#guys confession this used so many colours that the website i used started having performance issues💔

[higgs-bosom-69]

when the metal gear is solid 2

[heart2jeno]

the stars we saw that day

▸ 💌 : u:mi is writing … ✎♡

꒰ 26.02.27 ꒱— i tried posting this a few days ago but it literally ? just collected dust and a measly 2 notes so i’m guessing something went wrong when i switched from posting it on mobile to later editing it on desktop. be a peach and pretend this is the first time i’m posting this... heh, enjoy the fic <3 !

a sexc one-shot for my favourite scorpio on this website @jaenocide 

. . . 🌙 ⭐️ 🚀 . . .

₊˚. one (1) new incoming rq┊📥 !!

┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄╮

❑ band au …

❑ enemies to lovers …

❑ prompt 1 : “ are you sure this

is legal ? ”

❑ member : RENJUN of NCT

↷… 🌙ˀˀ | opening FILE . . . ꒱ - - - - ��

“you’re late.”

you dropped your schoolbag onto one of the plastic chairs against the wall, with a thump, and rolled your eyes, “and you’re already getting on my nerves,” is what you would have retorted, if you had had the energy to do so.

there were so many other things that you’d rather be doing. it was obvious that you hadn’t been given the choice of who you were meeting in one of the school’s tiny secluded practice-rooms after classes because the guy currently scowling daggers at your back would definitely not have been one of your choices—for obvious reasons.

if you had been given your way, you would never even have to see his face at all. so, naturally, when you looked over your shoulder, you returned his icy glare with one of your own, “my bad. ‘didn’t realise you’d be here counting down the minutes.”

his laugh was humorless, “don’t flatter yourself.” as he moved to the wall-piano in the corner of the room, he continued, “i wouldn’t be crying over my keys if you hadn’t show up.”

huang renjun: the art department’s favourite student, pianist protégée, beloved by every teacher who had ever had the absolute delight of having him in their class, the biggest pain-in-your-ass—only to name a few of the names that he’s accumulated during his years at the school on the outskirts of seoul.

no one ever really knew why the two of you couldn’t stand eachother; it had always been that way, for as long as anyone could remember.

☄︎. *. ˖⋆࿐໋₊

if you thought back on it—which you hardly ever found yourself doing—the first memory you had of huang renjun was back in elementary, when you had just transferred.

he had looked at you strangely—as if you were out-of-place, like an alien or something like that—the moment he had sat opposite you at the same table during class. you remember how he had murmured something behind his hand to jeno who sat beside him. they had kept glancing across at you throughout the lesson, muttering under their breaths.

during recess that day, you had stood on tiptoe and peered into the reflection of one of the school building’s window, wondering if your mum had braided your hair unevenly or if there were remnants of the cupcake you had eaten earlier in the day around your mouth. neither had seemed to be the case—which had only left you even more confused.

what had made you certain that huang renjun hated you was when he landed you your first ever lunch-time detention, in your last year of elementary.

the two of you, as well as your best-friends: donghyuck ‘haechan,’ jeno and jaemin (who had been renjun’s best friends first and still were—although admitting that you shared anything with renjun left a foul taste in your mouth) had sat on the same table in maths.

you had walked into the classroom, after break, to see renjun already sat down. usually, during lessons you’d ignore his presence as best as you could. you would pretend not to hear his ‘help’ whenever you struggled with the worksheet, prefering to soldier on; it wasn’t as if you’d feel any joy giving renjun the satisfaction of knowing more than you do.

but you had been quick to notice the sketchbook—your sketchbook—held in his greasy little hands. you must have forgotten to put it back inside your bag, the lesson before. his eyes had risen from examining the open pages and they widened when he registered you standing in the doorway.

as you stormed towards him, renjun’s mouth had opened to say something; it was as fruitless as trying to calm a raging tempest.

