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saythenametotheworld · 11 days ago

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You’re Not Sorry | l.jn (18+)

Being with Jeno was a whirlwind of dizzying highs and crushing lows, each moment burning brighter—and darker—than the last. Even with someone new, someone infinitely better, why does it always feel like every road leads back to him?

one | two | THREE | four | five

Genre: fwb to lovers, college au, smut Pairing: Lee Jeno x afab!Reader Warnings: mature themes, explicit sexual content (18+), frustrating (lol sorry) Notes: 24k words. Part 2 of the Campus Confessions series, but it can be read as a standalone fic. This took too long. Sorry. Changed the premise halfway because that's just how it is, things change and it's okay. lmao. Song prompt was You're Not Sorry by Taylor Swift. Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know them personally and do not claim they would ever behave like they were portrayed in this story.

Playlist: You're Not Sorry by Taylor Swift, The Way I Loved You by Taylor Swift, toxic till the end by ROSÉ

“You used to shine so bright, but I watched all of it fade.”

It was a beautiful sunny day when you first saw Lee Jeno. First day of uni, there were two queues in front of the freshmen registration booth, and he was standing in line opposite you. It was the sound of laughter from his loud group of friends that made people glance over instinctively, and you were no exception. You found yourself staring at him in particular—captivated by the way his crinkled eyes lit up his face, his cheeks lifting as he laughed. The weather made everything bright, but his smile somehow made the day feel more radiant. Warmth spread through you, a little thrill that felt almost embarrassing.

When he caught you looking, your breath hitched. Instead of looking away like a normal person might, you stared right at him with widened eyes. You thought he’d find you weird for staring, but he just grinned wider—as if he’d just caught a fish on a line. Then he winked.

Your face heated instantly, and you turned away, suddenly finding your registration form interesting. But it was too late. The image of his smile, playful and radiant, burned itself into your memory.

You didn’t know him—hadn’t even heard his voice yet over the chatter of the crowd—but at that moment, you knew you liked him already.

You ran into him again at your first college party. The room was packed, music pulsing loud enough to make your chest vibrate, and bodies pressed together in a blur of laughter, sweat, and alcohol. You were just getting comfortable, a drink in your hand and your new friends—and housemates—Karina and Giselle by your side, when you spotted him across the room.

“His name is Jeno!” Karina told you when you asked if they knew him. “We went to high school together.”

“Lucky you,” you muttered absentmindedly, their words fading out with the rest of the world as your eyes focused solely on Jeno.

He looked even better under the dim, colorful lights. His hair was perfectly tousled, his smile radiant and handsome as he laughed at something his friend said. The way his arms crossed over his chest made you stare at his muscles, wondering if they were as strong as they looked.

“Girl,” Giselle prompted, pulling you out of your musings.

“Yeah?” you asked, momentarily caught off-guard and embarrassed about being caught staring at Jeno.

Giselle narrowed her eyes playfully at you. “Do you like that guy?”

“Was I obvious?” you quipped, tucking your hair behind your ear.

“Glaringly obvious,” Giselle replied, rolling her eyes and chuckling. “I’m gonna go this way. Will you be fine on your own?”

“Yeah. Where did Karina go?” you asked, realizing Karina was missing from your circle.

“Someone called her over. Probably her friends.” She tapped her red cup against yours. “See you later?”

“Later,” you replied.

You watched Giselle walk away and disappear into the crowd. And when you glanced back to where Jeno was, you were surprised to see him staring at you. In the few minutes that you took your eyes off him, his friends had disappeared. He was still leaning against the wall, nursing a drink with his gaze fixed on you.

Your heart was beating wildly in your chest, but you masked it with a slight tilt of your head and a sweet smile. You raised your cup in the air as a greeting. Jeno smiled back, pushing himself off the wall and making his way over—all confident and charming.

“Hey,” he said, leaning in just close enough to be heard over the music. His voice was warm and casual, and you were already hooked.

“Hi,” you replied, smiling back.

“Is it okay if I start by asking ‘what’s a beautiful girl like you doing at a crazy party like this?’” he asked, lifting his eyebrows.

You chuckled lightly, genuinely amused. “Yeah, well, can I say ‘I’m just here for the drinks?’”

“Good answer,” he said, shrugging. You both laughed for a bit, before he asked again. “But seriously. I’d love to know what’s a beautiful girl like you doing at a party like this?”

You shifted a little closer, enjoying the warmth of his words. “Maybe I’m here to see if I can find someone interesting to talk to,” you replied, your voice soft, playful.

His gaze flicked to your lips for a moment before meeting your eyes again, a teasing glint in them. “Well, you’re in luck,” he said, voice lowering slightly, “because I’m the most interesting guy in this room.”

You hummed approvingly, smiling. “Confidence is a good look on you,” you teased, though the compliment felt oddly sincere as you met his gaze.

He was flirty from the start, throwing compliments and sly jokes that made you giggle. He leaned in closer as the night went on, his hand occasionally brushing your arm or resting lightly on your back. Normally, you might have found this too forward, but it was Jeno. He was hot, and you were tipsy enough to let it slide.

You didn’t even realize how quickly time passed until you found yourselves upstairs, away from the crowd, in a quiet corridor. His lips were on yours, hot and urgent, and your heart raced in your chest. Kissing Jeno was everything you imagined it would be, and more. It was surreal, and you couldn’t tell if you were heady because of all the booze you’d drank all night or because of the sensation of his lips against yours.

The door behind you slammed open, the sound like a gunshot that made you flinch. You turned just in time to see a girl storming toward you, her eyes blazing with fury. She grabbed your arm—not harshly, but firmly enough to pull you aside—and then, without hesitation, her hand landed on Jeno’s cheek.

The slap landed with a crack that echoed in the quiet hallway. Jeno’s head snapped to the side, but he didn’t move at all—smirking like he’d been expecting it.

“Asshole,” she spat, her voice shaking with rage. Then she turned to you, her expression softening for a brief moment. “Piece of advice? Don’t get played like I did. Stay away from this jerk.”

You barely managed a nod before she walked off, her heels clicking against the tile. Your heart pounded in your chest, loud and erratic, and you were acutely aware of Jeno beside you.

He didn’t seem fazed at all. Slowly, he wiped his cheek with the back of his hand, his grin stretching lazily across his face. “Well,” he drawled, as if nothing had happened. “Should we pick up where we left off?”

Your mouth opened, then closed. Before you could respond—or even decide if you wanted to—Karina appeared at the end of the hall. Her sharp eyes darted between you and Jeno, her lips pressing into a thin line as she called your name.

“Jaemin’s looking for you,” she said, concern evident in her voice. “Let’s go.”

You didn’t argue. You let her grab your arm and steer you back downstairs, but your mind was spinning in a thousand different directions.

That night should’ve been the end of it. You should’ve taken the girl’s warning seriously. You should’ve let the slap—and Jeno’s shameless reaction—be the sign you needed to stay far away. But you didn’t. Instead, that moment cemented him in your head. His cocky grin, his calm defiance—it stuck, and you couldn’t shake it.

From then on, you admired him from afar. The casual nods in the hallway, the fleeting smiles at parties, the way his laughter echoed like a siren call—they all fed your growing infatuation. Jeno didn’t make any effort to talk to you again after that night, like the whole thing had been nothing but a passing blip in his evening. Over time, through mutual friends, you learned more about him, and the picture of the nice, charming guy you’d imagined turned out to be false. Jeno was the apathetic type, and he was unapologetically a fuck boy.

But somehow, that didn’t stop your heart from skipping a beat every time his eyes met yours.

Sophomore Year, 20XX

When you returned from Spring Break in Aruba, you were forced to leave the cozy apartment you shared with Giselle and Karina. The building has been sold and will soon be transformed into a shiny new commercial office space. It was bittersweet packing up the memories, but you didn’t have time to dwell. The hunt for a new place led you to a small flat in a student-friendly area—convenient, affordable, and as you’d later learn, situated right next door to Donghyuck and Mark.

At first, living next to them seemed harmless. Mark was polite and friendly, always flashing you a bright smile when you passed each other in the hallway. Donghyuck, on the other hand, was a different story. Loud, shameless, and constantly trying to flirt with you. It didn’t take long for you to discover his habit of bringing random girls into their unit and you also discovered how thin the walls between units were.

The first night you heard it, you thought it was your imagination. You buried your head under your pillow, praying it would stop. You endured the next few times, but by the fourth time, you marched to their door, fuming. Donghyuck answered with a smirk, leaning casually against the doorframe like he’d been expecting you.

“Hi, gorgeous,” he greeted, dragging out the words while his eyes shamelessly roved you from head to toe—stopping at your breast.

You tugged your cardigan over your chest. “Can you please keep it down?”

He tilted his head, feigning confusion. “Keep what down?”

“You know exactly what I mean,” you snapped, your cheeks heating despite yourself.

His grin widened. “Oh, that. Sorry about that, princess. I didn’t realize you could hear everything.” His tone was all mock innocence, and you could feel the heat rising in your face.

“Oh, shut up, Lee Donghyuck. For all I know, you’re doing it on purpose to annoy me,” you huffed, rolling your eyes and looking away.

Donghyuck leaned closer, his voice dropping to a playful whisper. “Are you upset because you wish it was you in here with me?”

You blinked at him, stunned for a second before the irritation surged back. “Unbelievable.” You turned on your heel and marched back to your flat, his laughter echoing in the hallway behind you.

After that, you quickly learned that confronting Donghyuck was a waste of time. He seemed to take pleasure in riling you up, always twisting your words or throwing out some teasing remark that left you flustered and annoyed.

Eventually, you figured out his pattern—Donghyuck’s escapades only happened when Mark was out. You memorized the days Mark would go out to his part-time job, and those were the nights you made yourself scarce. Giselle’s place became your refuge. She didn’t ask too many questions, just handed you a pillow and let you crash on her couch.

“Why don’t you just report him to the landlord?” Giselle asked one time.

“I tried, but no other tenant complained about it so he said he couldn’t do anything,” you sighed, grimacing in annoyance. “I should probably just pray that Donghyuck would find a quieter hobby.”

So you became a regular guest at Giselle’s apartment. On one particularly rainy day, while in the elevator on your way to Giselle’s, you ran into Jeno. He had a cut above his eyebrows, his lip was split and there was dried blood at the corner of his mouth. His clothes were rumpled and he was looking worse for wear.

“Jeno?” you blurted out, your voice laced with concern.

He looked up at you and grinned, the same lazy, confident grin you’d seen so many times before, only now it was tinged with exhaustion. “Hey,” he said, his voice slightly slurred.

“Are you okay? What happened to you?” you asked, stepping aside as he boarded the elevator.

He shrugged, brushing off your concern. “I’m fine. Just—” Before he could finish, his knees buckled, and he crumpled to the ground.

Panic surged through you. You crouched down, shaking his shoulder. “Jeno! Jeno! Hey, open your eyes! Stay with me!”

When he didn’t respond right away, you grabbed your phone, your fingers trembling as you began dialing for help. But before you could hit the call button, his hand shot up to stop you. He grabbed your phone and put it away.

“I’m fine,” he mumbled, his voice barely audible. “Just need... sleep.”

You leaned in closer, and that’s when you caught the unmistakable smell of alcohol on his breath. “Are you drunk?”

He groaned softly, then suddenly pulled you closer, his arm draping over your shoulders. “Here. Smell for yourself.”

You wrinkled your nose as you steadied him, confirming your suspicion. “Eugh,” you muttered.

Jeno chuckled, the sound low and raspy. “Seventh floor, unit 702.”

“What?”

“My passcode is 0-4-2-3,” he added, slurring slightly as he fought the urge to sleep. “Please get me inside.”

You reached his floor and unit, your steps hesitant but determined. You could’ve left him there, sprawled on his couch, but the sight of his bruises nagged at you. It felt wrong to walk away, especially when you knew you could help.

“Where’s your first-aid kit?” you asked, already scanning the room for it.

He gestured vaguely toward the bathroom. You went in, rummaging through drawers until you found it tucked under the sink. When you returned, you sat beside him, your hands steady but your chest tight.

“Sit up,” you said gently, patting his shoulder to guide him. He did, though the effort was slow. “This is going to sting,” you warned, your voice softer than you intended.

“Be gentle with me,” he teased with eyes half-lidded but still playful.

You smirked but didn’t respond, focusing on cleaning the dried blood from his lip, then carefully dabbing at the cut above his eyebrow. You winced when he winced, and you shushed him gently when he made any complaints. When you were done, you offered him a bottle of water you grabbed from his fridge.

“Thanks,” he murmured, taking the water you handed while shrugging off his flannel jacket.

“Where do you keep your shirts?” you asked, noticing that his t-shirt was damp with sweat.

Before you knew it, you were rummaging through his drawers for something clean. When you pulled off his shirt, you met his gaze only to find him watching you with that lazy, crooked smile. “Are you taking advantage of a drunk and helpless guy?”

“In your dreams,” you shot back, trying to keep your tone light despite the heat rushing to your face.

“My dreams?” he repeated, his voice softening. His head tilted back against the couch, his eyes fluttering close. “Yeah, well... you do visit my dreams sometimes.”

You froze for just a second, unsure if he was serious or if the alcohol was talking, but before you could figure it out, his eyes were closed and his breathing evened out. He was asleep.

You stood to leave, but as you looked down at him, curled up on the couch, you found yourself lingering. He looked pitiful and somewhat cute curling up to fit on the couch. You could already imagine the body aches it would give him in the morning. Sighing, you gently tapped his shoulder. “You should move to your bed.”

Jeno groaned, half-opening his eyes. “Fine, doc,” he sighed, slowly sitting up and rubbing his face. He staggered to his feet and you followed, resisting the urge to offer support as he wobbled slightly while making his way to his bedroom.

You waited as he settled in, his expression softening when he finally relaxed. But as you turned to leave, you heard his voice calling your name.

“You’re leaving already?”

You stopped, glancing back. “Jeno—”

“Stay,” he murmured, his voice soft but firm. “Stay for a bit.”

You hesitated. “My friend is expecting me.”

“Is it urgent?”

“Not really,” you admitted, a little sheepish. “I’m just sleeping over like usual.”

“If it isn’t urgent, can’t you just stay? I’m a patient, you know.” There was a teasing lilt to his voice. “Don’t you need to make sure I’ll be fine?”

Rolling your eyes, you retorted, “If you’re gonna manipulate me, at least try harder.”

Jeno smirked lazily, his eyelids heavy. “I’ll practice next time. For now, just stay… please.”

You couldn’t resist. You sat down on the edge of the bed, but Jeno motioned for you to lie down beside him and you did. The bed dipped slightly as you settled in, the proximity making your pulse quicken.

For a few moments, neither of you moved. You stared at the ceiling, the quiet filling the space between you. You couldn’t help but steal glances at him, wondering if he was really asleep.

“Jeno?” you whispered, but he didn’t respond. Thinking you’d spoken too softly, you tried a little louder. “Jeno?”

His eyes fluttered open, and he smirked faintly. “I won’t be able to sleep if you keep calling me like that.”

You rolled your eyes. “Why are you still awake?”

