#i cant say that on twitter but i will gladly say it here. i hope one of your cars traps you in it and the gas it leaks out kills you 💥💥💥

[risingsunresistance]

so twitter is like. DEAD dead now

[haeiheart]

accidentally falling back — lee jeno by @haeiheart [part one out of two]

summary! You were bored, a little tipsy, and way too online—so you tweeted a dramatic ranking of your exes, complete with oversharing and emotional damage. You didn’t think they’d actually see it, much less respond. But only one caught your eye. The quiet one. The one who never said much but always seemed to say the right thing. And somehow, Lee Jeno’s reply does something no one else’s could: it makes you feel everything all over again.

pairing! ex! lee jeno x reader

genre! exes 2 lovers, slow burn?, second chance, fluff, angst (that ended up on the 2nd part because i exceeded the word count for one blog post oops T - T)

warnings/mentions! reader interacts with other ex dreamies! sakura (lsrfm) and jiwoong (zb1) as y/n best friends! they both painfully want each other! kind of stupid break up? jeno is a cutie (a real one at that) very sulky asw, not exactly miscom… but beware of the arguements that eventually happens. nct frat once again (bye i cant help myself), some 127 members appear!!!

notes! this is a continuation of “ranking dreamies as ex bfs! post!” I wasn’t planning to give it a written fic continuation but i caved in after someone asked for it which i will gladly give to yall!! i hope you enjoy the two parts i had to make because this was too long that it exceeded the word limit… also this was not proofread so umm hopefully there’s no embarrassing mistakes. here is the twitter thread also the context behind this fic -> here!

word count! 24.1k out of 34.6k

PART TWO CONTINUATION -> here!

You didn’t mean for it to go viral.

Honestly, you thought only your two friends would see it. Maybe thirteen if your mutual with the backpacking addiction was online. But apparently, the internet had other plans, because within an hour your phone was buzzing like it owed someone money.

It was just supposed to be a dumb ranking. A “haha, let’s traumatize myself for content” kind of thing. Seven exes. One tweet. A little chaos. A little emotional bleed through. Cathartic, right?

Wrong.

Because not only did they all see it…

They responded. Publicly. With alarming speed. Like they had Twitter notifs on for your account or something though which would be weird and a little flattering not gonna lie.

But only one response made you stop breathing for a full six seconds.

Lee Jeno.

Of course it had to be him. The emotionally mysterious, manhwa protagonist type ex who barely spoke but still managed to make you feel like every word was worth framing. The one who kissed you once and left you mentally derailed for a week. The one who broke up with you in a single sentence and haunted your Spotify algorithm for months.

And now he replied.

Publicly.

With punctuation.

You were so screwed.

You’re still sitting on your bed in full shock paralysis with a hoodie half on, hair a mess, phone in your lap like it just delivered your death sentence when the knock hits your front door.

It’s followed by the very specific, dramatic sound of your front door unlocking with your spare key, which means one thing:

“Y/N, open up before I throw your customized pillows at your face!”

Oh great. Kkura is here.

And right on cue:

“I brought snacks. Also, you’re a menace.”

That’s definitely Woongie.

You barely have time to sit up before they storm into your room like you’ve summoned them with a psychic cry for help. Which, in fairness, you kind of did. Kkura had texted you thirty seven times in the span of three minutes the second she saw the tweet, and Woongie sent a single “i’m on my way” with a fire alarm emoji.

“You do want him back,” they say, deadpan, in sync, with the audacity of people who know you too well to lie to.

You bolt upright with a dramatic scoff that doesn’t do much to hide the heat climbing up your neck. “That’s not the point.”

Kkura raises an eyebrow, her long lashes fluttering like she’s seconds from staging an intervention. She crosses one leg over the other, perfectly composed as always, like this isn’t her fourth unannounced visit this week to check if you’ve finally unraveled. “That's exactly the point, babe. You tweeted it to be chaotic, but you were feeling things. And now that he responded like a calm, emotionally stable adult, you’re panicking.”

“He replied like a man who knew exactly what he was doing,” Woongie adds from where he’s now casually sitting on the edge of your desk, surveying the situation like a therapist who’s both amused and slightly disappointed. “That’s the scariest kind of ex. The ones who reply once but it leave you spiraling.”

You sink deeper into your comforter, like maybe if you cocoon yourself tight enough, the crushing weight of your actions will disappear. It doesn’t. Jeno’s reply is still pinned to the top of your notifications, simple and polite, the kind of message that would seem harmless to anyone else, except you know him. And if there’s one thing Jeno never does, it’s post without intention.

“He was always good at that,” you mutter into the fabric, barely audible. “Saying so little and making it sound like everything.”

Kkura softens a little, just enough for her voice to lose its edge. “You loved that about him.”

And there it is. The truth you’ve been swallowing for weeks—months, if you’re honest. The reason you’d ranked him first, even though doing so made your heart twist in ways you weren’t ready to name. Because out of everyone, he was the only one who left quietly. No arguments. No screaming. Just a quiet goodbye in the rain and a hand that lingered on the door handle a few seconds too long.

Woongie leans forward, eyes searching yours like he’s trying to decipher how far gone you are already. “You know he didn’t just reply for fun, right?”

You shake your head slowly, voice barely above a whisper. “Then why did he?”

There’s a beat of silence. Kkura shrugs, then nudges a plastic container toward you. “We brought strawberry mochi and spicy ramen in case this turned into a spiral. Which it has. So congrats.”

You snort, despite yourself. It’s not much, but the laugh breaks the heaviness sitting on your chest, just a little. You take the mochi, chewing slowly as your friends settle in around you like they always do when your life takes a nosedive. Kkura starts scrolling through your mentions with quiet horror, while Woongie opens your laptop like he’s about to file your taxes and clean your digital footprint.

And for the briefest second, it feels safe. Like you can pretend this is just another tweet gone wrong, another dumb thing you’ll laugh about next week.

Until your phone buzzes again.

Not a like. Not a retweet.

A text message.

From Lee Jeno.

[Jeno]: hey y/n?

[Jeno]: is this still your number?

[Jeno]: ummm it’s jeno

[Jeno]: sorry to bother you but i take it that your tweet means it’s safe to reach out (.◜◡◝)

Your fingers tightened around the phone before your brain could even begin to catch up. The words on the screen were simple. Harmless, even. A string of curiosity wrapped in soft phrasing, like he wasn’t sure if he was still allowed to speak to you. Like he wasn’t the one who left. Like six months didn’t carve out silence between you so heavily, it still echoed when you tried to sleep.

You froze. Not in a dramatic, cinematic kind of way. There was no shattering sound effect or rush of wind. Just stillness. A pause. The kind that made your heart skip, not from excitement, but recognition. Recognition of a voice you hadn’t heard in months, but still lived somewhere in the back of your mind. Familiar. Quiet. Careful. Jeno.

Your memories with him were not a highlight reel of grand gestures or perfect timing. They were quieter than that. Softer. The kind of moments that didn’t look like much from the outside but stayed with you anyway. The way he always waited for you to unlock your door before driving off. The way he remembered your coffee order after hearing it once. The way he’d say your name when you were spiraling, slow and low like he was anchoring you back to the surface.

Six months with Jeno felt longer than it should have. Maybe because you’d let him see parts of you most people never even noticed. And maybe because, for the first time in a long time, you hadn’t been scared to be quiet with someone. There were days where neither of you talked much, just sat together in that easy kind of silence people write poems about. And it had been enough.

Until it wasn’t.

And now here he was. Texting you like it hadn’t taken every ounce of pride to keep your distance after the breakup. Like you didn’t spend nights convincing yourself you were fine, that what you had wasn’t meant to last, that people like Jeno didn’t come back.

But he had. Or he was trying to.

You reread the message. Again. And again. Your thumb hovered over the keyboard, and somewhere beneath all the confusion, hurt, and the hint of something that could be hope and you realized: Jeno had never been the type to reach out unless he meant it. Which could only mean one thing.

This wasn’t just a message.

It was the start of something. He was starting something.

Something you weren’t sure you were ready for.

But your heart was already answering the question you hadn’t asked out loud.

Yes. It was safe.

“Okay, she’s been staring at her phone for, like, five minutes. Do we intervene or let her spiritually ascend?”

Jiwoong’s voice cut through the quiet like a pebble skipping across still water, light, amused, but not without concern.

You blinked, fingers still curled around your phone. The screen had gone dark, but Jeno’s message might as well have been burned into your eyelids. You didn’t even hear them come in.

“I vote we shake her,” Kkura added, already moving to sit on the edge of your bed, eyes narrowed like a detective trying to figure out if you were having a breakdown or just doing your usual post-existential-tweet routine.

“I’m fine,” you said, your voice a little raspier than intended. The words barely came out before Jiwoong snatched the phone from your hand with a dramatic gasp.

“Lee Jeno,” he announced like he’d just solved a murder. “Of course it’s him. You know, I was betting on Mark.”

“It’s always Jeno,” Kkura muttered, nudging you with her shoulder. “Mark’s nice but he gave you valid reasons to leave. Jeno’s the one who messed you up because he is nice and left minimal room for faults.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t deny it. They weren’t wrong.

The thing about having friends like them. Jiwoong with his observational wit and dramatic flourishes, and Kkura with her unfiltered realism softened by affection, was that they didn’t let you go insane alone. They also didn’t let you romanticize a boy without dragging you back down with a sigh and a snack.

“I didn’t expect him to actually text,” you said finally.

“Well, you did tweet about him in front of the entire internet like he was a mysterious love interest in a coming of age film,” Jiwoong said. “That’s basically a summoning ritual.”

Kkura leaned back against your headboard, her expression less teasing. “How do you feel about it, though?”

You hesitated. You didn’t know how to sum it up. The confusion, the flicker of hope, the old ache stitched into something new.

“I feel like…” You exhaled, “Like I just opened a door I locked for a reason. And now he’s standing on the other side, asking if he can come in again.”

Neither of them said anything for a moment. Jiwoong looked thoughtful. Kkura chewed the inside of her cheek.

“Well,” Jiwoong said, “if he does come in, he better take off his shoes. And not track any of his emotionally unavailable dirt onto the carpet.”

Kkura snorted, and you laughed for the first time that afternoon. It was small, but it loosened something in your chest.

It had been a week. Maybe two. Time had gone weird like that. Days folded into nights too easily when you were constantly checking your phone for someone who texted you often but never said the thing you were waiting to hear.