“give me that,” you seethed, snatching the book from him; your face felt like it was burning. the things you drew weren’t stuff that would get you in trouble but they were rather—well, looking back on it—weird: pretty schoolgirls with brightly-coloured hair sitting on yellow grass beneath a purple-coloured sky, mermaids on rocks akin to the candy of the same name beneath a gatorade waterfall, forest elves with the ability to control different elements. they were fantasy or sci-fi drawings, taking inspiration from the stories you made up in your head during daydreams, or from the stories you’d read at night when you were supposed to be sleeping. none of which you planned to sit down and share with renjun.

he had tried to say something again, bristling at your tone, but you didn’t allow him an opening, “haven’t you ever heard of a thing called privacy?” you quickly placed your sketchbook safely in your bag, making sure it was secured, before glowering at him, “paws off, brace-face.”you remember the surge of satisfaction that had coursed through you, when you watched how quickly his face became red.

after renjun had gotten his braces, you had overheard donghyuck call him the name, playfully nudging him in the arm. you didn’t think it would be enough to rile him up but it wasn’t soon after that when he stuck his hand up in the air to tell the teacher about what you had called him. you had stubbornly refused to apologise which resulted in a lunch-time spent writing lines of ‘i shall not name-call’ until your hand ached.

before you had started playing the guitar for the band, you had taken private violin lessons; since they were at your highschool, your music instructor would pair you and the other violinists up with the pianists for the end of month evaluation, because there weren’t that many of you altogether in the department. you didn’t mind, when you were paired with the care-free jaemin who smiled whenever he watched you play and let you sit beside him on the bench as he practiced his new arrangement. you may have even confessed that he gave you butterflies whenever he laughed at your bad jokes.

but there were a few months where you would be partnered with none other than renjun—who you felt was the only one who hated you more than the universe seemed to.

the pair of you played well enough during performances; in the words of your instructor who would even go as far as pulling the two of you aside afterwards, “it could even secure a place in the annual competition held in the city.” every time, the two of you would thank him stiffly, as if doing anything more would give the other a sort of advantage in your long-standing dispute.

to you, the thought of performing on stage would be a wonderful step-up from playing in the school’s small practice room littered with broken instruments on the shelves and the ancient piano stuffed in one corner (all giving the room a foul timeworn odour that hung in the air, even with the door open)—was welcomed, even—but with renjun? not a chance.

⋆·˚ ༘ * 🔭

“whatever,” you muttered, turning your back on him again and putting your case on one of the other plastic chairs. as you crouched down to unclasp it, you registered the sound of a page turning behind you and you took out your violin and bow. although you’d never admit it out loud, it wasn’t an exaggeration that renjun was a talented pianist. maybe if he did ever compete in the national piano competition, he’d even make it to the finals. maybe. your grip tightens on the neck of your violin as you brace yourself for an hour of torture (practice) with huang renjun.

that was in highschool.

“hey.”

you had graduated three years ago. yet here you were. 

you poked your tongue into the inside of your cheek, before letting it sweep over your teeth. not taking your gaze off the window and the scenery that rolled past as the car drove through the city, you muttered, “what.”

there’s a pause—which you knew meant that he’s taking a moment to study you. you’re past the point of caring what went on in renjun’s head when he saw you; if anything you wished he’d be less keen to voice them aloud.

“i thought you did well earlier.”

you tensed in your seat, despite knowing better than to rise to the bait he had once again cast out to sea. of course, he always managed to haul an abundance, by the end of the day. when you didn’t respond, he took it as a cue to continue—or he didn’t care and continued anyway (you assumed the latter.) “what you said almost made me blush,” you could practically see the mocking smirk on his face, imprinted on the inside of your eyelids, as you closed your eyes and took a deep breath.

you finally turned your head to glare daggers, which seemed to only harmlessly glance off him, as he continued, “almost. although, of course, we both know better,” your skin crawled when he patted your hand in mock-affection, “don’t we, baby?”

