a name, though, you know. And he can hear you.”

Soonyoung’s eyes widen in realisation, and he stands up quickly, brushing down his clothes. “Oh, sorry, you’re right. Sorry. Hi, I’m Soonyoung, one of the villagers who live here. It’s nice to meet you.”

He extends a gloved hand towards Hansol, and Hansol looks at the hand for a long moment. Then he slowly sits upright again, and grasps Soonyoung’s hand in a firm handshake, the corners of his mouth relaxing slightly.

“Hansol,” he says. “It’s nice to meet you.”

And then he must do something, because Soonyoung lets out a small yip in surprise, withdrawing his hand quickly as Hansol observes him amusedly, eyes glinting.

“Did you…” Soonyoung starts, wide-eyed. “Did you just. Give me an electric shock? On purpose?”

Hansol cracks the slightest smile, evidently pleased with Soonyoung’s reaction. He’s in a playful mood today, you muse, smiling as Soonyoung stutters, clearly not sure what to do when a yokai plays a prank on him like this. It makes you smile too, amused.

“You have to show me how to do that,” Soonyoung eventually says, going from surprised to confused to full of amazement. “Can you show me? Is that something which can be taught?”

That makes Hansol smile properly, lips curving upwards. “You’re funny.”

“I’m being serious!” Soonyoung says, but something about Hansol’s smile must make him smile too, because eventually he laughs, shaking his head. “Goodness, you magic people need to stop messing with me. One day, I’ll accidentally set myself on fire, and it’ll be your fault.”

“You’d do that anyway,” you tease, and Soonyoung rolls his eyes. “Anyway, I have to get going, I think. Jeonghan’s coming over for a poultice for his back pain, and I need to get to my cottage before he does.”

“Okay,” Soonyoung says. “This is a hell of a way up the mountain, by the way. I might go down with you as well, and see if I’ve missed any flowers.”

“Cool.” This is definitely not that far up the mountain, and even though Soonyoung hates climbing, it shouldn’t have taken him more than twenty minutes to reach where you are. It’s clear he wants to walk with you for a moment to tell you something, so you look at Hansol, and offer him the chance to stay up in the mountains by himself for a bit.

He agrees, so you and Soonyoung begin your slow descent.

“What do you want?” you ask, when you’re out of Hansol’s hearing range.

Soonyoung just smiles, shaking his head. “Nothing bad,” he says. “I meant it when I said Hansol seems like a cool guy. I just…” He pauses, thinks over his words, and then leans in closer. “Bring him to the bonfire tonight.”

You reel back. “What? Are you crazy?”

“Hey, if you’re worried about him getting hurt, you shouldn’t be,” Soonyoung says placatingly. “Hansol’s a demon. He can hold his own. Plus, the people aren’t as against yokai as you might think. Cheol’s just overly cautious, and the elderly might have traditional views about it, but it won’t be hard to make them like him. He’s cute.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“He is!” Soonyoung argues. “I saw him in your lap, Y/N. He’s adorable. And very… docile? Like, he’s so quiet. But also very silly. The kids would love him, you know. So would everyone else.”

“Even Seungcheol?”

Soonyoung thinks about it for a second. The cold air has made his cheeks all ruddy red, and he looks like a very earnest, very red-cheeked schoolboy as he nods firmly. “Yes. Even Seungcheol.”

You hum, still incredibly sceptical. “Well. I’ll think about it. We’ll have to see.”

───────────── ‘✽,

Unfortunately, even though you were slightly swayed by Soonyoung’s words and his instant kindness and all-round chillness in Hansol’s presence, you ultimately end up not bringing Hansol to the bonfire night. It’s not your decision, though: it’s Hansol’s.

“Are you worried about the humans?” you ask, when Hansol tells you that, respectfully, he doesn’t want to go. “You don’t have to worry about that. I could blast them all to pieces for insulting you, if that makes you feel better.”

Hansol smiles a little, before shaking his head. “No. It’s actually just… I’m not really a big fan of all the noise and stuff. And how hot bonfires are.”

“Oh.” You soften, concerned. “Have you been… hurt by fire before?”

“Huh? Oh, no,” Hansol says. He shrugs. “I just don’t like being too warm. Makes me uncomfortable.”

You raise an eyebrow, amused. Because even as he says this, he’s cuddling up into your side, head on your shoulder, his tail curled comfortably around him. “Really?” you say. “You don’t like being too warm?”

Hansol’s ears flick. “Yeah. My magic originates from winter, as you might have noticed, so…”

“Oh, I hadn’t realised,” you say teasingly, tapping the tip of his nose lightly. “I thought the white fur and random bursts of frost on your skin meant you were a summery fox.”

Hansol scrunches his nose, and you laugh. “Yeah, yeah. Anyway, it does mean I don’t like being all warm, so fires are a no-go for me. Especially bonfires, where there are many people. That’s way too much warmth for me, for sure.”

“I see,” you say, reaching a hand up to tuck some of his silver hair out of his face as he nestles closer into your side. “That’s cool. But I am going to have to go, even if you aren’t. Will you be okay if I leave you here by yourself in the evening?”

“Yeah. Can you make me dinner before you go, though? Last time I tried, I almost destroyed your kitchen.”

“What? When was that?”

“Oops. Did I not tell you?”

Anyway, the bonfire night ends up being a bit of a disappointment. Several of the villagers have cottoned on to the fact you’re housing the yokai, and express their concerns to you over the matter several times over the course of the night. You love these people, you really do, but hearing so many of them advise you to send him back off into the woods for your own safety really wears you down after a while.

“I think Y/N understands what you’re saying now, imo,” a gentle voice butts in, right when you’re in the middle of having a particularly exhausting conversation. This tricky older woman’s insisting you let the yokai go… only, she’s using much more unkind words.

You were very, very close to losing your cool with her—respect the elders be damned because hell, you’re way older than she is—before she’s interrupted mid-sentence by a villager appearing over his shoulder, and you smile in relief as you recognise him.

At the call of “auntie”, she looks up and comes face-to-face with your saviour, Joshua, and all it takes is another gentle smile and some sweet words before he successfully convinces her to leave your side and rejoin her friends on the other side of the bonfire.

“Don’t worry about it,” Joshua says when you thank him for his help. “You know how they are. Once they latch on to you, it’s impossible to get them to leave without using some sort of witchcraft to pry them away.”

You laugh at that. “And yet, it seemed to be you who helped get them off me. Maybe you’re the real witchcraft user out of the two of us.”

Joshua laughs, light and melodious, magical fire reflecting in his eyes. He doesn’t say anything to your joke, however, and nods into the distance behind you, down the darkened paths that lead to your cottage. “You need to bring him out, though,” he says. “Whilst he’s still unknown, they’ll continue conjuring theories that become wilder by the day. They need to see the yokai so their suspicions can be wiped away once and for all.”

“Wh—Hansol?” You blink. “It’s dangerous, Shua. They might hurt him.”

“They’re hurting him now,” Joshua says. “They’re hurting you and hurting him by making stuff up. Just introduce him to them, okay? He can’t become part of our village if he never meets our villagers.”

At your stunned look, Joshua smiles.

“What? I know you, Y/N. You’re attached. You want him to stay. And honestly…” His smile turns a little more secretive, a little more knowing. “I think he wants to, too. The yokai will stay for you, but to truly bring him in, you have to bring him out to us.”

Joshua smiles again, the colours of his irises swirling together, before he pats you on the shoulder and gets up, leaving you there speechless.

He isn’t… wrong. But hearing it like that sounds insane.

You shake your head. Hansol will have to meet everyone sooner or later, you suppose. You very much do not want to go ahead with Seungcheol’s idea to let him be hidden, like a secret, so of course, you need to bring him out into the open.

You shake your head again, mystified. Joshua’s correct, but how does he know so much?

Honestly, you really do think he’s more of a witchcraft user out of the two of you. His incredible timing, his knowledge of all your thoughts, the fact he’d called Hansol a yokai rather than demon…

Also. How old even is he, anyway?

Too confused and befuddled by all the thoughts in your head, you end up playing with the children and run through the fire all night instead. It’s a lot safer than having to deal with all the grown-up stuff of thinking about things.

───────────── ‘✽,

Both Soonyoung’s and Joshua’s words linger in the back of your mind for days after that, and you contemplate how to get Hansol out of the house. Hansol had never really shown signs of wanting to be part of the village, which had made you reconsider this whole thing, wanting to brush away the villager’s words, before you actually asked the yokai, and—

Hansol shrugs. “Yeah. I’d like to get to know everyone. I want to be part of the village.”

“You do?”

“Yeah,” he says again, smiling at you. “This village is your village, and I want to be with you.”

Oh. You smile back, touched. Hansol smiles wider, brightening at the eye contact, all sweet and lovely and really quite cute, before ducking his head and disappearing back through the shelves of your library once again.

So Hansol turns out to be not as against the idea as you thought, which makes you feel a lot better about thinking of how to get the villagers to trust him and how to get Seungcheol off your back for taking care of Hansol in the first place.

However, it ends up not being you who makes the first steps into getting him known. Oh, no.

Instead, Hansol does that all by himself.

It happens during the first snowfall of the year. You’d woken up to the beautiful sight of the white crystals floating down and covering the entire village with a soft, muffled coat, and the equally beautiful sight of Hansol, who had already woken up, practically pressing his nose against the window to look at the snow in awe.

He’d clearly wanted to go out and be in the snow—as a winter yokai, that made sense—but you’d had some errands to run that day, so you’d told him he could stay only in the front yard of the cottage and go no further.

Hansol had smiled at you, an amused quirk of his lips that acted as all the reassurance you needed.

So he’s sitting in the snow in front of your cottage, legs out in front of him, the silk of his clothes getting damper the longer he sits on the cold ground, but he hardly notices, more focused with tracing a finger through the soft white that is steadily building up.

Snowfall is Hansol’s most favourite wintry thing. It’s a perfect, wondrous phenomenon: the intersection of the perfect time and the perfect weather and the perfect temperature that makes the sky release soft handfuls of the white stuff down on Earth. Even nature falls silent when the snow falls. In Hansol’s opinion, that’s proof enough that it’s something to be appreciated beyond belief.

His robes, his old robes, used to have silver snowflakes embroidered into them, intricate and sprawling patterns that he could run his fingers over and almost feel the cold gust of wind that accompanied the snow. They’re not on the robes he’s wearing now—he’s wearing ones you’ve given him, after his old ones were ruined by his own blood—but he traces his fingers gently over the sleeves, letting frost spread out from his fingers like the feathery patterns that used to adorn the cloth he wore.

He quickly grows bored of that, though, and turns to the real snow in front of him, ears flicking absentmindedly to get rid of the small pile-up gathering on his head. He absentmindedly gathers the stuff in his hands, patting it into shapes and then leaving them out on the lawn.

This carries on for some time, and eventually there is an army of misshapen snow clumps in your front yard, all frosted over with a touch of his magic, and he grins, satisfied. And then his ears twitch again, and he feels… eyes. Watching him.

Hansol turns around, and some houses away, peeking from over a well-trimmed, leafless hedge, he sees three children clad in fluffy winter clothes staring at him, curious.

He doesn’t have much experience with human children. Or any children, for that matter. But he’s pretty sure that, when a yokai makes eye contact with them, they’re not meant to light up with glee and come running over with absolutely no regard for the icy paths or the danger that said yokai could present.

Surprised, Hansol jumps up to his feet, reaching out hands to steady the little kids as they skid over the snow and come to a stop right in front of him, eyes shining, expectant. He doesn’t know what they’re expecting, and being so close to these mini humans is a very awkward experience for him. He’s not sure what to do.

So he lifts a hand, and waves. “Hello?”

The three children beam, and one of them, the girl, practically vibrates with happiness when he speaks.

“Hello!” she chirps, and waves back. “I’m Yeowon! What’s your name?”

Hansol blinks, taken aback by her enthusiasm. “I’m Hansol.”

“Hansol!” Yeowon keeps speaking in exclamation marks, and it’s honestly kind of amusing. “It’s nice to meet you! This is Junghoon, and this is Minjun!” she says, gesturing to the boys on either side of him, who also give Hansol equally enthusiastic waves.

“Hello,” he says unsurely. How old are these kids? He doesn’t know much about human years, but they look… very young. Where are their parents?

He doesn’t get to voice his concerns before Yeowon starts speaking again, going a mile a minute and he can hardly get a word in edgeways.

“We were watching you from Minjun’s house,” she says, and picks up one of the snow balls that Hansol was making, lifting it up so he can look at his own handiwork. “These are so pretty! We wanted to come over and play with you, ‘cause we’ve never seen you before, but you live with Miss Witch, right?”

Hansol opens his mouth, but it’s apparent that wasn’t an actual question when Yeowon barrels on.

“So you must be a good guy! So we wanted to come say hello and play.”

She blinks big, innocent eyes up at him, as do the two boys, evidently begging him to play with them, or something. He doesn’t know what play entails, but… there’s no harm in entertaining these fun-sized humans, right?

So Hansol nods, says they can play with him, and sits down in the snow again. And then, before he knows it, they’re all shrieking and climbing over him and asking him to make figurines out of ice and snow and patting his hair in amazement and asking if his ears are actually real.

Children are very overwhelming, Hansol quickly learns. But he also kind of likes them: likes the way their eyes light up when he makes them the little ice characters they want, likes their fascinated smiles and the way they very gently touch his ears and accidentally get damp suede of their gloves in his mouth in their excitement. They’re bubbly, full of life, and so friendly with him that it honestly makes him so delighted that it surprises him.

“Make me one too! Make me one too!”

“Your ears look super fluffy! Can I touch your tail?”

“Why are your eyes yellow?”

“Can you make me something out of magic too, Mister Fox?”

“Mister Fox! Mister Fox!”

Hansol doesn’t know how it happens, but he blinks and suddenly he’s surrounded by what seems to be every child in the village, clamouring around him and asking if he could play, Please, Mister Fox, won’t you?

Your front lawn is quickly becoming a gathering place for the little humans who had swarmed towards him so quickly that Hansol’s starting to think they were waiting in the background for his very opportunity, and he makes more ice figures and listens interestedly to their babbling as they conjure stories for the figurines on the spot. They’re all so very noisy, but Hansol smiles, brimming with a similar sort of energy as his magic fizzes and pops with glitters of snow and makes the children laugh.

There’s no other way to describe it. He’s feeling happiness, pure and simple.

Unbeknownst to Hansol, there’s one human who’d been watching the entire scene right from the beginning. Coming down the path, on his way to visit the village’s magic-user, Soonyoung had noticed Hansol sitting by himself and had prepared to go over, extend a hand and a friendly word before Yeowon, Junghoon and Minjun had run over.

As a result, Soonyoung retreated a little ways round the bend to watch from a distance, which is where he is now, smiling at the innocent joy of both the children and Hansol.

From the opposite end of the path, he spots you walking back to your cottage, and clocks the exact moment you realise what’s happening in your front yard. Your eyes widen, and you stop in your tracks, before your eyes slowly lift further and you notice Soonyoung standing there too, smiling.

See? he seems to say with your eyes, meeting your gaze. They love him.

One of the children shrieks with laughter as she grabs Hansol’s tail and he playfully gasps in shock, scooping her up and lifting her into the air until she’s giggling and burbling for him to put her down. At his feet, one child is patting snow into the hem of his robes, and another is playing with a fox-eared figurine that Hansol had made him.

It looks so natural, and you watch them for a moment before looking at Soonyoung again. Soonyoung smiles even wider. You have nothing to worry about.

You laugh, a little bit in disbelief, warmth spreading across your face as you smile back, looking fondly at the sight in your front yard. Finally, you really do believe that that’s the truth.

───────────── ‘✽,

“Let’s go out,” you say, and Hansol looks up from his book, tilting his head inquisitively.

“Hm,” he says in reply. “Are you sure?”

It’s been a few days since the first snowfall, but the wintry precipitation has not let up, and it continues to softly drift down from the sky even as you speak. The blanket of snow covering the earth has also blanketed your senses, and your magic is nothing more than a gentle hum beneath your skin. A month ago, this would have stressed you greatly, but with Hansol and his winter-attuned magic singing happily around the entire room, you feel nothing but peace.

Nodding in reassurance, you smile at Hansol. “Very sure. Let’s go out today.”

Hansol blinks, once, and then smiles back, closing the book and getting up from the couch. “Okay. Where are we going?”

You smile wider. “To make you some friends.”

That was the plan, anyway. Ever since the first snow, when Hansol had been accosted by the children and ended up playing with them for a good part of the day, you’ve had several villagers come to your door, either complaining about the yokai or wanting to know more about him. So, you figure, today you should get him out to the village square so he can finally meet everyone. Regardless of their opinion of him.

Because you have trust in Hansol. Now, you have confidence he can turn their opinion around.

Hansol, despite having all the appearances and mannerisms of an introvert, doesn't seem to mind leaving the house for so many days in a row, and eagerly agrees as you urge him to get dressed and head out to the village square. There's the daily market taking place, and most people will be there, so it'll be a good opportunity to introduce him.

But, like you said, that was the plan.

Unfortunately, you're whisked away by some of the villagers who need help with their sick relative, leaving Hansol stranded in the village square.

“You don't have to stay,” you insist to him, as you're rushed off to deal with the medical emergency. “Seriously, Hansol, you can go home. Especially if anyone starts throwing insults, then just go, okay? I'll be with you as soon as I finish.”

Hansol watches you go, head tilted, slightly amused. It's kind of cute that you think he needs protecting. You know, since he's an ancient demon, and all. But before he can say as such, there's a small voice near his knee, and he looks down to see a small child, piping up in favour of him.

“Don't worry about Mister Fox!” the small boy chirps brightly. “We will look after him!”

And as if out of nowhere (seriously, where do these kids come from?) several children come up to him and cling to his robes, waving at you as you leave the market square. Hansol waves too, mystified by the miniature support latching onto him, but also a bit touched by their loyalty. They're really sweet.

“So what do you wanna do, Mister Fox?” the first little boy says, and Hansol recognises him as one of the first children to come up to him a few days ago. Minjun. “Are you hungry?”

Without even waiting for Hansol's answer, Minjun and the rest of the children start ushering him to the food stalls, fiercely advocating for their choice of what Mister Fox should eat first.

“Wait,” Hansol says, interrupting the particularly fierce fight over having hotteok or bungeoppang first. “Kids. Do you have any money?”

There's a short silence, and all the children look down, which is how he learns that they don't, and so they don't end up buying anything at all. Except, Yeowon, who joined the discussion partway through, manages to wheedle some of the stall-owners to give her free food with her big puppy eyes and innocent pout.

It’s like a magic trick, Hansol has to give her that. And when she happily tells the vendors that she’s sharing the food with Hansol, the villagers do nothing other than blink in surprise and then smile, polite and awkward, well. That’s also an incredible magic trick too.

They sit on the outskirts of the village market, pillowed by the mounds of snow all around them as they eat their steaming hot snacks. They’re delicious, and sticky, and very sweet, so it’s not too long before Hansol has several super-hyper, sticky-fingered children on his hands, who are all practically launching themselves into the snow with the bounding amounts of energy they have.

It becomes very noisy very fast, and Hansol starts panicking slightly, before he loudly suggests they ought to go and make some snowmen, and all the children whip their heads around to look at him, wide-eyed, and then—

“That’s such a good idea!”

“Yes! Let’s do that!”

“I’m gonna make the best snowman!”

“No, me!”

“No! Me!”

And then they go tumbling off into the snow, and Hansol slumps back down, relieved. He can still see them, and he can still sense them, too, so there’s no worry in any of them getting lost. At least he can now have some peace and quiet.

Twisting his lips thoughtfully, he gathers handfuls of the white snow, turning it over. He turns it over again, and then begins patting and shaping it in his hands until he has something that resembles a little snow duck.

It’s terribly misshapen, and the beak is a bit too long to be a duck, but it’s cute, and Hansol’s pleased. He swirls his fingers in the air, and uses some magic to add finishing touches, trying to rectify the wonkiness. It doesn’t work, but he still thinks it’s cute. You’d probably find it cute, too. Right?

Probably. Hansol hums to himself contemplatively. You like everything he does. It’s very sweet, he thinks, that you’re always so receptive to him, and it’s even sweeter that you genuinely enjoy his company. You brighten like a blooming chrysanthemum, spring-like in your warmth whenever he says something to you, and it makes him feel all warm too. Ever since the first time he woke up on your couch, out of his mind with a fever, and he’d noticed your floral chrysanthemum tea scent and accidentally called you the prettiest person ever, you’ve always been so gentle and kind and oh, Hansol likes you so much.

You’re just—lovely. You’re the loveliest being he’s ever met in his entire life, and that’s saying something, because Hansol’s been alive for a really fucking long time.

“Hello.”

He’s startled out of his thoughts by a light, melodic voice coming from over his shoulder, and Hansol looks up in surprise to see a villager bent over him, warm brown eyes glinting and the corners of his lips curving upwards in a seemingly permanent smile.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you jump. I just saw you, and thought I’d say hi,” the villager says, smiling properly, extending a hand. “I’m Joshua. You’re the yokai, right?”

Hansol manoeuvres his body around awkwardly and shakes Joshua’s gloved hand. “I’m Hansol, and yeah, I am the yokai. How could you tell?” His ears flick pointedly as he talks, and Joshua’s eyes immediately go to them before he smiles wider.

“Yeah, I guess it was a silly question,” Joshua says, and his fur boots crunch in the snow as he climbs over a mound and crouches down next to Hansol. “But I don’t wanna seem impolite, you know?”

Hansol shrugs, but he understands. “Yeah. I get it.”

Joshua smiles.

They say nothing for a moment, and Hansol lifts his head up briefly to check on the children. He can still see all of them, actually, dotted about the edges of the market as they build their snowmen. He watches them thoughtfully, and then down at the snow at his feet.

It only takes a moment for a snowman of his own to begin to form, aided by his magic as the snowballs roll themselves to become bigger and more round.

“That’s really cool,” Joshua comments, and Hansol had almost forgotten he was there. He’s so quiet, feather-silent, but when he catches Hansol’s eye and smiles, there’s a twinkle to his presence that makes him wonder how he could have ever forgotten him. “I’ve never seen anyone other than Y/N be able to do that.”

“Hm?” Hansol looks at the snowman that’s slowly being built. “Oh, well, it’s nothing, really.”

Even as he says so, his tail fluffs up in pride at Joshua’s words, and he begins adding more and more intricate frost details to the snowman. The feathery patterns wind through the body of his creation, like embroidery, and Joshua whistles, amazed.

“It’s very cool. Your magic is very cool.”

Hansol shrugs, bashful. “Thank you. But really, it’s nothing.” As the snowman continues to construct itself, he leans over to Joshua as if confiding a secret. “In the wild, there are yokai who can create literal monsters out of ice. In about five seconds flat. But I mostly just deal with frost and snow, so it’s a lot more difficult for me.”