Yes, you texted Jeno back. It wasn’t witty or brave. It was a plain message, the kind that read too simple and felt too heavy. Something like “Hey. Yeah, it’s still me.” And since then, there had been messages exchanged. Not every hour. Not even every day. But enough to keep him in your head more than you’d like to admit. Enough to make you hesitate before opening each one.

Still, neither of you had said it outright, but you were both avoiding the question that hovered over all the small talk. When do we see each other again?

You weren’t sure who was more afraid to ask.

But the universe didn’t care about your pacing or your avoidance strategies, which is why it decided to serve you karma in the form of a poorly sealed iced Americano and one particularly clumsy turn.

The spill happened fast. You had turned, your arm bumped something, someone, and the cold drink soaked into soft grey fabric before your brain could fully register what just happened. And then your heart dropped.

Because of course it was one of them.

“Jaemin?” you blinked, stunned and frozen mid-step.

He looked just as surprised, blinking down at his now coffee-stained sleeve before his eyes lifted to meet yours. But instead of irritation or exasperation, there was a smile curling at the edge of his lips.

“Well,” he said casually, “that’s one way to say hi.”

You didn’t laugh right away. You were too busy panicking about the stain and the fact that you were now face to face with another ex. Not just any ex. Jaemin. The one with the most complicated folder in your emotional archives.

The flirt. The charmer. The one who could sweet talk anyone into a good mood and then disappear before you figured out what he was really thinking. Your relationship with him had been fun, fast, a little unhinged and ultimately unsustainable. You were oil and vinegar: entertaining together, but nothing stable ever came from the mix.

Still, time had done its thing. The awkwardness wasn’t sharp anymore. If anything, the sharpness had melted into something you could actually smile at, which you did, slowly, once you realized he wasn’t angry.

“I owe you dry cleaning,” you said.

“You owe me lunch,” he corrected, still smiling. “Come sit. I was just about to get something sweet to offset my very bitter day.”

That was how you ended up across from him, elbows resting on the little round table, hands wrapped around a new drink as he peeled off his jacket and draped it behind his chair like he wasn’t wearing an iced beverage two minutes ago.

And honestly? It wasn’t bad.

Jaemin had always been good at talking. Not just smooth talking but talking. Listening, too. He asked about what you were doing these days, how your apartment was holding up, if you still made those late-night playlists when you couldn’t sleep. You were halfway through telling him about how Jiwoong’s shower once exploded mid winter when you caught yourself laughing a little too loud and realized something:

You didn’t hate him.

And maybe more importantly you weren’t hurt by him anymore.

He was a chapter you could finally reread without bitterness, which felt oddly comforting. He still flirted a little, but it didn’t mess with your head this time. It just made you roll your eyes and play along because that’s who he was, and who you used to be with him.

But you weren’t that person anymore. Not fully.

Somewhere in the middle of that realization, your phone buzzed on the table. You didn’t reach for it right away, but you didn’t need to check either. You already knew who it was.

“You know,” Jaemin said, tipping back slightly in his chair as he took a long sip from his new drink, “I can’t decide if I’m just really lucky, or if you’re in your revisiting your ghosts era.”

You looked up, brow raised. “Is that your subtle way of asking why I haven’t ghosted you yet?”

He grinned. “Nah. If anything, I’m flattered. Out of all your exes, I’m the lucky chosen one who gets to share a table with you again.” He leaned in just slightly, eyes gleaming. “I must’ve ranked higher than I thought.”

You couldn’t help but snort softly, settling back into your seat as you cradled your drink in both hands. “You got a solid three out of five, Jaem.”

“Oh?” he perked up, mock offended. “Not even a four? That’s painful.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, you only made a mildly decent rating because I remembered the time you cooked for me when I was sick. Instant two point boost.”

He grinned like he wasn’t offended at all, and you were grateful for that. There were no sharp edges with Jaemin anymore, no guilt, no tension, just the soft fuzziness of something that once was and didn’t need to be anything again.

You let the moment settle before adding, “Actually… you’re not the only one I’ve talked to again.”

His gaze flickered to you over the rim of his cup, his teasing expression shifting just enough for you to feel it.

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” you said, voice quieter now. You weren’t sure why it felt so serious to say it out loud, but it did. “Jeno texted me.”

Jaemin didn’t react right away, no dramatic double take or smirk. Just a slow, thoughtful nod, his fingers tapping gently against the paper cup.

“Huh,” he said, tone unreadable but not unkind. “I figured he would.”

You tilted your head slightly. “How?”

“He’s always been the most unreadable until it mattered. But once it did, he made it hard not to notice.”

That struck something in you. You glanced down at your drink.

“Yeah,” you murmured. “He texted me the day after I posted that thread. Said he took it as a sign that it was safe to reach out.”

“And is it?” Jaemin asked, voice lighter this time. “Safe, I mean?”

You hesitated. You hadn’t figured that part out yet. But something about hearing it phrased like that made your chest ache in a strange, familiar way. You thought about Jeno’s message, the awkward yet careful way he typed it out, how you could almost hear his voice in those short sentences.

“I think so,” you said. “I hope so.”

There was a beat of silence between you, not heavy but not entirely light either. Then Jaemin chuckled under his breath, shaking his head.

“Damn. I really am just the comic relief in this arc, huh?”

You laughed, genuinely this time. “You’re the emotionally evolved ex with good banter and a sense of timing. That’s an important role.”

He raised his cup in mock salute. “I’ll take it.”

And you both sipped your drinks, a strange, gentle peace sitting quietly between the past and whatever came next.

You swirled what little was left of your drink, the ice clinking softly against the sides. Jaemin had gone quiet after your last answer, not in a heavy or uncomfortable way, just thoughtful. The kind of silence only someone familiar could share with you, where words weren’t needed immediately.

You leaned back a little in your seat and glanced at him again. “How has he been?”

He looked up. There was no confusion in his eyes. No need to ask who you meant.

Jaemin paused for a second, then breathed out a small sigh, leaning his arms onto the table as he thought. “He’s been... quieter since you guys cut it off but we’ve gotten used to it as it became the norm,” he said honestly. “Which is saying something, coming from Jeno.”

Your gaze dropped to your hands, and you twisted the edge of your napkin without meaning to.

You knew they were friends now. It wasn’t something either of them had to explain. You’d seen it online, heard about it through mutuals, noticed it in the way Jaemin occasionally spoke about “the guys” with an ease that included Jeno by default. And it didn’t bother you, not really. You had dated them in different timelines, completely separate versions of yourself, like alternate editions of a book. Jaemin and Jeno didn’t become close until after you'd cut off contact with both, when circumstance and shared routines in the same frat house wove them into each other’s lives without your presence in the equation. It never felt like betrayal. Just the natural course of things moving on without you.

“He still comes to game nights. Still brings those boring snacks he claims are healthy. Still folds his laundry like he’s in the military. But I don’t know... sometimes it feels like he’s showing up to things but not really there, y’know?” Jaemin tilted his head slightly. “I think he’s been figuring things out. Trying to feel normal again.”

The lump in your throat was sudden, unwelcome, but not unfamiliar. You nodded slowly, trying to keep your voice level. “So... he’s okay?”

Jaemin’s eyes softened. He saw right through the question. “Is this the part where I say he’s miserable without you?” he asked lightly.

You smiled a little, lips pressed together. “I mean, if it’s true, you’re welcome to.”

He gave a low chuckle, but his voice was quieter when he answered, “He’s... different. Not broken. Not miserable. But not the same, either.”

That shouldn’t have made your chest hurt. But it did. There was something terrifying about someone still being themselves without you, and something even scarier about the idea that they might not have been.

“You could’ve asked him that yourself,” Jaemin said, not accusatory, just honest.

“I know.” You glanced out the window. “But I wanted to hear it from someone who sees him now. I wanted to know how he’s doing without me.”

Jaemin didn’t say anything for a moment. Then, in a softer voice than you expected, “Sometimes I think he’s still waiting for you. Not in a desperate way, not like he’s stuck. Just... like there’s a door he hasn’t shut yet. He doesn’t say it. But you can kind of tell.”

You blinked slowly, letting his words settle.

“And you?” Jaemin asked, watching you carefully now. “Are you okay without him?”

You didn’t answer right away.

Then he added, a little more pointedly but still light, “I mean, it kinda seemed like you dated someone after him, no? Jisung?”

You blinked, caught off guard, not because he was wrong, but because you hadn’t expected him to bring it up so plainly. You nodded slowly, eyes drifting down to your fingers curled around your cup.

“Yeah,” you said, almost like you were still testing the truth of it yourself. “I did. Briefly.”

Jaemin raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t last?”

You gave a quiet laugh, not bitter, just... honest. “No. It wasn’t bad or anything. Just not right. It felt like trying to hold a conversation in a language you were still learning, doable, but exhausting.”

That seemed to satisfy him. Jaemin leaned back in his chair again, gaze thoughtful. “Guess that’s the thing about some people. You don’t even realize how fluently you spoke them until you try to speaking someone else.”

Your chest tightened just a little, like something half-healed had been poked.

You didn’t answer. But you didn’t have to.

The conversation drifted for a while after that, lighter now, touching on old classmates and mutual friends, a funny story Jaemin had about his roommate locking himself out of their place in nothing but a towel. You laughed, really laughed, and it felt oddly easy. Not like forcing a reunion, but like finding an old playlist and realizing you still remembered the lyrics.

Eventually, Jaemin glanced at his phone and then at you, a small smile tugging at his lips. “So, are we doing that thing where we pretend we’ll run into each other again someday, or are you going to give me your number?”

You rolled your eyes with a grin. “Just say you missed me and go.”

He held his hand out, palm up. “Phone.”

You handed it over without protest, watching him type in his number with the self-satisfaction of someone who was convinced they were still as charming as ever which, unfortunately, wasn’t untrue. When he passed it back, you texted him a quick don’t forget to save me as something embarrassing, and watched him snort when the notification popped up on his screen.

By the time you both stood up to leave, you’d already followed each other back on Instagram, Twitter, and every other cursed app that had once been your mutual stalking grounds. It wasn’t sentimental, it didn’t need to be. Sometimes reconnection wasn’t a dramatic gesture or a second chance at something lost. Sometimes, it was just the comfort of a familiar presence sliding back into your life in a way that felt... okay.

You walked out of the café beside him, shoulder to shoulder, the past quiet behind you and something lighter, something almost peaceful, settling in its place.