you would have assumed that the two of you would have grown out of your childish war by now, especially after your whole ‘rise-to-fame,’ but no, you still hated everything about huang renjun: how he always had to have the last word, always had a remark on the tip of his tongue with a glint in his eye, always laughed at you like there’s a joke you’re not aware of.

but, most of all—especially now—you hated the feeling you got in your stomach whenever he looked at you so... so lovingly: like a million butterflies laid dormant there until he started talking with that look on his face—like they only took flight at his beck and call. you hated it—you hated it all.

you couldn’t decide which one made you feel worse: the fact, you knew as well as him, that it’s all a fabricated lie or the fact that it still managed to affect you so deeply, despite that piece of knowledge.

you see: if someone had told you, during the days when you used to practice in one of your school’s cramped music-rooms, that, a few years down the line, your band would be signed to one of the biggest entertainment companies in korea, you would have called them crazy; if they had continued and said that you and renjun would quickly be known as the country’s beloved ‘star couple,’ you may have punched them square in the nose.

yet here you were, being driven home after the day’s schedule—which had included an interview for one of the biggest magazines in south korea.

you had felt like the interview had been less professional than it should have been; it focused more on your adored ‘relationship’ with renjun, rather than the promotion of your group’s new album. it included questions like ‘when did the two of you realise you loved eachother?’ and ‘what’s your favourite thing about the other person?’

there had been many instances where you had had to resist the overwhelming urge to throttle both renjun, when he watched you with more of a taunting smirk than a lover’s smile, and the interviewer who had clearly been far more keen on hearing his answer than yours.

does a person have to blink that much? you remember asking youself, as you watched the interviewer lean unnecessarily closer to renjun and bat her eyes, as he was answering one of the questions about how often you get into arguments (”rarely ever, we never disagree on things” bullshit, huang.) instead of letting your disgust slip through, you secure your mask and play the role of the meek girlfriend, giggling at your boyfriend’s answer.

you had dipped your head slightly and bit your lip, trying to stop yourself from smiling, as a thought came to mind; our fans won’t be too happy when they notice this, in the video. while they’re easily deceived by yours and renjun’s ‘romance,’ they could pick up on many other things: including smitten interviewers.

your supporters were dedicated, often even extreme—and it was both their upbringing and in some cases, their ultimate flaw. despite yourself, you couldn’t wait to read the comments about this interview, in a few days.

pinching the skin on your wrist wasn’t enough to distract you from renjun’s presence anymore; not when you had to always hold his hand or link arms whilst walking around in public, because of the cameras flashing wherever you went in order to capture and report every detail to this media and the other; there even had to be the occasional kiss, if they had been particularly quiet and needed something new to gush about, like a child being rewarded with a treat for being so well-behaved.

sickening, how so many people get a thrill from a deluded sense of control over celebrities’ personal lives and relationships; as if we’re nothing but dolls. even if your relationship was fake—it wasn’t as if these people knew that. you supposed it was your company’s fault, for making you and renjun parade  around like two stupid lovebirds as well as your own fault for letting them. but, hey, business is business.

to the public, you were two enamoured young stars who couldn’t wait until they were behind closed doors to display their desire for eachother. in reality, his hand on your wrist, as you waited for your transport after finishing the day’s schedule, was actually to keep you from writhing away: as if his touch physically scalded. when you leaned in to ‘lovingly whisper’ into his ear during music awards, you were actually hissing warnings about what would happen once you get back to the dorms if he kept getting on your nerves.