Joshua tilts his head, genuine interest written all over his face. “Oh. I didn’t know there were differences in yokai magic.”

“Of course there are,” Hansol says, like it’s obvious. “Like there are differences in humans’ skills, there are differences for yokai, too. We are not unlike you, you know.”

“I suppose that’s true,” Joshua says thoughtfully. And then he looks Hansol in the eye again, smiling. Joshua is honestly so friendly, and even though they only met two minutes ago, he feels like he’s known him for years. “So you won’t object to being friends with a human, right?”

Hansol blinks, surprised, and Joshua’s smile just widens. It’s obvious what he’s asking, and Hansol feels… touched, that he’d even suggest such a thing.

“Yeah,” Hansol says, and his magic finishes off the snowman with an intricate flourish of frost. “I’d love to be your friend.”

“Joshua!”

The calling of the human’s name makes both Joshua and Hansol turn around, and they see one of the elder villagers coming over to them, the skirts of her robes swishing as she walks. She’s terribly intimidating, greying hair pulled back into a bun with a pointy hair stick, marching over with incredible grace even through the ankle-deep snow that has gathered. She squints at the yokai and how close Joshua is sitting to him.

“Mrs Choi,” Joshua greets, apparently oblivious to the sharpness of the woman’s gaze. “Hello. It’s very cold today, isn’t it?”

She eyeballs Hansol for a moment before nodding at Joshua. “Very. Frightful weather, but at least the children are enjoying the snow.” Mrs Choi lifts her gaze and squints into the distance, where the children are playing. “I hope someone is supervising them.”

“Oh, well, Hansol is, so don’t worry about it,” Joshua says with a smile.

Mrs Choi snaps her gaze back to them. “Is he really?” Hansol nods, doing his best to look as earnest and trustworthy as possible, and she hums. “I see.”

“He has them doing a snowman competition, actually,” Joshua says. “He’s very good at making them himself, too. Look. Don’t you think his creation looks amazing?”

He points to the snowman in front of them, glistening with frost and embroidered with thin ice, clearly a work of his magic. Hansol swallows, expecting Mrs Choi to fly into a tizzy over the presence of such witchcraft, but she just scrutinises the snowman, and then—

She smiles.

“It’s very pretty,” she says, and in the blink of an eye, her expression has turned warm. She’s smiling so nicely at Hansol, and then she leans down and brushes a hand over the top of his head, gently dusting away the snow that had landed in his hair. “Just like you, my dear.”

Hansol blinks up at her, open-mouthed. “I— thank you, ma’am.”

She chuckles, straightens, adjusts the skirt of her robes. “No need to thank me. I’m simply telling the truth.” Mrs Choi nods in the direction of the children, before turning away. “Thank you for taking care of the children, also. Keep up the good work.”

Hansol watches her go, feeling a little dazed. She had looked so sharp and stern at first, but something about him sitting there harmlessly and making a harmless snowman with harmless snow gathered in his hair must have done something to convince her that he’s, well, harmless. Which is good. Very good. Hopefully she’ll let everyone else know, too.

“Yeah, she looks scary, but Mrs Choi is anything but,” Joshua says with a laugh, when Hansol directs his wide-eyed gaze to him.

“She’s terrifying.”

“Her son takes after her,” Joshua chuckles. “Choi Seungcheol. He looks scary, but he’s a right softie on the inside, trust me.”

Hansol’s eyes widen further. “She’s Seungcheol’s mother? The village leader?”

“The one and only,” Joshua affirms. He laughs. “Don’t worry about him. His own mother found you cute. I’m sure he’ll be won over by you in no time. Especially if you keep making snowmen that rival Y/N’s in their intricacy. Seriously, I think yours are the best I’ve ever seen.”

“Shua, I hope I didn't just hear you dissing my amazing snowman building skills.”

Hansol looks up at your voice, and sees you slowly treading over to them, a drawstring bag dangling over your shoulder as you pick your way through the snow. The tip of your nose is red from the cold, cheeks a pretty pink with an amused smile on your face, and the moment he sees you, it’s like you’ve stolen his breath away.

Whilst Hansol’s too busy being starstruck, Joshua laughs, leaning back on his hands.

“So what if I was?” he teases, and nods to Hansol’s snowman. “Doesn’t it look amazing?”

You look away, directing your gaze to the snowman. Humming thoughtfully, you eye Hansol’s creation, and he begins to grow a little nervous under your critical silence, fiddling with his fingers and digging them into the snow, wisps of cold air seeping from his skin.

And then you smile, a lopsided smirk that makes Hansol feel a little dizzy.

“I can certainly do better.”

Before he can say anything, you set down your bag, and with a flick of your wrist the snow begins to swirl and gather itself before you. Under your command, golden streaks of magic begin to press the snow together, creating larger shapes that you obviously plan to sculpt into a showstopping piece.

You look almost relaxed in your movements, the entire process taking nothing more than a slight twitch of your fingers as magic sparks zip around the sculpture that’s gradually beginning to form. Hansol can only watch in awe, amazed at the fluidity and effortlessness of your power. By his side, he thinks he hears Joshua chuckle softly.

After a few short moments, the three of you are staring at a large, smoothly finished sculpture of a winter fox, and you smile and cross your arms, satisfied.

“What do you think?” you say, smug, confident in your belief that you’ve proved yourself.

Hansol’s jaw is on the floor. Delicate pointy ears, a fluffy-looking tail all made out of snow, and wow, are those whiskers? Did you really make whiskers?

“Wow,” is all he can say, staring at this lifelike fox that’s made entirely out of snow. “Wow.”

Just then, there are high-pitched exclamations from somewhere in the distance, and the children that Hansol’s been supervising come bounding over, shouting in amazement at the fox that you’ve made.

“Hi, kids,” you say when they’re close enough, laughing when Yeowon barrels into your legs to give you a hug. “Quick question, which snow sculpture do you think is better? The fox, or the Frosty the Snowman?”

They all look very thoughtfully at the two snow pieces in front of them, before unanimously pointing to your creation, and you grin triumphantly at Joshua and Hansol. Hansol just smiles back, totally expecting such an outcome. You’d beat him any day when it comes to stuff like this, and he’s totally fine with that.

“That’s not even a snowman,” Joshua protests, but it’s clear he’s arguing just for the fun of it. “Y/N, that’s not a fair competition.”

You shrug flippantly. “I’d win anyway.” And then you wink, pleased, and Hansol feels like burying himself in the snow just to try and get rid of his red cheeks.

“Mister Fox, we wanna play with you now,” Minjun says, and he looks up to see the children standing around him, red-cheeked and damp-haired but still eager to play more. “Can we play a game with you?”

“It’s getting late,” Hansol tries to say, but apparently, that had been a rhetorical question, because they’re hauling him up to his feet so they can play with him. “The market’s already closing. Shouldn’t you all go back to your parents now? Joshua? Y/N?” He looks back pleadingly as he gets dragged away, and you and Joshua just laugh, waving him goodbye.

“Have a nice time!” Joshua calls, standing up from the snow and brushing down his clothes. He stands closer to you, smiling as you both watch him begin to play. “He’s good with them, isn’t he?”

You smile too. “He really is.”

“The best,” another voice adds, and you look over your shoulder to see some of the villagers also watching Hansol. They’re all the parents, and yet they seem perfectly content to let their children play around with the yokai, any trace of hostility gone from their faces.

That makes you smile wider. “I’m glad you think so, Mrs Lee,” you say, and the woman smiles back. “Don’t worry. He’ll keep your children safe.”

Mrs Lee bows her head in acknowledgement, eyes turning soft as you all watch Hansol let the children punt tiny clumps of snow at him. “We know.”

They stay with you for a little longer, chatting about Hansol’s gentle nature and how wonderfully he gets along with the children, before eventually they disperse and begin packing up the market for the day. Next to you, Joshua is also smiling, looking fond, which is really weird because he barely knows Hansol but there’s definitely a clear look of admiration and affection in his face. Before you can comment on it, though, he pats you on the shoulder, and begins to step away.

“I better go,” he says. “Cheol’s coming your way. I think he wants a talk.”

He bids you goodbye then trudges back through the snow, and you look over your shoulder to see that Seungcheol really is coming your way. Instead of greeting him, however, you look back out at Hansol, and wait until the village leader is by your side.

“Hello, Y/N.”

“Hello, Seungcheol.”

You don’t offer him anything else, and so the two of you stand there in silence, continuing to watch Hansol play with the children. It is an adorable sight, though, and makes the corners of your lips twitch upwards the longer the silence goes on. He’s totally lenient with them, letting them pull his tail and ambush him with damp gloves and shrieking laughter. His head whips back and forth constantly between the two sides of kids that have inexplicably formed, somehow finding himself in the crossfire as snowballs get flung around him.

It’s cute, and it makes you laugh, heart warming with fondness. You can feel Seungcheol watching you out of the corner of your eye, and when it’s clear he’s not going to say anything until you do, you sigh and turn your back on Hansol at last, raising an eyebrow.

“Well?” you prompt. “What’s up? You didn’t come find me just to say hello.”

Seungcheol pauses, and looks down. “No. I didn’t.” A beat. “My mother actually told me you were here.”

“Okay. And?”

“She talked to Hansol,” he says, and both your eyebrows raise this time, in surprise. “She said to me that she liked him, and she wanted me to open my eyes and finally realise how much of a good person he is.”

Seungcheol clasps his hands behind his back, rocking on his heels. He looks over your shoulder, at where Hansol is undoubtedly doing something silly to entertain the children, and his eyes go gentle. They don’t soften, and they certainly don’t melt, but his gaze becomes a little more mellow, like a layer of hardness has finally given way.

“And he is a good person,” Seungcheol says, looking at you again. “I’ve been watching him all day. All week, in fact, and even if my mother hadn’t said anything, I would’ve sought you out to tell you this, because I think I owe you an apology.”

You breathe a laugh. “You certainly do,” you say, but there’s no real bite. Seungcheol’s actions were understandable. You’ve already forgiven him.

Seungcheol seems to know that too, because his lips quirk up into a half-smile. Nevertheless, his words are genuine when he says, “I’m sorry. I was too rash, and too harsh. Any worries I had over yokai did not excuse the way I talked about Hansol. Do you think you can also tell him how sorry I am?”

You draw in a long breath, cross your arms and lean back, staring down your nose at Seungcheol. His smile wavers, a little, but then you relax, breaking out into a grin.

“You can tell him yourself. He’d love to talk to you,” you say, and Seungcheol smiles too. “I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have reacted like that. You’re just looking out for the village, like you always do. But…” You shrug. “I was looking out for my kind, also. I was frustrated that you were treating Hansol like that just because he was a yokai.”

Seungcheol breathes out, wisps of white spilling from his lips. “I get that. It makes sense that you felt that way.” His eyes lighten with mischief suddenly, his smile taking on a teasing edge. “Especially considering the fact you’re in love with him, too.”

The world grinds to a halt. You stumble, taken aback by Seungcheol’s words. “I’m sorry, what?”

Nothing else gets to be said about the matter, though, because a small child goes zooming past you right at that moment, brushing against your side. And then, half a millisecond later, a fat clump of snow hits you square in the back.

The child continues running off, bubbling laughter fading into the market square. Slowly, very slowly, you spin on your heel and come face-to-face with the culprit.

Hansol’s still frozen in his throw position, one hand incriminatingly covered with snow. The moment he sees your face, his face breaks into a wide grin, that beautiful, big grin that shows the slight point of his yokai fangs. His eyes are glowing, alight with amusement and another, warmer emotion you can’t quite name.

He tilts his head to the side, eyeing the snow gently tumbling down your back. “Whoops?”

“Whoops?” you echo, breathing a laugh. You look at Seungcheol, as if saying Can you believe this guy? before turning back to Hansol, a handful of snow magically making its way into your hands. “Oh, you’re going to be saying a lot more than ‘Whoops’ in a minute.”

Hansol laughs, holding his hands up placatingly. “Now hold on a minute—”

Abruptly, his head jerks back, and he gets knocked off his center of balance by the force of the snowball you’d just lobbed at him.

You burst into laughter as Hansol, sitting on the ground and with snow in his hair and up his nose, wipes his eyes with a grin. “Now you’re just asking for it, I think.”

Still laughing, you snap your fingers, and several more balls of snow float up around you. “Oh, it’s on.”

Cut to several minutes later, and somehow, the snowball fight between the two of you has devolved into a village-wide thing, children slipping and sliding in the snow alongside their parents as Seungcheol yells at his team to close ranks and you yell at yours to focus their sights on Hansol. The icy air stings your cheeks, and at some point it begins to snow again, hard, blurring your sight, but the whole thing still continues, the square filled with the laughter of the villagers.

And throughout it all, Hansol manages to find your gaze no matter where he is, gold eyes seeking your gold magic, and the beautiful sound of his laughter leaves you breathless every time.

───────────── ‘✽,

All things considered, perhaps it’s totally expected that you end up falling for Hansol.

You don’t get to truly mull over Seungcheol’s last words until much later, when you and Hansol have both changed out of your sopping wet clothes and are sitting curled up together on the sofa, both of you blinking sleepily at the fire you’ve lit in the fireplace.

The snowball fight ended incredibly amiably, with everyone agreeing that Seungcheol’s team had obliterated everyone else’s, despite the lack of magic users in his group. You’d helped some of the villagers dust themselves off, and used magic to dry off the people who had gotten the most wet. Soonyoung, inexplicably, looked like he’d been dunked five times in a swimming pool, rather than emerging victorious from a snowball fight.

Finishing with Soonyoung, you’d looked back, and of course—Hansol was playing with the children, again, as if he had endless reserves of energy to spare. But in between letting the kids climb his legs and play with his swishing tail, he was chatting with the rest of the villagers, helping them tidy away their things.

It made you smile.

And then Hansol had looked back at you, as if sensing your gaze, and his entire face had lit up, brighter than the brightest summer’s day, and he’d quickly said goodbye to the villagers before coming bounding over to you, face so open and comfortable and warm and—

Yeah. You like him a lot. And you’re sure that he likes you a lot too.

Hansol yawns, big and wide and content, his tail flicking lazily as he rests on your shoulder. Outside, the snowfall has increased to a snowstorm, complete with howling winds and dark, looming clouds, but inside, your cottage is warm, and you have a sleepy yokai pressed against your side, and life is, admittedly, kind of perfect.

There’s just one thing, though.

You need to tell him.

Lost in thought, you shift around absentmindedly, and Hansol looks up questioningly at the movement. The warmth of your magic prickles softly in the air around you, and when he takes your hand, you can feel his own magic murmuring softly in tandem with your own.

He continues to look at you, and then smiles, eyes glowing. Goodness, he really is so pretty.

“I like you,” you whisper, the words falling from your lips as if he’s enchanted you, bewitched you into saying how you truly feel for all to see. “I like you, Hansol.”

Hansol blinks, slow, cat-like. He lifts his head up, pulls away slightly from your shoulder so he can sit up and look at you properly. His eyes are shining, slitted pupils widening and rounding in adoration.

“That’s good,” he says. “Because I think you’re the prettiest person alive.”

It’s almost a direct copy of the first words he’d said to you, almost a lifetime ago, when he had been out of his mind with a fever, red-cheeked and hazy-eyed and fixated on the way you smelled like chrysanthemums. The memory makes you laugh, heart squeezing with fondness, and you reach forward to cup Hansol’s cheeks, smiling wider when his eyes flutter shut briefly and he leans trustingly into your touch.

“That’s funny,” you say. “Because I think you’re the prettiest person alive.”

Hansol’s eyes crinkle as he smiles, showing those yokai fangs that you adore so much. His ears twitch with happiness, light speckles of frost covering his cheeks as he blushes. He’s so pretty, and you love him so much.

Slowly, you inch closer until the tip of his nose brushes against yours. So close that you can count the snowflake-shaped freckles on his cheeks.

“You forgot to say it back, though,” you murmur. “Hansol, you didn’t say you like me back.”

Hansol breathes a soft laugh. “I thought it was obvious.” His smile widens, so enamoured that it warms your heart. “Y/N, I like you too. In fact, I think I’m in love with you.”

You beam. “You know what? I think I’m in love with you too.”

And then you lean forward, and Hansol leans in too, and your lips meet in the softest, sweetest kiss. He tastes like magic, like love, like soft snow that numbs your senses but leaves your heart alive and alight and oh, this is everything you never knew you needed and more.

Hansol’s silver-white hair is falling into his eyes when you pull away, his golden irises shining brightly through them like dazzling, gorgeous sunlight peeking through the translucent colours of snowfall. The sight makes you instantly lean in to kiss him again, dizzy with adoration because goodness, this happiness is for you. He looks like this because he loves you.

And you love him too.

fics tags: @jeonginssa @weird-bookworm @minhui896 @slytherinshua @haowrld @belladaises @moonlitskiiies @mirxzii @zozojella @kawennote09 @a-wandering-stay @abibliolife @doublasting @wonranghaeee @icyminghao @sweet-like-caramel @your-yxnnie @odxrilove @kyeomyun @crackedpumpkin @jeonride @kellesvt @eightlightstar @onlyyjeonghan @aaniag @starshuas @raevyng @isabellah29 @hrts4hanniehae @mcu-incorrect @dokyeomkyeom @suraandsugar @haodore @tulsa24 @melodicrabbit

#m:hvc #f:os #g:angst #g:fluff #g:fantasy #*angry fist-shaking* SEUNGCHEOL YOU WILL RUE THE DAY!!!!#i know he comes around toward the end but like... sir you're still on my naughty list... i need a begging crying apology #but i love reader and hansol's companionship and loyalty to each other <3 #and how their magic brought them closer throughout the fic #the descriptions of the magic were so beautiful! i love that from your words you could create a vision of their powers in your head #like it was just very pleasing to read #you obviously put a lot of care into building up their abilities and it shows!!#sidenote: reader's cottage is so interesting bc what do you mean you have a secret magic library that expands in size #i was lowkey thinking of spongebob's library 😭#and since hansol is a winter yokai what happens to him in the summer? :o like would his magic weaken?#he needs 20 ice cold lemonades STAT!!!#this is a great light-hearted read for when you need some fluffiness and tenderness and beauty in ur life #i feel refreshed #like i just drank a glass of ice cold water at three in the morning

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chilligyu · 4 years ago

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info: hong jisoo/reader, teen+, street fighter/friends to lovers au genre: drama, romance, angst | word ct: 5k warnings: descriptions of wounds, violence, fighting, blood, unrequited love summary: once upon a time, two young children made a promise. for nearly twenty long years they kept that promise. but everyone has their breaking point. and she found hers. note: this story has been written, rewritten, edited, smooshed together, more times than I care to admit. but,,, I think I finally got it to a point that I'm really proud of. thank you to everyone who's helped me out along the way, @xfirebenderx you have been my saving grace. tysm!!

tagging: @joshuas, @moriiyun, @starlightjoong, @lavenonie and @sincerelyskye

“Please…”

A familiar voice begged her quietly from the darkness.

“Don’t leave me…”

With a shaky hand on the doorknob, she froze. She kept her back to him, unable to fully process what was happening. Trying desperately to fight the urge to run as far away from him as she could.

How did everything go so wrong? She wondered to herself, on the brink of tears. What happened to you?

The answer wasn’t so simple, but God it would’ve been easier if she left. She should’ve left months ago but she didn’t, she couldn’t. She would stay by his side and endure everything because she made him a childish promise so many years ago.

Back when they were young, she promised to never abandon him. To never turn her back, to be there for him because no one else was. And he made promises that echoed the same. They were best friends, after all. It had always been them against the world. Despite that, despite everything they had been through together, her better judgement was screaming at her to go. She wanted nothing more than to leave him behind, to finally save her battered heart from the person who kept breaking it.

From him, Hong Jisoo, the one person she promised she would never leave.

“Okay.” She whispered. “I’ll stay.”

She turned around slowly, stomaching her pride and well-being because he needed her. Inhale, exhale. She wouldn’t cry over him, not yet. He needed her, he needed something. He was laying on her couch, blood soaking the cheap upholstery, and his body was shaking from shock. There wasn’t much she could do, but she was all he had. They were all they had.

While she cleaned his wounds, she struggled to pinpoint the exact moment when he had taken things too far. For as long as she could remember, he had always toed the edge of mostly acceptable and borderline insane with a certain amount of grace. That’s what set him apart from everyone else, apart from his extremely deep sense of justice, overwhelming selflessness, and eagerness to do whatever he could to help people in need. Often at the expense of his own wellbeing.

From chasing purse snatchers to sneaking into abandoned warehouses that weren’t actually abandoned just to save pit bulls from dog fights, Jisoo made it painfully clear that he lacked the minimum amount of self-preservation. It wasn’t uncommon for him to get in way over his head, but she would always be there to help him out. He was a bit of a troublemaker, that much was obvious. Not that she ever cared. Because no matter how much trouble he got into, there was always a good reason. He promised her that a long time ago.

That was a promise he didn’t need to make because she knew full well that Jisoo was, and still is, a good person. Everything he did, every crazy endeavor, was to help people. She had seen it firsthand enough times in her life. That was how they met back in nursery school, after a particularly nasty classmate put gum in her hair Jisoo leapt into action. He tackled the kid to the ground with ease and taught him a thing or two. That was also the first time she saw him get into a fight, and it wouldn’t be the last.

What she couldn’t understand, what she couldn’t even begin to wrap her head around, was why he got into street fighting of all things? Because that wasn’t somewhere in the grey area between acceptable and insane, that was insane. That was way past insane. Not to mention it was against everything Jisoo stood for. How did her capeless hero go from selflessly protecting others to actively hurting people? What changed? What was the reason? And how on earth did she get caught up in this mess?

The answer was simple, and she didn’t like it one bit. All he had to do to convince her was ask. He asked a simple question, one wrapped up in the pact they made as children.

“Remember how you said you’d always be there for me?” He started nervously one afternoon while she was studying in the library. “I have a favor to ask…”

Honestly, she couldn’t remember exactly how he worded it, but she got the gist of it. Her best friend wanted to become a street fighter, to hurt people for money, and he wanted her to come with him. He said he didn’t want to worry his roommates by coming home late at night when he could crash at her place. That way if he got hurt, she could patch him up like she always did, and no one would be the wiser. He discussed all of this with her like it was the most normal thing in the world. Like getting beat up regularly was no big deal at all.

Part of her wanted to scream at him, to berate him for making such reckless decisions, to take him by the ear and drag him home to his parents so they could give him a piece of their mind—

Then, he smiled at her. The very same smile that could melt the coldest of hearts and her mind went completely blank. She couldn’t remember much of the specifics after that because he had effectively hypnotized her with his infectious smile. She didn’t even make a fuss which wasn’t typical of her in the slightest. Not that she could ever imagine saying no to him, nor did she even plan to. He needed her, he’s always needed her.