The night settled softly around you, thick with the kind of stillness that only showed up when the world outside your window was asleep. Your room feels smaller at this hour, tucked in the quiet hush of 1 a.m., lit only by the string of fairy lights dangling across your bookshelf and the dim blue glow from your phone screen.

You were curled sideways on your bed, one leg half-hanging off the edge, buried in an old hoodie and a nest of blankets that smelled faintly like your fabric softener and sleep. The air had that calm weight to it, the kind that made you feel too awake to sleep, but too tired to move. Your playlist was still running, soft and r&b, looping the same beat that had been playing for the past hour. You hadn’t really been listening.

Instead, your attention was fixed on the last opened chat on your screen.

Jeno.

The conversation had been flowing on and off all day. He had a way of texting like he talked, dry and low effort on the surface, but always a little offbeat and weirdly specific. Enough to keep you amused. Enough to make you wonder if he realized how much you actually liked talking to him.

Your phone buzzed once in your hand, another message from him. You hadn’t even realized how long you’d been staring at the thread without replying.

You tucked your cheek deeper into your pillow and opened the chat.

Next thing you know you’d been texting Jeno. For hours, maybe. The conversation had wandered aimlessly, like the way you used to walk barefoot through your childhood backyard, no real direction, just one thought leading into another. Silly observations. Dumb memes. Random questions. That lowkey rhythm you’d started to fall into with him lately.

He made you laugh in that quiet, nose-wrinkling kind of way. Not loud, but real.

The latest notification lit up your screen, his name appearing like it always did now—predictable, comforting. You smiled without realizing. Your thumb hovered to type back, but another bubble popped up before you could finish.

Then your phone buzzed again.

This time it was different.

“Can I call you?”

You blinked.

Sit up just slightly, propped on your elbow. The room felt a little smaller, or maybe just quieter. You read the message again. The words were simple, casual, like he hadn’t just shifted the entire tone of the night with five syllables.

You stared at your reflection in the black mirror of your screen. Messy hair. Bare face. Hoodie you’d stolen from your sibling years ago and never gave back. You didn’t look like anything special. And yet your pulse had kicked up for no good reason.

Still, you typed back.

A minute later, your phone lit up.

Jeno was calling. Video.

You hesitated for just a second longer than necessary. Not because you didn’t want to see him but because you did.

And then you hit "Accept."

The screen flickered once, twice, then steadied.

There he was.

Jeno.

His camera angled just a bit off-center, like he hadn’t really planned it out. The lighting was warm behind him, probably from his desk lamp. His hair was slightly messy, pushed back from where he’d probably been running his hand through it. He was wearing a loose t-shirt, one shoulder slightly stretched like he’d tugged at it out of nervous habit.

The first thing he did when he saw your face was smile. And then immediately laugh.

Not a big laugh, just a quiet, breathy thing, more out of disbelief than anything else. His head dropped, his shoulder bumping up toward his cheek like he was trying to hide in plain sight.

“Okay,” he said, already flustered, “this feels way more real than I thought it would.”

You laughed, propping your chin in your hand. “You look like you just got caught doing something illegal.”

“I kind of feel like I did,” he grinned, already a little pink. “I don’t know why I’m nervous. It’s literally just… you.”

“Wow. I’m honored.”

“No, no—like, I didn’t mean it like that,” he said quickly, eyes wide. “Not just you—I mean, it’s you, but—” He broke off, groaning. “I’m going to shut up now.”

You bit back a smile, head tilted slightly as you watched him spiral. “You’re really good at digging holes, huh?”

He laughed again, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Yeah, it’s like a talent. Put that on my resume—‘Professional Embarrassment Generator.’”

There was a beat of silence. Comfortable, even if it hummed with nerves.

You shifted a little in bed, the blanket falling slightly off your shoulder. “So. First video call. Are we making history?”

He looked up at that, then gave the tiniest, shy nod. “Yeah. Kinda feels like it.”

His voice had softened a bit. Still light. Still him. But there was something else under it too. Something careful.

You leaned back into your pillow. “I was expecting you to look more put together, honestly. This is disappointing.”

He gasped dramatically, hand flying to his chest. “Ouch. I brushed my hair for this.”

“I can tell,” you said dryly, “with your five strands behaving.”

He ducked his head again, laughing into his sleeve. When he looked back up, his cheeks were a little redder.

“I almost didn’t call,” he admitted. “I was overthinking it. Like, what if it was weird. Or if I accidentally turned the camera the wrong way and you just saw my forehead for five minutes.”

You smiled. “It is weird. But in a nice way.”

“Yeah.” His voice was quiet now. “Nice weird.”

The two of you sat like that for a moment just watching each other. His screen blinks slightly every now and then, the connection softening around the edges of his face. But you didn’t mind. If anything, it made him feel more real.

He rubbed his hand over his mouth, then peeked at you again. “Can I ask you something?”

You nodded. “Sure.”

“Do you ever…” he started, then paused. His gaze dropped for a second, then lifted again, more careful this time. “Think about how different it would've been… if I hadn’t ended things?”

Your breath caught, just slightly.

The question wasn’t loud. It didn’t slam into the air like a confession, it drifted, almost hesitant, like he wasn’t sure he had the right to ask it. Like maybe he’d already been carrying it around for a while and had finally run out of space to keep it.

You shifted in your bed, fingers curling around the edge of your blanket. “Sometimes,” you said. “But I try not to sit with it too long.”

Jeno let out a small breath. Not quite a laugh. Not quite a relief either. Just something in between.

“I think about it more than I should,” he admitted, thumb dragging along the bottom edge of his camera as he stared down at the screen. “Not in, like, a desperate ‘please take me back’ kind of way. Just… I wonder if I gave up too early.”

You didn’t say anything right away. Neither did he. The silence wasn’t cruel but it wasn’t light, either.

Eventually, you asked, “Why did you do it, Jeno? I mean… really.”

He blinked, caught off guard by how direct the question was. Then he smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I didn’t know how to be with you without dragging everything else with me,” he said quietly. “Like, you were this bright, warm thing. And I was just… trying to keep my head above water some days. I didn’t want to mess you up with my stuff.”

You frowned slightly. “You could’ve just told me.”

“I know.” His voice cracked just a little. “But that’s the thing, I didn’t want to make it your responsibility to carry me. I thought I was being… I don’t know, noble? Or selfless? But mostly I was just scared.”

You swallowed. The air between you was thinner now, almost fragile. But something about it felt honest in a way it never had before.

“Were you really that scared of hurting me?” you asked.

He looked up at you then. Really looked.

“I already had,” he said softly.

You blinked, and something behind your ribs shifted.

The call felt different now, not awkward, not crushing. Just open. Like a door that hadn’t been unlocked in a while, creaking open with slow, careful hands.

Jeno rubbed the back of his neck and gave a nervous little laugh, trying to shake off the weight of it. “This wasn’t where I planned to take this call, by the way. I thought I was gonna show you a dumb meme and accidentally drop my phone on my face or something.”

You smiled. “You still can. I’d honestly be disappointed if you didn’t.”

He grinned, sheepish. “Give it time. I’m still holding out for my chaos moment.”

There it was again, that softness he always carried with him. Nervous and warm. Still kind. Still Jeno.

And maybe, despite everything, this was the kind of conversation you’d needed all along. No dramatic turning points. Just two people learning how to talk again.

The call didn’t end right away, but the conversation faded into a softer kind of silence, not the awkward, fumbling kind that had followed them in the early days, but something gentler. Something earned. You stayed on the line, neither of you in a rush to fill the quiet, as if speaking too soon might undo the delicate thread that had just been woven between you.

Y/N lay back against the pillows, eyes flickering across the screen where Jeno’s face remained lit, a little blurry from the weak camera quality. His expression was unguarded in a way it had rarely been before. Relaxed, not because everything was okay, but because for once he had let it be messy out loud. And somehow, that made it okay.

It struck her then, quietly but deeply, how much more open he was now. Not louder or more confident, not some big, shiny version of himself but real. Sharper in the ways that mattered. She’d spent so much of their relationship trying to understand the parts he didn’t say, trying to read what lived behind his silences, but it was like holding smoke. Now, it felt like she could see him clearer. The lines of his worry. The shape of his care. His voice wasn’t always steady, but it was honest.

Maybe time hadn’t changed him. Maybe it had just let him breathe.

They weren’t the same people anymore, she could admit that. And they weren’t together. But tonight had unfolded like a quiet reminder that the version of them that hurt wasn’t the only one that ever existed. There was still something here. Not romantic, maybe. Not yet, or not again. But something real.

For the first time in a long time, Y/N didn’t feel like she was speaking into a version of Jeno that folded in on itself. He met her words, mirrored them back. His fears are no longer disguised as indifference. His guilt is not left to rot in silence. There was pain, yes, but also clarity. A shared understanding that hadn’t quite been there before.

And somehow, that was enough. For now.

Not quite a reunion. Not quite a second chance yet. Just two people who had once meant everything to each other learning, finally, how to speak in the same language.

You were in an outfit crisis at the moment, but it wasn’t entirely your fault. The reason being was the devil taking the form of Na Jaemin, who had suddenly walked back into your life with an obnoxious grin and zero consideration for your social anxiety. He was dragging you to fuckass frat boy parties at a college you had absolutely no connection to—except for, well, him. You didn’t even know half of the people in the school he called his “friends,” but Jaemin, as always, refused to let you off the hook.

“Come on, it’s for old times’ sake,” he’d said, as if it was a convincing argument. As if you and Jaemin didn’t have a long history of throwing yourselves into the chaos of college parties, drinking too much, and barely remembering any of it. But this time? It felt different. Maybe because Jeno was there. Maybe because you weren’t the same person who used to stumble around with Jaemin at every party like it was a sport. Whatever the reason, you were already second-guessing your decision before you even got dressed.

The outfit on your bed had been through more repetitions than you cared to admit. You tried one look but it was too casual. The next was too much. Then there was the one that made you feel like you were trying too hard, so you threw that on the floor in frustration. What was even the point? Jaemin had promised it would be “just like old times,” which, of course, was the most obnoxious thing anyone could say, especially when old times meant you wearing the same tight dress you swore you’d never wear again and pretending like you weren’t watching every guy at the party for one specific face.

You sighed, staring at the clock, already feeling late. Of course, Jaemin would be punctual for once, not that he’d care if you were fashionably late or actually late because you couldn’t decide what to wear.