“Because it’s you,” he said, the teasing tone still there but softer. “I’m waiting for you to stop talking.”

“I was quiet the whole time, what are you talking about?” you defended, smirking.

He didn’t say anything, and then silence stretched between you both, the kind that’s neither comfortable nor uncomfortable. You were feeling a little self-conscious, most probably because of the fact that you hadn’t seen each other for a while, let alone interacted closely since freshman year. Save for the occasional nods and half-smiles you’d thrown at each other every now and then, you never had an actual conversation with him since that party.

“What happened to you?” you asked, curiosity getting the best of you.

He sighed, turning toward you. “Just a scuffle with some guys at the party. Nothing serious.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t cuckold some guy and get caught, right?”

His lips twitched in amusement. “Is that what you think of me?”

You shrugged. “I was just joking. Why? Do you care what I think of you?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he rolled closer to you, locking his gaze with yours. Then, without warning, he pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around you.

“Jeno,” you muttered, but you didn’t pull away. “I’m going to report you for sexual harassment.”

He smiled lazily. “If you hate it that much, you’re free to go.”

But you didn’t move. There was something comforting about the calmness of the way he held you. For once, you didn’t want to overthink it. So, you stayed, letting the warmth seep into you, feeling the peace you didn’t know you needed.

The next thing you knew was waking up alone in bed. On the nightstand, the digital clock displayed time in bright red numbers: 09:10 pm. You slowly pushed yourself up, looking around the dimly lit room until your eyes landed on the slightly ajar door. You could hear the faint sound of what you assumed was video games from the TV. Jeno must be playing a game outside.

You felt your cheeks heat up, remembering how you fell asleep in his arms and lost track of time. Squeezing your cheeks together to clear your mind, rose to your feet and padded across the room. Then slowly, you opened the bedroom door wider, peeking at the gap to see what Jeno was doing.

He looked much better than he did earlier and his damp hair told you he had just taken a shower.

“You’re up,” he said, not taking his eyes away from the screen but you could hear the smile in his voice.

“And so are you,” you replied, clearing your throat as you stepped out. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

Only now did you get a proper look of his apartment. It was bigger than your studio unit—a one bedroom apartment with a living room and a proper kitchen. The lack of decorations spoke volumes about Jeno’s personality. He had only a few necessary furniture and a TV. The cream-colored walls gave it a bright ambience though.

“I’d feel bad if I did,” said Jeno, his forehead creasing ever so slightly as he focused on his game.

“How are you feeling?”

“Fantastic,” he chimed, finally sparing you a quick glance before his attention returned to the screen. “Thanks to you.”

You nodded, your gaze lingering on the TV. The game was unfamiliar, full of explosions and rapid movements, but Jeno looked completely at ease as he played. “Well, then, I should go,” you said, reaching for your bag on the couch.

“Already?” He glanced at you longer this time, his brow lifting. “I ordered food for two because you probably haven’t had dinner yet. Don’t you wanna stay for that?”

You hesitated, your fingers tightening around the strap of your bag. Giselle was probably expecting you, even if you hadn’t explicitly said you were coming. Wednesdays and Fridays were your usual nights there.

“It’s Chinese,” Jeno added, his tone light but persuasive. “I can’t finish it by myself.”

You shrugged. “Alright, then,” you said, dropping your bag back onto the couch.

Jeno’s grin was boyish, turning his attention back on the TV. You settled onto the couch beside him, pulling out your phone to send a quick text to Giselle. You told her you’d be late and to have dinner without you. Her reply came almost immediately.

My Gigi: good bcs i already ate lol

You watched Jeno’s thumbs skillfully navigate his controller, the vivid graphics on the screen doing little to distract you from the silence hanging between you. After a while, you decided to make conversation. “So, uh... what game is this?” you asked.

Jeno glanced at you briefly, then back at the TV. “It’s a shooter game. You pick a team, complete missions, and shoot the opponents from the other team. First team to find the treasure wins the game.”

“Oh,” you said, leaning back a little. “Sounds… fun.”

“Not into games?” he asked, his lips quirking into a faint smile.

“Not these kinds,” you admitted, watching the screen flash with explosions and fast-paced action.

He explained a few mechanics, but it flew over your head. You nodded occasionally, throwing in a hum or two for good measure. Still, your lack of interest must have been obvious because Jeno eventually chuckled and said, “Want me to turn it off? We can watch Netflix or something.”

You shook your head quickly. “It’s fine. I don’t mind.”

Quietly, you sat there for a few more minutes, scrolling absently through your phone as he focused on the game. An explosion flashed on the screen, followed by a groan from Jeno when the words Game Over appeared. He set the controller down with a sigh, leaning back on the couch.

“You know,” you said, clearing your throat, “this feels… awkward. Was it always this awkward between us?”

Jeno chuckled softly. “I wouldn’t know. You and I never really got the chance to properly get to know each other.”

You forced a smile, though the memory of your first meeting burned vividly in your mind. “You’re right.”

His lips quirked into a teasing smile. “Probably because you were so quick to escape last time.”

You raised an eyebrow, pretending not to follow. “Escape?”

“Yeah,” he replied, his tone light, but his gaze sharp. “Scared I’d play with your feelings like that girl at the party said I would?”

Your chest tightened at the mention of the party, but you quickly feigned confusion. “You still remember that?”

“You don’t?” he countered, his grin widening. “You really are something else. Broke a guy’s heart and forgot all about it. You’re hurting my feelings.”

You rolled your eyes, playing along. “Oh, please. Like someone like you could ever get their heart broken.”

“Hey, I’m being serious,” Jeno said in mock offense. “One moment, we’re vibing, and the next, you run away like I had the plague or something. If that doesn’t bruise a guy’s ego, I don’t know what does.”

“Poor baby,” you teased, smirking. “Did it hurt your pride?”

“Obviously,” he shot back, grinning. “My confidence hasn’t recovered since.”

“Yeah, right,” you scoffed, recalling all the times you’d seen him get chummy with random girls since that party. “I’m sure you’ve had plenty of girls inflate your ego since then.”

Jeno shrugged. “Doesn’t erase the fact that you broke my heart.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “It was your heart or mine, Jeno. I wasn’t gonna risk mine.”

“Right, but did you really have to run away like that? You didn’t even say goodbye,” he replied pouting.

“You’re distorting the truth. I didn’t run, my friend was looking for me.”

“Excuses,” he huffed, smirking. “Just say you stopped liking me. I understand. Some people are fickle and that’s totally fine.”

His words struck a nerve, and before you could stop yourself, you blurted, “I didn’t stop liking you, okay? Even after what she told me. But you didn’t come looking for me, so what was I supposed to do?”

You were quiet for a while, shocked at your own admission. Jeno’s gaze didn’t change—no surprise, no annoyance, no anything. He just sat there, staring at you with an unreadable glint in his eyes. As the air grew thick, your heart gradually quickened, spreading a familiar nervousness throughout your body—the kind that told you something was gonna happen.

Before you could even process the rush of emotions, Jeno closed the distance between you, pulling you into his arms. His lips found yours, and the kiss was intense—deep, urgent—the kind that left you lightheaded and excited. His body pressed against yours, and you could feel the growing tension, the undeniable need for more.

Your heart raced as his hands roamed to your hips, tugging with purpose, inviting you to move. With one swift motion, you straddled his hips, holding his face so you could kiss him properly. But it turned out that Jeno wasn’t one to yield control. He grabbed the back of your head, tilting it at an angle that allowed him to easily trail his kisses down to your jaw and neck.

You let him ravage your skin, loving the sensations his lips were sending through your body while grinding against his hard-on to give him something in return. You were ready for whatever came next. Everything about this felt like the moment you’d been waiting for.

But just as you thought you’d both lost yourself completely in the kiss, the doorbell rang.

The sound cut through the heated atmosphere, and you froze for a second, eyes wide with frustration. Jeno pulled back just enough to glance toward the door, not even masking the annoyance in his expression.

“Who’s that?” you asked, your voice low. Jeno turned to you, smirking as he pushed your hair behind your shoulder. He kissed you again, slowly and deliciously.

“Ignore it,” he murmured against your lips, his hands never leaving your body as he guided your hips against his crotch, seeking more friction. The kiss deepened again, and for a moment, you thought you might be able to forget the world outside that door.

But the bell rang again, persistent, annoying. Neither of you moved to answer, yet the sound continued, filling the silence between heated breaths. Finally, Jeno groaned in frustration, pulling away reluctantly.

“I’ll be right back,” he muttered, standing up from the couch and raking a hand through his messy hair.

You sighed, frustrated, leaning back on the couch and trying to control the rising heat in your body. He disappeared out the door, and you stared at the empty space, trying to calm your breath, frustrated but also amused by the timing. Of course, it would be now that someone would show up.

You didn’t think anything like this would happen, to be honest. But in retrospect, you should have known it was possible the moment you stepped into the apartment of a notorious playboy like Lee Jeno. You don’t hate it—no. You were just surprised at the turn of events.

The door opened again, and Jeno returned with a bag of takeout and a sheepish grin. He set it down the coffee table, gawking at you for a second before motioning to it.

“Is now a perfect time for dinner?” he quipped, his tone light despite the heat still lingering between you.

You raised an eyebrow, glancing between the food and him. “Are you seriously asking me that right now?” you asked, your voice low, teasing.

Jeno smirked, stepping toward you with a confident grin. “You’re right, it’s a stupid question,” he said. Without another word, he scooped you up in his arms, effortlessly lifting you as though you weighed nothing. “I have my meal right here,” he added, his lips finding your neck as he carried you toward his bedroom.

The door to his room clicked shut behind you, and in that moment, nothing else in the world existed but the two of you.

“Hi,” Giselle greeted as soon as she opened the door, her gaze sweeping over you. “You did say you’d be late, but I didn’t know you meant super late.”

You took a deep breath, hesitating before stepping inside. Giselle tilted her head, her curiosity intensifying. “What happened? Donghyuck forgot to bone last night and gave you a peaceful Wednesday for once?”

“No,” you replied with a small laugh, brushing past her into the cozy apartment.

Giselle followed closely, refusing to drop the subject. “Then where were you? And what’s got you so flustered?”

You sank onto her velvet sofa, pressing your palms against your flushed cheeks. “If I tell you, are you gonna judge me?”

“Never,” she said, grinning mischievously.

Right, Giselle was never judgmental toward you. You raised an eyebrow. “I figured you wouldn’t. Karina probably would though.”

Giselle rolled her eyes, plopping down next to you. “Karina judges everything and everyone. Come on, spill.”

You groaned, covering your face again, the memory of last night flashing vividly in your mind. “I hooked up with Lee Jeno,” you said in one breath,

Giselle gasped dramatically. “No way!” she squealed, smacking your arm. “Are you serious?”

Before you could respond, a voice cut through the excitement, cold and sharp. “No fucking way.”

Your head whipped around to see Karina standing in the doorway, arms crossed with an expression of disbelief and disapproval. You chuckled nervously. “Kat. I didn’t know you were here too!”

“Tell me you’re joking,” Karina demanded, walking toward the sofa. She stood in front of you with her hands on her hips. “I knew you had a crush on him, but I didn’t think you’d actually pursue it.”

You exhaled, trying to calm the nervous flutter in your chest. “It just… happened. It wasn’t something I planned.”

Karina sat down across from you, her expression hardening. “Do you even know what you’re doing? Jeno’s bad news. He’s got a reputation, you know that, right?”

Giselle chimed in, leaning back with an easy shrug. “Oh, come on, Kat. They hooked up once.”

Karina raised an eyebrow, her voice skeptical. “Yeah, and you think she’s not gonna go gaga over him in the next few days? She’s like the biggest loser for Lee Jeno. We all know that.”

“Wow. I’m literally sitting right here,” you mumbled, sheepish. “And I’m not the biggest loser for him. I like him, that’s it. I didn’t chase after him or begged him to notice me. That’s what losers do.”

“Not the point,” Karina chided. “Jeno can’t stick to one girl for more than a week. You’ve seen it too.”

You frowned, gripping a cushion. “I know. I know. But like…” You shrugged. “It wouldn’t hurt to… you know, see where this goes, right?” You glanced at Giselle, seeking affirmation.

“You’re absolutely right,” said Giselle.

Karina sighed, her expression softening just slightly. “Look, I get it. He’s hot, he’s charming, and he’s probably really fun to be around. And since you’re already in this situation, just don’t get too attached to him, okay?”

“She’s not wrong,” Giselle said to you, her tone gentler. “Jeno’s got his charms, but just keep your guard up, alright?”

You nodded slowly, taking in their words. “I hear you. I’ll be careful.”

“Good,” Karina said, standing up. “Because I really don’t want to say ‘I told you so’ later.”

Giselle nudged her, grinning playfully. “You would love to though, wouldn’t you?”

You giggled at Karina, who just rolled her eyes.

To say you started dating Jeno then would be a stretch. You weren’t dating, just hooking up. After the first time, Jeno asked for your number, adding in a request that you don’t ignore his messages. As if you would ever do that.

You didn’t text each other much, except at night, and it made sense given the nature of your relationship. Late-night texts turned into spontaneous meetups, the kind where you’d walk around the block and he’d invite you to his apartment with a lame excuse like, “Just wanted to hang out with you.”

You’d barely make it past the doorway before his lips found yours, hands guiding you backward until the door slammed shut. Those moments were a blur of heat and urgency, your laughter muffled between kisses as he lifted you onto the counter or pressed you against the wall.

Mornings at his place became your new favorite thing. You’d wake up wrapped in his arms, his messy hair brushing your cheek as he mumbled something incoherent about breakfast. Sometimes you’d actually get up and cook together—well, more like you cooked while he stood behind you with his arms around your waist, insisting it was a ‘team effort’.

You didn’t go on dates—not that you were expecting to, but you did movie nights on his couch, his arm draped lazily around your shoulders as you both bickered over what to watch. Only for the movie to become a mere background noise to your vigorous activities.

A handful of times, you’d gone on random drives to nowhere, the city lights flashing by while he reached over to rest a hand on your thigh. And of course, the nights often ended with him pulling you close and whispering, “Stay over.”

Sometimes, you’d talk about parties and agree to meet each other at the venue. But you never went together, and it was alright with you. You were content with seeing him there, exchanging glances and cues, having small talk, and eventually ditching the party altogether to go back to his apartment.

“You sure you can wait till we get back to my apartment?” he asked as you were both heading out of a particularly rowdy party.

“Yeah.”

“We could just go upstairs. I’m sure there’s a vacant room somewhere.”

You rolled your eyes. “And fight with other couples over a room? No thanks. Besides,” you paused, just as you reached his car. You leaned on the car door, placed a hand on his shoulder and the other on his cheek. “I think I developed a little phobia of making out with you at parties. Who knows which one of your girls would pop out of nowhere and land a sharp blow on your pretty face?”

Jeno chuckled slowly, leaning closer to plant a quick peck on your lips. “You’re never gonna let me live that down, are you?”

You shook your head, smiling sweetly. “Never,” you said, pulling him into another kiss. Before it could deepen, you pushed him back. “Let’s go.”