Still, she desperately wanted it all to be a bad dream. Even as she stood on the sidelines for the very first time watching her best friend get punched, kicked, tackled and more, she prayed that it wasn’t real. She did her best to ignore how he grunted in pain, how the crowd turned ravenous over the sight of spilled blood, and how he looked eerily similar to the caged dogs he used to save from that same fate. Seeing him like that made her heart ache in ways she never knew it could.

How she missed the days when the worst thing Jisoo got involved in was under the table delivery jobs and falling out of trees trying to save stray kittens. Because when she looked at the man standing in the ring wearing her best friend's face, grinning triumphantly with his hands in the air, she could hardly recognize him. He looked nothing like the kid who protected others no matter what. Not with all that blood on his face.

Who are you and what have you done with Jisoo? She worried to herself as she toweled off his brow. Why are you doing this to yourself? What could possibly be worth all of this?

Still, she attended every fight and acted as his personal medic. She promised him that much. And for a short period of time, it went pretty well. For several weeks he was on a winning streak, no one could beat him. Much to the dismay of the people placing bets against him. See, while Jisoo didn’t look like much of a fighter, or the type of guy to even get into a fight, he was really good at it. That’s why she never worried about him being outmatched in the ring, he could handle himself. Not only that, before every match, he made her a promise.

“For good luck?” He asked sheepishly with his pinky finger extended. “I can’t do this without you.”

Looking at his finger, she thought back to all the times they made each other a promise over the tiniest things. It started when they were young. When he was going into a test or a school competition she made him promise to do well, kick ass, and various other things. It seemed silly to her back then, but it always worked out. Because Jisoo always swore up and down that if it was a promise to her, he would follow through without fail. And she believed it, even when the odds were stacked against him. She had to because it was the only way she could sleep at night.

“Promise me you’ll be safe.” She said calmly, locking pinky’s with him.

“I promise.”

“Promise me you’ll be smart.”

“I promise.”

“Promise me you’ll win.” She finished with a weak smile.

He nodded, grinning ear to ear. “I promise.”

Right before he turned away, fully prepared for the violent show he was about to put on, she pulled him back in for a reassuring hug. As much as she didn’t want to see him get hurt, even though she couldn’t stand the thought of watching him helplessly from the sideline, a promise was a promise.

“Be careful out there.” She whispered in his ear.

He held her close for a brief moment. “I will. Don’t worry about me.”

If I don’t then who will?

They lingered a bit longer than either intended. Eventually Jisoo headed out into the crowd with his hands raised proudly over his head, and she pretended to be happy for him. The crowd cheered on the newest contender while her stomach did backflips. Everything seemed fine until his opponent landed a blow that sent Jisoo to his knees. In truth, she almost gave up right then and there.

I think I’m going to be sick...

Why she didn’t draw the line at street fighting back then, the one thing she couldn’t support, was beyond her. Or why she thought it would be a good idea to stand there and constantly watch her best friend get beaten senseless time and time again. She swore that she had absolutely no clue way she let him get away with everything, why she didn’t try to make him see reason long ago—

But she did.

Because I’m hopelessly in love. She sighed, wringing out the blood soaked towel. I’m in love with a man I can never abandon, no matter how much it hurts.

Maybe if she wasn’t, she would’ve had the courage to leave and never look back.

She had accepted that being in love with her best friend was going to be hard, even when she was just silently pining from a distance. In hindsight she didn’t realize how easy it was back then compared to how it is now. Watching the man she loved throw himself into dangerous situations with reckless abandon or never knowing when he would appear on her doorstep in dire need of help did not bode well for her sanity. Because loving Hong Jisoo was the equivalent to getting her heart broken every single day. She had to be ready to lose track of him for several days, she had to be willing to drive to the ER at three in the morning, and she lived every day wondering if today was the day. The day that he happily followed his moral compass off a cliff simply because it pointed him there.

The moment that Jisoo stopped being a misguided rescuer and became a selfless martyr wasn’t one she could name. When they were in school, everything seemed so innocent. He was always trying to save the lost souls of the world, even the ones who didn’t want saving. He would only date girls who needed fixing, doted on friends that needed his help, and everyday he tried to save people from themselves.

Surprisingly, she didn’t fit into any of those categories. She was the type to save herself. Throughout their lives she never asked him for anything, and perhaps that’s why they were such good friends. The last thing she wanted to be was another one of his projects, a hopeless cause he refused to give up on. If anything—he was hers. Over the years she stood by him, desperately hoping that he would eventually get a grip on reality. That maybe he would see the light and stop being so—good. She hated herself for thinking about it that way, but it was the truth. She knew better than anyone that if he didn’t find some sort of balance he would run himself to the ground.

Much like he was actively doing.

“Not going to wish me good luck today?” He teased her as he wrapped his fists.

She rolled her eyes. “You need a lot more than luck, Jisoo.”

“Ouch.” He winced unconvincingly. “Don’t tell me you’re going to break tradition, I don’t know how I’ll make it without you.”

“You’re being ridiculous.” She muttered.

“I didn’t realize that my concern for safety was ridiculous!” He laughed, clearly unable to read the room. “C’mon, don’t leave me hanging. I need you.”

And I need you to stop hurting yourself.

Despite her thoughts, she raised her pinky finger towards him with a sigh. “Promise me.”

She made him promise to be quick on his feet, to be smart out there, and to win. While the words spilled out of her mouth she had a sinking feeling in her stomach, heavy and all consuming. Dread. And as he ran out to start his fight the feeling only got worse. Something was about to go terribly wrong and she knew it.

Her mind wandered back to their days in school, when Jisoo was the beautiful contradiction of a perfect student with a shady background. People saw him running deliveries late at night, dealing a lot in cash and thought the worst. She knew the truth, she knew that his neighbour had injured himself and couldn’t afford to hire anyone to take care of deliveries. So instead of watching from the sideline, Jisoo did what he did best. He helped the old man secretly and accepted what little payment he could offer.

How she missed those days of innocence and promise. How she missed the memories of Jisoo’s selfless actions, ones that were slowly being lost beneath the sea of blood.

It turns out she was right to be worried. It was the first time Hong Jisoo ever broke a promise to her. He was carried out of the makeshift arena by two other fighters, barely able to stand on his own. They threw him at her feet and left without a word because he had lost. Before shock had a chance to set in she scrambled to his side with a wet rag, instinctively wiping off the blood that covered him while she did her best to keep her dinner down. He looked—he looked terrible. She had a hard time recalling a worse sight in her entire life.

He was barely recognizable.

“I’m sorry…” He said weakly, his good eye pleading with her. “I broke my promise…”

“Shut up.” She instructed him. “Don’t even think of that right now, let’s just get you home.”

It was a struggle getting him back to her apartment. He wasn’t a big guy but he wasn’t tiny either. Luckily her roommates were nowhere to be seen so they wouldn’t have to explain anything to them. Only a few people knew the truth of Jisoo and she had a feeling that the list was getting shorter. After lugging him up the stairs she got him onto her couch, not even bothering to try and keep it clean, and pulled the med kit out of her bag.

Since he started fighting she had no shortage of rags to clean him up with, they had become somewhat of a necessity. Still, she somehow dirtied every single one trying to get him clean. It would’ve been easier to sit him in a hot shower and let modern technology work its magic, but he couldn’t sit up on his own let alone stand. Not only that, he kept drifting in and out of consciousness. She didn’t want to risk him falling.

Eventually he was clean and everything seemed to be—okay. Or as okay as he could be after that. Just looking at him had her on the brink of tears. She couldn’t stand seeing him like that, a mere shadow of the man she had loved for so long. His right eye was swollen shut, his nose most definitely had been broken, and the smile that melted her heart had been cut through. She didn’t even dare to look at the rest of him, at the bruises peering out from underneath his tank top and the open wounds that seeped through his jeans.

I need to be strong. She decided. For him.

Except that was only an hour ago.

And she had no strength left.

Once he fell asleep her resolve finally broke. She promised herself when this all began that she would never let him know how much the whole ordeal hurt her deep down inside. No matter what, she wouldn’t cry in front of him. She wouldn’t be someone he had to worry about, she wouldn’t be able to forgive herself. But enough was enough. Whether she wanted to or not, she couldn’t stop the tears from falling. She wept freely over someone she cared for, admired, and loved despite everything he put her through. Because he swore that even if every bone in his body was broken, he would never break a promise to her.

But he did, and she couldn’t trust him anymore.

“Please…” He begged quietly. “Don’t cry…”

She didn’t stir at the sound of his voice, or the reassuring hand on hers. “Why are you doing this to yourself, Jisoo? What is worth all of this pain? Can you at least tell me that much?”

Silence descended upon them in response to the one question that he refused to answer. It drove her crazy, that he was doing this to himself and wouldn’t even tell her why. Why he suddenly transitioned from an angelic rebel without a cause to a ruthless brawler in the streets. She felt like the little boy that chased away bullies was slipping from her grasp, the Jisoo that was laying in front of her—she could hardly recognize.

And she decided that night that she wouldn’t have a part in it anymore.

The next time he called her to meet him for a fight, she didn’t respond. Nor did she respond to any message he left after that. For weeks she had absolutely nothing to do with Hong Jisoo. He left her a dozen voicemails, a hundred messages, and she told herself that she didn’t care. He broke a promise to her so she broke one to him. She couldn’t stand there and let him break her heart over and over again without consequence. Street fighting—she wasn’t going to support that any longer.

That didn’t mean her heart didn’t ache for him anymore. She wasn’t sure if that would ever be the case. She made some acquaintances while she attended Jisoo’s fights so she was able to keep tabs on him, forever fearing the moment when he was going to take it too far. When, not if, the next call she got from him came from a hospital. Sometimes the news was good, sometimes it was bad. She felt equally terrible each time.

In fact she felt terrible consistently, regardless of Jisoo fighting or not. As the days passed the sensation only seemed to get worse. She left him to stop feeling so horrible, to let her heart heal in some way. Apparently leaving him wasn’t as easy as she hoped. She still longed to see him, to make sure he was okay, to be there for the one person who had always been there for her. The one who asked her to stand by him, and the one she left behind.

After not speaking to him for almost a month she showed up at his apartment with kiwi ice cream as an apology. It wasn’t much, but that’s all she needed in the past so at least it would be a good start if he was still mad at her—if he had ever been mad at her at all. They had never really fought before, not to a point where she refused to talk to him. It was new territory for both of them. She had to keep reminding herself that things would never be the same and she would have to accept it. This was his life now, and maybe it could be hers.

When he opened the door though, her heart stopped.

Jisoo was basically bandaged from head to toe, his arm was held precariously in a sling and what little skin she could see was beaten black and blue. Butterfly bandaids kept open wounds together, injuries she had already taken care of had scarred, and her heart shattered into a million pieces all over again.

“Hey.” He greeted, ignoring her devastated expression. “Long time no see.”

“Jisoo…” She gasped. “You—you’re—”

“I’m fine.” He tried to reassure her. “I know it looks bad but I’m—”

“If you say I’m fine one more time I’m going to snap.” She hissed through her teeth. “You’re not fine, you look like absolute hell. You can’t keep doing this to yourself!”

He laughed, quite unconvincingly. “This is nothing, I promise you I’m—“

“Enough of your stupid promises!” She screamed at him. “I’m fucking sick of them!”

“I know I broke my promise to you,” He started with a sigh, “but we both knew that just because I promised you something, didn’t mean that I—”

He stopped when he saw the tears falling from her eyes.

“Oh please don’t cry.” He begged. “You can yell at me, you can hate me, but please, please, don’t cry.”

“I won’t stop.” She informed him. “If you’re going to keep going out and fighting for no goddamn reason and coming back looking like this then I’m not going to stop worrying about you!”

Shaking his head, he headed back into his apartment. “And if I have a reason?”

“Then tell me!” She begged as she finally unraveled. “Jisoo—if you’re not going to tell me why you’re doing this then I can’t be your friend anymore. I can’t stand here and watch you get beaten up for money. And I hate that you even asked me in the first place! I’ve been through enough for you and have asked for anything, not a damn thing except for an explanation! After everything I’ve endured for you I’m pretty fucking sure I’m owed that much!”

As he turned back around she could see the hurt in his eyes. “I know, I know, I’m sorry, I just—it’ll get better, I’ll prepare more, I—”

“You’re completely missing the point!” She cried. “I’m not watching the person I love get beat within an inch of his life every other night! I can’t do this anymore! I’m sick of worrying about you every time you’re out of my sight. It’s not fair, it’s not healthy! And you’re honestly an asshole if you think I’m going to stand by you while you do this for a minute longer!”

When she turned to leave, her confession laid out at his feet, broken and bloody like her heart, Jisoo reached out for her one last time.

“What did you just say?” He whispered, sorrow in his eyes. “Did you just—”

“Yes.” She confirmed. “I love you Jisoo and I always have, but I won’t put myself through this anymore. Since you’re not going to stop then this is goodbye. I can’t love a man who doesn’t even care that he’s broken my heart more times than I can count.”

He didn’t let go of her.

“Please, let me explain.” He pleaded with her. “Don’t leave like this.”

“So now you’re going to tell me?” She spat, turning and yanking her arm from his grasp. “After I’ve just confessed to you now you’re going to tell me everything? I didn’t realize the truth came with a price. You’re an ass that’s got everyone fooled. Even me.”

“I know, I am.” He agreed, running his good hand through his hair. “I didn’t want to bother you with my reasons, I didn’t want to get you involved. But it wasn’t fair of me to keep you in the dark like that. I never should’ve done that to you.”

Crossing her arms, she waited.

“You remember that old man I helped out as a kid?” He started. “The shop owner?”

She nodded.

“A car crashed into his shop a few months ago.” He continued. “The damage was too much for insurance to cover and he didn’t have the money to get it fixed on his own so I offered to help. My usual side jobs weren’t paying me enough, so my boss told me about the underground fights and how lucrative they can be…”

“Jisoo—” She exasperated. “Please tell me you haven’t been—”

“I have.” He admitted sheepishly. “I’ve been—I’ve been giving him the winnings from my fights. To help him out. I just wanted him to—”

“You’re telling me that this has just been another one of your selfless missions?” She questioned in disbelief. “Have you told him where the money’s coming from? Does he know that you’re risking your life for him? Do you think that’s what he wants? Do you think that anyone with any ounce of decency would ever want this?”

Jisoo pursed his lips. “Well, no, but that’s why I didn’t tell you. I didn’t—don’t—want him to know. It would break his heart—”

“So it’s okay to break my heart but not his?” She laughed bitterly. “You know what, fine. I’m done. You’ve shown me that you only care about the well-being of others. I’m obviously nothing to you. I don’t even care why you’re doing this anymore. I’m leaving, and you—”

He interrupted her tirade with a kiss. Forceful and desperate, trying to cling to whatever relationship they had. One that had been mangled and shredded to a point where she wasn’t sure there was anything left to save. Mustering her strength, she pushed him away. She might’ve loved him but that wasn’t what she wanted.

“You’re right.” He finally admitted. “Losing you isn’t worth all of this, I’ll stop. Promise.”

“Your promises mean nothing to me.” She said vehemently, tears springing from her eyes in anger. “What’s to say you won’t break this one too?”

“Because I love you.” He whispered. “And I know now that everything I’ve put your through hasn’t been right or fair but I promise—I swear that this will be different. No more fighting, that all stops now.”

She wasn’t convinced. “And what about tomorrow when someone asks you for a loan? Or when some stranger needs your fucking kidney? What’re you going to do then? I love that you’re so needlessly kind and generous but what you’re doing isn’t kindness anymore. It’s martyrdom and I’m scared of what you’re going to do next! At what point do you finally say no?”

For a long time there was silence.

“I’m sorry.” He returned quietly. “I’m sorry that I don’t know when to stop and I’m sorry that you always get dragged into these things. I’m sorry that I’ve just become so accustomed to your support that I expect it regardless of how stupid I’m being. I’m sorry that I didn’t know how much I was hurting you, I’m sorry that I’m in love with you just like you’re in love with me. I’m sorry I’m probably the hardest person in the world to love. But I promise you that things will be different now.”

She wanted to believe him, she really did. She wanted to run into his arms, never let him go, and have everything return to normal. She wanted to go back to when they were teenagers hiding a stray dog in his garage so his parents didn’t find out, back to when the only calls she got in the middle of the night were about new adventures and childish discoveries. Back when loving Jisoo didn’t hurt. Not like this.

She wasn’t sure that existed anymore.

“Jisoo I don’t—” She started, chewing on her lower lip. “I don’t know if I can forget these past couple months, let alone forgive them. You proved to me that I barely know you anymore and I don’t know how to move past that.”

He nodded in understanding, he knew it was going to take a lot more than an apology to win her back. “Alright, what do you want to do then?”

A hysterical laugh spilled past her lips. “Now that I really don’t know. Just—I don’t think I can trust you as a friend so I definitely won’t trust you as anything more. I love you but—but love isn’t always enough. It’s going to take more than a guilt ridden apology to help me move on.”

“What about a promise?” He offered with a soft smile. “A promise to you.”

“Jisoo…” She sighed. “A broken promise brought us here in the first place.”

“I’m not asking you to make me promise, I’m making a promise to you.” He clarified. “No pinky promises required.”

That caught her off guard.

“I promise to never get into another paid fight.” He began confidently. “I promise to never let anything like this ever happen again. I promise not to put myself in harm's way unless I’m protecting someone. I promise to take my well-being into consideration. I promise to do everything in my power to make it up to you. And I promise to be your friend no matter what.”

While he said no pinky promises required, they locked their little fingers almost reflexively. At that realization she started sobbing, letting that small promise make her feel happy and safe for the first time in a long while. She was unsure of where they would go from there, but she had a good feeling that everything would be okay if given enough time. Because Jisoo made her a promise, and as much as she protested their childish tradition, he always made it a point to keep his promises.

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jeonginify · 4 years ago

Text

j:mixtape/heart_drive — han jisung. ·˚ ༘♡

↝ pairing: han jisung x reader ↝ genre: humor, angst, fake dating au, soundcloud rapper au ↝ word count: 24k ↝ warnings: alcohol consumption, explicit language, jisung is dumb... like actually an idiot. this is the idiots to lovers that you didn’t know you needed. some good ol’ slow burn, which i’m sure is obvious because this is a fucking beast but it must be noted, so i’m going on the record here... yes this did take me an entire year to write, no i am not proud of it but here we are. i hope you enjoy?

↝ description: for the past year, you’ve had a big fat crush on the (very) oblivious han jisung. you’ve dreamt about dating him… you just never imagined that when it finally happened, you would be the last to find out. or, jisung, in all his glorious idiocy, decides that the two of you faking a relationship is the solution to all his problems. (he, of course, conveniently forgets to let you know about it.)

At 10:30am on a Saturday morning, halfway through midterm season, you find yourself studying hopelessly at home by candle light.

You know how it sounds—studying, on a Saturday, in the morning? Just because you’re a struggling college student doesn’t mean you don’t have standards.

Except, at this point in the semester, you’re getting desperate, and all your standards are quickly going out the window. With exams and deadlines piling up, you’re barely hanging on, and it’s all you can do to not drown under the sheer amount of work you have to complete within the next week.

If you’re being honest, you’ve probably been wearing the same hoodie and leggings for the past three days, and you can’t quite remember the last time you had a proper meal—you know, one that consists of more than hot cheetos and gatorade. For the last week, you’ve bounced back and forth between your apartment, the library, and your classes like a ball inside a pinball machine, and you can feel your will to live slowly disintegrating as time passes.

As an anthropology major at a university renowned for their liberal arts programs, your curriculum is challenging—and although it is undeniable that you love what you’re studying, sometimes it can get a bit much.

It’s usually around this time in the semester, actually, that you begin to regret your life choices.

Choices like deciding it would be a good idea to study by candlelight.

In your defense, though, you don’t really have many options. Not since the storm last night that knocked out the power in your building, anyways. Your landlord promised it would all be up again by tomorrow, but you need to study (like, today) and well... Let’s just say the tiny windows in your apartment make a jail cell look like a resort.

You’re pouring over your archaeology textbook miserably when your phone chimes, startling you out of your reverie.

You fumble for your phone, eagerly dropping the pen you had been previously holding, and your best friend’s name flashes across the screen as you unlock it.

[10:37am] hyunjin: y/n r u up yet [10:37am] hyunjin: wait, dumb question. ofc u are

You almost groan when you read the messages, blinking blue across your LED screen.

You love Hyunjin, you really do. As his best friend, you don’t really have much of a choice in that manner actually. But you can’t help the dread that washes over you at his message.

Because the thing about Hyunjin is that he has a knack for coming up with harebrained ideas and half baked schemes, and always—always, no matter how hard you try—manages to rope you into them too, regardless of whether or not you have more important things to be doing.

[10:45am] hyunjin: i can see u reading the msgs!! respond to me!!!!

[10:45am] you: fuck [10:45am] you: i thought i had my read receipts off??

[10:46am] hyunjin: u did [10:46am] hyunjin: i turned them back on 😌

[10:48am] you: bitch

[10:48am] hyunjin: mayb if u answered my texts i wouldn’t have to turn them on huh

[10:49am] you: wtvr 🙄 [10:49am] you: what do u want?

[10:50am] hyunjin: come over

[10:52am] you: look i know i’m hot and all but

[10:52am] hyunjin: what [10:52am] hyunjin: OH EW NO

[10:53am] hyunjin: why would u ever say that 🤢 [10:53am] hyunjin: i’m out of ur league pls

[10:54am] you: u mean I’M out of UR league

[10:54am] hyunjin: no i said what i said

[10:55am] hyunjin: but NO this is not why i texted u [10:55am] hyunjin: some of the guys r coming over so u should come 2

[10:56am] you: can’t, have 2 study

[10:57am] hyunjin: it wasn’t a question

[10:58am] hyunjin: cmoooon y/n you’ve literally been killing urself over midterms [10:58am] hyunjin: pls. i haven’t seen u in like a week :(

[10:59am] you: yea cuz unlike u i actually want to PASS [10:59am] you: shouldn’t u be studying too??????

[11:00am] hyunjin: pfft, studying is for losers [11:00am] hyunjin: when was the last time u left ur apartment anyways

[11:01am] hyunjin: ur brain is gonna liquefy soon!!!!! [11:01am] hyunjin: pls :((((( i think u can take a break for an hour at least :(

[11:03am] you: srry can’t hear u over the sound of archeomagnetism and dendrochronology

[11:04am] hyunjin: did i mention jisung is gonna be home

At the mention of his roommate, you tense up.

Because here’s the thing—his roommate, Han Jisung? You’ve known him almost as long as you’ve known Hyunjin, and there are a few undeniable facts about him.

Like how he’s really loud, kind of annoying, maybe even a little bit of an idiot. But if he’s an idiot, you must be an even bigger one, because you’ve had a big fat crush on him for a long time.

A really long time.