💫༉‧₊˚✧

you seize the opportunity to slip away from the eyes of producers and camera crew, as they finally move on to bombard haechan with questions and commands for another new promotion video. he notices you just as you’re about to leave and jokingly mouths a dramatic, “save me.”

you laugh silently and give him the thumbs-up, before backing out of the room. you make your way down the corridor and up the flight of stairs, the sound of your echoing steps drastically different to the constant chatter and background noise that you had grown so accustomed to. making it to the top, you barely hesitate, as you open the door to the building’s rooftop.

when you step out into the night, you close your eyes and—for the first time in what feels like forever—take a deep breath. you savour the cool air entering your lungs, as your muscles relax—you didn’t even realise how tense you had been. this life was everything you and your group had dreamed of: money, fame, parties with a-listers almost every weekend… so why did you feel so worn out by it all?

you tilt your head up to the inky sky, feeling infinitely small beneath the sparse pinpricks of light that shone above—out of reach, yet impossible to miss. a reminder. a comfort. your worries momentarily drift away on the cool wind, as the night embraces you, like an old friend. if only for a few minutes, until someone is sent to find you. it’s only when you open your eyes again that you notice someone perched on the ledge, their legs dangling over.

renjun’s silhouette was framed by the bright lights of soul: the office towers, shopping district and apartment buildings that made up the inner-city in the distance. had he felt like he had to get away for a while, the way you had?

he jumps at the sound of the door that slams shut behind you, his upper-body whipping around to find the cause of the noise. when he realises that it’s only you and not one of the production members who probably wouldn’t stop irritating him, he visibly relaxes and turns back around. some part of you is relieved that he would gladly tolerate your company over the crew’s—but, then again, you’d prefer him over their constant commands and orders too. and that said alot... right?

a slim beam of light shoots out from where your ‘boyfriend’ sits and you watch it dart across the towering buildings a distance away, “is that a… laser?”

he hums.

“are you sure this is legal?” you ask as you sit beside him on the ledge, maintaining a respectful distance—more for your own comfort than his. you continue watching the dancing light, “i mean, you might distract a pilot… or something.”

he’s silent for several moments, the laser-pen falling slack in his hand, “hm… nah, ‘don’t think so,” he gives you a sidewards-glance, noting your furrowed brow. he runs his fingers through his hair which you notice is now peaking behind his ears and down the nape of his neck, into the collar of his shirt.

if things were different, you may have even reached out to play with a few strands or ask him if he was thinking of growing it out. but, instead, your fingers remain curled into fists on your lap and your mouth stays shut as he resumes pointing the laser at seoul’s inner-city. it was surprising that the crimson beam was able to project that far.

“cut it out,” you finally sigh, after a few moments of awkward silence, ignoring his noise of protest as you snatch the pen from his hand and pocket it.

“you’ve never been any fun,” he murmurs, running his hands over his face before rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

at a sidewards glance, you realise renjun is bare-faced, without the usual thin layer of makeup and styled hair. he looks as tired as you feel. so he’s just been up here, all this time. as you steal a few more glances at him, you wonder if, maybe, your hectic schedule was taking its toll on someone else as well.

you quickly catch yourself staring, longer than you really should be, when he meets your eye. you avert your gaze to the city ahead, ignoring the heat rising in your cheeks.

“so you couldn’t stand it down there either, huh?” renjun says, if only to fill the silence stretching between the two of you. out of the corner of your peripheral vision, you can see him still watching you.

“just needed some air,” you say, shrugging.

he hums, clasping his hands in his lap. out of the corner of your eye, you can see him tapping a knuckle with his finger—a habit of his.

you both lapse into another stifling silence and, after a while, your eyes lift up to the sky; you strain to catch a glimpse of any stars.

renjun watches you, the corners of his mouth curving up into a small smile as he says, “it’s disappointing.” your eyes slide to meet his as he says, “you’ve heard of light pollution, right?”

“i was in your geo class, idiot.”

“well you wouldn’t blame me if i thought you didn’t pay a lot of attention,” after a beat, he quickly adds, “idiot.”

your eyes crinkle as you laugh, shaking your shoulders.

“i’m serious,” his intonation lilts off at the end, making it sound like he’s whining, “i swear you spent more time sleeping than actually taking notes.”