He wasn’t just physical, though. He’d surprise you with snacks when you said you were too tired to cook or stay up with you during late-night study sessions, teasing you for your elaborate and colorful notes, saying you spent more time on them than actually studying. One time he insisted on cooking ramen for you at 2 a.m., standing shirtless in his tiny kitchen with bedhead and sleepy eyes, stirring the pot with one hand while holding you against the counter with the other.

“Are you a pervert? Stop staring,” he teased when he caught you looking.

“I’m not staring,” you said, your eyes sweeping over his toned abdomen and arms. “I’m admiring.”

“Haven’t you had enough of it?” he asked and you replied with a shake of your head and a grin.

He just scoffed, albeit proudly. He then served the noodles and offered you the first bite after blowing on it. “Taste it first,” he said, as though he’d spent hours preparing it instead of ripping open a packet five minutes ago.

“Girl, is he like…” Giselle began, hesitating. Her brows knit together in mild concern. “...in love with you?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “No. I don’t think so,” you replied quickly, the idea too far-fetched to entertain. “What made you say that?”

Giselle shrugged, tilting her head. “Honestly, I thought you guys were just hooking up. But you go on drives, cook together, take care of each other, all that stuff. It’s a bit too domestic and sweet.”

“Is that a bad thing?” you asked, your tone defensive without meaning to be.

“No, but fuck buddies don’t do that,” Karina cut in. She leaned back on her hands, smirking.

Giselle nodded, adding, “Yeah. Usually they just meet, hook up, and then go their separate ways.”

You scowled. “Really?”

“How do you not know that?” Giselle asked, bewildered, her eyes wide with genuine confusion.

You shrugged, crossing your arms. “How was I supposed to know that? It’s not like I was given some kind of fuck buddy manual.”

“You’re unbelievable.” Giselle laughed, shaking her head. “How long has this been going on already? I just know you broke his One Week Fling record.”

You grinned sheepishly, feeling both pride and coyness. “It’s been two months now.”

“Oh my god!” Giselle squealed, hitting your arm. “You go girl! Reform that man!”

You chuckled. “I don’t think I’m capable of doing that.”

“Speaking of the devil,” Karina said, nodding toward the distance. You followed her gaze and spotted Jeno heading your way, a takeout cup holder in hand. He greeted you with a quick peck on the cheek before offering a polite smile to your friends.

“Here,” he said, handing the drinks to you. You immediately recognized the logo of the coffee shop he’d taken you to once, where you’d spent an afternoon sharing stories over caramel lattes.

“Oh my god! Thank you!” you exclaimed, genuinely touched. “Please tell me you didn’t drive all the way there just to get these.”

Jeno shrugged, playing it off casually. “I was passing by this morning, so I figured I’d grab some since we haven’t been there in a while.”

“But it’s far… aw,” you said, your voice softening as you leaned in to kiss his cheek. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Share it with your friends,” he said, giving you a small grin as he straightened up. “Gotta go.”

You waved him off, watching as he jogged toward the main building. The warmth in your chest lingered until you turned back and found Giselle and Karina staring at you—Giselle with an amused smirk, Karina with a skeptical eyebrow raised.

“Yeah. He’s definitely in love with you,” Giselle said, breaking the silence.

Karina groaned, crossing her arms. “Don’t start, Gigi. You’re going to give her false hopes.”

“What? You saw it too!” Giselle countered, motioning toward where Jeno had just been. “That’s boyfriend energy. I don’t make the rules.”

You rolled your eyes, cheeks heating. “He was just being nice. It’s not that deep.”

Giselle tilted her head. “Driving halfway across the city for coffee isn’t just ‘nice.’ That’s ‘I-like-you-a-lot’ behavior.”

You squealed, covering your flushed face with your hands. “Oh my god, stop!”

Your relationship with Jeno could be described as quiet affection. He wasn’t big on words, but his actions were loud enough—bringing you coffee when you had an early lecture, texting you random pictures that reminded him of you, and holding you close each chance he got. Still, there were no labels, no discussions about what you were. He’d never call you his girlfriend, but he’d kiss you like you were the only one who mattered, and hold your hand like it was second nature. It was confusing, but you told yourself it was enough.

Then there was Jeno’s jealousy. You never talked about it, and he never admitted it, but you didn’t need him to; the signs were obvious to you. When a guy from your literature class offered to walk you to the library, Jeno appeared seemingly out of nowhere, sliding an arm around your shoulders and smoothly steering the conversation away. At parties, he often left you to have fun with your friends, only to whisk you away the moment some guy approached you to try flirting with you. Even Jaemin, your close friend of almost ten years, didn’t escape Jeno’s radar. He once stopped by your apartment while you were with Jeno. Though Jaemin was his usual friendly self, Jeno stayed uncharacteristically quiet until Jaemin left.

Later, you reassured him with a laugh, “Jaemin and I have been friends since we were kids. He doesn’t see me that way, trust me.”

“Hmm? It’s fine. You don’t have to explain yourself. I don’t think that,” he had replied, but the way he refused to look you in the eyes while he said that was evidence enough of his lie. After that, Jeno seemed to be more at ease with Jaemin. He was surprisingly chill around him, even cracking jokes with him on the super rare occasions when you’d see them together.

But the one person Jeno couldn’t tolerate was Donghyuck.

Donghyuck was in several of your classes, and he had always—without fail—tried to sweep you off of your feet. From the moment you met him freshman year, he had been relentlessly hitting on you, though you always brushed him off. You knew he wasn’t serious; it was just his way of getting under your skin. Jeno, however, didn’t see it that way.

The first time was subtle—his jaw tightening as he watched Donghyuck lean in during a group conversation at a party. The second time, it was harder to ignore—the way Jeno placed his hand on your lower back possessively, his thumb grazing your skin as if to remind you who you came with.

It wasn’t just one incident with Donghyuck; it was a series of moments that began to grate on Jeno. At a party, Donghyuck had leaned against the wall beside you, his tone dripping with playful confidence as he asked, “Why do you keep running away from me? I’m starting to take it personally.”

You had laughed it off, casually pushing him away with a grin. “Because you’re the worst.”

Another time, in the cafeteria, Jeno had walked in to find Donghyuck sitting far too close, gesturing animatedly as he talked about some inside joke. You had rolled your eyes, clearly unimpressed, but the sight still made Jeno’s stomach tighten.

Outside your apartment one evening, Donghyuck’s voice carried up from the sidewalk. “You know, if you ever get tired of the broody one—”

“Not gonna happen,” you cut him off with a glare, making it clear you weren’t amused.

Jeno had seen it all, these little moments that didn’t mean much to you but added up for him. He knew you weren’t encouraging Donghyuck, but it didn’t make it any easier to ignore.

Then, there were the smaller instances—the way Donghyuck lingered at your table in the cafeteria, cracking jokes that made everyone else laugh except you. Or how he seemed to magically appear whenever you walked out of class, always quick with a flirtatious comment.

The tipping point came one afternoon after class. You had just stepped out of the lecture hall when Donghyuck slung an arm around your shoulders, his usual grin plastered across his face. “You know,” he began, his tone dripping with mockery, “you should really stop playing hard to get. It’s getting embarrassing.”

“Get off me,” you retorted, rolling your eyes as you shrugged off his arm. “When are you gonna give this up?”

“Never,” Donghyuck shot back, leaning closer, his grin widening. “You secretly love the attention, don’t you?”

Before you could respond, a familiar hand reached out, pulling you gently but decisively away from Donghyuck. Jeno stepped in, his calm yet firm demeanor instantly changing the air. “Can’t take a hint, can you?” he asked calmly, but the sharpness of his gaze pierced Donghyuck.

Donghyuck raised his hands in mock surrender, his grin unwavering. “Relax, lover boy. It’s all in good fun. No need to get so worked up,” he chuckled and then stuck his tongue in his cheek.

But Jeno wasn’t amused. His only response was to place a steady hand on the small of your back, guiding you toward the parking lot without another word. You glanced up at him as you walked, his jaw clenched and his gaze fixed ahead.

The car ride back to his place was tense, the silence stretching out uncomfortably. When you arrived, you expected him to drop it, to shrug it off like he always did. As soon as the door closed, and you’d seated yourself on his couch, Jeno turned to face you. “Why don’t you just tell him you’re not interested?” he asked, his frustration barely contained.

You blinked at him, surprised by his directness. “I do. Every single time.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Jeno said, stepping closer. “Why don’t you tell him—and every other guy—that you’re not available?”

You hesitated, your chest tightening. “Because I can’t,” you said softly.

“Why not?”

Your gaze dropped to the floor. “Because I can’t say I’m taken when I’m not. I can’t claim you like that because I don’t know if you want to be claimed.”

Jeno’s expression softened, but his voice was still firm when he asked, “You think I’d want to see other girls?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted quickly, finally looking up at him. “We’ve never talked about it, and I didn’t want to assume.”

Jeno exhaled, his frustration melting into something gentler. He sat on the couch next to you. “I haven’t been seeing anyone else. Not since… this.”

Your eyes widened in surprise, and you saw the same flicker of realization cross his face.

“Have you?” he asked, his voice quiet now.

“No,” you said, shaking your head. “I haven’t even thought about it.”

Jeno smiled as he pulled you onto his lap, wrapping his arms around you with a satisfied hum. He cupped your cheek and pulled you into a kiss. It was soft at first, but as your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, the kiss deepened. It grew more urgent, more intense, as if something inside both of you had finally snapped into place. The heat between you intensified, and every soft touch seemed to ignite something inside you.

He pulled away, just enough to breathe, the tucked loose strands of hair behind your ear. “You know,” he said, his voice low and teasing, “I was starting to think I’d have to fight Donghyuck for you.”

You let out a laugh, heart still beating wildly from the kiss. “Who do you think would win?”

“Me,” he replied without hesitation, his grin returning. “Easily.”

You couldn’t help but laugh again, your heart fluttering at how easily he could lighten the moment. Jeno’s expression softened as he looked into your eyes, his smile fading into something more earnest.

His next words were quiet, sincere. “Do you want to be my girlfriend?”

You paused, your heart racing again as you processed everything—the kiss, the shift between you two, this question. He was asking in a way that felt as if he wasn’t sure if you’d say yes. Shouldn’t he know by now that you had been his ever since the first time he brought you into his apartment?

Still, you were glad that he asked. You nodded, a smile pulling at your lips. “Yes.”

Jeno let out a relieved breath, the tension leaving his body. He kissed you again, but this time it was slow, and sure. Jeno’s hands were gentle, almost reverent as he cupped your face. His breath was warm against your skin, and for a moment, everything else disappeared—no Donghyuck, no uncertainty, no nothing, just the quiet rush of the feeling building between you two.

When he pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, both of you gasping for air, the world still spinning around the edges of the bubble you had created.

“I want you,” Jeno murmured, his voice rough but steady.

He’d never said it like that before. You met his gaze, searching his eyes for any trace of doubt. Instead, you saw something raw, something real—desire, affection, and certainty.

You cupped his cheek in return, your fingers tracing the lines of his jaw. “For fuck’s sake, Lee Jeno. I’m already yours.”

Jeno shifted, his hands finding the hem of your shirt and carefully tugging it over your head. There was no rush, no urgency. This wasn’t a hasty decision—it was a choice, something deeper than just physical desire. As he undressed you slowly, each piece of clothing falling away, so did the walls between you, and you felt more exposed than ever.

When he gently laid you back on the couch, his lips trailing down your neck, a soft shiver ran through you, making your heart flutter in anticipation. Every touch, every kiss, felt like a quiet devotion, and you couldn’t help but give in completely.

The late afternoon light poured softly through the window of Jeno’s bedroom. You were lying on the bed beside him, watching as his eyes remained glued to his phone. His expression was one of intense concentration—the furrow of his brows, his lips slightly pursed as he stared at whatever was on the screen.

You tilted your head, studying his face as if you hadn’t already memorized it by heart. He looked so handsome when he was focused, so effortlessly captivating. It made your heart skip a beat. But still, what’s so interesting about that video?

You peered at his screen and found that he was watching a replay of some football game. You let out a dramatic groan and fell back onto the bed, feeling frustrated. Jeno glanced sideways at you, but only briefly.

You then squeezed yourself in his arms, resting your chin on his abdomen and drumming your fingers on his chest to get his attention. Jeno shifted to accommodate you, but his eyes never left the screen. With a sigh, you leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to the tiny mole under his eye. When he didn’t react, you kissed it again—this time with a little more insistence. And again. And again, until you heard him exhale, finally peeling his eyes away from his screen.

“What is it?” he asked, his voice low and amused as he set his phone aside and pulled you closer.

You grinned, poking the beauty mark with your index finger. “I heard about a legend that says your mole is the spot where your soulmate liked kissing you in your past life.”

Jeno’s lips twitched upward as he hummed in response. “Was it you? The soulmate who kept kissing me there and gave me this mole,” he said, eyes twinkling mischievously. “Was it you?”

You snorted, rolling your eyes as you moved to sit up. “Probably not. But do you believe it?”

Jeno shrugged casually, shifting onto his side so he was face-to-face with you. His hand found its way to your waist, pulling you back toward him. “Not really. I was raised Catholic.”

“Ah, so no past lives?” you asked, laying back on the bed.

He nodded. “But that doesn’t mean I’m religious or anything.”

You rolled your eyes, chuckling. “If someone like you is religious, then I must be a saint.”

Without missing a beat, Jeno squeezed your butt cheek, making you yelp in surprise. “You think I’m promiscuous?”

“Aren’t you?” you shot back, laughing as you tried to squirm away, but he gave your ass another playful slap. “Stop that!” you laughed, swatting his hand away.

Jeno’s grin only widened as he leaned in, brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. He caressed your jaw, and then tilted your chin so he could kiss you. “I’m feeling promiscuous right now.”

You scoffed and rolled your eyes again. “And I’m feeling sleepy. Go back to watching your football game or something,” you replied, turning on your other side.

Jeno tugged you back in his arms, finding the spot on your waist where you were the most ticklish. The sound of your giggles and laughter echoed through the entire apartment as the sun continued its descent and its light filtered through the curtains to paint the room in beautiful hues of yellow and gold.

Your days with Jeno began to blur into a routine, one you fell into so easily it felt as though you’d been together for years instead of weeks. Every morning, he’d pull into your driveway, flashing that lazy, boyish smile as you hopped into his car. The drive to campus was often filled with shared playlists and laughter, your fingers intertwined with his on the gearshift.

Lunches weren’t planned but always felt inevitable. You’d wait for each other outside lecture halls, silently deciding that you’d eat together. Some days, it was quick meals at the campus cafeteria, sharing fries and teasing each other over bad food choices. Other days, you’d escape to the backseat of his car, balancing takeout boxes while rain tapped lightly on the windows.

Then there were the drives. With no destination in mind, he’d take the wheel, and you’d go wherever the roads stretched out before you. Sometimes, you’d stumble upon a charming little café with mismatched furniture and the aroma of freshly baked pastries. Other times, you’d park by the lake, sharing stories, making out in the backseat, and just letting the hours pass in each other’s company. Those unplanned moments became your dates, spontaneous and perfect in their own imperfect ways.