On the upper side of 2 years kind of long time. And the thing is, you aren’t even the kind of person who’s good at hiding these kinds of things. You think the only reason he hasn’t figured out is because of how oblivious he is, because you aren’t very discreet. Hyunjin caught on over a year ago, and he never fails to use it as emotional blackmail.

But you’re not so whipped that you would drop everything at the chance to see him, okay... You’re not!

Still, your heart beats a little faster as you fumble to type out a response.

[11:08am] you: okay, and?

[11:09am] hyunjin: oh, nothing~

You can hear his teasing singsong in your ear, like a tick you can’t shake off, and you’re not sure whether you want to smack him over the head or kick him in the shin more—probably both.

[11:11am] hyunjin: listen, i know ur stressed over this archaeology midterm [11:11am] hyunjin: but i need my weekly y/n fix sooo

[11:13am] hyunjin: if ur not here in half an hour i’m gonna beat ur ass

[11:16am] you: u think that scares me? [11:16am] you: i’d like to see u TRY

[11:18am] hyunjin: well if ur not coming... i guess i’ll just... [11:18am] hyunjin: tell jisung all ur embarrassing secrets

[11:19am] hyunjin: maybe i’ll start with the waffle house incident from freshman year?

[11:20am] hyunjin: pls come over :((( we can play mario kart :((( [11:20am] hyunjin: i’ll even play toad h- 🤢toad harbo- 🤢

[11:21am] you: Mrssage read at 11:21am ✓

[11:22am] hyunjin: BITCH IS THAT A TYPO [11:22am] hyunjin: TOAD HARBOR IS DISGUSTING I’M WILLING TO SACRIFICE A LOT 4 U

[11:24am] you: Message read at 11:21am ✓

[11:25am] hyunjin: ITS NOT EVEN 11:21 ANYMORE???

[11:27am] you: Message read at 11:27am ✓

In the end, though, it doesn’t take much for you to cave.

You would like to make it expressly clear that your decision to take a break has absolutely nothing to do with Han Jisung, and instead has more to do with the fact that Hyunjin (as infuriatingly annoying as he is) was right when he said your brain would liquefy soon if you don’t leave the house.

After all, you have been studying your ass off for the past two weeks, and maybe a little break would give you a chance to refocus. And, although you aren’t going over in the hopes of seeing Jisung... Well, it couldn’t hurt, right?

So, with the intent to stay for two hours, max (you do have a little self control, after all), you find yourself at Hyunjin’s building.

The building that he lives in has thin walls, and the moment you step onto the landing of their floor, you can hear the faint sound of the Mario Kart theme and some very aggressive yelling echo down the hall.

It gets louder as you round the corner, and you can vaguely make out someone telling Hyunjin to “suck it, frogface!” by the time you arrive at his door. Shaking your head slightly, you lift your hand to knock, but before you get too far, the door swings open.

“Y/N!” Hyunjin exclaims brightly, the grin on his face faltering as he looks you up and down.

“Wow. You look...”

“Amazing?” You respond dryly. “I know.”

He raises a brow. “I was going to say like you haven’t showered in a week or slept in two, but okay.”

You narrow your eyes and then punch him—because, yeah, it’s true, but that doesn’t mean he should say it anyways.

“Yeah, well, whatever,” you grumble. You can’t help but feel a bit jealous as you take in his appearance: clean and fresh and like he’s actually slept in a bed recently.

You and Hyunjin are both anthropology majors—it’s how you met, actually. Freshman year and he was one of the only people you could stand, mostly because of your shared love for dinosaur bones and aversion to large groups of people.

And yet, despite carrying the same course load for the past two years, he always seemed to manage it better than you ever could.

You don’t really understand it, like... At all. It’s like one of the mysteries of the modern world—how Hwang Hyunjin manages to ace his classes with flying colors while simultaneously not knowing the difference between Paris, France and Paris Hilton.

“Are you going to let me in?” You ask pointedly and he opens his mouth, probably to say something snarky back, but promptly shuts it when you shoot a glare at him.

Wordlessly, he holds the door open for you, and you step into the apartment.

“Guys,” he calls out and your eyes land on Jisung and your two mutual friends, Felix and Seungmin, as you walk into the living room. “Guess who finally decided to show up!”

“Hey Y/N,” Seungmin smiles slightly as you flop onto the couch next to him with a sigh. Felix and Jisung both grunt in your general direction, but they seem too consumed with what looks like an intense game of Mario Kart to do much more.

“Hyunjin threatened you into coming over too?” You ask as you shrug off your sweater, and Seungmin snorts.

“Yeah, something like that,” he says back lightly. “Were you studying?”

“Yes,” you wallow, “but... Here I am despite my better judgement. What about you?”

“I don’t really have much work this weekend,” Seungmin replies. “Other than, you know...”

He holds up the worn book in his hands and you groan.

“Lucky... I wish I was a literature major.”

“Jisung, did you just red shell me?!” Felix exclaims, aghast, and your attention shifts to the TV.

“And if I did?” Jisung responds smugly, his eyes trained on the illuminated screen.

Felix narrows his eyes. “I mean, that’s what this blue shell is for, I guess.”

“Fuck,” Jisung curses as he—playing as baby Peach—gets bombed, and Felix (baby Daisy) speeds past.

“Language!” You chide instinctively. “There are children here...”

“Sorry!” Jisung spares a glance at you, a cheesy and apologetic grin stretched across his face, and your heart skips a beat.

Your cheeks heat up and he tilts his head curiously to the side, as if he’s about to say something more—and then the moment passes as Hyunjin chimes from the kitchen, “don’t talk about Felix like that.”

You turn in his direction and try your best to deadpan, but your face still feels warm and the words almost catch in your throat.

“I was talking about you,” you childishly stick out your tongue, and felix reaches over for a quick high five without looking away from the screen.

“Y/N,” Jisung complains distractedly. “You can’t take Felix’s side. You were my friend first!”

“Sorry,” you say as nonchalantly as you can. “Maybe if you were winning, but...”

“You’re not,” Hyunjin pipes up helpfully as he slouches down in between you and Seungmin, and you nod in agreement.

“What he said.”

Jisung sticks up his middle finger at the two of you. You and Hyunjin, ignoring him, fist bump.

It takes a few more minutes (precisely three more courses, including Moo Moo Farm and Yoshi Falls—seriously, who gets 12th in Yoshi Falls?) before Jisung throws down the controller in defeat, a groan leaving his lips.

“You’re cheating anyways,” he scoffs, crossing his arms as he turns away from Felix stubbornly.

He looks like a child, and you and Hyunjin burst into laughter as Felix ignores him, breaking out into a very... interesting victory dance as he chants “I beat you!” over and over again.

Seungmin rolls his eyes at their childish antics and Hyunjin keels over, almost falling off the couch as Felix begins doing something reminiscent of the chicken dance. You pull out your phone with no hesitation and open Snapchat, unwilling to pass up the opportunity for blackmail material.

“I won,” Felix crows, and Jisung waves him off, annoyed.

“Yeah, we know.”

Felix jumps back on the cushions next to him and looks at him expectantly. “So, ‘fess up. What have you been hiding from us?”

“What, did he feed Minho’s cats fish food again?” You ask, raising an eyebrow.

“Okay, that was one time,” Jisung complains immediately, “and you know how confusing the label is! Both of them have pictures of fishes on them, how was I supposed to know the difference between the cat food and the fish food?”

He pouts, and you look away quickly—even when he’s upset, he still looks cute.

“By reading the label,” Hyunjin says plainly. “You know, like an actual functioning adult.”

“Bold of you to assume he’s functioning. Or an adult,” Seungmin pipes up.

“Okay,” Jisung scoffs. “Is it, like, national bully Han Jisung day?”

“It doesn’t have to be when you make it so easy,” Felix shrugs.

Jisung looks around helplessly, and when his eyes meet yours, you just purse your lips.

“Look, I’m not saying he’s right,” you begin,” but if the shoe fits...”

He pouts again, and you cough as your breath gets caught in your throat.

“Okay, but seriously—“ you begin, desperate to change the topic before he does something even more adorable and you just spontaneously combust on the spot.

“—What are you hiding? If it’s a dead body, I can help, but you’ll have to give me a few hours.”

“It’s not,” Jisung shudders, “but the fact that you are so prepared for that possibility makes me absolutely terrified.

You grin at him sweetly. “As you should be.”

“Y/N, please don’t kill anyone,” Hyunjin begs. “Please, not again.”

“Again?” Jisung coughs, aghast. The four of you collectively ignore him.

“Okay, so if it’s not the fish food thing, or a dead body, then what did he do?” You ask Felix.

“Hmm, I wonder what it could be?” Felix says sarcastically, turning to pointedly stare at Jisung. “Would you like to, I don’t know, share with the group?”

“Share? W-What?” Jisung asks, suddenly nervous. HIs ears are flushed, and you can see the sweat forming on his brow. “I have nothing to hide!”

Any semblance of conviction vanishes when his voice cracks on the last word, and you snort.

“Well, now we definitely believe you,” Seungmin says dryly.

Felix rolls his eyes. “According to Yuna, that’s not true.”

“Yuna?” You interrupt, slightly confused. “Like... Yuna, my roommate Yuna? Changbin’s cousin, Yuna?”

“Yes, Y/N,” Felix sighs. “Do we know any other Yuna?”

“Oh.” You pause for a moment. “I suppose not. Well, you can continue.”

“W-who’s Yuna?” Jisung stutters and his voice pitches upwards. Much to your chagrin, you can’t help but note once again how cute he looks...

“Jisung, you’ve literally been friends with Yuna since you were kids,” Hyunjin deadpans.

“...I don’t have friends!”

“You won’t after this...” Felix sighs again, exasperated as he turns to you.

“Y/N, you said something about knowing how to hide a dead body?”

You raise a brow. “Are you doubting me?”

“...No.”

“That’s what I thought,” you nod smugly.

“Whatever Yuna told you, she’s lying,” Jisung declares finally, after a moment of silence.

Felix scoffs.

“So you’re saying that you didn’t tell Yuna about some secret girlfriend you have, that you conveniently forget to tell any of us about?”

You must be really tired from all the studying earlier, you think to yourself,, because if you didn’t know any better, you would swear you just heard him say Jisung and girlfriend in the same sentence, unironically...

Jisung, the idiot who after a year and a half of pining, still hasn’t realized how you feel about him. Jisung, the thick headed dummy who literally can never take a hint, and somehow has the worst track record with girls despite how attractive and funny he is.

Hyunjin snorts, voicing your thoughts. “Girlfriend? Who would date Jisung?”

Well, you would, but you’re not about to say that out loud...

“That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out!” Felix hisses as he turns to glare at Hyunjin, who’s jaw drops open in response.

“Wait, you’re being serious?”

There’s a strange feeling that starts to rise in your throat. It’s almost like a bitterness—but the kind that burns, and a knot tightens in the pit of your stomach. Your body feels hot, almost as if fire is coursing through your veins.

Is he being serious?

“Yes, Hyunjin, obviously,” Felix groans.

His words are like a knife in your stomach, and you almost forget how to breathe.

“Well... I mean...” Jisung begins slowly, his eyes flitting around the room, and Felix punches him.

“I will call Yuna right now.”

That shuts Jisung up, and he sits that, pouting like a wounded baby.

But he doesn’t deny it, and your throat tightens. Your body feels like its overheating and you think you might vomit—is this what jealousy feels like? You swallow, and your tongue scrapes against the roof of your mouth like sandpaper.

“So Yuna doesn’t know who it is?” Hyunjin asks skeptically.

“No,” Jisung rolls his eyes, “because there is no one. She must have heard wrong.”

And he sounds convincing—partly because his voice stays steady as he says it, but also because you want it to be true. But you know Yuna. She’s blunt and straightforward and sometimes a little mean, but as long as you have known her, she’s never told a lie. SHe hates bullshit, so you know Felix is telling the truth.

“How could she have heard wrong?” Felix cries. “Nothing rhymes with ‘I have a girlfriend!’“

“Not nothing,” Jisung reasons, but he’s quickly shut up by the pillow Hyunjin snatches from your grasp to throw at him.

“We’re going to find out one way or another,” Seungmin reasons, “so you might as well tell us now.”

“Well—I mean, there’s not—“ Jisung splutters, and you can feel how frantic he is. How much he doesn’t want to talk about this.

Well, that makes two of you.

Felix opens his mouth, looking like he is about to protest, but you can’t take it anymore—you have to change the topic, and quick.

“Okay ladies,” you clap your hands together dramatically and all attention turns to you temporarily, the words dying on Felix’s tongue. “This has been fun and all, but can we wrap this up? If he says he’s not dating anyone, then he isn’t. Plus, I have 30 minutes left of my break, and I believe someone promised me some Toad Harbor action.”

“Are you challenging me?” Hyunjin quirks a brow, and any thoughts of Jisung and his mysterious girlfriend are forgotten.

Bless boys and their short attention spans...

“And if I am?” You throw back half-heartedly.

He scoffs, flexing his fingers. “Oh, you’re on.”

“Well, would you look at the time!” Jisung glances down at his bare wrist, tapping it as if a watch is there. “I should be going now...”

Felix scowls at him. “What do you mea—”

Jisung catches your gaze, mouthing a quick “thank you,” before he jumps up from where he is sitting and makes a break for his room. He manages to get inside and slam the door shut before Felix gets the chance to wedge his way in, and there is a distinct click of a lock as Felix bangs on the door angrily.

“Han Jisung, this is not over,” he says murderously.

Jisung doesn’t respond, and Felix, glowering, slinks back to the couch.

Hyunjin, who seems to not give a fuck about it, throws you the spare controller and willingly selects Toad Harbor (the worst course, in his opinion, but his opinions are often wrong.) You finish the race in first place—obviously—but the entire game, your head swims with thoughts of Jisung and his mystery girlfriend.

You’re not sure when or why you started liking Han Jisung. Your feelings for him weren’t something you expected—there wasn’t one grand gesture that captured your heart or one particular instance you can remember that decided it for you.

It’s just, one day you started to notice the little things—like, how when he laughs, he has a habit of hitting whoever is nearest to him because he laughs so hard. How when he tells a joke, he tells it with his whole body: his words, his hands, his face. How when he’s out eating with anybody, he always makes sure everyone else has started eating before he does. How he’s not the best at putting his emotions into words, but while he might be boisterous and loud, when it comes down to it, he’s a really good listener.

And then, you started to realize other things too. Like how you unconsciously look for him everywhere you go—how your heart beats a little bit faster when he’s around, and when he’s not, an unshakeable pit of disappointment weighs your stomach down.

That’s when you knew you were absolutely and totally fucked.

Developing feelings for Jisung wasn’t very memorable, but meeting him for the first time... That’s a different story.

It happened a little more than halfway through the first semester of your freshman year, on one fine Wednesday night when Hyunjin happened to forget his lab notebook in his dorm (like the absolute dolt he is) twenty minutes before said lab began.

He calls you, panicked, begging you to get it for him. He doesn’t have time to make it to his dorm and back in time, and his TA is an ass who’s policy is that every lab session you show up late to, your grade drops a letter. He’s near tears on the phone, blubbering on and on about how much he’ll owe you if you do this one thing for him—so of course, out of the kindness of your heart, you begrudgingly agree to bring his notebook to him.

“Yes, Hyunjin,” you sigh into the phone that is wedged between your shoulder and your ear as you pull your sneakers onto your feet. “I know where your room is. Yes, I know from the—I don’t know, hundreds of times I’ve come over?”

You pause.

“Yes, I heard you. The blue one. Yes, okay, I got it. Can you stop stressing? I��ll be there in fifteen minutes, okay?”

He starts to say something more, but knowing him, it’s probably just more complaining, so you hang up before he can give himself another panic attack. The line disconnects with a beep and you step out of your room, heading towards the nearest stairwell.

Hyunjin is just lucky that you both happen to live in the same dorm building, you think to yourself wryly as you begin to hike up from the 2nd floor to the 5th, where he lives.

It’s only 3 floors, but you’re still winded by the time you make it up, and you take a moment to catch your breath and curse your weak lungs before you continue down the hall towards Hyunjin’s room.

The two of you are so close that you spend almost every waking moment together, but despite it, you never really spend much time in Hyunjin’s dorm. It’s a combination of the facts that he has a bit of a cleanliness problem, and that your dorm happens to be less stairs to climb—which sounds like an absurd excuse, but when you consider that the elevators seem to be out of service every other week, actually makes quite a bit of sense.

As such, you haven’t met his roommate yet. You’ve heard stories of the elusive Han Jisung from Hyunjin, as well as your other mutual friends Seungmin and Changbin, but he might as well be a ghost for how many times you’ve actually seen him.

When you arrive at room #5014, decorated with cute little postcards by Hyunjin’s endearing RA, Chan, you don’t hesitate before grabbing the handle and swinging the door open. You might not spend much time in his room, but you’ve definitely visited on enough occasions to know that (despite your best efforts) Hyunjin has a bad habit of leaving his door unlocked.

You can’t count how many times you’ve scolded him for it, but his reasoning is that nobody wants to steal from a broke college student and, well, you can’t really argue with that.

You’ve barely taken a step into the room before a high pitched shriek pierces your ears, and you jump in fright when you see a tall and very blond figure cowering on in the left corner of the room.

It’s only when your eyes meet his wide and terrified gaze that you match his scream.

“Who are you?!” You demand immediately, your hands fisted and thrown out defensively in front of you. “What are you doing here? Are you trying to steal from Hyunjin? He doesn’t have anything worth stealing, if that’s what you’re trying to do!”

“Who am I? Who are you?! And why would I want to steal from Hyunjin?”

“Why should I answer you?” You challenge. “You’re the one trying to steal from a poor, unsuspecting college student!”

He gapes at you.

“He doesn’t have anything worth stealing, anyways! Just... this?” You trail off, confused as you pick up a small metal frying pan from the mess of his desk.

“I—“ The boy begins, but you thrust the frying pan in his direction threateningly.

“Who are you?” You repeat. “And before you answer, you should know I have pepper spray and I am not afraid to use it.”

“Woah there, Rapunzel!” He throws his arms up in surrender. “I’m Jisung! Hyunjin’s roommate.”

You pause, slowly lowering your arms.

“Oh.” Then, as realization hits you: “Oh.”

A wave of embarrassment washes over you, and you clear your throat as you try to play off your fighting stance as a really, really awkward hair tuck—which turns out to be even more challenging than you anticipated, considering the fucking frying pan in your hands.

“Yes. Well, that would make sense.”

He stares at you, his eyes narrowed, and you roll your bottom lip anxiously between your teeth.

“Well. Um, I’m Y/N.” You offer awkwardly as you try to set the frying pan down as inconspicuously as you can.

Even as you do, his bewildered gaze never leaves you, and you wince at the loud clang the pan makes as you set it down.

“Oh,” he says a bit lately, and you see recognition flash across his face. “Y/N, you’re Hyunjin’s archaeology friend. Right?”

“Yup,” you say, popping the p and immediately regretting it afterwards. “That’s me.”

His mouth forms a small, soundless ‘o’ but doesn’t say anything more, which you take as your cue to continue.

“I, um, didn’t mean to barge in like this. I just thought, you know, that you wouldn’t be here... I swear I don’t just randomly barge into people’s rooms! Hyunjin just left his lab notebook, and he needed someone to get it for him, so... here I am,” you ramble.

“Of course he would forget to mention that his roommate would be here,” you mutter to yourself.

“Huh?” He asks, confused, and you perk up.

“I was just saying that again, I’m really sorry for barging in on you like this.”

You pause.

“Oh, and, um, for accusing you of being a thief...”

“It’s alright?” He says awkwardly, unsure how to proceed. “I mean, it’s not the first time someone has come in randomly, so I guess... Don’t worry about it.”

You nod and another moment passes. The discomfort is palpable.

“So...”

“So!” You repeat, wincing as your voice comes out a little too loud.

You aren’t sure what to do in this painfully uncomfortable situation.

“Um,” your gaze flits around the room as you search for something—anything to say and break the tense silence. When your eyes land on his desk, you light up.

“Oh, are you into music production?” You ask, genuinely curious as you take notice of the mic and synthesizer he has set up and plugged into his laptop.

“Huh?” Jisung splutters for a moment, his eyes wide as his composure slips. “W-What would give you that idea?”

His eyes flit nervously around.

“D-Did Hyunjin say something to you? Because, I mean, wh-whatever he said, it was just a joke!”

You give him a weird look and he flushes to his ears.

“Um, no, Hyunjin didn’t say anything.” An awkward pause.

“I just was asking because of all... that.” You motion at his desk.

“O-oh,” Jisung winces.

“W-Well, the thing is...” he stutters, grasping for words that don’t seem to be there. “It just an, um—“

You don’t give him the opportunity to explain.

“No, it’s okay!” You exclaim hastily. He looks even more flustered than earlier, and you can’t help but feel bad. This—whatever it must be—seems to be a touchy subject.

“I didn’t mean to pry!” You say quickly. “Hyunjin keeps telling me I have a problem with running my mouth and butting my head into other people’s business, so really, you don’t have to explain! Just... Forget I said anything, actually!”

You walk as you talk, blabbering as your head towards Hyunjin’s mess of a desk. His blue lab notebook is glaring at you from on top of a stack of miscellaneous assignments, and you waste no time as you snatch it up.

Jisung just watches you wordlessly, absolutely dumbfounded.

“Um,” you hesitate for a moment as you turn around to face him. “Well, again, sorry for... literally everything that just happened. I’ll—I think it would be good if I left now...”

It’s so awkward that you half-wish the ground would open up and swallow you whole, and your only consolation is that it seems Jisung feels the same way too.

You grab the doorknob and twist, speed walking out of the room and down the hallway without another word.

It’s only once you’ve rounded the corner that you pause, barely refraining from banging your head on the wall in frustration. That was a fucking disaster.

Oh, you are definitely kicking Hyunjin’s ass for this later.

With a deep breath, you make it to the stairwell and take the steps two by two until you reach the ground floor. You’re only slightly winded as you pull out your phone to check the time. There are still thirteen minutes until Hyunjin’s lab begins, and yet you’re not surprised to see eight unread text messages from him.

[7:40pm] hyunjin: it’s the blue one!!! pls get the right one omg

[7:41pm] hyunjin: y/n are u getting it [7:41pm] hyunjin: my dorm is unlocked u know that right

[7:43pm] hyunjin: y/n [7:43pm] hyunjin: y/n why aren’t u reading my msgs

[7:45pm] hyunjin: y/n!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[7:46pm] hyunjin: o yeah i forgot to mention.... jisung might be in the room

[7:46pm] hyunjin: oops

You quickly type out a message

[7:47pm] you: yeah thanks for the heads up 😐 [7:47pm] you: i’ll be there soon now stop bothering me

Four minutes and a very furious scooter ride across campus later, you are met with a very frantic Hyunjin outside the life sciences building, who tackles you the second you prop the kickstand of the scooter and step off of it.