“i took tons of notes!” of course, you’re lying.

although you used to do your best to pay attention in class, you couldn’t help but fall asleep or stare out of the window or pay attention to anything else other than the lesson—it wasn’t your fault that the class was so boring.

what came as a surprise were the notes you discovered in your locker between classes which went over everything from the lesson before, delivered without fail. you didn’t know who left the neatly-organised notes, because you didn’t recognise the handwriting, whenever you compared it to your friends’.

the smile he flashes catches you off-guard.

it’s not like the ones that don’t reach his eyes—the ones you have forever been accustomed to—or the ones he gave you when there were thousands of cameras and eyes trained to capture every move that the pair of you made. those smiles were fake, dripping of unbearingly sweet honey which the oblivious public lapped up and simply couldn’t get enough of.

yet it isn’t the blatantly aggravating smirks he’d flash your way after delivering a biting remark about how well you sang his praises for an interview.

no, this smile is unlike the two masks he usually wears and discards. it seems… genuine? you can’t explain the feeling in your stomach at the sight.

“you mean, my notes?”

of course, they were his. your face burns as the realisation washes over you—or, more accurately, crashes into you like a tsunami wave. you mentally curse yourself for your stupidity as well as the irony of it all.

you had never tried to look at his writing, unless it was to quickly scrutinise the little notes he’d made on his music sheets which he begrudgingly shared with you during duet practices all those years ago. you had never really given it much thought. now you feel stupid for never doing so.

upon seeing your reaction, he takes your silence in stride—and laughs. the butterflies take flight in your stomach when you realise he’s not mocking you; you even smile weakly.

you’re not surprised at renjun’s reaction, before he muses aloud, “woah. ‘didn’t know you could do that.”

your smile falters. instinctively, your mouth works faster than your brain and you quickly retort, “well you don’t really give me many reasons to, do you?”

now it’s your turn to be surprised, as he simply tilts his head back, laughing up at the night sky. the sound is melodical and makes the fluttering in your stomach harder to ignore. you laugh weakly, the new situation catching you off-guard. are you seriously hiding on a rooftop and joking around with huang renjun? and were you… enjoying it?

“i bet i’m gonna wake up soon,” he says, as if reading your mind, after the laughter dies down. it’s a lot less awkward than it had been only moments before. “we’ll be at eachother’s throats again by tomorrow,” he quirks a brow at you for confirmation, “right?”

you hum, scratching your cheek with the knuckle of a finger, “maybe.”

“i mean,” he glances at you before staring down at his laced figers, “…why are we like this?”

you don’t have to ask him to be more specific, “i… i dunno,” you laugh dryly, fiddling with the laser-pen in your pocket, “you’ve hated me since day one.”

“what?” you would have thought he was goading you, if you hadn’t seen the shock that immediately crosses his features. he shoots you a puzzled look.

“you did,” you insist, trying hard to convince yourself that you were being logical, especially after his unexpected reaction, “remember? elementary school. miss kim’s class.” he tilts his head, like a confused puppy, brows furrowed as you continue to jog his memory, “you sat next to jeno and kept looking at me like—like i was something gross that you stepped in!”

“what?” renjun repeats, laughing breathily as he shakes his head, “no, that’s not true.” he looks at you, running his hand through his hair again. he searches your expression, “oh come on, y/n” hearing him say your name so casually makes your heart skip a beat. what is happening to you? “you were a new girl and…” his gaze falls to his hands again, as he mutters, “and… you were... cute…” he seems to be surprised by his own words, as he scratches the nape of his neck, his eyes suddenly avoiding your direction.

he did not just say that. he couldn’t have; out of all the things you were expecting, that was not one of them, “you’re joking.”

he gives you a pointed glance; as if the answer has been obvious, “if you asked jeno, he’d humiliate me,” quickly, he adds, “if he still remembers… which i doubt. i made him swear not to say anything.”

a supressed memory resurfaces, of jeno back in elementary: he had told you once that renjun had a crush on you. because of how unbelievable it seemed, you had iced him out for a solid week—similar to how you ignored renjun—for telling you such an unfunny joke, until he admitted that he had lied and apologised. maybe he hadn’t been lying afterall.