It was in the little things, too, the intimacy shared in moments outside the bedroom. The way his hand always found the small of your back when you walked into a room. How he’d absently twirl a strand of your hair while you talked. The way he’d kiss your forehead before he left, even if you were half-asleep and wouldn’t remember it in the morning.

But Jeno wasn’t perfect, and neither was the relationship. He had no idea how to be a boyfriend, and it showed in ways that left you reeling in frustration and anger.

“Why didn’t you text me back?” you’d demand, voice trembling with frustration after waiting hours for a reply.

“Relax. I was busy,” he’d say casually, as if that excused everything. “It’s not like I’m glued to my phone all day.”

And every time he was late—ten, fifteen minutes, sometimes an hour—you’d bite back your irritation until it boiled over.

“Do you even care?” you’d shout during one argument, the sound of your voice echoing in his car. “If you cared, you’d be on time!”

“At least I showed up, didn’t I?” he’d counter, his jaw tight with defensiveness. “And the event hadn’t even started when I arrived.”

“It’s not just today, Jeno. This happens all the time!” you’d insist, your palm flying to your forehead at how frustrating it was to argue with him.

The fights were loud, dramatic, and exhausting. The worst ones were after university events or parties when you were ready to leave, but he wasn’t.

“You could’ve driven me home,” you snapped one night, pacing in his room while he sat on the edge of his bed. “Is that really too much to ask?”

“You were safe, weren’t you?” he argued, his exasperation bubbling to the surface. “What’s the big deal?” He didn’t understand. He never did.

And yet, every fight seemed to pull you closer rather than push you apart. When the anger subsided, his apologies came in whispers and kisses that left you breathless. You’d find yourselves tangled in each other’s arms. It was always the same. His hands would find yours, his lips pressing apologies into your skin until the frustration melted away, replaced by a fire you couldn’t resist—a pull so magnetic that all protests seemed to fail. Maybe the way he liked you—imperfect, messy, but consuming—was the only way he knew how. And there was an odd beauty to it, something that kept you drawn to him. Love, probably. A love so consuming it left no room for doubt—only the certainty that, for better or worse, you were his, and he was yours.

Things didn’t get better. The passionate moments still came, leaving you breathless and feeling adored. Jeno still kissed you like you were the only thing that mattered, whispering sweet nothings in the soft light of his bedroom, or laughing with you as you raced each other up the stairs. The spontaneous road trip dates still happened. Those moments made you believe that all the fighting and misunderstandings were just temporary. That it was necessary for the two of you to eventually navigate each other’s flaws, become better people, and finally find harmony.

But it didn’t happen.

You tried to be more understanding, biting back your irritation when he forgot to text you goodnight or when he turned up late without so much as an excuse. You tried to take a step back, to not overanalyze every little thing he did or didn’t do. But no matter how hard you tried, you just couldn’t seem to find the right wavelength to match his.

It was like you were speaking two different languages, your love trapped in a tug-of-war between passion and frustration.

“I don’t get it,” you confessed to your friends one day, staring into your latte. “I’ve tried talking to him about it. I’ve tried being more understanding. But it’s like we’re stuck on repeat. I can’t figure out why we can’t just… fix this.”

Giselle offered a sympathetic smile, always the lenient one. “Relationships take time. He’s not going to change overnight. If you really like him, you have to be patient.”

Karina wasn’t as forgiving. She crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair, her expression firm. “Patience is one thing, but you can’t let him keep walking all over you. If he really cared, he’d be putting in the effort to meet you halfway.”

Jaemin, who had been scrolling through his phone, looked up and tilted his head thoughtfully. “You two should probably sit down and talk properly,” he said simply. “You said so yourself, you only talked about all these issues when you’re fighting.”

“Oh my god, yes!” Giselle exclaimed, as if she just had a light bulb moment. “You need to talk about this calmly, not when you’re both emotional and angry.”

You sighed, massaging your temple because just the thought of bringing it up was already enough to anger you. Jaemin patted your back.

“Don’t beat yourself up over it,” he said with a teasing tone, though you could tell he was worried. “Men are much simpler than you think. Just tell him what you want.”

That night, after hours of rehearsing the conversation in your head, you finally worked up the courage to call Jeno over. He arrived in his usual casual way, hoodie slung over his head and that boyish, simply disarming smile that always made your stomach flutter.

“Hi,” he greeted, pulling you by the waist and kissing your lips. You kissed him back, your hands wrapping around his neck out of habit.

“Dinner?” you asked when you pulled away, foreheads pressed together.

“Done. How about you?”

Your heart sank. You were sure you told him you wanted to eat dinner together when you asked him to come over. Still, you hid your disappointment behind a smile and a lie. “I had dinner with the girls earlier.”

“Good. We can go straight to business,” he quipped, cupping your face and kissing you again.

It didn’t take long for him to deepen the kiss, shoving his tongue expertly in your mouth as his hand slipped under your shirt. Warmth spread through you but you pushed him away before it could fully consume you.

“I actually want to talk to you about something first,” you said briskly, biting your lip as you studied his surprised expression.

Then he shrugged, nonchalant as ever. “Alright then,” he chimed, hugging you from behind as you led him to your bed.

He sat on the bed, resting his back on the headboard as he cradled you in his arms. You curled up on his lap, playing with his fingers as you wondered how to bring it up. The practice was totally useless since you couldn’t even open your mouth at all.

After a few minutes of silence, Jeno tightened his embrace and nuzzled his nose against the side of your head, kissing your ear. “Is this about yesterday?”

Yesterday, when you tried to confront him but couldn’t even get a word in because he put on his headphones before you could open your mouth—as if he hadn’t just kept you waiting for forty minutes outside your favorite café.

“No,” you replied, clasping his hands tightly to keep yours from shaking. “It’s about a lot of things, Jeno. Including yesterday.”

He said nothing, and you couldn’t even see his expression because he was behind you. You took a deep breath. “I just want us to talk about our issues properly and fix them,” you said, your voice trembling but resolute.

“We do talk about it.”

“No, we don’t. We fight about it. That’s different,” you sighed, leaning back against him and reaching for his face. “I thought we’d get better over time, but nothing has changed. We still fight about the same things. We can’t keep doing that.”

Jeno chuckled behind you, as if he was amused. “Well, maybe you should stop making a big deal out of everything.”

That made something snap inside of you. Luckily, you caught yourself before you could lash out. You blinked rapidly, steadying your raging heartbeat and calming the anger that had suddenly engulfed you.

“Jeno do you—” you stopped, taking a deep breath to calm yourself. You turned to face him, gouging the meaning of his words by studying his expression. “Do you understand where I’m coming from?”

“I do understand,” he replied, his tone defensive. “We can talk without fighting, you know? We fight over everything, even the little things. You always blow things out of proportion.”

“I blow things out of proportion?” you echoed, feeling the anger rise higher up your chest. As calmly as you could, you said, “Every time I try to tell you how I feel, it turns into a fight because you act like it’s nothing. And you’d say you’re tired of fighting but you don’t do anything to fix things. You’re still late, you still don’t text back, and you don’t even try to understand why these things matter.”

“Baby—”

You cut him off, still keeping your anger at bay. “You call it little things but these are big things to me, Jeno. And it adds up until there’s a whole mountain of these big things and I’m too small to keep it inside. Do you think I’m arguing with you just because I like picking a fight? No. I’m telling you what I need from you, and you’re brushing it off like it’s nothing.”

Jeno sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’m not trying to brush you off. I just… I don’t know, I didn’t think relationships were too much… work…” His voice faltered, as though he regretted saying it.

But he already said it, and the damage has been done. “Too much work?” you repeated, your voice quieter now. “You think I’m too much work?”

“That’s not what I meant,” he said quickly, panic evident in his eyes.

You stood up, wrapping your arms around yourself. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe this is too much work. But isn’t that how relationships should be? Isn’t it natural for two people in love to have expectations of each other?”

Jeno stood too, reaching for your hand but you stepped back. He sighed out your name, his shoulders sagging in defeat.

“I think you should go,” you told him, looking away. “We need a break, Jeno,” you added, your voice cracking but resolute.

“A break? Seriously?” His expression shifted into disbelief and frustration.

“Yes, Jeno, seriously!” you belted, unable to hold it in anymore. Your eyes began to sting, tears threatening to fall as emotions overwhelmed you. “I can’t keep feeling like I’m asking for too much just because I want you to care as much as I do.”

He exhaled sharply, placing his hands on his waist as he stared at you with a rigid, unreadable expression. “You think breaking up is gonna magically solve this?”

“No,” you said through gritted teeth. This was not how you imagined this conversation would go, but now that it was happening, you couldn’t take it back. Not that you want to. “But it’s gonna rid me of you, at least. I need to figure out if this is even worth it anymore. And maybe you should, too.”

He stood there, looking like he wanted to argue, but no words came. After a moment, he nodded stiffly. “Fine.”

And just like that, he walked out the door.

The first three days of your breakup was the worst. You never left your apartment, you didn’t move an inch in bed, you stared at your phone all day, waiting for him to call but ignoring the messages from your friends. As long as you could endure it, you didn’t touch any food, too lazy to move and too heartbroken to think of anything or anyone.

It wasn’t until Jaemin came banging on your door that you finally inhaled air from outside your apartment.

“Eugh,” Jaemin grimaced as soon as he saw you, covering his nose. “You stink.”

You scowled, offended, but you lifted the collar of your shirt and brought it to your nose. You did stink. You asked, “What are you doing here?”

“Karina said they couldn’t reach you,” he replied, handing you a bag of takeout from your favorite fastfood chain. “They asked me to check in on you and see if you’re still alive.”

“I’m fine,” you lied, taking the bag and rummaging through it. You grabbed the burger inside and unwrapped it hastily.

Jaemin sighed, shaking his head as he leaned against the doorframe. “Just look at yourself. Did you like him that much? Did he say he’d take you back if you starve yourself like that?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about?” you scoffed, walking back inside your apartment. Jaemin followed, closing the door behind him. “I dumped him. I should be the one taking him back, not the other way around.”

“Really now?” he sniggered, picking up a few pieces of clutter on the floor. “It looks to me like you’re the one waiting for him to reach out.”

That hurt your pride a little, but you were too tired to even argue. You sat on your couch, placing the takeout bag on the coffee table as you glared at your friend. “Just tell me what you want from me and then leave.”

Jaemin placed your cluttered items back to their original places before turning to you. “Go take a bath. It’s Monday. You have classes.”

You frowned, but didn’t say anything, you just bit onto your burger and looked away.

“And it’s Karina’s birthday. Did you forget?”

You froze mid-bite, the burger hanging limply in your hand as guilt twisted in your stomach. Karina’s birthday. You hadn’t forgotten entirely—it had nagged at the back of your mind—but in the haze of your heartbreak, you hadn’t done anything about it.

You set the burger down and mumbled, “I didn’t forget.”

Jaemin raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms. “Oh, really? So you’ve got her gift ready, then?”

Your silence said it all. Jaemin groaned and threw his hands up dramatically. “Unbelievable. She’s gonna kill you if you show up empty-handed, you know that, right?”

“I wasn’t planning to go,” you said quietly, sinking further into the couch. The thought of dressing up, putting on a smile, and pretending everything was fine felt impossible. Plus the guilt of forgetting something so important was beginning to gnaw at you.

Jaemin stared at you for a moment, then shook his head. “Nope. You’re coming. You’re not ditching her because of some guy. Stand up.”

“I can’t,” you protested weakly.

“Yes, you can,” he retorted, grabbing the burger from your hand and tossing it back into the bag. He pulled you up and guided you toward the bathroom door. “You’re going to take a shower, put on something decent, and we’re going. I’ll drive you to the mall to get her a gift.”

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “Jaemin—”

“No excuses, love,” he interrupted, opening the bathroom door and pushing you inside. “You’re not gonna let your friend down just because your love life sucks right now.”

You wanted to argue, but he was right. Karina had always been the one person who never let you down. You owed her this, at the very least.

“Fine,” you muttered, dragging your feet further into the bathroom. As you shut the bathroom door behind you, you couldn’t help but think that maybe stepping outside your bubble of misery, even just for one night, was exactly what you needed.

Karina’s birthday dinner was simple and warm. The pasta restaurant was your go-to place for special occasions, the kind of place where the ambiance felt like home, and the food was always reliable. Karina, seated at the head of the table, looked radiant, her cheeks flushed with happiness as she opened her first gift—a sleek fountain pen from Jaemin.

“I figured you’d need it for all your artsy journaling,” he quipped, leaning back in his chair with a smug grin.

Karina laughed, twirling the pen in her fingers. “It’s perfect. Now I can write about how annoying you are in style.”

Giselle leaned forward, her chin propped on her hand. “Or you can write about how I’m clearly the best friend you’d ever had.” She passed over a small wrapped box. “It’s from me. Open it.”

Karina obliged, peeling away the paper to reveal a dainty silver wristwatch from a designer brand. “Oh my god! I love it,” Karina said, her voice soft, as she turned the wristwatch over in her hands.

Ningning chimed in next, presenting her gift dramatically. “Mine’s practical but fabulous.” She handed over a beautifully wrapped package that turned out to be a designer planner. “For your future plans and daily journaling.”

Karina was swooning and before she could say anything, Jaemin cut in. “You’re into planners now too?”

“What do you mean? I have always used planners,” Karina replied, scoffing.

Jaemin nodded, glancing at Giselle. “I see you contracted Giselle’s weird addiction with planners and schedules.”

Giselle hit Jaemin with the back of her hand. “It’s called being organized. Try it and maybe your life would be less messy.”

When it was your turn to give Karina her gift, you pulled out a framed print of a watercolor painting you’d found at the mall earlier. It was of a serene sunset over water—Karina’s favorite motif.

“For your room,” you said as you handed it to her. “It’s not much, but I thought you’d like it.”

Karina’s smile grew wide as she unwrapped it. “This is gorgeous.” She reached over to squeeze your hand. “Thank you. I’m so glad you came.”

The conversation flowed effortlessly after that. Over plates of creamy carbonara, pesto linguine, and margherita pizza. You didn’t expect to feel this good, this normal, but here you were, laughing along with Giselle’s witty banter and Ningning’s sarcastic comments. Jeno’s name didn’t come up once—not in passing conversation, not in anyone’s concerned glances. It was as though your heartbreak had been tucked away in a box for the evening, and the world had returned to how it used to be. You let yourself enjoy it, basking in the warmth of your friends and the comfort of being with people who knew you inside and out.

“This carbonara is amazing,” Ningning said, her eyes wide as she twirled her fork. “Worth the trip, honestly. I’d come back just for this.”

“You came back for me,” Karina teased, raising her wine glass with a smirk. “Admit it.”

“Fine,” Ningning laughed, clinking her glass against Karina’s. “Happy birthday, babe. Another year hotter, just not hotter than me.”

As the evening wound down, the server brought out a small birthday cake topped with a small candle. Karina made a wish, blowing out the flame as everyone clapped. You caught yourself wishing, too—not for anything extravagant, just for this sense of normalcy to last a little longer.