“Y/N!” He throws his arms around you and squeezes you so tightly that you choke. “Oh my god, thank you. Have I mentioned I love you? Because I do. I love you so much!”

“Yeah,” you flip your hair over your shoulder as you hand him his notebook. “I know.”

“You literally have saved my life tonight,” Hyunjin’s eyes sparkle with tears and you roll your eyes. Why is he so overdramatic?

“It’s what I do,” you shrug in response. “You owe me dinner though. Friday night, no excuses! I want sushi. That expensive place we always pass on the way to the convenience store.”

“Anything for you,” he says seriously and you grin.

“I met your roommate, by the way,” you tell him.

“You did?” Hyunjin glances up. “And?”

“And?” You parrot, glaring at him. “And I’m going to kill you! I can’t believe you never told me he was hot, and now I’m pretty sure he hates me!”

“What did you do to him?” He asks wearily.

“Nothing!” You exclaim quickly. “I swear. I mean, I might have accused him of trying to steal from you, and also maybe, um, embarrassed him when I asked about his whole music set up, but...”

“He told you about 3racha?” Hyunjin gapes.

“No.”

A moment passes.

“Wait, 3racha?” You backtrack, baffled. “You mean, the rappers that you’re always playing that are, like, internet famous? That is what your roommate does? I thought he was just an audio engineering major like Chan!”

You watch as an expression that clearly reads oh shit passes over Hyunjin’s face before he tries to hide it and fake confusion.

“What? Noooo...” He says nervously. “W-What are you talking about?”

“No wonder he was super weird when I asked about it. But 3racha’s stuff is like, really good.”

A moment passes. “Does this mean your roommate is famous?”

“W-What?” He stutters. You glare at him, and a moment later, he lets out a heavy sigh.

“...Yeah.”

“Does this mean you’re friends with the rest of 3racha, too?” You ask.

“Well...” He says slowly. His eyes are too guilty, so you know it must be true.

Then, you gasp and your knees start wobbling as something clicks in your head.

“Chan?!”

He breaks.

“Okay, yeah, Chan, and Changbin too.”

This time your knees really do almost give out.

“Seo Changbin?” You choke. “And he enver told me?”

“Yeah, well, you can’t tell anyone,” Hyunjin grumbles. “Technically, I’m not even supposed to talk about it. Nobody knows except me, Chan’s roommate, and you know.”

“Nobody?” You gape. “Not even Yuna?”

“Especially not Yuna,” Hyunjin says solemnly. “It’s a really sensitive topic for Jisung... His one condition for joining Chan and Changbin was keeping a low profile, and well... People really eat up the whole secret identity thing.”

“Oh.” A moment passes. “Okay.”

He looks at you expectantly.

“Oh, yeah, I promise I won’t tell anybody. My mouth is shut,” you mime a zipping motion over your lips and Hyunjin lets out a sigh of relief.

“Okay, good.”

He glances down at his watch and lets out a wheeze.

“Oh shit, I have to go!” His eyes widen comically and he doesn’t waste a moment before turning on his heels and running towards the science building.

“Okay, bye sweetie! Have fun in class. I’ll come pick you up after soccer practice!” You call out like the obnoxious friend you are.

Predictably, he flips you off, and you laugh.

A week after that Saturday that you find out that Jisung has a girlfriend finds you finally through with all your exams. You are stuck in the library, struggling through your last essay before you’re finished with this midterm period, and the freedom tastes so sweet that you are having a hard time focusing.

But, somehow, by some magical stroke of luck, you make it through your essay. You’re putting the finishing touches on your argument against big pharma when Hyunjin comes barrelling through the bookshelves, nearly slamming into the table you’re sitting at in his haste to reach you.

Surprised, you look up to find your best friend keeled over at the waist, panting loudly as he tries to catch his breath.

“Hyunjin?” You whisper, confused. He has class right now, and you’re not sure why he’s here in the library instead of in the liberal arts building halfway across campus.

“What are you—”

He takes a deep breath, before screeching out, “you bitch!”

You can’t count how many heads turn at his exclamation and you narrow your eyes and yank him down into the seat next to you before he can say anything else.

“Not that I don’t love to be greeted this way,” you whisper, “but can you keep your voice down? We’re on the quiet floor.”

“Keep my voice down?!” You think you see a vein bulge in his forehead and his eyes almost pop out of his face, but he listens and lowers his voice to a very aggressive whisper-shout.

“Still too loud,” you pinch his ear. He winces but doesn’t say anything but before he can say anything, you pin him with a look that shuts him up immediately.

“Now. Why aren’t you in class?”

“Oh, sorry,” He mutters sarcastically. “I seem to have forgotten about it because of bigger things on my mind. Like, I don’t know, my best friend keeping a secret from me!”

You deadpan. “What are you talking about?”

Hyunjin scoffs.

“What are you talking about?” He mocks, his face twisting up. “Stop acting like you don’t know! You’ve been outed, okay, and I just found out from Changbin.”

“I have no idea what your talking about,” you tell him honestly, then pause.

“Wait... Is this about the time Changbin and I went out for ice cream without you? Because in my defense, you were passed the fuck out on the couch after those six shots and Chan said he would take care of you.”

He gasps, outraged. “You went to get ice cream without me?”

“Maybe don’t black out during the pregame next time,” you shrug.

“We’ll get back to the ice cream thing later,” Hyunjin promises you seriously, “but that is not what I’m talking about.”

“Okay,” you say mildly and he glares at you.

“I mean really,” Hyunjin pouts now. “How are you going to let me find out you have a boyfriend from Changbin, of all people?”

There’s a moment of silence, and then you snort, turning back to your essay.

“Yeah, okay. You had me for a moment there.”

He narrows his eyes and kicks you rather meanly under the table.

“Wait, are you being serious?” You double take, but his eyebrows are drawn together, and there isn’t a hint of humor on his face.

“Y-You think I’m in a relationship?” You ask in disbelief, and he nods resolutely.

“I know you are.”

“And pray tell,” you say, trying to stifle the laugh that bubbles up in the back of your throat. “Who exactly am I dating?”

“Jisung,” Hyunjin says simply, and you swear—your heart stops beating in that moment.

“Who?!” You splutter as blood rushes to your face, and now you are the one loud enough to draw the attention of everyone within a 10 foot radius.

He just scoffs.

“And you really thought the two of you could hide it from me, too. Your best friend. Honestly, the audacity!” he rants, but you’re still unable to contain your shock.

Your mouth opens, then closes, opens, then closes again as you search for words that aren’t there.

“O-okay, you can stop joking around now,” you blubber nervously. “What is this really about?”

Hyunjin just stares at you, unimpressed.

“That’s not going to work on me, Y/N. I can see right through you.”

“T-Then Changbin must be pulling your leg,” you mutter as you start drumming your fingers against the table nervously, “because I am most definitely not dating your roommate.”

You say it, and you know it's the truth—it’s so painfully the truth, but by now your cheeks are flushed and warm, and your eyes are shifty. It doesn’t take a genius to tell that Hyunjin thinks you’re lying to him.

And you aren’t, but he’s so stubborn that you know he won’t believe you no matter what you say.

But—you aren’t dating Han Jisung. You’re pretty sure you would know if you were, and you definitely wouldn’t be able to keep it a secret, much less from your best friend.

“He’s not,” Hyunjin says, exasperated.

“A-And how do you know that?” You ask him.

He raises an eyebrow. “Because Jisung is the one who told Changbin about your relationship.”

“He did what?” You shriek. You’re so loud that you are probably two minutes away from being kicked out, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

You feel like you’re in an alternate universe, one where things don’t make sense and everything is opposite of what is should be. You must be, right? Or maybe you’re dreaming. Yes, that would make so much more sense.

“I mean, I don’t care that the two of you are dating,” Hyunjin sniffs, “but you could’ve at least told me. I mean, my best friend and my roommate. Hiding it from me! I can’t believe…”

He keeps rambling on, but the blood rushing through your ears muffles his voice, and you take two fingers and pinch yourself—hard. This fever dream must be because of all the coffee you drank yesterday, you think.

Except when you pinch, you actually feel it.

“What?” You mutter yourself, your heart beating a mile a minute as your brain struggles to comprehend the fact that you are, in fact, awake. Which would mean…

“Hyunjin,” you interrupt him, feeling a little bit crazed. “You’re saying that Jisung told Changbin that his secret girlfriend, the one he’s keeping from all of us, is… me?”

Your best friend scoffs. “Yes, Y/N, obviously. We all know now!”

You look at him, your head swimming with many thoughts (none of which make sense) and he stares right back.

And then—you can’t help it. You burst out laughing.

“Y-Y/N?” Hyunjin asks uncertainly, concerned when your cackling starts to border on maniacal.

Your chest hurts and you reach a hand up to wipe away a tear—it’s just that funny. It’s funny that Hyunjin thinks you’re dating anyone, let alone Han fucking Jisung, the guy you’ve had a big fat crush on for who knows how long. It’s just funny.

It takes a moment for your laughter to subside, but you can’t shake the crazy grin that seems to have taken up residence on your face. You’re more than aware how fucking mental you must look, but—well, you feel like your brain might melt into goo soon, so you can’t really help it.

Hyunjin looks more than a bit frightened, but you pay no mind as you close your laptop (probably a bit more forcefully than you should have) and then shove it into your bag.

“Where Jisung is right now?” You ask him with a sweet smile, but your tone is cutting and sharp, and he shrinks back into his seat a little.

“He’s a-at Banana Tree,” Hyunjin stutters out, mentioning the local café on the outskirts of campus, and you jump up from your seat.

“Great. I’ll see you later.” And before he can process it, you’re gone.

It’s a ten minute walk from the library to Banana Tree, but with the amount of adrenaline rushing through your veins, you manage to make it there in six.

The café is cute and quaint and is like a little slice of heaven for you. It’s been your favorite place on campus since you discovered it your second semester of freshman year, and you can’t count how many times you’ve been since. It’s so adorable and—most importantly—affordable, which is why you’re a bit surprised to find that it isn’t as crowded as it usually is.

On most days, the line is long and winding and it’s more than a little difficult to find a place to sit, but today you find that the line is considerably short and only a few people are scattered throughout the coffee shop.

Usually, you would be ecstatic; the short line means instant gratification for your coffee addiction, but today—you don’t hesitate before breezing past the cashier and heading straight towards the back, where you immediately spot Jisung hunched over his laptop in the corner.

His eyebrows drawn together in concentration beneath his wire-rimmed glasses, and he’s looking good in his hoodie and skinny jeans, but you’re here on a mission and you refuse to let the way your heart skips a beat distract you from it.

“Wha—Oh!” Jisung yelps, looking up and almost falling out of his seat in surprise as you slide into the empty chair opposite of him.

“Y/N! Jesus, you gave me a heart attack,” he breathes out, as he clutches his chest, and you raise an eyebrow.

“You’re still alive,” you say mildly. “I think you’ll be fine,”

“Well,” he clears his throat as he straightens up in his chair. “Yes, but…”

He isn’t sure what it is, but the way you’re eyeing him, like you’re trying to figure out the best way to kill him, makes him nervous.

Which is funny, because in your head, you actually are running through places you could hide his body without being caught…

You know, just in case.

“So…” He says slowly. “What’s up?”

“Oh, nothing much,” you respond conversationally as you snatch his iced coffee away from him before he can protest and take a nice, long sip.

You watch as the frothy liquid travels up the straw as you try to convince yourself not to stare at him, because you know the longer you look at him, the quicker your anger will escape you.

Even now, looking half-scared and half-confused, he still manages to look good. With those glasses, he’s giving off those “hot TA that you might hook up with at a frat party” kind of vibe, and you know if you stare too long, you’ll forget why you’re here in the first place.

“What’s up with you, boyfriend?”

That one word is almost like an arrow with how sharp you throw it out, and from the way Jisung’s expression slowly melts from one of confusion to one of grim understanding and dread, you can tell that it hits right on the bullseye.

“Look,” he says quickly, his face heating up. “I can explain, I promise!”

“Well,” you drawl. “By all means, go ahead.”

You’re shorter than Jisung, but from the way he seems to shrink under your gaze, you might as well be towering over him.

A moment passes, then another, almost as if he’s trying to figure out how to begin, and then:

“Do you remember the first time we met?”

You wrinkle your nose at the unexpected question.

“Well, actually I’d rather like to forget the whole accusing you of being a thief part, but yes.”

“Yeah, understandable,” he nods. “It was really awkward.”

That is an understatement.

“But I’m not talking about you threatening me with a frying pan,” he continues.

“You said you forgave me for that!” You protest, and he deadpans.

“I lied.”

You open your mouth, not sure whether or not you’re going to insult him or just kick him under the table.

Instead, you opt for saying, “well then, which part are you talking about?”

“The, um, well,” he looks around, suddenly awkward as his voice lowers to a mumble that is so soft you can barely make out what he’s saying.

“What?” You ask, your ears straining.

“Well, you know… When you found out about, um,” he gesticulates randomly in the air, and you squint.

“Jisung, I have absolutely no idea what you’re trying to say,” you tell him exasperatedly. “Can you use your words?”

“3racha!” He finally explodes. “You found out about it when we first met.”

You stare at him, confused. “Okay?”

“And, it’s just that… You know how it’s a secret right? The whole ‘nobody knows who they are’ kind of thing. I mean, now it’s really big all over campus and people like the whole mystery… Say it’s part of the listening experience or whatever… But even from the beginning, I never really wanted people to know it was me,” he rambles on, and it’s like a dam has broken. The words pour out of his mouth and he can’t seem to stop them.

“Which is why it’s kind of ironic that, like, the entire time you’ve known me, you’ve also known my biggest secret. Actually, it’s a bit unnerving, if I’m being honest. I’m surprised Hyunjin managed to not tell you even before you met me, actually but it’s just that—” He takes a deep breath, cutting off his tirade when he notices the glare you have focused on him.

“—Well, what I’m trying to say is, you know, the reason we don’t go public isn’t because we think we’re above it all.”

You stare blankly at him.

“Yeah, I understand that,” you tell him like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, and he balks at you.

“What I don’t understand,” you continue on, “is what exactly 3racha and your underground rapping career have to do with the fact that our closest friends now seem to think we’re in a relationship.”

“Well,” he begins sheepishly. “It’s actually kind of a funny story.”

You glare at him.

“Okay!” He’s quick to say. “Well, basically, Yuna might have suspected I was hiding something from her, and when she was, like, two seconds away from figuring out about 3racha, it might have just… slipped out?”

Jisung pauses and the air is thick with anticipation, as if he thinks you might smack him right then and there.

“Slipped out,” you echo in disbelief. “That you have a secret girlfriend, and that girlfriend is me?”

“Yes,” his voice is small.

“But… Why me?” You ask after a moment, lost.

“I-I mean, you were the first person to come to mind,” he mutters as his shifty eyes avoid yours. “You know about 3racha, and I panicked, and then I had already said your name and it was too late...”

You narrow your eyes and he lets out a sigh.

“Look,” he begins solemnly. “I know it’s out of the blue, but you know how Yuna is… Well, actually, you know how all of our friends are. They don’t give up easily, and I swear it wasn’t my intention to drag you into this, so I’m really sorry.”

Jisung hesitates.

“And I’m really sorry to have to ask you this, too, but…Would you mind going along with it? Just for a little while! I know it’s a lot to ask, but you would be saving my life.”

He looks you dead in the eye. “Like, literally saving my life. I think Yuna and Felix might murder me if they find out the truth.”

A moment passes, then another as you scramble to find words. You’re not sure what so say, how to respond to… that, and the longer you wait, the more worried he becomes.

“Wait, you don’t have a boyfriend right now, do you?” He asks, his eyebrows furrowed.

Your reaction is instantaneous and you scoff a little. “No, I definitely do not.”

Jisung sags in relief, but his eyes stay trained on you, and you can’t help but feel a little nervous. The earnesty of his gaze is piercing, and it makes you flush.

“So, you actually want to do this?” You ask him for confirmation. “Lie to our friends and pretend like we’re dating?”

“Yes?” He winces.

You look at him for a moment, watching as he braces himself as if he’s expecting the worst, but the truth is—you already know your answer. Hell, he could ask you to jump off a cliff and you would probably say yes to that too.

“Okay.”

“Wait—really?” He asks in disbelief, and you nod.

“Yeah, I mean… I wouldn’t want you to have to tell everyone about 3racha because of me, so… I guess there’s not much of a choice, anyways.”

“Oh, thank God,” He blurts out, looking like he’s only seconds away from bowing down to you and kissing your feet. “Thank you so much. I really owe you.”

“I just have one question,” you say after a moment.

“Yeah?” Jisung replies, distracted, as if nothing could bring his mood down.

“Why didn’t you just ask me?”

“What?” He cocks his head to the side.

“I mean,” you say slowly. “Why didn’t you just ask me to pretend to be your girlfriend? I would have said yes.”

“Oh.” He pauses, and a look of realization passing over his face.

“You know… I didn’t even think of that.”

You have to refrain from smacking yourself in the head. Of course you had to go and fall for an idiot.

Of course.

You are spiraling.

“Jisung, I don’t think I can do this.”

You are spiraling, and there is literally nothing anyone can do about it because, oh my god, you are an idiot for agreeing to a plan so idiotic that it has already started to fall apart.

It’s currently two days after you agreed to lie to all of your friends and fake date Jisung, and the two of you have been sitting in the student activity center for the past thirty minutes working through the details of your “relationship,” because like the idiots you are, you both managed to forget you had to figure these things out if you hoped to convince anyone that you are in love.

Great.

Except—when you wake up this morning, the day starts off bad, and only continues to get worse. It’s almost as if Murphy’s law chooses you as it’s sole victim today, because anything that can go wrong is most definitely going wrong right now.

First, you almost sleep through your British literature lecture in the morning when you’re alarm decided to conveniently stop working (and by stop working, you mean completely fall apart, most likely because of the way Hyunjin had thrown it at the wall last Thursday when the two of you decided to unwind with a bottle of wine... Each.)

After stumbling into the giant lecture hall still in your pajamas, you manage to make it to you next class—Stats—on time. Until you realize you somehow managed to forget about the quiz that your TA sent fifty emails out about.

Then, after that ordeal, you show up at the sandwich shop right next to the Maths building in hopes of grabbing a quick bite to eat, only to find the line winding and out the door.

It’s as you are about to scream violently into the void because of how crappy the day has been going that you get a text message from Jisung, who asks if the two of you can meet at the student activity center. With a sigh, you quickly type out a reply before dragging your feet up the hill and towards said building…

…Where you proceed to wait for who knows how long because, in true Jisung fashion, he shows up late to a meeting he himself set up.

And then, after you eat half a bowl of soup, he finally shows up, frantic and apologetic—which leads you to now.

“Y/N?” Jisung asks uncertainly, waving his hand in front of your face.

“Oh my god, I can’t believe you actually managed to talk me into this,” you breathe out, rocking back and forth slightly in your chair.

The weight of what you are about to do—lie to your friends, pretend to date the guy you have feelings for, all of the above?—hits you like a freight train.

“Like, seriously?” You turn your frantic gaze to Jisung’s face. “You really want to do this? There is no other excuse we can use? Maybe they’ll believe us if we tell them it was just a joke?”

“Um…” He says meekly, but you are on a rant and you barely even hear him as you continue on.

“I can’t believe that out of all the people in the world, it had to be my name that you thought of first... I mean, I don’t even know if I should be flattered or just angry, because oh my god, Jisung I really can’t do this. Hyunjin is my best friend! How am I supposed to lie to him? I don’t think I can lie to him. Like, physically, I think it’s impossible. And then I’m going to have to lie to Yuna, and Changbin too? I live with Yuna, she’s going to see right through me! Who’s going to believe the two of us are dating? Oh my god, I think I’m going to pass out. Why would you—“

“Okay, Y/N,” Jisung interjects, grabbing you by the shoulders gently. “I’m going to need you to stop for a moment and just breathe. Can you breathe for me?”

You look at him, bewildered, as if you’ve never heard of the concept of breathing. Right now, it actually feels like you haven’t. You’re all hot and panicky, and you’re not sure your lungs are functioning correctly—if they are at all. It’s like all eyes are on you, and if you were a little bit less crazed, you would know that’s not true, but right now—right now, all you can think about is how nice it would be if you just dropped dead right here.

“Breathe,” he nods encouragingly. “Yeah, in and out, can you do it with me?”

A moment passes, but he’s looking at you so expectantly, and even ten seconds away from a panic attack you’re still whipped for him, so hesitantly, you nod in agreement.

“Alright, that’s great,” he beams at you.

“Just in,” he breathes in and you shakily follow suit. “And out.”

You repeat once, and then twice, and by the third time you can feel yourself calming down.

“Oh. Okay, yeah,” you shake your arms out. “It’s all good, right…”

Jisung grins and your heart skips a beat—but this kind of nervousness, well, you’re used to it by now. The familiar butterflies in your stomach are almost grounding, and it only takes a few moments before you’re completely calm.

“So,” you clear your throat, embarrassed. “It’s all fine. Lying to our mutual best friends is fine, right. What were we talking about, anyways?”

“Oh!” Jisung starts. “I think we were on what our first date was.”

“First date?” You wrinkle your nose. “Can’t you decide?”

“Hey, I already decided how I asked you out. Our first date is yours to decide.”

You groan, thinking about how Jisung—after a lot of thinking—had come to the executive decision that he asked you out two months ago, after he ended up taking care of you at some frat party you both went to while Hyunjin was home visiting his parents.

The truth is, that weekend you were abysmally sick and could barely get out of bed, and Jisung was studying for the four midterms he had the following week, so neither of you went to that party—but... Nobody needs to know the truth, right?

“Fine,” you say finally. “We’ll just say our first date was the movies and dinner.”

“No, that’s too boring,” Jisung protests, and you glare at him.

“Excuse me?”

He rolls his eyes. “I would never plan a date as boring as the movies and dinner.

It has to be at least a little realistic, right?”

You glare at him.

“Then, pray tell, what kind of date would you plan?”

“Well,” Jisung begins matter-of-factly. “To start off with, dinner is so overrated. I think a brunch picnic is much more fun, especially because breakfast food is like, ten thousand times better.”

“That’s just because you have an unhealthy obsession with french toast…” You mutter.

“French toast is a superior food group!” He tells you adamantly.

“Not a food group,” you sigh. “But fine. A brunch picnic, is that all?”

“Well, the brunch picnic would be at that park next to the Han river, and while we’re there, we would feed the ducks there because they are so cute,” Jisung continues. “And then, I would take you go karting—but I would let you win, because I’m good first date material.”

“Go karting?” You raise an eyebrow and he sticks his tongue out.

“I mean, you’re so competitive…”

A moment passes as you think about it, and then you nod.

“Okay,” you shrug. “But—let’s get one thing straight. I would win because I’m better, not because you let me.”

Jisung scoffs. “As if.”

“Really?” You raise an eyebrow. “I wonder who it is that can’t even win Mario Kart, then?”