“oh,” you say quietly, before it fully sinks in and you put your face in your hands, “oh.”

renjun had never hated you. he had never insulted you first; if anything, he only ever lashed back in self-defence. it had been your fault for misunderstanding on that first day. while you were sat there feeling self-conscious, renjun had been talking to jeno throughout that lesson because he had thought you were cute.

renjun can’t help but smile at the way your voice came out muffled. “so you get it now?”

you reach out, weakly slapping his arm in embarrassment; he makes an equally weak attempt to dodge it, laughing again.

“god…” you rub your face, feeling like it was burning up again; this had to be the third time you’ve embarrassed yourself tonight. the crushing realisation of how different things could have been, if you hadn’t been so stupid, had you hiding your face in your hands again and shaking your head, “i’m…” your laugh is muffled, “i’m so sorry for…” you waved a hand between the two of you, “all of this.”

for the second time tonight, you’re pleasantly suprised when renjun only smiles up at the stars and shakes his head, looking lax, “well, better late than never,” he shoots you a playful grin, “ten years late than never.”

you slap his arm again, laughing, “stop that.”

in the end, or the beginning—whichever way you want to look at it—the thing that resolved your ten-year cat-and-dog relationship built over a misunderstanding was a fateful encounter on a rooftop and, under a light-polluted sky, you realised that you love everything about huang renjun.

you love how he talks so passionately about his different theories, especially the one about other universes existing at the same time as ours (“like. y/n. imagine that, in some other universe, we’re not even sitting on this rooftop. or that this rooftop never even existed. crazy, huh?”) as well as the possibility of alien life (“we haven’t even fully explored the ocean. who’s to say that aliens aren’t out there? or… already living amongst us?”)

you love how interested he had been, when you told him about the stories behind the drawings he had remembered from your sketchbook; he even described some of his own childhood drawings which were just as (and maybe even more) eccentric.

he has the sharp wit and humour to make you laugh until your sides hurt, especially on that memorable night which had been the first of many: you had had to hold his arm to stop yourself from accidentally falling off, as you writhed around; it proved to be almost useless, because renjun had been hysterical as well. both of your laughter rang in the night—and neither of you even had enough awareness to feel the cold.

but, most of all, you love the feeling you get in your stomach whenever he looks at you; those butterflies that take flight whenever he says your name. everything you had thought you knew about him was wrong—and your heart melts whenever you remember how he had been waiting for you to realise. maybe it had to take ten years, for the two of you to get to where you are now.

jeno gives you a wide-eyed look when he catches you cuddled up to renjun at the dorm, one night. passing the two of you on the sofa, he asks, “is this a hidden camera prank?” his eyes dart around, searching the corners of the room and even jokingly lifting up the bowl of cereal that he was carrying to inspect the bottom of it.

renjun grabs the cushion you had been hugging and you make a small sound of protest, before simply reaching to the side to grab another one. you laugh as you catch sight of jeno dodging the one thrown at him by the older boy and his free hand which moved to protect his cereal from spilling, “hey! you don’t have to hurt the lucky charms!”

as he saunters off to his room, he calls out, “i did try to tell you that he liked you, y/n!”

you reach out to the laser-pen on the coffee-table in front of the sofa and flash the light into jeno’s eyes, when he looks over his shoulder at the two of you. you laugh along with renjun as he yells in surprise and quickly shuts his door with a snap before any more harm can be done to him or his lucky charms.

huang renjun and y/n l/n: the nation’s beloved it-couple or, in your eyes, two people with a lot of time to make up for.

you believe that the two of you will get there, eventually—and hopefully it takes less than another ten years.