After a few rounds of toasts, the group paid the bill and wandered out into the cool night air. Jaemin ushered everyone into his car for the ride home. The drive was loud and chaotic, filled with over the top renditions of pop songs blasting from the radio. Giselle insisted on sitting in the middle of the back seat, demanding that everyone join her in singing, while Ningning occasionally threw out sarcastic remarks about your lack of rhythm.

When Jaemin finally pulled up to your apartment complex, Giselle leaned out the window, waving her hand at you. “Class tomorrow, okay? Don’t skip.”

“Yes, ma’am!” You waved back. “I’ll be there!”

The goodbyes were loud and warm, your friends’ laughter ringing out as Jaemin’s car disappeared down the street. The quiet that followed was jarring. Sighing, you climbed the stairs to your floor, the warmth of the evening still clinging to you like a comforting jacket. But as you turned the corner, the sight at your door stopped you in your tracks.

There was a man slumped against your doorframe, his legs stretched out in front of him, his arms tucked inside the pocket of his hoodie. His head was tipped back against the wooden door, with his hoodie covering half his face.

“Jeno?” you called out hesitantly, your voice breaking the silence.

His eyes fluttered open, unfocused at first, but then they locked onto yours. “Hey,” he said, his voice low and hoarse. He looked tired, disheveled, possibly tipsy. You wondered if it was because he was drunk that he’d fallen asleep at your door, or was it because he was waiting too long. What if it was both?

Your chest tightened with frustration and longing. “What are you doing here?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he pushed himself to his feet, leaning on the door for support. He took a step toward you and rested his head on your shoulder, staying there for a moment, sighing as if relieved just to be near you.

“I needed to see you,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

For a second, you didn’t know what to say. Everything in you wanted to ask him why, but the words wouldn’t come. And at that moment, it felt like nothing was really over—not yet at least.

It had been only three days since the last time Jeno was at your flat, but you hadn’t realized how empty those three days were until now.

You lay on your side, facing each other. The space between you was small but it felt like a mile. Jeno’s eyes were steady, almost searching, as though he was trying to gauge the thoughts swimming in your head. His fingers idly twirled the ends of your hair, a familiar gesture that once made you feel at home but now left you teetering on the edge of something fragile and painful.

“I missed you,” he said, his voice breaking the silence.

Your chest tightened. “You’re drunk,” you said, forcing your words to come out steady.

He gave you a faint, tired smile. “A little,” he admitted, his voice low. “But I missed you more when I was sober.”

The tears you’d been holding back threatened to spill, your throat tightening as you swallowed them down. “Why are you here, Jeno?”

“To see you.” He hesitated, his fingers brushing against your cheek as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. His touch lingered, soft and tentative. “And to apologize.”

“For what?” you asked, your voice almost a whisper.

“For being a bad boyfriend,” he said, his words quiet but heavy, as though they carried the weight of something he couldn’t yet say out loud.

“Go to sleep, Jeno,” you murmured, your voice quieter now, laced with exhaustion more than anger. Without waiting for a response, you turned your back to him, facing the opposite side of the bed.

You felt the mattress shift behind you. His arm slid under your neck and the other around your waist, pulling you into him until your back was flush against his chest. He didn’t say anything—he didn’t have to. The way he held you, firm but gentle, told you everything he couldn’t.

Then again, maybe it was just your wishful thinking deluding you into believing that there was something there when really, there wasn’t.

Your body stiffened for a moment, your mind caught in a whirlwind of push and pull—of reasons to let go and reasons to stay. But eventually, you exhaled, sinking into the familiarity of him. It was easier than fighting the storm in your head. For now, you’d just ignore it.

His breath was soft and steady against the back of your neck, and soon enough, the rhythm lulled you to sleep. When you woke up the next morning, the first thing you noticed was the sunlight spilling through the curtains. The second thing was the steady rise and fall of Jeno’s chest against your back, his arms still wrapped securely around you.

You stayed like that for a while, and neither of you was in any hurry to move. It felt normal like any other lazy morning you’d spent together. Eventually, Jeno stirred, his voice still husky with sleep as he asked, “Are you awake?”

“Yeah,” you mumbled, your throat dry. You didn’t turn to face him. “Why are you still here?”

“Did I overstay my welcome already?” he quipped, his tone light, though his arms tightened ever so slightly around you.

You didn’t answer. The words felt too complicated to untangle so early in the morning. Instead, you reached for your phone on the bedside table, scrolling aimlessly through nothing. Jeno’s chin came to rest on your shoulder, his hair tickling your cheek.

“What are you looking at?” he asked.

“Nothing,” you said flatly, locking your phone again.

He hummed. “Look at me then.”

“Don’t wanna.”

He huffed, tightening his arms around your waist. “What’s wrong? Woke up on the wrong side of bed?”

You rolled your eyes, scoffing. “More like woke up with the wrong guy in bed.”

“Oh?” he asked, amused. “Who were you hoping to wake up with this morning?”

“Not you, obviously.”

“Alright, fine. I’m leaving,” he said, sighing. But he didn’t leave, instead, he grabbed your phone, tossed it aside and pulled you back on the bed with him.

For a moment, it was quiet again, but not uncomfortable. He kissed your forehead. “So… did you have fun at Karina’s thing?”

“It was fine,” you said, staring at the ceiling. “Everyone was there. Jaemin was annoying, Giselle was—well, Giselle. Ningning came too.”

“Must have been fun,” he scoffed. “They still hate me?”

“They never hated you, Jeno. They simply didn’t like you.”

“Comforting,” he said dryly.

“Well, you don’t exactly make an effort to try to be friendly with them.” Not to mention, your friends disliked how Jeno often stressed you out with how terrible he was at being a proper boyfriend, but you didn’t want to tell him that.

“I’m friends with Jaemin,” he countered, the teasing lilt in his voice impossible to ignore.

“You’re friends in-game. That doesn’t count,” you huffed, sitting up. “If you wanna be liked by them—no. Actually, if you wanna be a proper part of my life, you should at least try to get along with my friends.”

Jeno propped himself up on his elbow, flashing a mischievous grin at you. “Are you saying you want to try again with me?”

There are about a dozen—no, a hundred—ways he could try to win you back. This wasn’t one of them. If only he’d try to talk about this like an adult, like he was serious about this, but this is Jeno. What were you even expecting from someone like him?

“Go home, Jeno,” you huffed, stepping down from the bed.

Jeno followed after you, trapping you in his embrace once more. You squirmed against his hold, trying to shake him off, but he only pulled you closer, burying his face on the crook of your neck. Then he let out a sigh and the playfulness that laced his tone just now seemed to dissipate in the air. It was as if everything—the break, the distance, the issues you never talked about—had finally caught up to him and was weighing him down just as much as it did you. You wanted to believe that was true.

“Please,” he whispered, so softly it was almost swallowed by the silence. His voice cracked slightly, his breath warm against your skin. “I’m so sorry. Just… please. Don’t make me leave. I want to stay here… with you.”

Your heart twisted, caught between the instinct to push him away and the aching pull of his sincerity. But you didn’t move. Instead, you exhaled shakily, your voice barely audible. “Jeno…”

But before you could finish, he added, “I love you.”

“What?” Your voice cracked, the disbelief hitting you harder than you expected. You stepped back sharply, pressing your palms against his chest to create space. “How can you say that?”

Jeno met your gaze and there was no mistaking the anguish on his face. “It’s true.”

You stared at him, your heart pounding in your chest. “What do you mean it’s true?” you asked, your voice sharp. “You don’t just get to say that, Jeno. You don’t get to show up here, after everything, and tell me you love me like it’ll fix things.”

He flinched at the edge in your tone, but he didn’t back down. “But I do,” he said quietly, almost desperately. “I love you.”

You shook your head, the heat rising in your chest. “Do you even know what that means? Or is this just another one of your ways to make me take you back? Say it and I’ll forgive you, is that it?”

“No!” Jeno’s voice rose, and for a moment, it seemed like he didn’t even know how to defend himself. He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“You can start by explaining,” you shot back, your voice trembling. “Why now? Why couldn’t you say it before? Why wait until we’re—”

“I don’t know! Damn it!” Jeno cut you off, his voice breaking. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, the emotion in his words spilling out in raw, uneven waves. “I just know I missed you so much that I didn’t know what to do with myself. Every second, every stupid little thing reminded me of you, and I didn’t know what to do. I just know I missed you. So fucking much I was losing my mind.”

His confession hit you like a tidal wave, knocking the breath from your lungs. You felt like you were drowning, your own anger and hurt mingling with the unmistakable ache of wanting him too.

“Jeno…” you started, but the words died in your throat as he stepped closer. His eyes burned with frustration and longing, and before you could say anything else, his hands cupped your face.

“I know I messed up,” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. “I know I don’t deserve this, but I—”

And then he kissed you. It wasn’t soft or tentative. It was fiery and unrestrained, driven by everything he couldn’t say and everything you couldn’t bring yourself to admit. His lips pressed against yours with a desperation that stole the air from your lungs. His hands even trembled slightly as they tangled in your hair.

For a moment, you froze, the anger still simmering beneath the surface. But then your restraints failed you. You kissed him back just as fiercely, your fingers clutching the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer as though that could make sense of the chaos swirling between you.

The kiss deepened, and suddenly nothing else mattered—no words, no explanations. Just the heat of his mouth on yours, the way his hands traced over your skin as if trying to memorize you all over again.

Jeno backed you against the edge of the bed, his lips never leaving yours as his hands slid down to your waist. The emotions—anger, longing, love—pushed you both past the point of no return. When your back hit the mattress, he hovered over you, his forehead pressed against yours as you both caught your breath.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured, his voice strained but gentle. “If you don’t want this, just say the word.”

You didn’t answer. Instead, you pulled him down into another kiss, letting the storm of emotions take over. Words would only complicate things. For now, you needed this—you needed him.

“I love you,” he rasped in your ear, sending pleasant shivers down your spine. His fingers fiddled with the hem of your dress, tugging it over your head in one motion.

He tossed your dress aside, and it landed somewhere across the room. He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark, and intense, taking you in as if committing every detail to memory. As if he needed to—you were sure he’d memorized every part of you by now.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he asked, his voice rough with desire.

Heat rose to your cheeks, but you met his gaze boldly, your fingers tracing the lines of his chest, lingering over the firm muscles and supple skin. You kissed his shoulder and collarbone, savoring how he tensed under your touch.

Jeno leaned to meet your lips, his weight pressing against you deliciously, and you arched into him, gasping as his lips found the hollow of your throat. His hands roamed your body, exploring the length of your skin until he reached your core. He knew exactly what to do—knew exactly how you liked being touched down there. And the expert motions of his fingers made you delirious with desire, your nails dragging across his back and leaving faint red trails.

“Jeno…” you moaned into his ear, holding on to him for dear life as you bucked your hips forward to meet the movements of his fingers.

You missed his touch—every caress seemed to awaken a bolder side of you, more feral, and more desperate. When his lips found yours again, you tugged him forward, moulding your lips together in a fervent kiss.

“I’ve missed you, babe,” he breathed, caressing your cheek. “I was so lost without you.”

He planted a quick kiss on your lips before sitting up to discard his shirt and unbuckled his jeans. He then hovered over you, gaze so enrapturing, you genuinely thought you’d spiral into a climax if he kept at it.

I should stop this, you thought to yourself. Before it consumes me entirely.

But it was genuinely so hard to make rational decisions when his hand was on your bosom, squeezing with just the perfect amount of force while his teeth grazed your other nipple delightfully. And as he tugged his jeans off his waist and his manhood sprang free from the confines of his underwear, your rationality fell apart. It shouldn’t be a surprise. You had never been good at listening to reason in the first place.

Soon, the room was filled with the lewd sound of your moans and skin slamming against skin. You clung onto him, rocking to meet his hips. He was thrusting and kissing you at the same time, trailing kisses on your jaw, your neck, your collarbone and your breasts. And when a particularly hard push made you whimper in both pain and pleasure, Jeno shushed you gently, reminding you that the walls were thinner in this apartment complex.

“Is it good, baby?” he asked, licking your earlobe after.

You shivered delightfully. “More. More, Jeno. Please.”

He let out a feral grunt. “Fuuuck.”

He pulled back, tugged you by the waist, and hoisted you up so you were on all fours—all in a matter of seconds. Then without warning, he shoved himself back inside you, making you let out a sweet little cry. He then rammed into you, relentlessly, fingers wrapped around the back of your neck as he pressed your cheek on the mattress. You muffled your own moans by burying your face on the sheets, your head spiraling with intense pleasure.

Soon, you felt your body twitching with the tease of release, eyes blurring with tears caused by overstimulation. Then in no time, waves of euphoria tore through you, stealing all the strength from your limbs. Jeno didn’t stop, chasing his own high until you heard that familiar grunt, the sudden emptiness when he pulled out, followed by hot stuff spurting on the skin of your back.

You both collapsed on the bed, out of breath, mildly weakened, but both basking on a delightful high. Jeno rolled over on his side, smiling when he met your gaze.

“Did you like that?” he asked, his smile turning smug.

You scoffed, refusing to admit it. “Meh. It was okay,” you said flatly, making him laugh.

His laugh was soft, the kind that vibrated through you, and when he kissed the side of your head, it was sweet. Sweet enough to distract you from realizing that you had just walked into a new phase in your relationship with Jeno. You didn’t know at the time, but it was a phase that would leave you reeling in both bliss and misery.

The first few days with Jeno back in your life felt like a dream. He texted back almost immediately, sometimes with silly jokes or memes or selfies he took of himself. For once, he made plans himself instead of leaving it to you. He still wasn’t the most punctual, but you noticed the effort, and it was enough.

More than that, it was the little things—the thoughtful way he’d text ‘I love you’ unprompted, or the way his gaze lingered on you when he thought you weren’t looking. It felt like he was finally trying, and for a while, you allowed yourself to hope. But then, the cracks never failed to show themselves.

At first, it was small things. A delayed reply here, a forgotten promise there. You told yourself it was nothing, that he was busy. He had mentioned working on a big school project, and you didn’t want to seem clingy.

But the doubts crept in. One night, as you sat beside him, his phone buzzed incessantly. He sighed and picked it up, muttering something about it being distracting. Over his shoulder, you caught a glimpse of the screen—messages, mostly from girls.

You tried to play it cool, but the knot in your stomach tightened as you noticed just how many there were. Though he never replied, the sight of all those names made your chest ache.

“Why are they even messaging you?” you asked, struggling to keep your voice steady.

“I don’t know. Probably because I’m not at the party,” Jeno replied as he glanced at you09, his expression softening as he set his phone down. “Don’t worry about it. I don’t even know half of these people. You’re the only one I need,” he chimed, snuggling closer against you as the movie played on.

The next day, his social media accounts went private. He mentioned it casually, saying he didn’t want random people messaging him anymore. It was a small gesture, but it made you feel better.

For a little while, things were good again. Then, you heard about the girl from his class. She’d been hitting on him, according to one of your friends. When you brought it up, Jeno waved it off like it was nothing.