“First of all,” he is quick to protest. “That’s just a video game!”

“Sucks that you can’t win at go kart even digitally,” you respond, disappointed.

“Well—“

“Anyways!” You exclaim, pretending you don’t hear his cries of protests. “We’ve figured out how we met, when and where our first date was, how long we’ve been dating… What about why we’ve been keeping this a secret?”

“Oh,” Jisung pales. “That one is easy.”

You furrow your brow in confusion.

“What do you mean?”

“Um…” He trails off. “Well, hypothetically… Hyunjin and Changbin might have threatened to, you know, hypothetically kill me if I ever tried to make a move on you?”

You narrow your eyes. “They did what?”

Jisung winces, as if bracing for you to yell at him, but after a moment, you just sigh.

“Whatever…” You mutter under your breath, even as you plot. “I’ll deal with them later…”

He lets out a sigh of relief and visibly relaxes, which only makes you want to smack him because—you can’t be that scary, right?

Instead of asking, you clear your throat. “Anyways, is there anything else?”

“Uh… I don’t think so?” Jisung scratches his head as he thinks.

“Well then,” you say. “We should be fine. I mean, we’ll have to tell our friends soon, but with a few more days to prepare, I think we might be able to pull it off…”

You reach up to gnaw on your nail nervously, and it’s as you’re running through the various ways you might actually be able to convince your best friends that the two of you have been secretly dating, Jisung gets a text message.

“It might be rough,” you mutter once again, although this time it’s more to yourself than to him. “But, well, Hyunjin is kind of unobservant, so with our luck, he might just glaze right over it anyways…”

“U-um… About that,” Jisung starts nervously, and you look up at him.

“Yes?” You ask, taking a long sip from your water bottle.

“Hyunjin just texted me that he’s going to meet us here in, like… 5 minutes?”

You choke on the water, barely stopping yourself from spewing it everywhere—and just like that, your hysteria from earlier comes crashing down on you.

“I’m sorry, what?!” You balk, your fists clenched so tight you can feel the crescent-shaped nail marks forming on your palm.

“Okay, in my defense,” Jisung protests immediately when you threateningly wield your blue mechanical pencil in his direction. “I told him not to come, but he has my location on and he said he’s coming here anyways!”

You inhale sharply, and a moment passes.

“Give me your phone.”

“W-What?” There’s a hint of fear in Jisung’s eyes, but you don’t even care as you try to calm yourself.

“Did I stutter?” You ask, your gaze murderous, and he sinks back into his seat.

“N-Now, Y/N, let’s just think about this logically…”

He looks like he’s going to say more, but you’re already up and out of your seat, reaching over the table you are both sat at for his phone. Jisung, a step ahead of you, snatches it out of your grasp.

“Give me your phone, Jisung,” you say stubbornly.

“If I give it to you, are you going to throw it across the room?” He asks.

“…Maybe.”

He pauses, as if he’s actually thinking about it, before telling you plainly: “Mmm, in that case… No.”

“Jisung,” you whine. “Give it to me! All I want to do is turn off your location sharing, okay? I promise I won’t do anything to your phone… Mostly.”

He opens his mouth, but before he can speak something over your shoulder catches his attention. You’re still halfway out of your seat, pouting at him.

“Y/N—“ He tries to interrupt, but you ignore him and continue on.

“I mean, first you decide to go around and tell all of our friends that the two of us are dating without even consulting me first, and then you let me find out from Hwang Hyunjin of all people, before finally coercing me into a fake rel—mmph!”

Panic flashes across Jisung’s face and his eyes widen as he stares at something directly behind you. And then, before you can process it, he’s grabbing your face with both his hands—his left one on your cheek and his right one awkwardly placed half on your chin, half over your mouth.

Then, he yanks you close to him and plants an over-exaggerated kiss on top of the hand that is covering your lips.

“Oh, hi Hyunjin,” Jisung says loudly when he pulls away. “Didn’t see you there!”

Your face is so red and you’re so surprised that you can’t move, not even when Hyunjin lets out a strangled gagging noise as he comes to a skidding halt next to the table you and Jisung are sitting at.

“Were you guys just—kissing?” Hyunjin asks, his face contorted in disgust.

“What?” Jisung says, almost defensively. “Nooo…”

“—You know what… Nevermind.” Hyunjin shakes his head, as if that might remove the image he just saw.

“I guess you two really are dating…” He mutters to himself, repulsed.

“Anyways,” Jisung clears his throat a moment later as you continue to stare, unblinking and stone faced off into the distance. “Why are you here, Hyunjin?”

“What?” He asks. “I can’t visit my best friend and roommate on this random Wednesday afternoon after they kept their secret relationship from me?”

“Um…” Jisung trails off. “Honestly, I’m not sure how to respond to that.”

Hyunjin huffs. “Well, if you must know, my ecology lecture was cancelled, and I have nothing better to do, so I came here.”

You’re only half listening, and your best friend looks at you weirdly.

“What’s wrong with her?” He asks Jisung, waving his hand in front of your face. “Was kissing you really that emotionally scarring?”

Jisung scowls and kicks Hyunjin under the table, and you still don’t respond.

“Y/N,” Hyunjin calls out. “Y/N?”

Somewhere in the back of your mind, his voice registers, but it’s like your brain has shut down and your synapses have stopped firing, because all you can do is stare.

“Y/N,” your best friend sighs exasperatedly, and then reaches out and smacks you across the face.

“Ouch!” You squeal, effectively knocked out of whatever stupor you had been in.

“What the fuck, Hyunjin? That hurt!”

“That hurt?” He mocks.

“You know what really hurts? My best friends hiding their relationship from me for—“

He stops.

“—Wait, how long have you guys been dating for?”

“Two months,” you grumble.

“Two months?!” Hyunjin shrieks. “You imbeciles hid this from me for two months?”

“Yes,” you glare at him.

“Sorry?” Jisung adds helpfully.

“I don’t get paid enough for this,” Hyunjin cries out and you roll your eyes.

“Nobody is paying you for this, dummy.”

He pouts. “Well, someone should.”

“Pay you? For doing nothing? This is exactly why the institution of capitalism is detrimental to the function of society as a whole,” you scoff, and Jisung and Hyunjin look at you weirdly.

“What?” You say defensively. “I’m taking a course on communism versus capitalism, and I have a paper due today.”

“Okay…” The weird look doesn’t leave either of their faces.

“Wait,” you start. “My paper! What time is it?”

“It’s 4:24—“ Hyunjin tells you.

“Fuck!” You exclaim. “I have to turn in my paper to my TA by 4:30!”

You waste no time in grabbing your bag and throwing it over your shoulder, and then getting up and practically running out of the student activity center.

“Good luck!” Jisung calls out, but you’re already gone.

“Do you think she heard me?” He asks Hyunjin.

“No.”

A few days later, you’re walking out of your music appreciation class when you get a frantic text from Jisung.

Technically, you aren’t even meant to be taking music appreciation this semester. But when you were registering for classes last semester, the ethnoarchaeology course you wanted to get into was full, and this was your only other option.

It turned out fine, though, because it’s a blow off class, an easy A that gets your fine arts core credit out of the way, so it’s a win win.

[7:01pm] jisung: HELP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[7:02pm] you: what’s up?

[7:02pm] jisung: OUR COVER IS ABOUT TO BE BLOWN!!!! [7:02pm] jisung: YOU’RE IN THE MUSIC BUILDING RN RIGHT????

[7:03pm] you: yes??? [7:03pm] you: what do you mean our cover is abt to be blown???

[7:05pm] you: jisung????

[7:05pm] jisung: was doing 3racha stuff [7:05pm] jisung: now yuna is coming to visit cb

[7:06pm] jisung: HELP?!

[7:06pm] you: oh lmao [7:06pm] you: u had me worried.. just hide somewhere until she leaves

[7:07pm] jisung: no y/n [7:07pm] jisung: i told her we were hanging out 2nite [7:07pm] jisung: y/n she has my location on

[7:08pm] you: oh [7:08pm] you: oh fuck [7:08pm] you: where r u??? i’ll come 2 u [7:08pm] you: outside practice room #4

You find yourself breaking out into a brisk jog right when you receive the message, turning down the hallway until you find the stairwell and then taking the steps two by two. Three flights later, you come out on the 2nd floor, and it doesn’t take long for you to spot Jisung pacing nervously in the corridor lined with practice rooms.

“Jisung,” you hiss as you approach, looking both ways down the hall to make sure Yuna isn’t here yet.

“Oh my god, Y/N,” he breathes out in unadulterated relief when he sees you.

“Why did you tell Yuna we were hanging out tonight?” You ask, your eyes narrowed.

He shrugs helplessly. “Changbin, Chan, and I had plans tonight, but she knows Changbin is a part of 3racha, and—I don’t know, I panicked!”

You let out a deep sigh, and then square your shoulders.

“Okay, first of all—we need to have a talk about having your location on for all of our friends, because this really keeps fucking us over,” you tell him sternly.

He nods miserably. “I know.”

“Second of all,” you continue, relaxing slightly. “This actually isn’t that bad… If Yuna asks what you were doing here, you can just tell her you came to pick me up from class. It’s the perfect cover.”

“Really?” He asks dubiously, but you can see the weight ease up on his shoulders slightly.

“Yeah,” you shrug. “It’s believable, and she’ll have no reason to suspect otherwise.”

“Okay…” Jisung relaxes. “So, how was your—mmph!”

And then, before he can finish his thought, you’re yanking him by the wrist and all but shoving him through the first door you find.

Which, of course, with your luck, just so happens to be a broom closet.

“What the fuck?”

“Yuna was coming down the hallway,” you hiss. “Now be quiet!”

“Oh,” he mumbles, and silence falls over the two of you.

You’re hyperaware of how close you are to Jisung—the closet is small and dimly lit, and there’s virtually no where to stand with all the space the mops and buckets, and you’re almost chest to chest. He’s staring awkwardly off into the space behind your left ear, and your furrowing your eyebrows as you strain to hear out in the hallway while simultaneously pretending this isn’t the worst situation. Ever.

As you listen, you hear the clicking of heels grow closer—which you assume is Yuna, if her obsession with strappy heels is anything to go by. The rhythmic clacking becomes louder as she gets closer, and then, it suddenly comes to a stop.

“Yuna,” you hear Changbin’s voice, close to the closet you’re currently hiding in. “What’s up?”

“Changbin!” She exclaims. “I have a bone to pick with you.”

“W-What did I do?” You can hear the fear in his voice, and if you weren’t scared shitless that your roommate might find you and turn that anger onto you, you would probably find it hilarious.

“Chan told me everything,” you can practically hear the way her eyes narrow murderously, and you and Jisung share a mutually horrified look.

Being on Yuna’s bad side is something you never wanted to experience.

“H-He did?”

“Yes, you fool! I know that you were passed out last Saturday after going to that Sigma party when I specifically told you that you couldn’t go because we were having brunch with your mom.”

Jisung lets out a snort, and you elbow him in the ribcage.

“What?” he mutters. “I was there. He downed like eight shots in fifteen minutes and blacked after that.”

“Be quiet,” you glare. “They’ll hear us.”

Changbin and Yuna’s conversation continues on, escalating into what seems to be an argument, but Jisung is grinning, his eyes bright, and it takes your breath away to the point that you can’t even hear what they’re saying above the rush of blood in your ears.

Now you’re the one staring off behind his head awkwardly, your palms sweaty as you try to think about anything except how cute he is and how nervous that makes you.

A moment passes, with Changbin and Yuna still talking outside the closet you’re in, and Jisung clears his throat awkwardly.

“So…” He whispers a second later. “Do you come here often?”

You stare at him full on.

“What the fuck?”

He shrugs. “I’m trying out new pick up lines. What do you think?”

You wrinkle your nose in disgust. “That wasn’t even a pick up line. That was like… I don’t even know, but it definitely wasn’t a pick up line.”

“Really?” He raises a brow. “Then what is?”

You scoff. “As if I’d ever use my lines on you.”

“No, now I’m interested.”

“Well that’s too bad,” you stick out your tongue.

“Please?” He asks, and you open your mouth to say no—until you see his wide puppy dog eyes, pleading with you, and you melt.

“Mmm,” you press your lips into a tight line.

Yuna’s voice rises outside, and you turn away from Jisung as you mumble out, “I dunno, something like... Are you a greenhouse gas? Because you’re hot enough to cause global warming... Or something.”

There’s a moment of silence and you cringe at how embarrassing it is, and then Jisung barely manages to stifle a laugh.

“Maybe I should just stick to being straightforward,” he says, pursing his lips to stop the smile from spreading across his face. “Because it seems you have the witty pick up lines covered.”

“Personally,” You wrinkle your nose. “I think you should stick to saying nothing…”

“What?” He pouts. “The classic ‘let me take you out on a date’ never fails.”

“Mmm,” you grimace. “I give it a 5 out of 10 for getting to the point, but 2 out of 10 for creativity.”

“Wow okay,” he says. “I guess I can’t do anything to impress you, huh?”

“Not really.”

He grins. “What a mean thing to say to your boyfriend.”

Your heart skips a beat, and you can’t help the way your jaw drops when he says that. Because—it’s one thing to fake a relationship. It’s another thing to actually hear him call himself your boyfriend.

You cough slightly, barely managing to clear your throat before glaring at him.

“Fake boyfriend.”

Jisung chuckles, and he’s so close to you that if you think about it hard enough, you can convince yourself that you can feel his laugh. His breath is minty and warm, and ghosts across your cheek. You think you might melt into a puddle if you spend another moment in this closet with him.

“What?” He says playfully. “Am I not real boyfriend material?”

You deadpan.

“Jisung, I’ve seen you pick your nose.” You snort. “The day I date you is the day you dye your hair blue.”

“Well, I mean—“ He begins, but it’s at that moment that you realize you can no longer hear Changbin and Yuna arguing on the other side of the door.

“Shh!” You hold your finger up towards him, pressing your ear against the door.

A moment passes, and then another, and you still don’t hear anything.

“I think the coast is clear,” you say hushed to Jisung.

Then, you open the door slightly—only enough for you to see out into the hallway through the sliver of space between the hinges of the door.

The hallway is empty, and with a sigh of relief, you swing the door open all the way.

“Oh thank god,” you exhale, and for the first time in the past 10 minutes, you feel like you can breathe again.

“Well,” Jisung says awkwardly, following you out of the broom closet. “Sorry about this… I really didn’t think Yuna would be coming here tonight.”

You roll your eyes. “It’s no big deal. You’re just lucky I actually decided to go to class today.”

“Well,” he says. “Thanks anyways. Can I treat you to dinner to show my appreciation?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Free food?”

“I mean,” Jisung mutters. “It’ll be cheap food, but yeah. I’ll pay.”

You grin. As a broke and nearly starving college student, the cardinal rule is never turn down free food.

“Lead the way!”

The next night, Jisung finds himself at Chan’s apartment in an attempt to complete the song the 3 of them had been working on the night before.

After spending the past three hours mixing and remixing sounds and still being dissatisfied with the product, Chan had decided they needed a little bit of a break from it all—which leads them to now, sitting in the living room around the dingy coffee table that only has 3 functional legs, eating spicy ramyeon like their lives depend on it.

“So,” Jisung starts in between slurps, chewing obnoxiously as he talks. “What d’you think of the new lyrics? I know the old ones were a bit… eh, but I really feel like these might be the one!”

Naruto is playing in the background, and as Jisung goes to take another bite, Chan and Changbin exchange a look.

“Well…” Chan starts wearily, but Jisung—consumed in his food—doesn’t notice his tone.

“Jisung,” Changbin interrupts, shooting a pointed glare at Chan. “We need to talk.”

“We are talking…?”

“We need to talk… About you and Y/N,” Chan clarifies, and Jisung freezes.

There’s a noodle hanging out of his mouth, which is agape, and ice floods his veins as anxiety washes over him.

Y/N? Why do they need to talk about you?

They stare at him, expressions deadpan, and then it hits him.

Oh god, Changbin and Chan found out that you’re not really dating and you’ve been lying to all of them. The ruse is up, the two of you have been found out.

“W-Well,” He sets his chopsticks down hesitantly, his hands shaking slightly as he goes. “I mean, we don’t n-need to…”

“Um,” Changbin gives him a weird look. “Yeah, I think we do. This is kind of a big deal, Jisung.”

“Mmm, no,” Jisung’s voice pitches upwards and he clears his throat. “It’s nothing! Whatever you’ve heard, it’s not like that!”

Chan furrows his brow.

“No, I’m pretty sure it is like that.”

Dread builds up in the back of Jisung’s throat, and he realizes—his death is close. Because if Chan and Changbin have found out his lie… It’s only a matter of time until Hyunjin discovers the truth, and then the rest of their friends…

…Including Yuna.

The thought is so scary that Jisung has to frantically take a large gulp of water to calm himself down.

“Jisung…?” Changbin questions, concerned as he watches the younger boy down his entire water bottle in ten seconds flat.

“Okay,” he sighs, squaring his shoulders as if he’s preparing to fight someone.

“Look, I know it looks bad, but I have a reason okay!” Jisung blurts out.

Chan clears his throat. “Well, yeah, of course you have a reason… But that doesn’t mean you should have done it anyways…”

He shudders and Changbin nods.

“Yeah, dude,” he says, disappointed. “Like come on. I thought you were better than this.”

Jisung runs a hand through his hair.

“Listen, guys, I’m really sorry! It wasn’t supposed to go down like this, I swear…”

Chan sighs heavily. “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean you should write love songs.”

“Yuna just cornered me, and—wait, what?!” Jisung cuts off when he realizes what Chan has just said.

Chan winces. “Yeah… your new lyrics aren’t, um, bad, but…”

“Please, no more sappy love songs?” Changbin adds helpfully. “Like, you and Y/N are dating, which is kind of cool… gross, mostly… But please. We have a reputation to uphold.”

“Huh?” Jisung continues to just stare at his friends, openmouthed and confused.

Changbin rolls his eyes. “What will people think if the mysterious and elusive 3racha suddenly start writing love songs?”

“Um—I, um, imagine that… Wouldn’t be cool?”

“Exactly,” Changbin nods. “So, we have an understanding?”

Jisung stares, helplessly. “I guess?”

“Great,” Chan affirms. “Now, about that bridge, I was thinking…”

The next few weeks pass in a weird sort of limbo, where you find yourself spending more time with Jisung than you thought you ever would.

After he treats you to cheap diner food that Thursday you almost get caught by Yuna, you two make it a habit of grabbing dinner together every week after your music appreciation class. Jisung somehow manages to convince Changbin and Chan that spending their Thursday nights in the music building is a good idea just so that your schedules can match, and you think it’s kind of cute that he’s that dedicated to keeping up your fake dating ruse.

Soon after that, you end up seeing him everywhere you go.

Like when he shows up with coffee for you after your Tuesday tutoring sessions in the student activity center, or when he saves a seat for you in the library on Wednesday nights because he knows you have weekly quizzes on Thursday to study for.

You soon find that if you aren’t on campus for classes or back at your apartment, you’re usually at Hyunjin and Jisung’s place. You spend so much time there—which you didn’t think was possible, considering your friendship with Hyunjin—to the point that they end up telling you where they hide the spare key.

You’ve known where it was for the past year (under the doormat, because they aren’t very creative) but you let them think that it’s news to you.

It’s weird, because in the span of a few weeks, Jisung becomes so commonplace in your life that sometimes, even though you don’t mean to, you forget it’s all fake.

Okay, well—obviously the friendship part isn’t, because the two of you have been friends (or, at the very least, friendly) for the better part of two years.

But when Jisung casually slips his hand into yours as the two of you walk down the street together, or when he greets you with a hug that makes you feel so warm inside while your friends are watching, it’s easy to pretend—even if only for a second—that this is for real.

When you let yourself believe that (which, you’re ashamed to say is far more often than you’d like it to be) you’re left feeling even worse afterwards, when you come down from whatever cloud 9 he has pushed you up onto and reality sets in.

When you remember that none of it is real, that you’re just friends and you’re a fool for thinking otherwise, well… Let’s just say, it’s not the nicest feeling.

Which, as one can imagine, leaves you feeling increasingly confused. You spend so much time with Jisung that you never get a reprieve from him, which—a few months ago would have been a dream, but now, it just feels like torture.

You end up spending more and more time obsessing over your complicated feelings for him, and sometimes (most of the time) you just want to scream because of how frustrating it is.

You almost do, actually, when you walk into their apartment after your classes end, and Jisung greets you with a tiny kiss on the cheek—something that he’s done before, usually when your friends are around, but still continues to catch you off guard.

“Hey,” he says easily with a grin, and you kind of want to punch the stupid smile off of his stupid face. “How were your classes today?”

You clear your throat, fighting off the heat rising to your cheeks.

“They were fine… Yours?”

“All good,” he responds before frowning. “Although, Professor Moon was kind of a dick today…”

“Well,” you begin as you set your bag down and flop onto his couch. “You’re only taking his class for credit, right?”

He nods.

“Then you shouldn’t stress yourself out about it like you did last time. He’ll always be a dick, no matter how long you spend worrying about his class.”

“Yeah,” he sighs, melting into the seat next to you. “I guess you’re right.”

You scoff. “Of course I am. I’m always right.”

He raises his arms in mock surrender. “Oh, my bad for forgetting, your Holiness.”

You flip him off and he laughs.

“Anyways…” You continue, your eyes roaming across the living room, which looks different than it usually does today. “What is this all for?”

You motion to where there are streamers hanging across one empty wall, and then to a banner underneath that reads simply ‘HAPP’ in big bubble letters.

“Oh,” Jisung’s eyes land on the decorations, and he shrugs. “We’re kind of having a part tonight. Didn’t I tell you?”

“Um.” You stare. “No?”

“Oops,” he mutters. “Well, we’re having a party?”

“Thanks for the heads up,” you roll your eyes sarcastically, and he grins.

“Well, now that you know… Are you going to come tonight?”

You purse your lips. “When you say party, do you mean like, a party?”

“…Maybe?”

You raise a brow. “And what’s the occasion?”

“Nothing big,” Jisung mumbles. “Just, you know, my birthday…”

You choke.

“Your birthday?!”

He winces. “Yeah.”

“What the fuck, Jisung!” You gasp, punching him in the arm. “It’s your birthday today?”

“Yes?” He says it like a question and you smack him again.

“How did you manage to not tell me that?” You exclaim.

He pouts. “I didn’t think it was important.”

“Jisung,” you deadpan. “We’re literally faking a relationship. Of course it’s important!”

“Oh, yeah,” he says a moment later, as if he’s forgotten completely about it, and you want to give him one of slap, just for good measure.

God, when did you get so violent?

“Well… I’m sorry?”

“You should be,” you gripe at him. “I don’t even have a present for you…”

“Oh, I don’t need any presents,” he says bashfully, and you glare at him.

“Now everyone is going to think I’m a bad girlfriend!”