When your phone buzzed, it was Jaemin, unsurprisingly, already outside your door. “I’m not waiting, Y/N. Get your cute ass downstairs, or I’ll come drag you out myself.”

You could practically hear his sing-song tone through the text, and you cursed under your breath. Why was it so easy for him to convince you to do this shit?

Reluctantly, you grabbed the simplest outfit that didn’t make you feel like you were playing dress-up and tossed it on. The moment you stepped out of your room, you were greeted by the most annoying face imaginable, Jaemin, standing in the doorway with his signature mischievous grin.

“Finally,” he said, leaning in the frame with a dramatic sigh. “You’re really making me miss our party days.”

You rolled your eyes. “We were never that wild.”

He gave you a deadpan look. “We definitely were. You forget those nights on purpose, huh?”

“Maybe I’ve learned my lesson,” you muttered, grabbing your jacket and heading for the door before Jaemin could drag out the inevitable argument.

The car ride was uneventful, aside from Jaemin’s occasional jab about how you were going to have the best night of your life, even though he wasn’t actually making the case for it. The thought of an entire evening filled with strangers, loud music, and potential awkward interactions didn’t help ease your nerves, but Jaemin was, as usual, already hyping himself up for a night of his own chaotic fun.

By the time you pulled into the parking lot of a frat house you didn’t even know existed until an hour ago, your nerves were a little more than on edge. You barely had a chance to take a breath before Jaemin was out of the car, practically dragging you behind him like it was all part of his plan.

“C’mon! You don’t even know anyone here, right? So you have to make it memorable,” he said with a smirk, his arm slung over your shoulder, steering you toward the front door.

You hated how easily he could make you feel like you had to be there.

The party was a chaotic mess, as expected. The moment you walked inside, you were hit with a wall of noise, music thumping so loud you could feel it vibrating in your bones. The air was thick with a mix of cheap cologne, spilled drinks, and the unmistakable scent of something burning that you didn’t want to think too hard about. Jaemin was already lost in the crowd before you could even process what was happening, his laughter echoing over the music. You could see him in the distance, pulling some poor soul into a dance circle while shouting something about “the last one who doesn’t dance buys shots.”

You rolled your eyes and made your way to the kitchen, where a group of people were clustered around the counter, sipping from red solo cups and chatting about nothing important. You tried to ignore the growing knot in your stomach as you looked around, wondering if this whole “old times’ sake” thing was actually a good idea.

A girl with bright pink hair waved you over. “Hey, you’re Jaemin’s friend, right?” she asked, a half-smile on her face. She had one of those names you could never quite remember, but she seemed nice enough.

“Yeah,” you said, offering a small smile back. “Y/N.”

“Nice to meet you! I’m Giselle.” She extended her hand, and you shook it. “You came with him, huh? He’s always dragging people here, like an unofficial mascot,” she continued, her voice warm but tinged with amusement. “Don’t mind him though. He’s harmless. You’re gonna love it here.”

“Harmless?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow, though you had no doubt she was right about Jaemin. “I’m not so sure.”

She laughed and leaned in slightly, lowering her voice like she was sharing some juicy gossip. “Trust me, he’s trouble, but in the best way possible. You’re definitely gonna be part of the ‘fun’ crowd before the night’s over.”

You tried to nod along, though all you could do was look around, feeling out of place among all the unfamiliar faces. The vibe was different from your usual circle, and for a moment, it hit you just how much you’d changed. These weren’t your people. But Jaemin was already off somewhere, getting into trouble, and there was no turning back now.

You tried to strike up small talk with Giselle, but the conversation never felt natural. She was sweet enough, but everything around you was so loud, the constant shuffle of feet and clink of glass distracting you from what you really wanted, familiarity. The kind that came with your old group of friends. But no. Jaemin wasn’t here for that. Jaemin was here to show you new things, drag you into unfamiliar territory, and probably make sure you had fun whether you wanted to or not.

When you noticed Jaemin across the room, getting even more animated in a dance battle with some guy in a neon shirt, you took a moment to collect yourself. There was a pressure building in your chest, not quite anxiety, but something else, a kind of anticipation you didn’t want to give in to.

Finally, after what felt like ages of dodging overly-friendly strangers and pretending you were okay with the environment, you found a small corner in the living room, near a window where the music wasn’t as overwhelming. You leaned against the wall, closing your eyes for just a second. The buzz of conversation was background noise now, but there was something comforting about the quiet chaos of a party.

You let your thoughts wander, fingers tapping absently against your cup, until you felt a tap on your shoulder.

“Y/N?”

You turned around quickly, startled, and froze when you saw him.

Now, you would think the face that tapped your shoulder would be the one you’d been waiting to see all night, the one that made your stomach flip with excitement and nerves. But no. It wasn’t. Instead, the face that greeted you was one you never wanted to see again. The one face you thought you’d escaped, only to find it lurking in the most unexpected of places.

“Haechan?” you said, your voice betraying a hint of surprise as you took a step back.

He grinned, that familiar cocky smile stretching across his face, and for a split second, it was like nothing had changed. He looked the same, mischievous, a little smug, like he owned the room. “Well, if it isn’t my favorite ex,” he teased, his tone light, playful, and annoyingly familiar. “Didn’t think I’d run into you at a party like this. What, you're still hanging around Jaemin now?”

You rolled your eyes. “What are you doing here?” The question was almost rhetorical. You knew the answer already. Hewas always invited to the parties by friends from other schools. He liked to show up like he was the main event, making everything about him.

“Got invited by a friend,” Haechan shrugged, leaning casually against the wall. “I have to make the rounds, you know? Plus, I didn’t know you were still hanging around Jaemin’s chaos,” he added with a smirk.

You didn’t know how to answer that. Haechan had always had a way of making you feel like you were lucky to be in his orbit. Like he was the main character of some long, complicated, irritating drama and you were just his supporting cast, at least when you were together. You hadn’t seen him in months, but somehow, it felt like nothing had changed. The bickering, the sarcasm, the way he made everything feel so effortlessly about him, it was all there, like he had never left.

“So,” Haechan continued, ignoring your coldness, “how’s life been since… well, you know. Since we ended?” He said the word “ended” with a raised eyebrow, almost like he was challenging you to respond.

You raised an eyebrow, meeting his gaze. "It’s been a while, Haechan," you said, your voice steady but laced with the underlying weariness of someone who'd been around him long enough to know how he worked. "A long while."

Haechan chuckled, that low, teasing sound you remembered all too well. "Yeah, well... it’s hard to forget the unforgettable," he said, leaning closer, as if trying to provoke a reaction. But it didn’t come. You weren’t the same person who’d let him make everything about him anymore. The annoying arrogance, the passive-aggressive jokes, they just didn’t have the same effect on you anymore.

The last time you saw him, it had been a mess of emotions, of things unsaid and doors closed for good. You didn’t hateHaechan; there was no real hatred there, just an exhausting chapter that had ended a long time ago. It was more like you’d grown tired of the person he used to be when you were together. And yet, here he was, still doing what he did best: irritating you and somehow making it feel like a reunion.

"So, what? You just show up at random parties now?” you asked, trying to steer the conversation in a direction that wasn’t going to bring up old baggage.

Haechan shrugged, the casualness in his posture belying the way his eyes still darted around, like he was always on the hunt for something to stir up. “I have my connections. I like to keep people on their toes. You know me.”

“I do know you,” you responded dryly. "You're good at that."

His lips twitched into a smirk. "And what about you? Reconnecting with Jaemin? You two seem like trouble.”

“I could say the same about you,” you shot back, your tone more playful now. It was a relief, honestly. The sting of his old antics had softened with time. It had been a long time since the two of you were anything more than exes, and despite how things ended, you had learned to be civil. He had changed a bit too, slightly less arrogant, more... self-aware, maybe.

“True,” Haechan agreed, stepping back and leaning against the counter with that same old relaxed demeanor. “But I don’t mind causing trouble. It’s who I am.”

You sighed, looking over at the rest of the party as people danced and mingled in the background. "Well, I’m not here to cause trouble," you muttered, more to yourself.

“I’m just here for the entertainment,” Haechan said, eyes glinting with that familiar mischievousness. "And to see how long it takes for Jaemin to start a dance off."

You glanced at him, your lips curling into a faint smile. “Honestly, I wouldn’t bet against him.”

For a moment, the silence between you and Haechan felt... comfortable…which was something you never expected to say when it came to him. The teasing was still there, but it didn’t feel as suffocating as it once did. Maybe it was because enough time had passed that the sharp edges of your old relationship had dulled. Whatever the reason, you realized you weren’t actively annoyed anymore.

Haechan noticed the change too. His smirk softened into a more genuine smile, like he was surprised, but also a little relieved. "You know," he started, shifting a little on his feet, "I forgot how easy it is to mess with you."

"Yeah, well," you shrugged, your lips curling into a small grin. "You’ve always been good at that."

He let out a low laugh, the kind that made you smile a little too. "I’m not that bad, am I?"

You rolled your eyes, but the tension between you two was finally gone. “You’re definitely a dumbass,” you said, but there was no bite to it. You were laughing now, genuinely laughing.

“Dumbass?” he feigned offense, putting a hand to his chest. "That hurts, Y/N. You wound me." He looked up, dramatically placing a hand over his forehead. "You know, I do have feelings, too."

"Uh-huh," you responded sarcastically, but there was no annoyance in your voice, just amusement. "Sure, you do, Haechan."

He grinned, the cocky attitude still there, but it was different. It wasn’t irritating anymore. “I always did,” he said with a wink, then paused. “Look, I know we didn’t exactly part on the best terms, but... I’m glad you don’t hate me anymore. That’s a relief.”

You blinked, surprised at the sincerity in his voice. It caught you off guard. The Haechan you knew would never have said something like that, not in a million years. He was always too busy playing the role of the annoyingly cocky ex. But this was... different.

“I don’t hate you,” you said quietly, catching his eyes. “I mean, it was annoying when you acted like you were the main character of everything, but we’re adults now. I can be civil with you.”

His smirk returned, but it was softer now, more relaxed. "Good. 'Cause you know, I’ve changed a little. Not much, I'm still the same charming guy you definitely remember. But, you know... less of the pissy attitude."

You raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Is that a promise?"

"Maybe," he teased, but there was something in his eyes that made you believe him.