“Don’t worry about her,” he had said, brushing his hand over yours. “She knows I’m with you.”

But the doubts didn’t go away. Especially not when he started responding to your texts less frequently. You told yourself he was just busy, but your heart whispered otherwise. One afternoon, frustrated and restless, you found yourself walking past his building. You weren’t even sure why you were there, but as you glanced toward an empty classroom, you saw Jeno.

He was sitting at a table with a few other people, his head bent over some notes. Beside him was the girl your friend had mentioned, leaning in a little too close, her laughter ringing out loud enough for you to hear even from where you stood.

The sight stopped you in your tracks for a whole minute. You took out your phone and snapped a photo before walking away, hoping no one noticed you. By the time he met you that evening, your thoughts were a storm you couldn’t contain.

“So, you’re working on your project?” you started, your tone sharper than you intended.

Jeno blinked, taken aback. “Yeah, why?”

“With her?” you asked, showing the photo you took of them.

He froze for a moment, then sighed. “It’s a group project. I can’t control who’s in the group or where they sit.”

“Right,” you said, crossing your arms. “And you couldn’t text me back because you were too busy sitting next to her?”

“Come on, babe, it’s not like that,” he said, his voice rising slightly in frustration. “Let’s not fight about this.”

“It’s just exhausting. It feels like I’m always the one waiting, Jeno! Waiting for you to text back, waiting for you to choose me over—whatever this is.”

“Choose you?” he repeated, his tone incredulous. “I’m here, aren’t I? I barely even talk to any other girl who isn’t you. What more do you want from me?”

“I want to stop feeling like this!” you burst out, your voice trembling. “Like I’m always second-guessing where I stand with you.”

“You’re not second-guessing me. You’re doubting me because you can’t seem to stop looking for reasons to.”

“That’s not what this is, Jeno,” you said, but your voice wavered.

“It is,” he said firmly, his eyes hardening. “You don’t trust me, and that’s not my problem.”

His words cut deeper than you’d expected. For a moment, you just stared at him, unsure if you were hurt or furious—or both. “Fine,” you said finally, your voice cold. “Since this is a ‘me’ problem, maybe we should stop this. Maybe you’re right—I’m the problem, and this isn’t going to work.”

His eyes widened, his expression faltering. For a moment, you thought he might reach out or say something to stop you. But he didn’t.

“I don’t wanna see you again, Jeno.”

You turned and walked away, your steps quick and determined, your heart breaking a little more with each one. Behind you, Jeno stayed rooted to the spot, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, his gaze fixed on the ground.

You didn’t look back.

A few days later, you found yourself back on campus, trying not to think about Jeno. It wasn’t easy. Everywhere you went, it felt like something reminded you of him—the bench where you’d shared lunch, the library corner where he once dozed off while you studied, even the vending machine he’d kicked to get you a stuck drink.

You were heading to class when a snippet of conversation stopped you in your tracks.

“Jeno? Oh god, don’t even get me started with that guy,” a girl said, her voice carrying in the quiet hallway.

Curiosity piqued, you slowed your steps, pretending to check your phone as you listened. You recognized Belle, the subject of your last argument with Jeno which eventually led to the break up—though you had to admit she wasn’t the main reason for it, just a catalyst.

“I took that class just so I could try getting close with him. I don’t know if he’s tactless or just truly indifferent, but I’m sick of it,” she continued.

“Are you serious?” her friend asked, incredulous. “Girl, that’s insane. I didn’t think you’d go that far for a guy. And he had a girlfriend too.”

“I knew that. I didn’t think they were serious. He’s never been tied down by a relationship before, you know?” Belle sighed, pouting. “And then I heard they broke up. I thought maybe I’d have a chance, but... he kind of shot me down. Said he wasn’t interested and that I should find someone else to bother. He was kinda rude about it too.”

Her friend chimed in, “That’s rough. What if they were serious and he’s just not over her yet?”

Belle shrugged. “Who cares? I’m over that guy. Although I did notice he seemed a bit down these days. If that’s true, then she’s one lucky girl. Making a loyal boyfriend out of Jeno and all that.”

The ache in your chest tightened. You already knew deep inside you that Jeno didn’t deserve the blame. And hearing this now just confirmed that the pieces didn’t fit the narrative you’d convinced yourself of. You turned and walked away before you could hear any more.

In his own way, the only way he knew how, Jeno was trying to make things work with you. Looking back now, you might have overreacted, though you still tried to justify it to yourself—to tell yourself that your feelings were valid and he should have done a better job of reassuring you.

Still, the doubt gnawed at you until later that evening when you found yourself in Giselle’s apartment. She had a way of prying things out of you, and it didn’t take long before you were spilling the whole story.

“So, you broke up with him because he wasn’t responding to your texts and because of that girl?” Giselle asked, raising an eyebrow.

You hesitated, feeling a bit ridiculous now that you said it out loud. “It wasn’t just that. It’s… everything. I keep feeling like I’m not enough for him, like he’s always got one foot out the door.”

Giselle frowned, setting down her mug. “Look, your feelings are valid. You deserve to feel secure in a relationship. But… don’t you think you might’ve been a little impulsive this time?”

“Impulsive?” you echoed, defensive.

“I’m just saying, did Jeno actually do anything to deserve your suspicion?” she asked gently. “From what you told me, Jeno didn’t do anything wrong. He can’t help it if girls still try to hit on him, and it sounds like he’s been making an effort to shut them down. Setting his socials to private? That’s huge for someone like him.”

You stayed silent, biting your lip.

“And from what I’ve seen, he’s head over heels for you. Maybe it’s time to give him the benefit of the doubt,” she added. “Look, you already know Jeno’s always had a reputation, even before you two started dating. He’s that guy—aloof but fun, hot and charismatic, all the girls want him. But now that he’s with you, it’s like no one else got the memo. That’s not his fault, though. And honestly, I think he’s trying. Maybe you should talk to him instead of assuming the worst.”

Her words lingered with you long after you left her apartment. Swallowing your pride, you found yourself standing outside Jeno’s unit. Your heart raced as you texted him, your fingers hesitating over the keyboard before finally pressing send.

You: Can we talk?

His reply came quicker than you expected.

Jeno: Are you outside? You: How did you know? Jeno: I was hoping you were. Jeno: Wait, you are?

The door in front of you swung open, revealing a wide-eyed, slightly disheveled Jeno. His eyes lit up briefly, the corner of his lips twitching with a faint smile before he masked it with a casual shrug. You waved awkwardly, your embarrassment battling the small rush of relief at seeing him after several days apart.

Jeno cleared his throat, straightened up, and crossed his arms as he leaned lazily against the doorframe. You couldn’t help smirking at his obvious attempt to appear unbothered.

That made him raise an eyebrow. “Can I help you?”

“Oh,” you fumbled, swallowing hard. “I, um… Can I come in?”

“No.”

“What?” You blinked, genuinely caught off guard.

“No, you can’t.”

“Yeah, I heard you,” you shot back, trying to steady your voice despite the growing irritation. You stood there for a second, looking down at your shoes. You didn’t wanna waste any time, but the words wouldn’t come out of your lips.

“If there’s nothing else, then—” Jeno began, moving to close the door, but you darted forward, grabbing the doorknob to stop him.

“I’m sorry,” you blurted, the words tumbling out faster than you’d intended. You looked up at him, your heart pounding. “I think I might’ve overreacted. About… everything.”

Jeno’s expression didn’t soften immediately. His brows were slightly furrowed, his hand still on the door. “Oh, you think?” he said, his tone neutral.

“No, I mean, I know I did. I just… I get in my own head sometimes,” you admitted, stepping back. “I start overthinking things, and I end up pushing you away when what I really want is to pull you closer.”

He let out a soft sigh, stepping closer. “You think I don’t overthink too? I feel like I’m screwing up every time I see the disappointment in your face. Even if you tried to hide it.”

You looked at him, surprised.

“I know I’m not the best at this—at us,” he said, his voice low. “I don’t know what to tell you, except that I want you and I love you. And everyone else are just… potatoes.”

You chuckled before you could even stop yourself. Jeno simply gawked at you, as if he had no idea what was so funny. For a while, neither of you said anything, just standing there face to face—you with a smile on your face and him with a pout. Then, finally, you spoke. “I’m sorry. About everything.”

Jeno didn’t hesitate. He pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly, as though afraid you’d slip away again. “I’m sorry too. I should do better.”

“Yeah, you should,” you quipped, wrapping your arms around him and closing your eyes to bask in the warmth you’d grown so fond of.

“I missed you,” he murmured into your hair. “So damn much.”

You hummed, eyes fluttering open. “Can I come in now?” you quipped, making Jeno pull away with a grin. Without a word, he pulled you inside, finding your lips in the dimly lit apartment and kicking the door behind him.

And just like that, the cycle repeated.

You got back together. For a while, things were good. Sweet texts, stolen kisses, quiet nights spent wrapped in each other’s arms. But eventually, something would come up—another fight, another misunderstanding—and you’d break up again. Then you’d find yourselves back here, trying to piece things together, neither of you quite willing to let go.

“It’s bad. You were never the patient type, but with him? You’ve got the patience of a saint,” Karina remarked, shaking her head after yet another breakup. “I don’t even know if I should be proud of you or worried.”

“How many times has it been this month?” Jaemin asked, his eyes fixed on his phone, fingers flying across the screen.

Karina shot him a look. “Excuse me, Jaemin. In case you didn’t notice, you’re not part of this conversation. We know for a fact that you’re playing a game with Jeno right now, Traitor.”

Jaemin smirked, barely glancing up. “We’re only buddies in-game. I know where my loyalties lie.”

You rolled your eyes at their banter, though you could feel the weight of Karina’s words sinking in. They weren’t wrong. It was bad.

Still, you and Jeno persisted. Despite everything, there were moments when you felt like the luckiest person alive. The way he’d send you voice messages of a song stuck in his head just because it reminded him of you, or how he’d show up with your favorite snacks after a long day, made your heart flutter. Those little things kept you going.

But then there were the other moments. The times when he’d brush off something that mattered to you, his inconsistency leaving you feeling unsteady. He drove you crazy in all the ways someone could—sometimes in the best way, but often in the worst.

The breaking point came when you almost failed a class. You’d spent the entire week crying over yet another breakup with Jeno, replaying every fight, every unresolved argument, until the deadline for your paper had come and gone. When you logged into the portal and saw the glaring red INCOMPLETE notification, it felt like the universe was screaming at you to wake up.

Karina wasn’t subtle when she confronted you about it. “You’re throwing your future away over a guy,” she said, her voice sharp, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. “A guy who clearly doesn’t have his shit together either.”

Giselle chimed in, softer but no less firm. “We get it. You love him, and he loves you, but this? This has to stop, hon. He’s obviously bad for you.”

You wanted to argue, to defend Jeno, but the truth was staring back at you. You couldn’t deny it anymore: you’d been neglecting yourself, stretching yourself thin, just to hold onto something that was already slipping through your fingers.

Luckily, you were given a makeup project to salvage your grade. You spent hours on it, giving it your best, reminding yourself that you may have done averagely ever since you started college, but you’d never had a failed grade before. The paper was submitted, and for the first time in weeks, you felt a small flicker of pride. But you knew that wasn’t enough. This wasn’t just about school anymore. It was about you.

And so, you made the decision to let Jeno go. It wasn’t easy—it never was—but it was necessary. It was what you needed. For the first time in months, you chose yourself. The day you broke up with him was quieter than you expected. No shouting, no grand gestures, just two people staring at each other, knowing it was over.

“I wish it could’ve worked,” Jeno said, his voice low.

“Me too,” you replied, your heart aching as you turned away.

He didn’t chase after you—not that he ever did each time you broke up. That was disappointing, but also clarifying. If he wasn’t willing to fight for this, then why were you fighting so hard?

When you told your friends, Giselle nearly cried, while Karina popped open a bottle of champagne as if you’d just announced your graduation.

“Nine months!” Karina exclaimed, her eyes wide with mock disbelief. “Nine whole months!”

Jaemin raised a finger, grinning mischievously. “Eleven if we count the hooking-up phase.”

“Wow, that’s almost a year,” Karina sneered, turning to you. “You really must have been insane.”

Giselle snorted, nudging Karina with her elbow. “Come on, she wasn't insane—just a little too crazy in love.”

“To a brighter future and fewer sleepless nights,” Jaemin declared, raising his glass dramatically before handing you one.

“Not just fewer,” Karina added, leaning closer with a grin. “None. You deserve to sleep like a queen, babe.”

Their laughter and cheers filled the room. You took a sip of the champagne, its fizz tickling your nose. For a moment, you let yourself bask in the comfort of their joy, the love they poured into lifting your spirits.

Jaemin raised his glass again with a smirk. “And for surviving our second year of college in one piece. Barely.”

You all laughed. “Hear! Hear!”

Even with the bubbly warmth of their company, the ache lingered quietly in your chest, a reminder of everything you’d let go. Letting go wasn’t the same as forgetting. It never was.

Still, as the cheap champagne bubbled on your tongue and your friends’ laughter rang in your ears, you felt something shift. It wasn’t healing, not yet, but it was a start. And that was enough for now.

When you walked down the halls of NCIT in the first semester of your third year, you were overcome with the oddest sense of unfamiliarity. The chatter and bustle were all the same, yet it felt distant, like watching an old memory play out from the sidelines. The walls, the quad, the staircases—everything looked the same from when you last saw them, but unfamiliar. It was like stepping back into a life you’d left behind a long time ago.

But then, as you turned a corner, the reason for this weird unease became clear. There he was—Lee Jeno, leaning against the staircase with his friends. He hadn’t changed at all. Then again, it had only been six weeks since you saw him last.

A voice from behind you cut through your thoughts. “Yo, Jeno!”

Jeno’s head turned at the call, and his eyes met yours. For a split second, neither of you moved. But just as quickly, you looked away and turned in the opposite direction. You didn’t wait to see if he reacted, your feet carrying you toward your classroom hastily.

Time is a strange thing. Sometimes it rushes past, stealing days and months before you even notice. Other times, it drags slowly, each minute stretching endlessly as if it wanted you to feel and experience every passing second. People say time moves faster when you’re happy, slower when you’re not. With Jeno, it felt like both.

You hadn’t realized how much time you’d spent with him until it was over. Eleven months. Almost a year. It felt like a lifetime and a moment all at once.

“Eleven months. I really was out of my mind,” you muttered to yourself as you sank into your seat. Shaking your head, you lightly smacked your own cheek, hoping to jolt yourself out of the spiral. As you did, you caught sight of the guy sitting next to you, watching your antics. You blinked, embarrassed but mostly surprised. “Renjun?”

“Hi,” he greeted, flashing a smile that you remembered all too well—sweet, beautiful, angelic. “It’s been a while.”

“It has,” you agreed, chuckling awkwardly. “How have you been?”

“Good,” he said, shrugging. “Same as always.”

You leaned closer, narrowing your eyes playfully. “Still out there unintentionally breaking hearts?”

Renjun’s laugh was awkward, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. “Uh, no. Not that I know of.”