“No they won’t,” Jisung placates, and you let out a groan.

“Well,” you sigh forlornly. “I guess this means I’ll be here tonight…”

“Yay!” He claps excitedly.

“Yeah, whatever…” You mutter under your breath.

At that moment, Jisung’s phone buzzes, and his smile melts into a frown when he checks the message.

“What’s up?” You ask, curious.

“Oh, Changbin just messaged saying there’s been a mix up with the drinks for tonight,” he tells you slowly. “He needs my help.”

“Are you going now?”

“Yeah,” he gets up, grabbing his coat from the chair across from you. “I’ll be back in like, 30, okay? Don’t destroy my apartment while I’m gone!”

You scoff. “You’re the messy one.”

“I’ve seen you in the kitchen, Y/N,” he calls out, hopping a little to put his shoes on.

“Okay, first of all—“ You splutter, but he’s already out the door with a wink in your direction, and you’re left alone.

“—Whatever…” you finally mutter to yourself, a pout on your face.

Without hesitation, you kick off the house slippers you are wearing and curl your feet underneath you, grabbing a blanket and the remote to the TV as you settle in on the couch and make yourself more comfortable.

That’s how Hyunjin finds you fifteen minutes later, when he arrives with an unholy amount of party decorations in his grasp.

“Y/N?” He asks, his arms overflowing with plastic bags.

“Hey,” you say distractedly, not bothering to look away from the TV as you greet him.

“O… kay…” He says to himself after a moment, setting the stuff down onto the counter.

“Where did Jisung go?” He asks as he grabs scissors from a drawer and begins cutting open the bags of decorations.

“He said something about Changbin… drinks… I’m not really sure, actually,” you reply back.

Hyunjin sighs. “That’s so helpful. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” you snark back.

“So…” He trails off. “Are you going to help me set up, then?”

You roll your eyes. “Do I look like I want to help you set up?”

Hyunjin glares at you.

“You look like someone I’m about to kick out of my apartment.”

With a loud, overdramatic sigh, you pause the show you are watching and then haul yourself up off of the couch so you can join Hyunjin in the kitchen.

“Well… I guess I can help,” you say begrudgingly.

“Thanks,” Hyunjin says blandly. “You can start by finishing the sign.”

He motions to the ‘HAPP’ hanging sadly on the wall, and you snort.

“What, you’re telling me it isn’t supposed to look like that?”

Hyunjin looks like he’s about to smack you, but instead says, “Y/N, can you just do it?”

“Yeah, whatever…” You snatch up the bag of bubble letters and grab a roll of tape before heading to the living room.

It isn’t too difficult to finish the sign, and you’re finishing sticking up the last two letters when Hyunjin joins you with—surprise!—even more streamers.

“Y/N,” Hyunjin says slowly as you finish the sign and step back to admire your handiwork.

“Yes?” You ask, grinning at your best friend.

“…Why does that sign say ‘Happy Birthday Bitch!’?”

You bat your eyelashes innocently.

“What?” You ask. “Am I wrong?”

He sighs. “No… But it’s Jisung birthday. Don’t you think we should be a little nice to him today?”

You pout. “Well…”

He glares at you.

“Fine, whatever! I’ll change it… You’re lame anyways…”

It takes you another ten minutes to take down the sign and replace it with the much more appropriate, and much less fun ‘Happy Birthday Jisung!’ but you do it, and right as you move on to helping Hyunjin hang streamers—because God forbid there be anything less than the hundreds of them already lining the walls—Jisung arrives back, with Changbin and Felix in tow.

Changbin and Jisung are both carrying cases of beer in their hands, and Felix follows with a large tote bag that you assume is full of various bottles of hard liquor, although you can’t see inside the bag because of how big it is.

“Hey, Y/N,” Changbin smiles at you as he passes, and Felix perks up when he notices you.

“Y/N!” He exclaims. “Do you—“

You cut him off before he can finish.

“—And that is my cue to leave.”

Felix scowls. “You don’t even know what I was going to say…”

“You were going to ask me to help you with something,” you scoff. “I’ve already reached my manual labor limit for the day, but nice try.”

The blond boy sulks his way into the kitchen, just as Jisung comes out after setting down the boxes he had been carrying.

“You’re going already?” Jisung pouts.

You pat him on the cheek sweetly.

“I mean… yeah,” you tell him.

“What, do you expect me to stay for a party dressed like this?”

You motion down to your expertly coordinated ensemble of sweats and a ratty t-shirt that you think might be Hyunjin’s.

“Well,” Jisung says reluctantly. “I mean, I think it’s cute, but…”

“Don’t you dare lie to me,” you threaten as you dig an elbow into his side. “Anyways, I’ll be back by 9, okay?”

“Okay…” He mutters sadly.

“Finally,” Hyunjin says at the same time. “She’s leaving!”

You stick your middle finger up in his direction as you grab your bag and shove your feet back into your shoes.

“Bye, bitches!”

And then you’re out the door.

Your apartment isn’t far from theirs—just around the block, and it only takes a few minutes before you’re climbing the stairs up to the 4th floor, where you live.

When you unlock the door, you’re greeted by a dark room, and you’re a little surprised to find that Yuna isn’t home right now.

You flick the light switch on and kick off your shoes, walking into the kitchen to find a post it note stuck to the fridge.

Out buying Jisung a present, it reads. See u tonight! xoxo Yuna

You crumble the note in your palm before dunking it into the trash, NBA style, and you scowl when you miss.

Yuna’s note reminds you again that Jisung didn’t give you any notice about his birthday, and you can’t help the annoyance that rises inside of you—especially because you didn’t have the chance to do the bare minimum and scrape together a present for him.

With a sigh, you drop your school bag on the floor of your room as you head towards your closet, rummaging through your clothes as yo search for something appropriate.

You’re looking for an outfit that says “it’s my (fake) boyfriend’s birthday today and he totally did not just tell me about it 3 hours ago!”

It’s uncertain whether the cropped top and black jeans combo that you finally settle on gives off that vibe, but you think it looks decent (at least, better than your sweatpants…) and so you go with it.

You spend the next hour and a half around the apartment, cleaning up and taking care of small tasks here and there as you try not to think about the party tonight.

There’s a sort of anxiety weighing down on you about it—you’re not sure why, either. You’ve never really had a problem with partying and letting loose before, but you have a sneaking suspicion that the weight in your gut has something to do with Jisung.

It’s as you finish sweeping the living room that you come to the startling realization that its now nearly 9, and you lost track of time as you were cleaning.

You haven’t even started your makeup—because you didn’t want to sweat it off while stress cleaning—and you practically trip over yourself in your haste to get to your room. In a panic, you quickly swipe some concealer and mascara on, before finishing with a little lip gloss, and although it is the simplest makeup routine you could have come up with, it’s already past 9 when you stumble out of your room, hopping a little as you try to shove your sneakers on.

You take a deep breath as you shove your keys in your pocket, and then—just for good measure—you open a kitchen cabinet and pour yourself a shot of vodka from Yuna’s not-so-secret stash.

You down it quickly and it burns your throat, leaving an acrid taste in your mouth and a weird warm sensation in your chest and your head—most likely because you overestimated the amount when you poured it out, courtesy of the Disney mug you’re using as a shot glass.

Go figure.

You find yourself gripping your keys and pepper spray tightly as you make the short trek to Jisung and Hyunjin’s apartment, and by the time you end up outside their door, it’s well past 9:30pm.

The pounding bass of whatever music is playing inside thrums out into the hallway, and you’re not sure if knocking is the right way to go—frankly, you’re not sure they’ll even hear you if you do.

Not even a moment later, the door swings wide open as a drunk couple comes stumbling out, so entangled in each other that they barely notice you or the door that they leave open behind them.

“O…kay…” You mutter. “Kind of early for that, but…”

Shaking your head, you walk in to find the festivities in full swing. It catches you momentarily off guard just how many people have managed to fit inside the small apartment, and the disco strobe lights are disorienting as you search around for a familiar face.

I mean, you knew it was a party, but honestly, you don’t even know half the people here.

Finally, after what feels like forever, your eyes land on Jisung, and you’re so relieved that you sigh.

And then, you notice the giant grin on his face, and the very attractive girl he’s talking to. You watch as he says something, gesticulating with his hands as his eyebrows raise, and your mood sours instantly. The girl lets out a giggle, smacking his arm lightly before tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear flirtatiously, and your eyes narrow.

Something ugly twists in your gut, particularly when you notice just how close they are standing, and your teeth clench.

You know you have no right to feel jealous—you aren’t actually dating Jisung, after all—and yet the ugly pit of emotionsin the depths of your stomach that blazes despite the fact.

A boy with dark hair walks by you at that moment, obscuring your vision—he’s friends with Hyunjin, you think, his name might be Jeongin?—and you zero in on the solo cup in his hand, filled halfway with a dark liquid.

“hey,” you clear your throat, catching him before he manages to walk away. “Where did you get that?”

“Hmm?” He says, his gaze slightly unfocused and a lopsided grin on his face. “Oh, drinks are in the kitchen.”

“Thanks…” You mutter out, barely waiting for a reply before you are stalking off in that direction.

You waste no time in grabbing a cup from the stack next to the drink station that has been set up, most likely by Changbin based on the color coding. The first bottle you see is a giant thing of rum, and you don’t even hesitate before pouring a generous amount into your cup and then topping it off with some Coke.

You take a large swig, still a little astounding by the amount of people here that you don’t know.

Honestly though, you are content hovering in the kitchen and avoiding human interaction for the rest of the night—until you spot Felix a few feet away, heading towards you.

Your eyes widen, and without a second thought, you’re ducking out of the kitchen and back into the crowded living room, pushing through sweaty bodies to get away from him.

The thing is—you don’t have a problem with Felix. Really, you don’t. In fact, he can be kind of funny to be around, most of the time. Except for when he’s drunk—he goes absolutely nuts when intoxicated, and you do not want to be the one taking care of that tonight.

The last time you did… Well, let’s just say you’ll never look at limes or white bedsheets the same again.

Unfortunately for you, it seems you can only avoid one person at a time tonight, because when you finally manage to shake Felix off of your tail by hiding in a back corner where you’re obscured from the view of most people, you find yourself with the perfect view of Jisung.

You find that he’s now surrounded by a gaggle of girls and a couple of guys, and he seems to be telling a very animated story based on his facial expressions.

He looks good tonight, you realize—with his hair slicked back like that, and those dumb black vinyl pants you bought him as a joke because they make his ass look fantastic.

You never thought he would wear them out in public, because he was so embarrassed when you made him try them on, but now—well, you definitely regret that purchase.

It’s almost depressing, watching him from across the room like a lovestruck girl, when it seems just about every other girl in the room is ten times more attractive than you and checking him out too.

It’s unfair, because—really? Jisung, the dork who can barely look a girl in the eye without saying something stupid is the center of attention at this party? You think he must be at least a little tipsy, from the way he seems to actually be able to hold a normal conversation with those girls, and you’re kind of mad that it’s not you over there flirting with him.

Which is stupid. You’re his girlfriend after all—well, fake girlfriend. Whatever, same thing. You’re not sure why you are over here, pouting in the corner, instead of over there by his side. In fact, you’re not even sure why you didn’t just go up to him when you first got here, like a normal person.

Because no, of course you had to be weird and overthink things way more than you should.

“He’s hot,” a voice interrupts your trail of thoughts, and your gaze snaps from Jisung to your right, where you find an attractive guy standing and observing.

“Why don’t you go talk to him?”

He looks vaguely familiar, and it’s only after a few more seconds of staring that you realize who he is—Minho, the guy that Jisung occasionally cat sits for.

“I’m—huh?” You splutter, coughing slightly.

He leans against the wall casually, a smirk dancing across his lips, and he nods towards Jisung.

“Well, I just don’t understand why you’re moping here in the corner instead of just going over there. He won’t bite… Probably.”

“I-I’m not moping!” You protest.

“A-And besides,” you continue, your voice still lacking conviction. “He’s actually—well, you know—we’re… dating.”

Minho raises an eyebrow as he takes a sip from his cup.

“So you’re Y/N?”

“…Yes?” You say back hesitantly.

“You don’t sound very sure about that.”

“W-Well, I am!” You say indignantly.

He tsks you. “Okay… Well, all I’m saying is, that is not the face of someone dating the man of their dreams.”

You turn to look at Jisung, for only a second.

“How… How do you know he’s the man of my dreams?”

He scoffs. “Honey, he’s the man of everyone’s dreams.”

You tilt your head to the side, thinking about it.

“Okay, fair.” You admit.

He grins wickedly, before extending his hand.

“I’m Minho,” he introduces himself finally.

“I know,” you reply back, taking a sip of your now almost empty drink instead of shaking his hand.

He retracts it back with a smirk, not even slightly offended.

Your still watching Jisung intently, and it’s only when one of the girls he’s talking to wraps her hand around his arm and pulls him closer to her that it gets too much for you.

Abruptly, you turn to Minho.

“You want to do shots with me?” You ask, suddenly.

“Shots?” Minho perks up, interest piqued. “Hell yeah.”

“Great.” You down the remaining contents of your cup before setting it down on a side table. Then, you grab him by his wrist and all but drag him with you to the kitchen.

You waste no time in setting up tiny red plastic cups the size of shot glasses—2 for Minho, and 2 for you—and then you’re grabbing the tequila and pouring it into them.

“Tequila?” he asks, surprised. “So you really want to feel something, huh?”

You glare at him. “Shut up and drink.”

He grins at you but complies, and the two of you throw back the shots together.

“Oh, that is absolutely foul,” you say, barely able to stop yourself from gagging. Belatedly, you grab a quarter of a lime and suck on it.

“Want to do more?”

“You’re kind of crazy,” Minho winces as he swallows. “…I like it.”

You shrug, already feeling tipsy, and you waste no time in refilling the cups.

You lose count of how many shots the two of you have taken—five? maybe six?—but it doesn’t matter, because after the 3rd one, your head is already fuzzy and any thoughts of Jisung have successfully been pushed to the back of your mind.

The two of you have been arguing about various things (most of which you forget by the time you move on to the next topic), and you find that you are actually enjoying yourself.

And then, whoever is in charge of the music decides to change things up, and suddenly 3racha is blaring through the apartment and you find yourself thinking about Jisung once again.

You frown, taking a sip from a cup—just Sprite, now, because Minho decided to cut you off a few minutes ago while you could still speak in full sentences.

“Do you like 3racha?” You yell at him over the music, and he nods eagerly.

“Oh, definitely! Their stuff is really good, and it’s so cool that they go to school with us!”

Minho takes a swig from his cup, which likewise, is Sprite.

“Okay, I have a question,” you shout into his ear to be heard over all the noise. “This could make or break our friendship, so you better answer correctly!”

Minho nods solemnly.

“Who’s your favorite?”

“From 3racha?” Minho asks, pondering.

You nod, and his brow furrows as he thinks.

“Hmm… I think they’re all great, but I would probably have to go with CB97.”

“CB97?” You exclaim, aghast.

“I’m sorry, I think…” You say slowly. “I think this is the end of our friendship.”

“What?” Minho pouts. “No! Who’s your favorite, then?”

“Uh, J.One, of course,” you say it like it’s obvious. “That’s the only correct answer.”

He shrugs. “I mean, yeah J.One is pretty cool, but CB97 is just unbeatable.”

You scoff.

“Sure, CB97 is fine, but J.One is obviously the best!”

The two of you continue to bicker back and forth—you’re so heated, you aren’t even sure how long the two of you have been arguing.

And that’s how Jisung finds you: drunk and angry and defending his honor.

“J.One carries the group!” You shout as he enters the kitchen. “I think you should get your hearing re-evaluated. You might be in danger of going deaf.”

Minho opens his mouth, his response ready, but before he can bite back, Jisung has already interrupted.

“Y/N!” He exclaims, barely able to hold back his laugh as he sees you, red in the face with your brow drawn taut as you glare at Minho.

“There you are! I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

At the sound of his voice, you come up short, and a confused look comes over your face as you turn to look at him.

“Jisung?” You ask, bewildered.

“Yeah, that’s me,” he grins. “How much have you had to drink? And how long have you been here?”

“I had 5… 5 shots?” You tell him, holding up 8 fingers, and he narrows his eyes. “And also some rum and coke!”

You pick up your cup of Sprite to take a sip, but Jisung takes it from you gently.

“I don’t think you should drink anymore,” he tells you. “Otherwise, you’ll wake up with a killer hangover tomorrow.”

“Huh?” You say, staring at the cup. “Oh! It’s just Sprite.”

Jisung takes a sniff to confirm, before handing it back to you, embarrassed.

“Oh, sorry…” He mutters.

“It’s okay!” You grin cheesily. “Minho told me I should stop drinking, too…”

You point to where Minho is standing, and he gives Jisung a little wave.

“Did you know tequila is kind of gross?” You whisper, leaning in close to his ear.

“Yeah,” he tells you with a laugh.

“Now,” you declare. “Can you please settle this and tell Minho that J.One is obviously the best in 3racha?”

He raises an eyebrow, amused.

“You think J.One is the best?”

You frown. “Yeah, obviously. I have to stay loyal, after all. I can’t just change my mind mid argument, can I?”

Jisung lets out a laugh, and Minho’s eyes flit between the two of you.

“Well—I’m just going to get something else to drink from, um, over there,” he motions vaguely off to the right, before giving you a long meaningful look that you don’t quite understand.

“See you later!” And then he’s gone, leaving the two of you in the kitchen alone.

“So I’m guessing you’ve been here for a while,” Jisung says a second later, and your gaze snaps to his face.

“Hmm?” You hum distractedly. “Oh. Yeah, probably? I think so…”

“Why didn’t you come find me?” He says, his brow furrowed as he looks you in the eye.

The music is thrumming, the lights are dim, and all you can think about is how hot you feel. Why is it so hot in here?

“What?” You ask, still a little disoriented.

Jisung runs a hand through his hair, and you find yourself staring at him. The top to buttons of his shirt are undone, and you can see his collarbones peeking out as he pushes his hair back. You find yourself mesmerized.

“I-I mean,” Jisung says, a blush rising to his cheeks. “I was waiting for you…”

You’re so blatantly checking him out that you don’t notice how embarrassed he looks at the confession, and you barely manage to catch what he says.

“Oh,” you murmur, your eyes now focused on his hand. “Well, I mean, you looked busy when I got here and I didn’t want to be a bother.”

“What do you mean?” He asks, confused.

You stare, thinking it’s obvious enough.

“Well, first it was that really tall girl, with the highlights,” you begin listing, counting on your fingers as you go. “Then it was that guy in the muscle tee… And then it was the other girl, in your econ class. I just didn’t want to interrupt…”

“You wouldn’t have been interrupting,” Jisung mutters. “I mean, you’re my girlfriend.”

“Fake girlfriend,” you chime helpfully.

His expression falls, almost imperceptibly.

“Right. Of course…”

You’re oblivious to it all, too intoxicated to notice the slight shift in his mood.

“So, how has your party been so far, birthday boy?” You grin, nudging him slightly with your shoulder.

“It’s been nice,” He responds distractedly.

“Did Hyunjin make you do shots with him?” You ask curiously. “He was, like, really excited about making you do that.”

Jisung wrinkles his nose.

“Ugh, yeah,” he groans. “That was not fun. My liver is going to be gone before I even graduate.”

“Boo, don’t be such a wimp!” You exclaim. “Shots are fun.”

Jisung opens his mouth, about to bite back a response, but before he can—someone comes barreling in your direction, tackling him in a hug that leaves him stumbling a few steps back.

“Jisung!” It takes him a moment to realize the person who’s hugging the life out of him is Yuna.

“Yuna,” he chokes out, startled with his hands hanging by his side awkwardly.

“So?” She says, grinning as she pulls back. “How’s your day been? Excited to finally turn five?”

Jisung rolls his eyes. “If I’m five, that must mean you’re four, huh?”

“Touché.” She throws back. “But seriously, happy birthday!”

“Thanks,” he says back, almost shyly.

“Yuna!” You exclaim belatedly, finally realizing who she is.

She turns to look at you, and Jisung swears her eyes light up as she launches herself at you.

“Y/N! I’ve been looking for you! I missed you,” she says as she wraps her arms lovingly around you—very unlike the anaconda chokehold she had held Jisung in only a few moments before.

“I missed you too,” you pout as you return the hug.

Jisung’s face scrunches up in confusion.

“Don’t you guys live together?”

Yuna waves him off. “Yeah. Your point is?”

“…Nevermind,” he mutters wisely after a few moments.

“So,” Yuna says, raising an eyebrow. “how have the two of you been?”

“Good!” You say cheerfully, your voice pitching up a little bit higher than you mean for it to.

Yuna’s gaze is one that can kill, and the way she’s looking at the two of you—a mischievous smirk on her face… It makes Jisung uncomfortable.

“Y-Yeah,” Jisung stutters, his hand finding yours and gripping it tightly. “You know… Doing couples stuff, being a couple… All of that.”

Your roommate raises an eyebrow, amused.

“Really?”

“Oh, definitely,” you nod seriously, and she lets out a short laugh.

“You two really are perfect for each other,” Yuna says, shaking her head. “I just can’t believe it took you both this long to realize it.”

You frown at the implication of her words, focusing so hard on the part where she says the two of you are perfect for each other, that you miss the way Jisung clears his throat awkwardly and stares daggers at Yuna.

“I guess…” you say slowly, your brows knit together.

“Well!” Yuna exclaims, clasping her hands together. “I just wanted to wish you a happy birthday, but there’s a dance floor that is calling my name. Hyunjin bet me that I couldn’t out dance him, and you know I never back down. I’ll see you guys later!”

She waves as she goes, and the two of you watch even as she disappears into the crowd.

“So…” Jisung begins jokingly a few moments later.

“I guess we’re just perfect for each other, huh?”

You’re drunk enough that you can’t tell whether he meant for his words to come out sounding so bitter, and if you had been more sober, you probably would have questioned it.

But you’re not, and so your mind passes over it onto the next thought: namely, the one that has been running through your mind the entire night—how attractive Jisung looks right now.

You don’t know why, but no matter how hard you try, you can’t stop yourself from staring. Granted, you aren’t really trying all that hard.

And, if you’re being honest, it’s his fault for looking so good…

“Y/N?” Jisung waves his hand in front of your face when you don’t answer.

And then, against your will, your mind flashes to all the pretty girls he was talking to tonight—first, the one he was talking to when you walked in at the beginning, who he was grinning at like she was the funniest girl in the world. And then, later, when he was surrounded by a whole harem of them, all flirting with him.

At those thoughts, something ugly rears its head inside your heart. You didn’t really think you were the type to get jealous before tonight. Frankly, you don’t even have a reason to be jealous.

He’s not actually your boyfriend, what right do you have to care about who he talks to and flirts with?

“Are you okay?” Jisung asks, concerned as you stare off into space.