You smiled, just faintly, before your gaze wandered again, eyes scanning across the growing crowd, the shifting lights, the blur of moving bodies. You weren’t even being subtle about it, not really. You were looking for someone. Waiting, hoping. But nothing. Just strangers. Too many faces that weren’t the one you were hoping to see.

Haechan leaned in a little, his grin tugging wider as he watched you scan the room for the third time in less than a minute. “Okay,” he said, with that all too familiar smirk. “Now who are you actually looking for?”

You blinked, caught, but didn’t turn to him just yet.

“Oh, don’t even try to deny it,” he added, voice low and amused. “You’ve been doing that weird head-tilt thing for the past five minutes. Who’s the lucky guy? An enemy? A secret hookup? A crush? Should I be concerned?”

You huffed a quiet laugh. “You’re so dramatic.”

He gasped. “You’re deflecting. That’s worse.”

Finally, you gave in, leaning against the counter next to him, arms crossed. “Fine. There’s someone I was kinda... hoping to run into tonight.”

“Oooooh.” He grinned wider, already way too smug. “So there is someone. Is it someone I know?”

“No. You don’t know him.”

“Name?”

“Jeno.”

Haechan repeated it under his breath. “Jeno... hmm. Doesn’t ring a bell. What’s the story there?”

You hesitated, your fingers absentmindedly tapping the edge of the counter. “We used to date,” you admitted. “Broke up a while ago. Not messy. Just... complicated, I guess.”

Haechan raised an eyebrow, mock gasp now gone. “Wait. You got complicated?”

You shot him a look. “Don’t act surprised.”

“I’m just saying,” he shrugged. “Back then you always pretended like relationships didn’t get to you.”

“That was a long time ago,” you muttered. “And he wasn’t like you.”

He tilted his head. “Ouch.”

“Not like that,” you added, though a small smirk tugged at your lips. “Jeno’s... quiet. Sweet. Kind of awkward in a weirdly charming way. You’d probably make fun of him, actually.”

“Probably,” Haechan said without hesitation, but his expression was more thoughtful now. “So you’re hoping to bump into him here?”

You nodded, keeping your tone casual, but your fingers hadn’t stopped tapping. “Jaemin invited me. And he said Jeno might come.”

Haechan followed your gaze across the room once more, then back to you. “And if he doesn’t?”

You paused. “Then he doesn’t. It’s whatever.”

But it wasn’t really whatever. Haechan didn’t say anything for a moment, just looked at you. Then he nudged your shoulder lightly, and to your surprise, it wasn’t in a teasing way. “Well,” he said, “I hope he does show. Not because I care, obviously, but just so I can judge if he’s worthy of your recent emotional glow-up.”

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling again. “You’re still such a menace.”

“And you still love it,” he replied with a wink.

The night kept moving around you, music pulsing louder, lights strobing against the high ceilings, drinks changing hands like candy. More people filtered into the frat house, most of them strangers to you, all of them louder than necessary. But you didn’t really hear any of it. Your eyes kept wandering. Every few minutes, they’d drift toward the entrance like your brain had given up pretending you weren’t still hoping.

Haechan was long gone now, dragged into a chaotic game of beer pong he swore he didn’t care about but was now shouting over like his pride was on the line. You weren’t sure how long you stood near the back of the room, nursing your drink, letting the buzz of the party blur around you.

And then—

There was a shift.

Not in the music. Not in the air, really. But in you. Because your gaze flicked toward the door out of habit, and this time, there he was.

Jeno.

You nearly choked on your drink, not because of the sight of him, but because it really was him. Not just the version you remembered from late night calls or old photos or hazy thoughts on days where you let your mind wander too far. This was present-tense Jeno, walking through the door like he wasn’t two hours late and like he hadn’t just set your heartbeat into a minor panic.

He looked good, too good, honestly. Hair is a little messy like he’d run his fingers through it one too many times. A plain hoodie layered under a denim jacket. He wasn’t trying, but somehow that made it worse. He always did look better when he wasn’t trying.

And then, as if pulled by some invisible thread, his eyes found you across the room. You blinked. He blinked. Neither of you moved.

You waved. A small, awkward one.

He hesitated, then waved back. Same awkward energy.

The people between you parted just enough for him to make his way over, and it was only when he was five feet away that it hit you just how stupidly long it had been since you were in front of each other like this, no screen, no late-night buffering or muted mics, no text bubbles... just him.

“Hey,” he said, standing slightly too stiff.

“Hey,” you replied, already fighting a smile because God, he looked nervous.

He scratched the back of his neck. “This is weird, right? This feels weird.”

You laughed, soft, unsure. “Yeah. Definitely weird.”

You both looked around at the same time, pretending to be casual, as if the wall behind you was fascinating. Then, almost at once, you made eye contact again. He smiled, small, a little crooked. The same one that used to make your chest feel warm for no reason.

You tilted your head. “You came.”

“I almost didn’t,” he admitted. “But... I kind of figured I’d regret it if I didn’t.”

There was a pause, quiet, a little charged, but still gentle. Jeno shifted his weight like he wasn’t sure what to do with his hands.

“Do you wanna... maybe go somewhere less loud?” he asked. “Not like leave-leave, just... somewhere we don’t have to scream over the music?”

You nodded before he even finished. “Yeah. I was thinking the same thing.”

He smiled again, relieved, and motioned for you to follow him, his steps still awkward but the way he glanced back to check if you were behind him made something flutter in your chest.

It was weird. It was awkward.

But it was also him. And you.

And somehow, that made it kind of perfect.

The backyard wasn’t much, but it was quiet. A string of half-working fairy lights zigzagged over a fence that had definitely seen better days, and there were a few foldable chairs scattered around a fire pit that hadn’t been lit. The thump of the music was dulled by the walls behind you, replaced by the gentle hum of night air and distant shouting from inside.

Jeno stood beside you, just far enough to feel the space, just close enough for the tension to settle there between your elbows. You hadn’t said anything yet, both of you standing awkwardly still, looking everywhere but at each other. It should’ve been uncomfortable. But somehow, it wasn’t.

It was almost... peaceful.

He shifted beside you, hands stuffed in his pockets, then looked at you from the corner of his eye. You met his gaze, your expression somewhere between soft and amused.

And just as the words started forming on his lips—

“THERE you are!”

Jaemin’s voice cut through the moment like a car alarm at 2 a.m.

You barely had time to brace yourself before both of his arms swung around your shoulders and Jeno’s in one dramatic swoop, locking you in like he was about to start singing a football chant.

“There’s my two favorite introverts!” Jaemin declared, grinning wildly, cheeks flushed pink with alcohol. “God, look at you guys, so broody, so serious. This isn’t a therapy session! It’s a party!”

“Jaemin,” you croaked, your shoulder squished against Jeno’s.

“Dude,” Jeno muttered, barely holding in a laugh as he tried not to fall over. “I think you broke my spine.”

“Nonsense,” Jaemin grinned, tightening his arms. “You two needed this. Fresh air. Moonlight. Tension.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “Is that what this is? Did I interrupt a moment?”

You turned your head just enough to glare at him. “I’m going to throw you into the bushes.”

He gasped, dramatically offended. “You wouldn’t dare! You love me.”

“I regret every memory I have of you.”

Jeno chuckled under his breath, and when you looked at him again, he was already smiling down at the grass, his cheeks tinted red, not just from the cold. Your annoyance with Jaemin dissolved a little at that.

“I’m gonna go make more drinks!” Jaemin announced suddenly, peeling himself off the both of you with a theatrical spin. “Don’t hook up without me!”

“You’re insane,” you called after him.

He winked. “You’re welcome.”

And just like that, he was gone, off to wreak havoc elsewhere.

You and Jeno stayed in place for a beat longer, shoulders still slightly touching from the aftermath.

“That was...”

“Very Jaemin,” you finished for him.

He laughed. You smiled. The moment had shifted, sure, but it hadn’t disappeared.

If anything, it just became a little lighter. A little easier.

Eventually, you and Jeno ended up in the conversation pit.

It sat a few steps below the main level of the backyard, a sunken rectangle framed by low, built-in benches and strung-up lights that flickered like lazy fireflies. In the middle, the fire pit glowed soft orange, flickering low but warm, as if someone had bothered to light it earlier and then promptly forgotten. The place was half-empty now, a few scattered red cups and someone’s abandoned flannel thrown across one bench. But for the most part, it was quiet. Yours.

You both sank into the bench across from the fire, the tension between you noticeably thinner now, carved out by Jaemin’s dramatic interruption and the way his ridiculous energy had somehow made everything feel... less fragile.

Jeno exhaled like he hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath since he walked in. Then he glanced sideways at you, a lopsided smile forming on his lips. “Okay. I actually think I needed him to do that.”

You huffed a soft laugh, curling your legs under you. “Tragic but true. His chaos really is a public service.”

Jeno leaned forward, elbows on his knees, gaze fixed on the small fire. “I was so sure this would be weird the whole night.”

“It was weird,” you pointed out, nudging his foot lightly with yours.

He grinned. “Yeah, but now it’s... I don’t know. Manageable weird.”

You nodded. “Tolerable weird.”

There was a short lull after that, the kind where neither of you rushed to fill it. Just the two of you, lit in soft orange glow, the fire crackling low between.

Then, Jeno shifted beside you, barely noticeable, like he was trying to psych himself up for something. He cleared his throat, eyes on the flames but not really seeing them. His hand moved to rub at the back of his neck, the classic Jeno Tell that something embarrassing was about to leave his mouth.

“I, um...” he started, voice a little hoarse. “You look really pretty tonight.”

You blinked, turning to him.

He didn’t look at you, at first. Just kept his eyes trained forward, brows drawn, his knee bouncing slightly.

“I mean, not just tonight. You always do. I just—” he laughed under his breath, flustered. “I don’t know why I said it like that.”

Your chest tightened in that dumb, nostalgic way. his way.

He finally glanced at you, nervous and boyish and real.

“I noticed you the second I walked in,” he admitted, a little more quietly. “Even with all the noise and people. It’s stupid, but... I guess I still do that. Look for you.”

That was the thing about Jeno. He wasn’t the loud type, never had been. But when he said things, when he meant them, it always hit in that quiet, aching way. Like a whisper that somehow left a mark.

You didn’t say anything at first. You didn’t need to.

Because even in the stillness, in the way your gaze softened and stayed on him longer than you should’ve let it, in the gentle shift of your leg brushing against his under the bench—

It was enough to let him know you heard him.