“Oh, good. That’s great then,” you chuckled, turning your attention in front. There was a pause, one that was more awkward than expected. You turned back to him and said, “Not a good subject to bring up after not seeing each other for a long time, is it?”

“No, it’s not,” he replied, chuckling, this time genuinely. “It’s good to see you again, though.”

“I know. It’s good to see you too,” you echoed, smiling at him just as the professor walked into the hall. Your conversation ended, replaced by occasional glances and small smiles. After class, Renjun caught up with you outside, falling into step beside you.

“Where are you headed?” he asked casually.

“The cafeteria,” you replied. “Meeting my friends. You?”

“Same. I heard they’re serving pasta today,” he said, his voice light.

You didn’t say anything for a while and just wondered why you were having this conversation. But when Renjun kept walking with you without saying anything, it suddenly clicked. “Do you wanna… join us?” you asked.

His face lit up, the sheepish smile returning. “Are you sure? You’re with your friends…”

You waved your hand dismissively. “It’s alright. I’m sure they’d love to see you. It’s been a while for them, too.”

His smile grew. “Thanks. I’d like that.”

As expected, your friends were thrilled to see Renjun again. He was the center of attention the whole time during lunch, with them asking why they didn’t see him at all year. Giselle said they had a class together though, so it was just you and your other friends. And when that was over, you all went your own ways but Renjun didn’t forget to wish you a good day.

The next day, you ran into him again as you left your morning class. He was leaning against the wall near the door, scrolling through his phone, and looked up when he saw you. His familiar smile lit up his face. “Hi, where are you headed?”

“I’m going to the library,” you replied, adjusting the strap of your bag. “I need to do some reading for an assignment.”

Renjun seemed skeptical. “Willingly?”

“What does that mean?” you asked, chuckling.

“Nothing. Just…” He didn’t finish, just shrugged and grinned knowingly.

You rolled your eyes, but your smile didn’t waver. “Hey, I still go there sometimes. Just because I’m not glued to it like in freshman year doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten how to read.”

He couldn’t help but laugh, nodding toward the hallway. “Alright, let’s go, bookworm.”

The walk to the library felt oddly nostalgic, like slipping into an old routine. You had easy conversations, talking about your summer break, your professors, and everything in between. It wasn’t until you were both settled at a table in the far corner of the library that it hit you how much you’d missed this—just sitting and talking with Renjun.

“I forgot how nice and quiet this place is,” you said, looking around at the tall shelves and the quiet students scattered throughout the room.

“Did you seriously not come here at all last semester?” he teased, propping his chin on his hand. “You practically lived here back then.”

“I might have. Maybe once, I’m not sure,” you murmured. “It shames me to say this now, but I only hung out here back then because of you. I was never a library person from the start.”

Renjun smiled. “I see. That’s a relief, then. I sometimes wonder if you stopped coming here because of what happened back then.”

You shook your head, grimacing sheepishly. The library had been your shared space, a sanctuary from the chaos of campus life. It was also where you’d spent countless hours pretending to study while sneaking glances at him, your freshman crush growing stronger with every thoughtful smile he sent your way. But that was a long time ago. So much had changed since then.

Still, as the afternoon wore on, the ease between you remained. You left the library with a faint smile, thinking maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to drop by more often.

t started small: an invitation to grab lunch in the cafeteria after class. Then coffee at your favorite café the following week. And before you knew it, you were spending more time with Renjun.

One afternoon, as you walked across the quad with him and Giselle, Renjun gestured toward the fountain in the center. “Got time before your next class?” he asked casually. “We could sit for a bit.”

You nodded without hesitation this time. The sunlit quad, the quiet murmur of students passing by—it was your favorite time to hang around the quad.

As you made your way to the fountain, Giselle discreetly nudged your elbow, turning your attention briefly to a group gathered under the shade of a tree by the library. Jeno was there with a few other students, talking and laughing together. He looked happy, normal. The sight lingered in your mind, but it didn’t stop your feet from moving forward.

Renjun glanced at you as you reached the fountain. “Here okay?” he asked, gesturing to a sunny spot on the stone ledge.

You smiled and sat down. “Yeah, it’s perfect.”

He settled beside you, resting his elbows on his knees, and the conversation picked up where it had left off. Renjun had a way of drawing people in through conversations of substance—the kind that made you want to keep talking to him. He listened intently, not just waiting for his turn to speak but genuinely engaging, even when your opinions clashed. He laughed in all the right places, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and when you stumbled over your words, he didn’t interrupt—just waited, his expression patient and encouraging.

After that day, spending time with Renjun became part of your routine. Sometimes it was lunch in the cafeteria with Giselle and Jaemin, Renjun effortlessly fitting in with your friends as though he’d never left. Other times, it was just the two of you, wandering the library aisles or lingering in the campus café over iced lattes and pastries.

He had a knack for noticing the little things. Once, he brought you an extra pen during a study session because he remembered you’d mentioned running out of ink. Another time, when you’d complained about skipping lunch to meet a deadline, he’d shown up with a neatly packed sandwich and insisted you eat while he proofread your work.

Despite all this, you didn’t think much of it. Romance was the last thing on your mind—you were still quietly dealing with your own tangled feelings, and getting involved with someone new seemed far too complicated. That is until Renjun brought it up.

You were sitting under a tree near the quad, sipping iced coffees he’d insisted on treating you to.

“This is nice,” he said, leaning back against the trunk. “It’s like freshman year all over again.”

You chuckled in a self-deprecating way. “Yeah, except it’s less embarrassing and delusional.”

Renjun chuckled, shaking his head. “It wasn’t embarrassing back then.”

You chuckled, rolling your eyes at your own expense. “Forget it. We’re way past that now.”

“I missed hanging out with you, you know,” he said, his tone thoughtful. “You were my favorite study buddy.”

The words caught you off guard. You laughed, a little uncertain. “Wow, didn’t know you were this sentimental, Renjun.”

“I’m serious,” he said, leaning forward slightly. “I’ve missed having you around. And now that we’re spending time together again... I think I like you.”

You blinked, your smile faltering. “What?”

“I like you,” he repeated, his gaze steady. “Romantically, I mean.”

The memory of freshman year came rushing back—his soft rejection, your embarrassment, the way you’d quietly drifted apart afterward.

“I’m not saying I’m in love with you or anything—it’s too soon for that,” he added quickly. “But I know I like you. If that makes you uncomfortable, I’ll understand. Just tell me now, and we’ll stay how we are. No pressure.”

You hesitated, studying him. Renjun had always been kind, always thoughtful. You should’ve been wary, but something in his voice, in the way he looked at you, made you hesitate.

“I’m not sure,” you finally admitted. “If I like you that way.”

Renjun nodded, as if he’d expected that. “Can I try?” he asked. “To see if there’s something here?”

“I’m not really in the right headspace for something like this right now.”

He shrugged. “If it’s alright with you, I can wait. I wasn’t really thinking about rushing things. I just thought I should let you know.”

You stared at him, weighing the possibilities. It was funny to think how over a year ago, you’d been in this exact position—but on the other side of the conversation. Back then, it had been you confessing your feelings, your heart on the line. Now, as you looked at Renjun, his soft eyes warm yet expectant, you realized this was how he looked at someone he liked. You didn’t know he could get any cuter than he already was.

It was strange how much had changed since then. But maybe that was the point—you weren’t the same person anymore, and neither was he.

“Alright,” you said, your lips curving into a tentative smile. “Let’s see where this goes.”

Renjun’s face lit up, his smile so genuine it made your heart ache a little. And just like that, the two of you began again—not as the people you were back then, but as the people you were now.

And just like that, things changed. Subtly at first—a shift so gradual you almost didn’t notice it. But Renjun’s efforts were unmistakable.

He didn’t just invite you to hang out anymore; he planned outings carefully. One weekend, he suggested a trip to the city’s botanical garden. It wasn’t flashy or extravagant, but the way he lit up as he explained how the seasonal blooms were at their peak made it hard to say no. Walking alongside him through the rows of beautiful flowers, you found yourself smiling more than you expected.

On a rare free weekend, he suggested visiting a nearby art café you hadn’t heard of. “They host live acoustic sets,” he explained as you settled into a cozy nook. The atmosphere was intimate, the music soothing, and Renjun seemed entirely at ease, sipping his coffee and asking your opinion on a mural hanging near the stage.

Sometimes the dates were simpler. A shared umbrella as the two of you made your way to a nearby ramen shop during a surprise downpour. A quiet evening in the music room, where he played the piano while you hummed along to a melody you vaguely recognized. And the night he showed up at your door with a small box of your favorite cake, claiming he was ‘just in the neighborhood.’

When you mentioned your stress over upcoming exams, he showed up with two steaming cups of tea and a promise to help quiz you. “Let’s keep it efficient,” he had said with a light but focused tone. He set up a study session so structured it felt more like a strategy meeting. You were whining half the time, but his calm encouragement made you feel strangely at ease.

Each moment with Renjun felt thoughtful, deliberate, as though he’d carefully considered how to make you feel seen and cared for. He had always been nice, always considerate. But now, there was an added purpose to it—an effort to win you over that didn’t go unnoticed.

And though romance wasn’t at the forefront of your mind, you couldn’t help but notice how much you enjoyed the moments he created. With him, there was no pressure, no expectations. It was easy to enjoy his company for what it was: a quiet comfort, a welcome distraction from everything else.

One day, while you were at the café with your friends, Renjun handed you a pair of tickets to the Fine Arts Department’s exhibit. “I thought it’d be nice to go together again this year,” he said, handing you the stub with a sheepish grin.

Jaemin, seated across from you, immediately perked up. “Oh-ho,” he drawled, a mischievous smile creeping onto his face as he leaned forward. “I see. Someone has taken my responsibility of providing tickets for her every year.”

“What?” Renjun blinked, looking genuinely puzzled. “You used to—?”

Jaemin interrupted with a quick pat on Renjun’s back, his grin widening. “You’re doing great. Keep at it.”

Giselle laughed, shaking her head. “Don’t mind him. He’s just stirring the pot, as usual.”

At the exhibit, the group stayed close as you explored the gallery, admiring the work on display. Renjun, however, never strayed far from your side. Your friends were there to support Jaemin, whose entries were finally being showcased, and he looked proud but uncharacteristically modest as you wandered from piece to piece.

The pieces were captivating, and you found yourself genuinely moved, especially upon seeing that Jaemin had a solo shot of you on display as one of his entries—a 16x20 photograph of yourself displayed on one of the walls. Taken at your favorite spot on the campus quadrangle, the image captured you sitting on the grass, your head tilted back toward the sunlight, eyes closed with a radiant, unguarded smile on your face.

You gasped quietly, covering your mouth. “Na Jaemin,” you started, your voice barely above a whisper, “Is this why you asked me not to sue you for portrait rights last week?”

Jaemin’s grin spread slowly, as if he’d been waiting for this moment. He crossed his arms and tilted his head. “You already promised. No take backsies.”

“Yeah, well, I’m suing,” Giselle cut in as she and Karina squinted at the next photo. “There is no solo shot of me.”

“Right?” Karina chimed in, arms crossed and eyebrow raised. “This is the one photo where we’re in the frame, but you can barely see us because the building takes up three-quarters of it.”

Jaemin threw up his hands dramatically. “I was going for an artistic composition!”

“Artistic?!” Giselle shot back, mock-offended. “So, what, the building is more photogenic than us?”

Karina nodded solemnly, tapping her chin. “I’m starting to think he’s a fake friend.”

Jaemin groaned, looking to you for backup, but you only laughed. Watching him try to explain himself while your girl friends continued their lighthearted attack was too entertaining to interrupt.

Eventually, you turned to Renjun, who had stepped back slightly from the group, quietly observing. He was staring at your photo, his expression unreadable at first, but as you stepped closer, you caught the small, soft smile tugging at his lips.

“He’s really good,” Renjun said finally, his voice quiet but sincere. “The composition, the light—it’s simple, but it feels… honest. I can see why he saw fit to include this.”

You smiled, glancing at the photo. “He’s had plenty of practice taking pictures of me. I used to give him hell if he captured me at a bad angle.”

Renjun chuckled warmly. “That sounds just like you.”

For a while, neither of you said anything. Renjun’s gaze lingered on the photograph, the golden flicker of the lights overhead casted a soft almost whimsical glow over his features. He looked surreally beautiful, like a painting come to life. For a brief moment, you wondered how things would have turned out if your timing with him had been different. Then, as quickly as the thought came, you brushed it aside and returned to the present.

Renjun’s presence in your life now should be enough, you reminded yourself. He was thoughtful, steady, and sincere. Yet, no matter how much you tried to bury it, the shadow of your days with Jeno lingered in the back of your mind—a part of you that still missed the spontaneity and chaos Jeno had once brought into your life. You knew deep down that while your dates with Renjun were pleasant and lovely, you missed the spontaneous road trips you’d gone to with Jeno.

“We should move on,” you prompted, tugging his elbow. “I’m starting to think you’re a simp.”

He chuckled sheepishly. “A simp is too much.”

You continued wandering through the gallery, trading comments with Renjun and admiring the art. At some point, you’d lost track of your friends, but Renjun didn’t seem to mind. In fact, without the group’s chatter, he’d become more talkative and more forward.

And while he was occupied eyeing a particularly intriguing painting, you felt a strange pull to glance back toward the other side of the hall where your photo was hanging. Turning, your gaze landed on the figure standing in front of your photo. His stance was relaxed, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket, head tilted slightly as though he were studying every detail of the image.

Jeno.

There was no mistaking it. You’d recognize that silhouette anywhere—the broad shoulders, the way his weight shifted casually from one foot to the other. Seeing him there, staring at your photograph for so long, stirred something in you—hurt, frustration, and longing.

What was he doing? Why was he staring at your face so openly like that? And what did it mean?

Then, as if sensing your eyes on him, Jeno turned slowly, meeting your gaze from across the hall. Time seemed to pause. He didn’t look away, and neither did you. From this distance, you couldn’t decipher the emotions in his expression—was it longing? Anger? Regret? You told yourself it didn’t matter, but deep down, you hoped there was something in those eyes.

Before you could dwell on it though, Renjun called your name, making you glance over your shoulder. “Should we check out the sculptures next?” he asked, his tone light as he gestured toward another section of the gallery.

You tore your eyes away from Jeno and turned to Renjun. His gentle smile and the steady warmth in his gaze felt like a lifeline, pulling you back to solid ground. Forcing a smile of your own, you nodded. “Yeah, let’s go.”

And just like that, you left Jeno behind, walking forward beside someone who offered you peace, even as a storm still brewed somewhere deep inside your heart.

It was a lazy afternoon at Giselle’s apartment. The three of you were sprawled on her couch, a half-empty bowl of popcorn on the table as the latest episode of your favorite show played in the background. But as usual, the conversation veered off topic, and soon you were talking about Renjun.

“Renjun’s a total sweetheart,” Karina said, her voice laced with admiration. “I mean, the way he looks at you? You’d have to be blind not to notice.”

You rolled your eyes, though a small smile tugged at your lips.

Giselle, lounging against the armrest, threw a popcorn kernel into her mouth. “He’s sweet, no doubt. But…” She hesitated, as if weighing her words. “Don’t you think it’s too soon?”