And then another thought occurs to you—why is he so dense? For two years, you’ve had the biggest crush on him, and not once has Jisung noticed. You’ve been pining after him hopelessly, and when he finally makes a romantic advance—it’s to fake a relationship for his convenience?

“Y/N?” He repeats your name once more, and this time, your gaze snaps to his face.

You’re not sure what it is that spurs you into action. Jealousy, exasperation, maybe even just plain anger at him and the circumstances he’s put you in.

Although, if you’re being honest, it’s probably mostly the alcohol that’s rushing through your blood that makes you do it, but before you can second guess yourself, your hands go to cup Jisung’s face, and then you’re yanking him down to your height and pressing your lips firmly against him.

At first, you meant for it to be chaste and short. Just a simple and impulsive peck that is meant for—closure, maybe? You aren’t really sure. It’s not supposed to be anything more than a small playground peck, mostly because he’s so infuriating and you can’t focus on anything but his lips, and you just need to get it out of your system.

But then, you’re close enough to feel his breath, hot and light against your lips. He smells like cotton and lemon with a hint of vodka, and his eyes—when you look into them, they are dark and confused and even a little concerned too, and before you know it, you’re throwing all caution to the wind and kissing him.

You’re really, truly kissing him, the way you’ve dreamt of so many times.

It’s frenzied and sloppy, and really not that great because you are both too drunk to focus on accuracy, but your hands snake around the nape of his neck and you find yourself lacing your fingers through his hair as your eyes slide shut. You hate yourself a little bit, because you enjoy it so much.

But the worst part of it?

The worst part is that Jisung kisses you back. It takes him a few seconds to react, but then his hands are on your waist, gripping tightly as he pulls you closer and melts into your lips. You don’t even know how long the two of you stand there, completely absorbed in each other.

Even as you break the kiss, your hands stay wrapped around his neck, just as his hands stay firmly on your waist. Your foreheads are pressed together, and there is this dumb little grin stretched across his face.

It takes you both a moment to process. But then, Jisung is whispering to you, almost breathless, “what was that for?”

You look up into his eyes to find them wide and curious, anticipating your response.

It’s then that you realize what you’ve just done.

“Um,” you breathe other a moment later, your voice thick and your head swimming with confusion. “Happy birthday?”

“Thanks,” he grins a little, but then his expression drops when he sees the panic in your eyes.

“Yeah,” you say awkwardly, stepping back from him even as your throat closes up.

Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit, you just kissed him.

“I’m—I have to go pee,” you say dumbly.

“Okay,” Jisung tells you softly.

And then you walk out of the kitchen, to the bathroom—where you pause for a moment, before continuing past it, to the door and out of the apartment.

You don’t stop until you get home.

You spend the next week avoiding Jisung.

It’s not easy, mind you—but you still manage to do it. In between the texts and phone calls from not only him but various members of your friend group, you somehow are able to hide, almost as if you don’t exist at all.

That’s not the hard part though. No, the hard part is avoiding Yuna. You leave for your classes early in the morning and come home late at night in a desperate grab at not running into her. The ‘Do Not Disturb’ setting on your phone is permanently set to on, and you go out of your way to study only in the archaeology library, despite how far away it is from your apartment.

You’re like a ghost in the wind, the way that you make yourself scarce, and the only person you speak to is Hyunjin—mostly because he’s the one person you can’t seem to avoid.

He is your best friend, after all, and when the two of you share almost every class, it makes it impossible to avoid him.

But, to your surprise, you find that he doesn’t press you at all. Over the course of the week, not once does he bring up Jisung or the party on Friday, and you would think that he hasn’t noticed anything out of the blue if it wasn’t for the way he strategically avoids mentioning any of your friends.

You can’t help but love him for it. He doesn’t ask for answers, even once, and you are reminded once again why he’s your best friend.

You are a wreck for so many reasons that you can’t help but wrap your head around, and the only thing that keeps you together is that Hyunjin continues to joke about the stupidest things as if you both don’t know that you are seconds away from falling apart.

But, come Friday, it seems your luck has run out.

When you arrive home in the early evening, you find Yuna sitting in the living room, her arms crossed as if she’s waiting. Well, obviously you know that logically, she’s waiting for you. But hey… It could be something else, right?

Wrong, if the pointed glare she pins you with is anything to go off of.

“Sit,” she says shortly.

Timidly, you listen. Really, all you want to do is run back into your room and lock the door but—well, she’s scary and you think she might bust down your door right off its hinges if you do that.

“S-So…” You stammer awkwardly. “What’s up?”

You wince right as the words leave your mouth. Why are you like this? It’s like recently, you can’t do anything right. With school, with your friends… With Jisung.

She stares at you pointedly.

“I don’t know, why don’t you tell me?”

“There’s nothing up with me,” you say, trying to keep your face blank as your head turns downward and you pick at the loose thread hanging from the hem of your shirt.

“Really?” Yuna asks, an eyebrow raised. She doesn’t sound convinced at all, but you pretend you don’t notice.

“Nope,” you respond again. “Why? Is there something wrong?”

“Yeah, actually,” she says calmly. “It’s just that there is this girl I know who seems to be avoiding all her friends and her boyfriend without any explanation, and nobody can figure out what’s wrong.”

“Oh? Well, maybe she’s fine and doesn’t need anyone to worry about her. She could be just a little tired after a long week, don’t you think?”

“Tired doesn’t mean ignoring everyone she knows,” Yuna points out.

You look down, examining your fingernails. They are short, bitten stubs—a product of your recent spike in anxiety. You pick at a hangnail on your thumb before you answer.

“Maybe tired to her means socializing less to conserve energy.”

A moment passes, and you can feel her glare burning into the side of your head, but you don’t look up.

“Y/N.” She says finally, breaking the silence. “Please. Talk to me.”

“I am talking,” you say shortly.

“That’s not what I mean,” Yuna emphasizes firmly. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing is,” you repeat. “Everything is fine and dandy. I’m doing great. Couldn’t be better, in fact.”

She sighs heavily.

“What happened with you and Jisung?”

You still.

“Jisung?” Your voice wobbles—barely, but you know it’s enough for Yuna to notice. “Why would you think something happened with Jisung?”

“Because he’s been a wreck since his birthday, and you’ve been avoiding everyone, and there is something weird about it all.”

Your breath catches in your throat when she says that. The first thought that pops into your head is, is he okay?

It’s followed quickly by why is he a wreck? and did I fuck up so badly that I broke him?

“Hasn’t he said what’s wrong with him?” You ask, trying to be nonchalant even as you can feel the panic rising in your throat. “Because I think he’s the only one with an issue right now. Not me. Definitely not me.”

“Y/N,” Yuna sighs again. “He’s your boyfriend, and there’s something up with both of you. Did he do something? Please, tell me what’s wrong so I can help.”

Boyfriend. The word echoes in your head, bouncing around until it threatens to engulf you completely. It’s parasitic, the way it burns through you.

A moment passes, and you’re frozen.

Then,

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

Your voice is heartbreakingly soft, and Yuna is surprised to find that when you look up and your eyes finally meet hers, they are glassy with unshed tears.

“What?”

“I said,” you choke out. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

And then you’re crying.

“Oh, Y/N,” Yuna says soothingly, pulling you closer and wrapping her arms around you.

You turn, burying your face into her shoulder as hot, scalding tears run down your face. She runs a hand down your head, smoothing your hair in a calming and repetitive movement, and you let go of the emotions you have been holding back for the past 7 days.

You cry and you cry and you cry until you feel like you have nothing left to give, and then you just let Yuna hold you for a moment.

And then, you pull back after what seems like forever, and tell her about everything.

Okay, so—not everything. You definitely don’t tell her about Jisung and 3racha, but you tell her everything else. How you’ve had a crush on him for forever, and how you both ended up somehow faking a relationship, and how you’re feelings for him only continued to grow throughout it, and then you tell her about the party, and how you kissed him and fucked everything up, because there is no way he feels anything for you—especially because he’s been avoiding you the same way you have been avoiding him.

Yuna listens attentively and doesn’t interrupt once, and when you finish speaking finally, your tears have mostly dried.

“You don’t hate me… Do you?” Your voice is small and vulnerable.

“No,” she says decidedly. “I could never hate you for something like this.”

“Thank you,” you whisper, a watery smile barely present on your face as she hugs you again.

“Do you… Do you think I fucked it all up?”

Yuna shakes her head firmly. “No. I know you didn’t.”

You aren’t too sure if you believe her, but the words are comforting either way.

“You know what?” Yuna says determinedly after a moment. “I think you need something to get your mind off of this all. To clear your head, you know? It’ll make you feel better.”

You look at her skeptically, your eyes already beginning to puff up.

“Yes,” she nods excitedly to herself. “Tomorrow, I’m taking you on a date so you can stop thinking about him!”

“Oh, Yuna, I don’t—“ You sniffle but she cuts you off.

“Nope! I’ve decided already! You’re heartsick, and this is just what the doctor ordered.”

“…Okay?”

“Great!” She grins at you. “Now, why don’t you take a shower and go to sleep? You look like you’re about to pass out any minute.”

“Yeah,” you say faintly as she drags you up from the couch and pushes you in the direction of your bedroom. “Okay.”

After a quick, scalding shower, you lay in bed and fall asleep quickly. You sleep fitfully and contently the entire night through, and when you wake up the next morning, it is to Yuna packing up a wicker basket in the kitchen.

“You’re awake!” She exclaims when she notices you come out of your room.

“Get dressed,” Yuna singsongs, folding a giant gingham sheet. “We’re going on a picnic! I put a lot of effort into this so you better put on something cute or I’ll murder you.”

You find that, against all odds, you somehow feel better than you did last night, even if only marginally.

Crying it out of your system will do that to you, you suppose as you head back into your room to pick out an outfit that will pass Yuna’s inspection.

It doesn’t take long for you to settle in a simple white cotton dress. You tie your hair back with a matching ribbon, and put on a bit of concealer under your eyes to hide any evidence of what happened last night.

When you emerge from your room, you find Yuna waiting eagerly at the door, a giant floppy straw hat on her head.

“Let’s go!” She says excitedly. Despite yourself, you find a small smile creeping onto your face. Maybe this isn’t such a bad idea, after all.

You don’t really know where you are going, because Yuna has planned it all out to the tee, but she chats the whole bus ride there, and for the first time all week, you feel like you can breathe.

30 minutes later, the two of you find yourselves on the banks of the Han river, spreading out a blanket to sit upon.

Then, you’re reaching into the wicker basket Yuna has brought along, pulling out small boxes full of comfort food—rice cakes, fried rice, noodles… Your heart warms as you think of her in the kitchen, cooking all of this food for you.

You really love your friends.

“Rice, japchae, beef…” Yuna mutters to herself, doing a tally of everything that has been laid out.

“Is there nothing else in the basket?” She turns to you, hopeful. You look inside, and then shake your head.

“No, it’s empty.”

“Fuck, I forgot water…”

Then, her eyes light up.

“I’ll be right back, okay? I’m just going to the convenience store to get something to drink.”

“Okay,” you nod to her.

And then she’s running off, her hat wobbling in a hilarious way as she goes.

You pull your knees into your chest and observe around you as you wait for her to come back. A small toddler runs past you, with his mother close behind, begging him to slow down. A few feet away, 3 middle school boys are riding their bikes and eating ice pops as they go. An elderly couple are resting on a bench that overlooks the river.

Then, your eyes fall onto the ducks. You light up immediately, searching the wide picnic spread until you find what you were looking for—bread.

You’re overly excited as you grab the bag of bread and practically skip over to the ducks. They watch you curiously as you bend down a few feet away from them. You start to break off small pieces of the bread and throw them down in between you and the ducks, and they happily swarm the food you offer.

You giggle as you watch a mother duck push her chick towards a small piece of bread that you have thrown out. The baby ducks are always the cutest, you can’t help but think.

“They’re adorable, aren’t they?” A familiar voice says from behind you, and you freeze. Your blood turns ice cold, and your head snaps around.

And there he is, in the flesh—Han Jisung, standing awkwardly only a few feet away from you.

You stare. He’s dressed casually, in a loose white shirt and black jeans, and it’s crazy how he looks the same as you’ve always seem him, and yet so different at the same time. His hair is brushed back, and to your surprise—a deep, berry blue, but what shocks you the most is the timid, almost unsure expression on his face.

A moment passes, and then—you’re pushing yourself up and briskly walking past him without a word, trying to get as far away as possible.

“Wait, Y/N—wait!” He calls out, but you ignore him.

“Y/N,” he jogs, and it doesn’t take long before he’s in front of you, effectively cutting off your escape route.

You stop in your tracks, but continue to stare off behind his head, as if you can’t see him at all.

“Can we talk?” He asks.

“We don’t have anything to talk about,” you say stiffly.

“Um, I think we have a lot to talk about,” he disagrees, his brow furrowing.

You think it’s cute—at least, you would, if you were looking at him. But you’re not, and so you don’t.

“Well I don’t have anything to talk to you about,” you say, tone short and sharp.

“That’s fine,” Jisung sighs. “That’s fine, because I can do the talking. But will you listen?”

You stare off in the direction Yuna had run off in, desperately hoping for her to appear. Predictably, she doesn’t, and so instead of answering, you continue to stare pointedly at anything but the boy in front of you.

He takes that as a yes.

“Look,” he looks a little exasperated as he runs a hand through his hair. “I know that we started this whole thing so we could, I dunno, keep up a lie that I got us wrapped up into. And I know you got all freaked out last week when—well, when that thing happened, which is why I’ve been giving you space…”

You still refuse to look at him, but your eyes trail from a giant light pole behind him to where a family of four are sitting under the shade of a giant tree.

“I mean,” Jisung continues on. “I thought space is what you needed, for a bit. But you’re still ignoring me and freaking out, which is why I’m here to tell you that—well, to tell you that I like you.”

He says it so sincerely that it’s enough for you to finally look at him.

“Ha, ha,” you say sarcastically, finally speaking. “That’s funny. Now, are you done? I’m kind of busy right now.”

“What?” His nose scrunches in confusion, and your heart skips a beat, which you promptly ignore.

“No, Y/N. I like you. A lot.”

The familiar feeling of panic starts to well up in your stomach, and your gaze hardens.

“You like me?” You say, your face twisting cruelly as you look at his earnest, pleading eyes.

“Yes,” he says solemnly. “I do. I have for a long time, actually…”

Your throat burns. “Jisung, stop it.”

“Why?” He asks, bewildered.

“Because!” You hiss. “I know you’re doing this for 3racha and to keep it a secret, which is fine, I know you are. It’s what we’ve been doing since the beginning, of course I know you are, but… But you’re being mean right now.”

“How?” His frustration bleeds into his words. “Y/N, I’m telling you that I like you! This has nothing to do with 3racha.”

You scoff.

“You don’t believe me?” Jisung demands. “I’m serious. I’ve already told Yuna everything! I literally have nothing to lose,” he laughs, and it borders on maniacal.

“Except you, of course, because my feelings for you are so real it’s kind of starting to hurt!”

“What did you say?” You whisper faintly.

He sighs. “On Monday, when it became obvious you were avoiding me, I went to Yuna, and—well I told her about 3racha, and what you were doing to help me keep that secret, because I wanted her advice on how to…”

He trails off, suddenly nervous. You stare foggily at him, half unsure if you’re breathing still.

“How to what?” You ask after a moment.

“How to ask you out, for real.”

“You told Yuna?”

He nods. “That’s why I’m here... I asked her to set this up.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” he echoes. “Oh.”

A moment passes. You feel warm all over. He told Yuna the truth… Does that mean…? He’s telling the truth?

“So,” you start. “Let me get this straight. You told Yuna the truth about your biggest secret, and… You like me?”

“I do, like you. A lot. A lot a lot.”

His eyes bore into yours.

“Okay,” you say weakly.

“Okay?” He asks. “I was… Kind of hoping for something more than okay.”

Instead of responding to that, you find yourself staring at his hair.

“It’s very blue,” you tell him, reaching out to touch it.

“What?” Jisung says, as if he’s forgotten. “Oh, yeah. It is.”

“You look like a blueberry,” you murmur, still entranced by how soft his hair is. “Why did you dye it?”

A blush rises to his cheeks, and he looks away quickly as he murmurs something inaudibly.

“What? I didn’t hear what you said.”

“Well,” he begins bashfully, his entire face red at this point. “You had said… The day you date me is the day I dye my hair blue, so…”

You retract your hand, your mind going back to that Thursday in the closet, when the two of you had been hiding from Yuna.

“I did say that, didn’t I?” You muse.

He nods.

“So?” You ask, expectantly.

“What?” Jisung is quick to get defensive.

“Aren’t you going to ask me out?”

“B-But,” he begins cluelessly. “You don’t… Like me back, do you?”

It takes a moment to process the words, and your jaw drops open slightly. You don’t know how to react to that—you don’t know what to do, or what to say. A flurry of emotions overcome you, but it’s easiest to pick out anger, and so you do the first thing that comes to mind.

You punch him.

“Ow!” Jisung yelps, pouting as he rubs his shoulder.

“You absolute buffoon!” You explode in anger. “Who initiated that kiss on your birthday? Was it you? No, I don’t think it was. Of course I like you! I’ve liked you since I met you, you fucking idiot! Why would you think I don’t like you? You are quite possibly the stupidest person to exist. It takes a special kind of person to be so oblivious you don't notice someone crushing on you for two years! I was so obvious too!”

He stares at you, flabbergasted.

Now it’s his turn to parrot you. “You like… me?”

You glare at him.

“Ask me,” you demand.

“Do you like me?” He repeats, and your eyes narrow.

“Wrong question,” you grit out.

His eyes widen as his mouth forms a silent ‘o.’’

“Do you…” He begins.

“Will you be my girlfriend?” Jisung asks finally, voice soft as he stares at you in wonder.

“Yes, you dummy!” You yell.

You want to smack him for being stupid, but you decide to kiss him instead—and this time, you find it’s everything you remember it to be and so much more.

“For the record,” Jisung says when the two of you break away, a stupid grin on his face as he slips his hand into yours. “I’ve liked you since I met you, too.”

“Really?” You look at him weirdly. “I threatened you with a frying pan.”

“Yeah, you looked kind of crazy,” he nods. “But it was hot, like, in a psycho kind of way.”

A look of disgust passes over your face, and you push him away.

“You’re disturbed,” you tell him. “I don’t think I want to date you anymore.”

“Hey!” He protests. “It hasn’t even been five minutes!”

“I didn’t know you were so weird, though,” you mimic vomiting, but don’t resist when he grabs your hand again.

The two of you head back to the picnic blanket you had been at before, only to find Yuna sitting there with at least ten water bottles surrounding her.

Her eyes flit to your linked hands as the two of you approach.

“So,” she says mischievously. “What did I miss?”

“Jisung,” you sigh. “Just show me the picture. I’ll see it sooner or later!”

He pouts as he holds his phone away from you. “No, I look bad.”

It’s currently a Saturday afternoon, with winter break just around the corner, and you and your friends are hanging out at Jisung and Hyunjin’s apartment.

“Babe,” you soothe him. “I promise, you don’t look bad.”

“Yes I do.”

“Han Jisung, give me the phone.” You frown.

“No,” he says stubbornly, shaking his head, and you grab his ear.

“Ow, ow!” He yelps, but you just twist ruthlessly.

“You’ve seen my ugly baby pictures,” you tell him, “so show me yours.”

“Okay, okay, fine!” He relents, and you let go of his ear, satisfied.

“But… You have to promise not to laugh.”

“I promise,” you say solemnly, and a moment later, he’s handing his phone to you hesitantly.

Excited, you snatch it from his hand, and he buries his face in your shoulder, embarrassed.

You’ve barely even glanced at the photo before you have to resist the urge to snort, but Jisung feels the vibration in your chest, and he lifts his head up to glare at you.

“You promised you wouldn’t laugh!”

“And I didn’t,” you clear your throat, pressing your lips together to suppress the smile from creeping onto your face.

“I told you I look bad, I shouldn’t have even let you see,” he whines and tries to snatch his phone back from you, but you hold it away from him.

“No!” You tell him. “I think it’s… cute.”

“You’re lying,” he accuses, and you can’t resist cupping his cheek with your free hand. He always looks so cute when he pouts.

“Well…” You say slyly. “I’ve always had a think for you in glasses.”

He groans, flopping backwards onto the couch, and you finally let out a laugh.

“It’s not that bad, Jisung, I promise!” You coo. “I think you’re adorable, even as an awkward preteen with a really bad haircut.”

“Don’t talk to me,” he grumbles, his words muffled as a result of being smushed face-first into the couch, and you continue to fawn over him.

Opposite to the two of you, Hyunjin and Yuna watch on in a sort of disgusted fascination, absolutely appalled by the romantic display and yet wholly unable to look away as you give Jisung a smooch on the cheek.

“This is so gross…” Hyunjin whispers to Yuna.

“Maybe it was better when they weren’t dating…” Yuna mutters back.

You’re now scrolling through Jisung’s camera roll as he tries to take his phone back from you, and Hyunjin can’t help but nod in agreement.

“You know… If you think about it, this is all kind of thanks to you,” he says to Yuna, and she snorts.

“Kind of?” She raises an eyebrow. “Oh, I’m definitely taking credit for this.”

“What?”

“You think all of this just happened by chance?” She gestures to you and Jisung. “I mean, I didn’t think Jisung would take it this far, but… Well, let’s just say he’s never been good at hiding things.”

She smirks. “His feelings for Y/N… Or his identity as J.One.”

Hyunjin gapes.

“Jisung has a habit of leaving his SoundCloud logged in when he lends me his laptop,” she explains.

“…Please, remind me to never keep secrets from you,” Hyunjin mutters under his breath, only slightly terrified.

On the couch across from them, Jisung has finally managed to take his phone back from you. You wrap your arms around his waist, burying your face in his chest as you let out a sigh.

Lazily, his arm wraps around you and he pulls you closer, his nose in your hair.

“What?” He mumbles, the words muffled by your head.

“Mm, s’nothing,” you say.

A moment of silence passes, and muted voices from the TV echo. Your face warms, and impulsively, your arms tighten around his torso as if trying to snuggle further into him.

“What is it?” He asks again, his tone playful.

There’s a beat of silence. You turn your face away from his so he can’t see you, and then:

“You’re so skinny.”

“Yeah,” he says sarcastically back. “I know. You’re always calling me a noodle boy, after all.”

You grin.

“Yeah, but you’re my noodle boy,” you say affectionately, and Yuna almost gags.

“Okay,” Hyunjin announces, horrified. “That’s enough PDA for one day!”

You stick out your tongue at him, and Jisung shows him his middle finger.

“You’re just jealous,” you tease.

“It’s okay, Hyunjin,” Jisung says solemnly. “Maybe one day someone will get past your annoying personality and catch feelings for you, too.”

Hyunjin lets out a strangled groan.

“Can we leave? Please?” He begs Yuna.