That maybe, you still looked for him too.

The fire cracked again, low and warm, painting soft shadows across Jeno’s face. He was already handsome in that quiet, clean-cut way, but right now, smiling shyly at you, cheeks flushed in the glow, he looked like the kind of boy you couldn’t unlove, even if you tried.

He wasn’t even doing much. Just sitting beside you, nerves in his shoulders, foot tapping gently against the dirt. But he looked happy in a way that felt familiar. A little more free. A little more like the Jeno you used to know, but softer around the edges. A version you hadn’t quite gotten to meet before.

And somehow, you realized, you wanted to.

“You got better at this,” you murmured, half-teasing but mostly sincere. “Talking. The awkward stammering is still there, but, y’know... you’re saying stuff now.”

He let out a breathy laugh, glancing down like you’d caught him. “Yeah. I’m trying.”

You tilted your head. “Why now?”

His fingers played with the hem of his sleeve, brushing over the frayed threads. “Because I didn’t want to mess this up. Again. Not even just with us, but... talking to you like a person. I don’t think I really did that properly when we were together.”

That surprised you a little. But not in a bad way.

It was honest. Not overdramatic. Just real.

“You weren’t that bad,” you said gently.

“I could’ve been better,” he said, then looked at you. “You deserve someone who could talk to you about things. Not just be there and hope you understood.”

The way he said it made your heart squeeze. Because it wasn’t just an apology. It was him seeing you now, not just as someone he used to date, but someone he still wanted to understand.

You smiled, a little helplessly, trying not to get pulled too deep too fast. “I think we both weren’t the best versions of ourselves back then.”

He nodded, like that thought had comforted him too. “But it’s weird, right? Sitting here now... it doesn’t feel like the past.”

Your eyes flicked to him again. He was looking at you in that way. The way someone does when they think you're beautiful, even when you're not trying. Even when all you're doing is sitting there and talking about things that used to hurt.

And you realized he looked beautiful too. But not in the shallow way. In the someone-loves-you way. In the way people start to glow when you remember how safe they once made you feel. In the way his smile made you want to keep saying things, just to keep it on his face.

“It doesn’t,” you whispered.

And for a moment, there was nothing heavy in the air. Just a feeling that something had shifted. That maybe it wasn’t about getting back what you had. Maybe it was about what you were learning now.

Maybe Jeno was becoming someone you could fall for all over again.

And maybe, this time, he’d be ready too.

Time passed the way it always does at parties like these, blurry around the edges, slipping through fingers like beer foam and laughter. You weren’t even sure when exactly you’d gotten drunk, only that your cup had been suspiciously full every time Jaemin was nearby, and that somewhere between fire pit conversations and leaning into Jeno’s shoulder when you laughed too hard, your limbs had gone warm and heavy and loose.

“One drink,” you had told Jaemin earlier that night.

To which he had responded, “Perfect! One drink... every round!”

Now, here you were, definitely a few rounds deep and being dragged, physically, by Jaemin’s octopus arms into the middle of the backyard where the music was louder, the lights a little harsher, and a rowdy circle of people had started gathering.

“Don’t you dare bail on me!” he yelled gleefully, arms thrown over both your and Jeno’s shoulders like he was the ringleader of some stupid, beautiful circus. “You’re in this with me now!”

Jaemin reeked of tequila and victory. You, of regret.

Jeno, on the other hand, looked both amused and horrified. He was pink in the cheeks, grinning helplessly, clearly not sure if he should resist or just let the night consume him.

(He chose the latter.)

Before you knew it, someone had handed you another drink, someone else was screaming rules to a game you were definitely not sober enough to follow, and someone else, probably Jaemin again, was shouting “Truth or Drink!” like it was a holy rite.

You ended up sitting cross-legged on the grass beside Jeno, who was still trying to figure out if he’d been dared to kiss someone or confess a crush. You leaned into his side, giggling, and he looked down at you with this kind of panicked softness like how did we get here?

His eyes crinkled as he laughed, the sound loose and genuine. You barely remembered what he’d said, only that he fumbled it with his usual awkward charm, and Jaemin cheered anyway like it was the most heroic answer of the night.

It was dumb. It was chaotic. It was a mess.

But it was also kind of perfect. Because somehow, somewhere between Jeno’s flushed cheeks and your shared glances, between the blurry warmth in your chest and the way he kept finding you in the circle even when he wasn’t looking—

It started to feel like maybe you weren’t just having fun.

Maybe you were remembering what it felt like to have him.

And he, you.

After that, everything else blurred.

Not like a movie blur. Not poetic or soft-focus. More like your brain had dropped the camera and you were just catching glitchy little flashes of the night, Jaemin fake crying when he lost a round, someone chanting your name, Jeno’s laugh way too close to your ear, your own voice louder than you ever remembered being.

The grass was colder than expected. Someone poured a shot wrong and it dripped down your wrist. At one point, you and Jeno were shouting and laughing about something dumb, someone’s outfit? a game rule? the way Jaemin tried to flirt with the Bluetooth speaker?

It was all a mess of light and sound and heat. Spinning. Sparkling. Too much and not enough.

And then it wasn’t anything at all.

You didn’t even remember saying goodbye. Or finding a bed. Or if you’d even made it back to your dorm or someone else’s couch. All you knew was that your limbs felt heavy, your head was swimming, and the last coherent thought that passed through your mind before the blackout hit was—

Never. Go to a party with Jaemin again.

But in the deepest corner of your drunk, scrambled brain, one memory still hovered quietly, Jeno’s arm brushing yours in the circle, his shy smile meeting yours through the chaos, like some kind of quiet tether in the loudest storm.

It stayed with you. Even in the dark.

You woke up to the worst headache of your life.

Your brain was pulsing behind your eyes, your mouth felt like someone had stuffed it with cotton and regret, and your entire body aches like you'd run a marathon in heels. The ceiling above you spun in gentle, taunting circles, and the faintest movement made your stomach lurch with the elegance of a dying fish.

You groaned. Soft. Pitiful. Dying-star-level miserable.

For a second, you debated not opening your eyes again. Maybe if you just laid still long enough, you could ascend. Or at least fall back asleep and deal with the consequences of last night sometime next year.

But then—

You heard it.

A soft snore.

Not yours.

And that's when the panic started to override the pain.

Your eyes cracked open against the hint of daylight streaming in from a cracked window, and you slowly, so slowly, turned your head. The room was unfamiliar but not unrecognizable. Posters on the walls, a neatly cluttered desk, a jacket you remember seeing on someone slung over a chair—

Then, just a few feet away from where you were (thankfully) lying fully clothed on top of a blanket-covered bed...

Jeno. On the floor. In a sleeping bag.

Sprawled out. Mouth slightly open. One arm crooked above his head like he’d just crash-landed there mid-dream.

And tall. Why the hell was he so tall even when horizontal?

It hit you then, all at once.

The party. The drinks. Jaemin’s screeching laughter. The fire pit. The circle. The moment you think you saw Jeno staring at you for a little too long, right before everything turned to confetti in your memory.

You squeezed your eyes shut and muttered under your breath, voice barely audible through the pain.

“Never. Ever. Go to a party with Jaemin again.”

But even as you said it, a flicker of something warm pressed against your headache, like maybe, just maybe, there was something worth remembering about last night. Even if it was buried under a hundred shots and Jaemin's devil-level influence.

And sleeping bag or not, Jeno being here wasn’t the worst way to wake up.

You debated going back to sleep and pretending none of this was real.

Unfortunately, your bladder had other plans.

With a wince and a groan that could rival a dying engine, you slowly swung your legs over the side of the bed and stood. Bad idea. The room tilted dangerously. You grabbed the bedpost like it was a lifeline.

Jeno didn’t stir. Still dead asleep in his sleeping bag like some sort of angelic camper who happened to be six feet tall and unfairly pretty.

You eyed the door.

Bathroom. That was your goal. You just had to find it without making it obvious that you’d woken up in a boy’s room, in a frat house, with zero recollection of how you even made it here last night.

You stepped into the hallway, squinting like a vampire. The air smelled like yesterday’s pizza and someone’s citrus body spray. The house was surprisingly quiet, save for a distant TV somewhere and a faint hum of voices.

Your plan was to locate the bathroom, do your business, and sneak back to pretend you were never seen.

What actually happened was that you took two turns, opened one wrong door (a closet full of cereal boxes—why?), and ended up walking straight into the kitchen.

Where four of the frat boys were gathered like it was the morning after a camping trip and not a rager. The only reason you recognize their names being the slideshow Jaemin had made for you beforehand which you are incredibly grateful for at this moment. 

Johnny was standing barefoot at the stove in sweatpants and a tank top, flipping pancakes like this was a resort and not a frat house. Yuta leaned against the counter with a mug in his hand, shirtless, of course, because of course he was. Jaehyun sat at the island with his hair pushed back and a banana in one hand like a casual health icon. And Winwin… well, he was seated silently, staring at a glass of water like it had personally wronged him.

All four turned to you at once.

You froze like a criminal. In their kitchen. In last night’s clothes. In a house you definitely didn’t belong in.

“Oh,” you blurted. “Uh. Sorry— I was just looking for the bathroom.”

Johnny’s face split into a grin immediately. “You’re good. Welcome to our place.”

Yuta raised his mug. “Water’s over there. Pancakes in fifteen if you survive.”

Jaehyun gave a little nod, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “You Jeno’s friend?”

You blinked. “I— uh… I guess? I mean, yeah. I mean, we… It’s not like that. I was just—”

“You stayed over?” Winwin asked flatly, still staring at his water.

You were about to stutter your way through a clarification when Jaemin came bounding into the kitchen like a menace, hair a mess, eyes bleary but mischievous.

“THERE SHE IS!” he shouted, arms out like you were a long-lost cousin. “My drinking buddy! You’re alive!”

“Barely,” you muttered as he threw an arm over your shoulder, ignoring the way you winced.

“She was with Jeno,” Jaemin told the room smugly, grabbing a cup of water for you like a weirdly competent caretaker. “Slept in his room. Nothing happened— he’s too awkward for that. But still. That’s something.”

You nearly choked.

Johnny laughed. Yuta looked like he was about to make a comment but mercifully sipped his coffee instead. Jaehyun looked amused in the most terrifyingly quiet way. Winwin blinked and looked away like not my business.

“Bathroom’s that way,” Johnny said, pointing. “Second door on the left.”