“I’m not jumping into anything,” you replied, your tone firm but not defensive. “I know I’m not ready for a relationship. I just…” You trailed off, searching for the right words. “I’m enjoying spending time with him. That’s all.”

Karina exchanged a look with Giselle, but neither pressed further. “Just don’t let anyone rush you,” Giselle finally said, her voice softer now. “Not even yourself.”

You nodded, offering a small smile in thanks. “I won’t.”

When the conversation shifted to lighter topics, you glanced at the clock. It was getting late, and you had plans early the next morning. Rising from the couch, you grabbed your bag.

“I got to go,” you said, stretching. “My laundry needs ironing.”

“Or you could just run it in the dryer again and take it out as soon as it’s done,” Giselle suggested as you headed for the door. “No wrinkles, no need for ironing. It will save you some time.”

“You know what, I might do just that,” you beamed, giving them quick little hugs and pecks before leaving.

The ride down the elevator was uneventful at first. You leaned against the mirrored wall, scrolling through your phone, half-distracted by a string of unread notifications. Then, with a soft chime, the elevator stopped, and the doors slid open.

You froze as soon as you looked up.

Standing on the other side was Jeno. His hair was tousled, and he had the same familiar slouch you’d seen a hundred times before. For a moment, he seemed just as startled as you, his hand hovering over the elevator button like he hadn’t expected to see you either.

Neither of you moved. Neither of you spoke. The door stayed open for what felt like an eternity, but it was only a few seconds before it began to close again. Still, neither of you made a move to stop it.

The moment broke as the elevator resumed its descent, and you let out a shaky breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. Your heart was pounding, the remnants of that brief, silent encounter lingering like static in the air.

When you stepped out of the building, the cool evening breeze hit your face, but it didn’t calm the storm of emotions swirling in your chest. You decided, then and there, that you wouldn’t visit Giselle’s apartment as often anymore. You weren’t ready to face Jeno—not like that, not when you couldn’t even trust yourself to stay unaffected by a mere elevator ride. For now, avoidance seemed like the safest option.

The next day, you met Renjun again for a study session. The library was unusually quiet, even for a weekday. Your usual spot by the large arched window felt more secluded than ever, sunlight spilling through the glass and illuminating the table where you and Renjun sat. He had just excused himself to browse the shelves for a book, leaving you to jot down notes in peaceful solitude.

Or so you thought.

“Boo.”

You nearly jumped out of your seat, twisting around to see Donghyuck grinning at you from the leather armchair behind your table. His hair was a mess, and he looked like he’d just woken up.

“Donghyuck?” you hissed, glancing around to make sure no one had noticed the disturbance. “What are you even doing here?”

He stretched lazily, letting out an exaggerated yawn. “Mark kicked me out.”

Your lips twitched into a smirk. “If that’s true, I’m baking him cookies to celebrate.”

“Ah, so brutal.” He slid into the seat across from you. “So, this is your life now? Hanging out with Nerdy McBlond every day?”

“Mind your own business,” you muttered, turning a page in your notebook.

But Donghyuck was nothing if not persistent. He leaned forward, lowering his voice deviously. “You know, I kinda miss the old you. The one who used to make out with Jeno in parking lots. Now that was entertainment.”

Your pen froze mid-sentence. Slowly, you looked up, grimacing in disbelief and annoyance. “Are you serious right now? You’re such a pervert.”

Donghyuck clutched his chest, feigning offence. “Excuse me? You’re the ones who did it in the open. Why should I be called a pervert for enjoying a free show?” He leaned back on the chair, smirking. “Too bad you didn’t do it in your apartment, though. I would have loved to hear how you’d sound like when you getting—”

You kicked his leg under the table before he could finish, making him groan in pain, the sound prompting the attention of other students in the quiet library. You gave them apologetic smiles before turning back to Donghyuck and glaring at him.

In a low but agitated voice, you said, “Go away.”

Donghyuck didn’t move, lounging comfortably in his seat as his gaze flicked to something—or someone—behind you. You turned to see Renjun approaching, a thick book tucked under his arm, his curious eyes shifting between you and Donghyuck.

“Who’s your friend?” Renjun asked as he sat.

“Oh, he’s not my—” you paused, catching yourself. You exhaled. “Donghyuck. He’s a neighbor, and a pain.”

“Ah,” Renjun said, his tone neutral but his expression unimpressed.

“Can you fight?” Donghyuck asked abruptly, his smirk returning.

Renjun blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“Never mind,” Donghyuck said, standing up with exaggerated flair. “I’ll leave you two to your thrilling world of books and productivity. Try not to bore each other to death.”

“Finally,” you huffed, shaking your head.

Donghyuck paused beside you, leaning down to whisper, “I’ll bet the last 20 bucks in my pocket that he’s vanilla as hell.”

You felt your cheeks flare, and without thinking, you picked up a book from your desk and hit Donghyuck’s arm with it. He left laughing, much to the librarian’s annoyance.

Renjun chuckled softly, shaking his head as he settled back into his seat. “Is he always like that?”

“Worse,” you muttered, trying to focus on your notes again.

But Donghyuck's words about Jeno stayed with you, uninvited and unwelcome, scratching at the back of your mind. No matter how much you tried to brush it off, the mention of Jeno left a bitter taste in your mouth.

You hesitated at the entrance to Giselle’s apartment building, staring up at the familiar structure. You’d promised to drop by and help her with a last-minute project, but being here filled you with dread. He was somewhere inside, just a few floors away. Jeno. You told yourself the odds of running into him were slim, but the memory of that elevator encounter still clung to you, sharp and intrusive.

Still, you had no choice. Taking a deep breath, you stepped through the doors.

The visit went smoothly. You kept yourself busy, helping Giselle as best as you can. Your worries were momentarily forgotten until it was time to leave. Fortunately, you didn’t run into him and left the building uneventfully. But as you walked down the street, heading home, your phone buzzed in your pocket.

You glanced at the screen, frowning at the unknown number before answering.

“Hello?”

“Hey, um… is this Jeno’s girlfriend?” a male voice asked hesitantly.

You stiffened, your grip tightening on the phone. “No. It’s not.” You swallowed hard. “We’re not together anymore.”

“Oh,” the guy said, clearly embarrassed. “Sorry, I didn’t know. It’s just… Jeno’s really sick, and we don’t know what to do. He keeps saying he’s fine, but he’s burning up. We thought maybe you could—”

“Call an ambulance,” you interrupted firmly, your heart pounding in your chest.

“I mean, it doesn’t seem that serious,” he stammered. “But he’s—”

You hung up, cutting him off. Shoving your phone into your pocket, you walked faster, forcing yourself not to look back.

But the farther you got, the heavier the knot in your stomach grew. You shouldn’t care. It wasn’t your problem anymore. Still, your mind betrayed you, replaying the image of Jeno sick and alone. Before you realized it, your fingers were already flying across your screen, calling back the unknown number. The dial tone grated through your eyes, making you grow restless with every beat.

“Where are you?” you asked as soon as the guy picked up. He told you they had just pulled up to Jeno’s apartment and without hesitation, your feet quickly changed direction, carrying you to him.

The door to his apartment creaked open as you stepped inside, and the scent that welcomed you was painfully familiar—woodsy with a faint hint of his cologne. You saw him slumped on the couch, pale and sweating, his head resting against the armrest. The sight hit you like a punch to the gut.

“Jeno,” you called softly, crouching beside him. His eyes fluttered open, barely focusing on you.

“Baby…” he rasped, his voice hoarse. “Babe, is that you?”

“Don’t talk,” you murmured, your throat tight.

You spent the next hour taking care of him—dragging him into his bedroom, changing his sweat-soaked shirt, cooling his fever, coaxing him to drink water, and forcing him to rest. When he finally drifted off, you sank into the living room chair, staring at the familiar space.

Everything looked exactly as it had the last time you were here. The blanket draped over the couch, the framed photo of you and him that you’d placed on the shelf—it all sent a bittersweet pang on your chest. You didn’t realize that in your time together, you’d made a cozy home of what used to be an empty and lifeless apartment.

The ache in your chest grew unbearable, so you decided to distract yourself. You thought about cooking something for him, but his fridge was nearly empty save for a few bottles of water, some beer cans, and what could possibly be a week-old pizza. So you stepped out to buy groceries, telling yourself it was just to make sure he had something to eat when he woke up.

By the time you returned, he was still sound asleep. You quietly worked in the small kitchen, making soup that filled the apartment with its comforting aroma. You were ladling it into a bowl when you felt a presence behind you.

Turning, you found Jeno leaning against the wall, watching you with a faint smile. His hair was disheveled, and he looked exhausted, but his eyes held that familiar warmth that made your knees weak.

“You’re awake,” you said sharply, masking the turmoil inside you. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” he replied, his voice low.

You turned back to the stove, focusing on the task at hand. “I made soup and picked up some bread. Eat something,” you told him, keeping your tone neutral.

Before you could step away, you felt his arms wrap around you from behind. His head dropped onto your shoulder, his breath warm against the crook of your neck.

You sighed, exasperated. “Jeno, don’t do this.”

“I missed you so much,” he murmured, his words cutting through your defenses.

Your hands gripped the counter as tears pricked your eyes. A quiet sob escaped before you could stop it, and you hated yourself for it—for still feeling so much.

And due to some hideous twist of fate—or simply your penchant for making bad decisions, the wall you’d put up between the two of you collapsed. His touch was too familiar, and his presence was too intoxicating. One moment you were telling yourself to leave, and the next, you were tangled with him in his bed, lost in the remnants of what you once had, and drowning in a storm you should have stayed far away from.

You and Jeno got back together, but it wasn’t the storybook reunion you’d secretly hoped for. Instead, it came with guilt, secrecy, and a gnawing sense of uncertainty that refused to leave your mind. You couldn’t bring yourself to tell your friends—how could you, after all they’d seen you go through all this time? Giselle had warned you to take your time, and Karina had all but sworn off Jeno for you. Telling them would mean confessing that you’d ignored every lesson you’d learned.

When you told Renjun you couldn’t return his feelings, he accepted it with a grace that only deepened your guilt. His words were sincere—he wished you happiness and hoped you’d be treated the way you deserved. Obviously, he means well, but as the saying goes, “you deserve what you tolerate.” Renjun had no idea what you’d been tolerating all this time.

Now you were starting to think you deserved it—every careless word, every moment of neglect. You tolerated it, didn’t you? And in doing so, hadn’t you silently agreed to it all?

At first, you convinced yourself it was different this time. Jeno was softer, more attentive. He held you close as if he feared you’d slip away again. You allowed yourself to believe he’d changed, that maybe love really was enough to fix things. But cracks began to show again, the same cracks that broke you apart before.

He was still Jeno—charming, but inconsistent. Passionate, but detached. He’d say all the right things but leave promises half-kept. When you tried to address your doubts, he’d dismiss them, brushing you off with half-assed words of assurance, a grin, or a kiss.

“Why are we even doing this if you don’t care?” you’d asked one evening, your voice trembling with frustration.

“I do care,” he’d said, pulling you into his arms. “You just overthink things sometimes.”

And just like that, the fight was over before it began.

It became a pattern. Every time you gathered the courage to end it, Jeno found a way to pull you back in. He wouldn’t let you go, his touch silencing your protests, his whispered apologies dulling your resolve. It was intoxicating and suffocating all at once.

One night, after yet another argument swept under the rug, you lay awake beside him, staring at the ceiling. His arm draped lazily over your waist, and his soft breathing filled your ears. You realized then that nothing had changed. You were still walking on eggshells, still carrying the burden of a love that wasn’t enough.

The next morning, you woke up with a decision. It was time to confront your demons, time to let go for good. No more excuses. No more clinging to the remnants of a love that felt more like a habit than a home.

You walked into the conversation knowing it would hurt, but you also knew staying would hurt more.

“Let’s stop this. I’m done,” you told Jeno, your voice trembling but firm.

He leaned against the counter, his arms crossed. It was so typically Jeno—calm, almost indifferent. You could almost see the thought bubble hovering above his head that reads: “Here we go again.”

“I’m serious, Jeno,” you said again, more forcefully this time. “I can’t do this anymore.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair, his lips curling into a half-smile that only fueled your frustration. “You’re always serious, but you never mean it,” he said, his tone infuriatingly casual.

Your stomach churned at his dismissal, but you held your ground. You had almost snapped, but you caught yourself and prevented what would have been a long and tiresome argument. “Well, I mean it this time,” you replied with a weary smile.

Jeno pushed off the counter, stepping closer to you. His eyes softened, and for a fleeting moment, you saw the boy you’d fallen for, the boy who had once made you feel like you were the center of his world. He reached to cup your cheek, his gaze not leaving yours.

“I love you,” he said quietly, as if the words alone could erase the pain, the fights, the endless cycle of promises and disappointments.

Your heart wavered at his admission, that same heart that had been broken and patched up too many times to count. It would have been so easy to fall for those words again, to let them soothe you like they always had. But this time, they weren’t enough. You stepped away from him.

“I thought you did too,” you replied bitterly.

Jeno reached for you, his hand hesitating in midair, but you took another step back before he could touch you. You thought you’d cry, that this would be an emotional conversation. But strangely enough, your eyes were dry despite the heaviness in your heart.

Jeno didn’t say anything, just stared at you as if he had no idea what was going on. You grabbed your bag on the couch and turned toward the door. With each step, your chest grew heavier, but you didn’t look back. Yes, you’d done this dozens of times before. Yes, you still went back in his arms each time. But you’d swore this would be the last time—that there will be no going back after this one.

By the time you reached Giselle’s apartment, you were barely composed, each breath making you more nauseous. You were on the verge of throwing up, as if it was the only way to release every sob you had swallowed. You raised a trembling hand and knocked on the door, the sound of your knuckles hitting wood echoed in the deserted hallway. A moment later, the door opened, and there stood Giselle, her expression shifting from surprise to concern in an instant.

“Hey, are you okay?” she began and the moment her worried eyes met yours, the fragile composure you were holding on to fell apart.

A sob escaped before you could stop it, and then another, until you were standing there, shaking and crying like the broken mess you were.

“Hey, hey,” Giselle said softly, stepping forward and pulling you into a hug. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

You clung to her, tears soaking her shoulder as she gently guided you inside. The door clicked shut behind you, and the world outside faded away. For a long moment, you just let yourself cry, the heartbreak and exhaustion spilling out in uneven gasps.

Giselle didn’t ask questions or demand explanations. She simply held you tighter, and her presence was comforting enough. “It’s alright. I’m here.”

As your sobs subsided, you pulled back slightly, wiping at your tear-streaked face. Giselle handed you a tissue, her gaze warm and understanding. Despite the ache still lodged in your chest, there was a small, fragile sense of relief.

For the first time in what felt like forever, you weren’t fighting to hold something together anymore. You weren’t clinging to the hope that things would change, or to the version of Jeno you’d loved so desperately. You did it. You had finally, truly this time, chosen yourself.

To: LJN You don’t have to call anymore. I won’t pick up the phone. -xx

[fin]

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