You mumbled a thank you and practically power walked out of the kitchen, cheeks burning, water in hand.

Frat boys. Too calm. Too casual. Too themselves.

But the weirdest part? As embarrassing as it was…

It wasn’t awful.

It was like stepping into a sitcom. Loud, chaotic, and far too comfortable for a stranger. And maybe… maybe that made sense.

Because if Jeno belonged here, shy, gentle Jeno, then it made sense the whole place felt strangely safe.

Even if you were now known as the girl who woke up in his room.

After finally finding the bathroom, you took a moment to splash cold water on your face and stare at yourself in the mirror.

Hair: a mess. Eyes: bloodshot. Vibe: slightly feral but functioning.

You patted your cheeks and muttered something about survival before stepping back out, intending to make a direct route to Jeno’s room and pretend none of this ever happened. But the smell of pancakes still lingered in the hallway like bait, and against your better judgment you found yourself drifting back toward the kitchen.

Jaemin was there waiting like he knew you’d return, leaning against the wall with two mugs in his hands.

“Water or black coffee?” he asked, lifting both.

You took the water. “Don’t push your luck.”

He smirked. “Wasn’t planning to. You looked like you were about to pass out in the hallway earlier.”

“Because you got me drunk.”

“Because you let me.”

You rolled your eyes but followed him back into the kitchen anyway, pulled in by the gravitational field that was this oddly welcoming frat breakfast scene.

Yuta was now flipping through a Spotify playlist on the speaker, still sipping his coffee like he had no hangover to speak of. Johnny was plating pancakes with a level of precision that made you question his frat boy status. Jaehyun was still lounging with that unreadable expression, and Winwin had somehow found a way to look peaceful and over it at the same time.

Then came the sudden sound of footsteps thundering down the stairs.

Enter: Jungwoo.

“Oh hello stranger!” he sing-songed the moment he laid eyes on you, arms already open like a long-lost relative at the airport.

You flinched.

Jaemin didn’t. “She’s new. Be gentle.”

“Oh, I’m always gentle,” Jungwoo said with a friendly grin, stopping just short of invading your personal space. “I’m Jungwoo, by the way. Resident extrovert. I talk too much but I mean well.”

You blinked at him. “Y/N. Resident hangover victim. I don’t talk much but I mean well.”

A beat passed before Jungwoo stepped forward and hugged you anyway.

And just like that, the tension broke.

You sat on one of the stools at the island while Jaemin hovered beside you, not overbearing, just present. Yuta offered you syrup. Johnny asked how you were holding up. Jaehyun raised a brow when you said “better now,” like he didn’t fully buy it, but he let it slide.

Even Winwin passed you the butter.

Jungwoo, of course, wasted no time pulling you into some chaotic conversation about weird college majors, conspiracy theories about vending machines, and how Yuta once accidentally microwaved a fork and claimed it was “for science.”

You weren’t even fully following the topics, but it didn’t matter.

You were laughing. Deep and sore from the stomach kind. The kind that made your headache feel like background noise.

The frat house wasn’t what you expected. Less beer pong, more oddly sweet domestic chaos. And even though you were still wearing your clothes from last night and smelled like bad decisions, you weren’t being judged. You weren’t an outsider.

You were Jaemin’s friend.

You were Jeno’s guest.

And for some reason… that earned you a place at the table.

“Alright,” Jaemin said, bumping his shoulder against yours after a while, “you survived initiation. You’re one of us now.”

You raised a brow. “Is that a good thing or a curse?”

“Bit of both,” Jungwoo said with a wink.

You snorted into your coffee, already dreading the inevitable teasing that would come once Jeno woke up.

But maybe… just maybe…

This didn’t feel so bad.

You were cradling your mug of water like it held the secrets to the universe when a familiar presence crept into your peripheral vision.

A sleepy-looking Jeno hovered at the threshold of the kitchen, rubbing the heel of his hand against one eye. His hair was a soft mess, flattened slightly on one side, and his hoodie was bunched awkwardly like he’d thrown it on in a daze. The quiet confusion on his face as he took in the sight of you very much awake, chatting in the kitchen with half his frat was almost comedic.

“Oh,” he blinked. “You’re… here.”

“I didn’t break in, I swear,” you said, tilting your mug toward him.

That made a small laugh bubble out of him as he stepped further in, barefoot, clearly still half-asleep.

“You disappeared,” he said softly once he was close enough, voice scratchy with sleep but amused. “Woke up and thought you got kidnapped.”

“I was kidnapped,” you deadpanned, flicking your eyes toward Jaemin. “By him.”

“Hey,” Jaemin grinned, unbothered. “You liked the pancakes.”

Jeno’s gaze lingered on you a second longer, eyes trailing from the curve of your smile to the way your fingers curled around the mug. Then he ran a hand through his hair and looked away, suddenly bashful.

“Glad you’re… okay,” he said, almost too quietly.

You weren’t sure what it was, maybe it was the way his voice softened when it was just for you, or the way his eyes briefly locked with yours before flicking away but your stomach did this dumb little flip.

Jaehyun, without looking up from his phone, spoke up at the worst moment. “Jeno, your girl fits in. She’s been roasting Jaemin with us for the past ten minutes.”

Jeno blinked. “She’s not—”

“I’m not—” you said at the same time.

Jungwoo snorted. “They’re so in sync.”

Jaemin, of course, looked delighted. “I think we all knew this was inevitable.”

Your eyes met Jeno’s again, and he was already looking at you this time with cheeks faintly pink, lips fighting a smile.

You cleared your throat. “Anyway. Um. You’re awake.”

“Yeah. I’ll… be back. Just need to… wash up.”

“Right.”

And just like that, he disappeared down the hall again, hoodie sleeves too long and socks half-off his feet. You were still staring after him even after he’d left the room.

“Cute,” Jungwoo murmured under his breath, not even trying to hide it.

You sipped your water to hide your grin.

As soon as Jeno shuffled off toward the bathroom, you slumped back into your chair and let out a dramatic sigh.

“Okay,” you groaned, “does anyone here know how to cure a hangover that feels like it was crafted in a lab by demons?”

Winwin raised an eyebrow. “Water. Sleep. Regret.”

Johnny, seated at the counter munching on a granola bar like a dad who didn’t party the night before, offered, “I think bananas help. But also electrolytes. You need something salty, something sweet, and something with a soul.”

You blinked. “Something with a soul?”

He shrugged. “It’s how I survived my years here.”

Jaehyun tossed a pack of instant ramen across the counter toward you. “Here. It’s a frat house staple. You’re welcome.”

“You guys are weirdly prepared for this,” you mumbled, catching the ramen and squinting at the instructions like it would suddenly save your life.

“We live with Jaemin,” Yuta deadpanned.

“Fair,” you muttered, then paused. “Also… Jeno’s probably more hungover than me. He looked like death’s understudy just now.”

“Oh, Jeno’s a baby when it comes to drinking,” Jungwoo added, tone light. “He gets all red and apologetic, even if no one remembers what he did. It’s kind of adorable, actually.”

You snorted. “Noted.”

Yuta stood, heading toward one of the cabinets. “Alright, you’re on nurse duty then. We’ll help prep the supplies.”

A few minutes later, you left the kitchen with your arms full: water bottles, a banana, ibuprofen, and two mystery packets handed to you with suspicious smiles (Johnny called them “magic powders,” which wasn’t comforting).

As you tiptoed back into Jeno’s room, it was quiet again, dim morning light slipping through the blinds, the air smelling faintly of laundry detergent and whatever boy-scent Jeno always carried.

He was already back inside, hair damp and shirt changed, sitting cross-legged on his bed with a towel around his neck and the dazed look of someone trying to piece together what year it was.

When he saw you with the supplies, his eyes widened slightly. “You… didn’t have to.”

“I didn’t,” you said, dropping the bundle on the floor beside him before sitting down at the edge of the mattress. “But your little frat brothers basically volunteered me as tribute to nurse duty.”

He smiled, soft, slow, like it was sneaking up on him. “Thanks.”

You handed him water and a tablet. “Take this. And if it tastes weird, blame Johnny.”

He laughed under his breath. “That bad?”

You hummed. “He said it has a soul. So. Good luck.”

He took the tablet anyway, obedient as ever, but when he glanced back up at you, there was something a little quieter in his expression. Something gentle. Grateful.

“Seriously,” he said, voice a little hoarse, “thanks. For… sticking around.”

Your heart did a quiet little roll in your chest, but you played it off with a shrug.

“Someone had to make sure you didn’t wake up in a bush.”

He chuckled, dropping his head back against the wall. “That sounds like a Jaemin thing.”

“It is a Jaemin thing.”

There was a pause that was comfortable, warm. The kind where you both sat in the silence, not needing to say much. The hangover still throbbed, sure, but it didn’t feel so bad when he looked at you like that. Like you were some kind of constant.

Maybe you were.

He was quiet for a moment, looking down at the pill now resting in his hand like he was still debating whether it was friend or foe. You tilted your head, watching the slow way he moved. His posture was relaxed but heavy. His shoulders slouched more than usual, eyes just a little glassy.

“You’re still kinda drunk, aren’t you?”

Jeno blinked. “M’not.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“…Okay, maybe a little.”

That made you smile, the soft kind, the kind that lingers even when your mouth stops moving. “Lightweight.”

He let out a sleepy, sheepish sound and leaned his head back against the wall again. “You drank more than me. And you’re not dying.”

“I pace myself. You… don’t.”

“That’s not true,” he mumbled.

“You were doing shots with Jaemin, Jeno.”

He groaned, like even the memory hurt. “Oh my god. I forgot about that. Why would I do that?”

“Because you were trying to act chill in front of a bunch of strangers.”

“I am chill,” he insisted, then winced. “Okay. No, I’m not. Whatever.”

You let yourself really look at him for a second. His skin was still a little flushed in the cheeks, eyes soft from sleep and leftover alcohol. And maybe it was the light coming in through the blinds, or maybe it was just the morning stillness making everything feel a little suspended in air — but something about him looked clearer now. Easier to read.

He looked tired, yes. Hungover, for sure. But also a little… honest. Like all the walls he usually kept up had finally dropped somewhere between the alcohol and the sleep-deprivation. And he wasn’t trying to rebuild them yet.

“You look pretty like this,” you said before you could really think about it.

Jeno’s eyes flicked to you, wide and startled, like that was the last thing he expected to hear from you this morning.

“I mean—” you paused, awkwardly fumbling for a softer landing. “Just… you’re very you right now. Like you’re not trying to be anything else.”

He stared at you for a moment longer before something in his features softened. His smile wasn’t big, but it was real. Gentle. Quiet.

“Same to you,” he murmured, voice still a little rough. “You looked pretty last night, too. Like… really pretty.”

Your throat caught, but you tried to play it off with a breathy laugh. “Okay, you’re definitely still drunk.”

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Maybe. But I mean it.”

There was another pause, but this time it wasn’t awkward. Just full.

You glanced at him again. “Do you remember much from last night?”

“Bits and pieces.” He looked toward you. “I remember you laughing a lot. I remember Jaemin trying to stack empty cups on my head. I remember you and I talking by the firepit.”

Your lips lifted at that. “That part was nice.”

“Yeah.” His voice dipped a little. “It was.”

There was something different about this version of him, this quieter Jeno, still a little disoriented, a little open, but… not shutting himself off. And in a strange, hungover sort of way, it felt like you two could talk about anything now. Even the things you never touched back then. Even the parts of yourselves you’d been afraid to show before.

It didn’t feel like stepping back into the past.

It felt like you’d finally met each other in the present.

“I feel like my bones are made of rice paper,” Jeno mumbled, curled into a very loose fetal position on his bed, the blanket barely clinging to his legs.

You stifled a laugh. “That’s oddly poetic.”

“I’m serious,” he groaned. “They’re soft. Like soggy crackers.”

“Soggy crackers don’t have bones.”

He blinked at you, his lips twitching into a lazy grin. “You always have a comeback, huh?”

“Someone has to keep you grounded.”

“I’m grounded.” He paused. “I’m just floppy right now.”

You shook your head with a quiet smile and passed him the banana you’d brought from the kitchen earlier. “Eat this. Your brain needs it.”

Jeno took it with both hands like it was the most fragile item in the world. Then peeled it with slow concentration, mumbling, “You’re kind of good at this. The whole… taking care of me thing.”

“I’ve had practice,” you teased, sitting cross-legged beside him.

He smiled again, that shy, scrunch-nosed one he did when he was trying to play cool but wasn’t really fooling anyone. “I didn’t let you take care of me before, huh?”

You tilted your head at him.

“I mean,” he clarified softly, “back then. I never really let you see me when I wasn’t fine.”

That tugged something in your chest. A soft ache, but not the painful kind. The kind that made you want to pull him into a hug and tuck him under your chin like some delicate creature learning how to be held.

“No,” you admitted. “But I think you wanted to.”

Jeno didn’t reply right away. He just nodded, eyes down on his half-eaten banana like it had the answers to all his repressed emotions. Then—

“I get weird when I like someone a lot,” he blurted. “Like I try too hard to seem normal.”

You blinked.

He kept going. “And then I get quiet ‘cause I’m scared I’ll mess it up. But then I end up messing it up anyway.”

“…Jeno.”

He looked at you finally, cheeks pink, lips slightly pouty. “What?”

You gave him a small smile. “You’re being very… you right now.”

He blinked. “Is that bad?”

“No. It’s actually… really nice.”

Jeno sat up straighter, like a sleepy kitten finding its balance. “You think I’m nice?”

“I think you’re adorable,” you corrected.

He immediately groaned, collapsing dramatically against your shoulder. “Stop. I’m not strong enough for this.”

“You’re clingy when you’re tipsy.”

He hummed, not moving from your side. “Only with people I like.”

Your heart fluttered, maybe because it sounded almost like a confession. Or maybe because you knew it wasn’t just the alcohol talking. This was Jeno, in his softest form. Unfiltered. Comfortable. His weight against your side, his voice gentle, his presence warm and unguarded. This was the Jeno he never let the world see. And now he was here, leaning on you, whispering his habits and fears like you were safe.

And in that moment, you understood: he’d always wanted to be seen like this. Not as the cold, quiet guy people assumed he was. But as this shy, sweet, full of funny little thoughts and awkward bursts of honesty. Someone a little clumsy with his feelings, but not afraid to show them anymore.

You let him rest there a bit longer, letting the quiet sit between you like it belonged. Jeno was always worth waiting for. But this version of him, warm, talkative, lovable, felt like he was finally ready to be heard.

The room was still dim, sunlight barely filtering through the blinds, casting soft lines across the walls and carpet. You were both leaning back against the headboard now, Jeno freshly washed but still a little bleary, hair damp and cheeks flushed from warmth and residual tipsiness. He looked gentler like this. Sleepy, loose-limbed, and unguarded in a way that made him seem almost younger.

Your fingers were fidgeting at the edge of the blanket, just idly tracing the fabric, until Jeno’s hand quietly slipped into yours.

It wasn’t dramatic, no big lead-up, no question. Just a shy but sure movement, like he’d been wanting to for a while now but hadn’t known how to ask. His thumb brushed lightly over yours as if to test the waters, and when you didn’t pull away, he relaxed beside you.

You glanced at him, catching the soft grin curling his lips.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he muttered.

“Like what?”

“Like you think this is cute.”

“Isn’t it?”

He groaned and tilted his head back with a dramatic sigh. “You’re going to bully me again.”

You laughed. “I’ve been nothing but nurturing to you this morning.”

“You’ve been smug.”

“I brought you a banana and Advil.”

“And you called me a clingy lightweight.”

“You are a clingy lightweight.”

Jeno gave you a sulky side eye, but the corners of his mouth twitched up again like he couldn’t hold it. “You like it though.”

You squeezed his hand gently. “Maybe I do.”

He went quiet for a moment, his gaze dropping to your intertwined fingers, the rhythm of his thumb moving again. It was steady, almost absentminded like his body had found a new kind of muscle memory with you. Something small, but comforting.

“Feels like we’re… fitting better now,” he said softly.

You didn’t say anything at first. Just let his words hang in the air, soaking into the walls of the room you’d once walked away from each other in. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable. It was filled with the kind of peace that only came from mutual understanding, like all the pieces were finally softening into the right place.

“I think we’re learning each other better,” you eventually replied. “Or maybe just letting each other in more.”

He hummed, the sound low and pleased, before leaning his head to lightly bump against yours. “You make me brave.”

You smiled to yourself, turning slightly to nudge your nose against his cheek. “You were always brave. You just needed someone who didn’t make you feel like you had to hide.”

His ears went red again, but he didn’t hide his face this time. He just sat there, hand in yours, smile tugging the corners of his mouth, eyes soft.

There was nothing loud about it, no big declarations, no dramatic gestures. Just two people finding their way back. Quiet, natural, and easy. Like slipping into a version of home you didn’t realize you’d missed until it was right beside you again.

And neither of you said it out loud, but the way you both held on, fingers interlaced, shoulders brushing, said enough for now.

The silence was warm. Your thumb was tracing lazy shapes against Jeno’s knuckles now, and he hadn’t let go once, not even when his eyes fluttered shut for a second, like he was just soaking in the comfort of you being there.

His head rested gently against yours, breaths syncing, the kind of quiet where the world felt smaller. Softer. A private bubble that neither of you wanted to pop.

Which was, of course, the exact moment the door creaked open.

“Am I interrupting something?” came a too casual voice, laced with amusement.

Your heads snapped toward the doorway, both of you a little too slow, like being yanked from a dream. Johnny stood leaning against the frame, arms crossed, eyebrows up. The faint smirk on his face said he knew exactly what he’d walked in on.

Jeno, to his credit, tried to stay cool. But the boy could barely keep his voice level when he replied, “N-no? Just talking.”

“Right,” Johnny nodded slowly, gaze flicking down to your still intertwined hands resting in your lap. “With your fingers braided together like some heart fluttering fanfic? Classic conversation pose.”

You rolled your eyes, but your cheeks betrayed you, warmth rushing up your neck fast enough to match Jeno’s. He had already covered his face with his free hand, letting out a strangled groan of embarrassment.

“We’re not—” he started, muffled behind his palm. “It’s not like—”

“Hey, I’m not judging,” Johnny held up his hands. “I came to drop off extra water bottles. But clearly I’ve walked in on, like, a Moment.”

You gave Jeno a look, one that teetered between should we defend ourselves and just let it die. He was too busy melting into his own hoodie, so you turned to Johnny with a sweet smile instead.

“Thanks, Johnny. You can leave the water on the desk and pretend none of this happened.”

Johnny grinned as he set them down. “My lips are sealed. But if Jaemin hears about it, it’s definitely not from me.”

Jeno let out a pitiful whine, and you reached up to pat his arm as Johnny backed out, still smug.

And just like that, your bubble had a few fingerprints on it. But when Jeno turned to look at you again, a little bashful, still pink-cheeked, but smiling, it was obvious neither of you minded.

The first few days after that awkward yet somehow sweet moment passed by in a blur, but with each one, it became easier to slip into the rhythm of their world. Even though you weren’t part of the same university, Jaemin’s frat house had quickly become a place where you felt like you belonged, at least on the periphery.

It wasn’t just the parties or the chaos that made you feel comfortable. It was the quiet moments in between. The hangovers. The random bursts of laughter. The lazy afternoons where you found yourself hanging out with the guys in the kitchen, watching them mess around and tell dumb jokes.

You’d grown used to the sound of Jaemin’s booming laugh echoing from the living room, of Johnny’s chill demeanor cutting through the stress of exams, of Yuta’s sarcasm punctuating every conversation like a clever little weapon. But, of course, Jeno was the one who had crept up on you.

At first, you didn’t think much of it. He was the quiet one, the one who hung back and watched, often keeping to himself when the group got rowdy. But the more time you spent with him, the more you realized just how much he wanted to be part of it all, how his introversion was more of a shield than anything else.

There was a softness to him, one that was reserved only for certain people, and, it seemed, that certain person might be you.

You began learning his habits, how he’d always stretch after waking up, pushing his arms above his head like he was trying to shake off the weight of sleep. Or how he always kept a spare hoodie around, just in case someone needed one, even if no one ever asked. You’d catch him humming when he thought no one was around, tapping his fingers along to some rhythm only he could hear.

And then there were the little things. His awkward smile whenever you caught him staring at you, his eyes shifting away too fast, like he hadn’t realized he was looking at you for too long. Or the way he’d quietly help with something without asking for attention like grabbing a cup of water when you were tired, offering you his hoodie when it was cold, brushing off your hair when it fell in your face.

It was in these quiet moments that you realized how much he cared. How much he really cared.

And the rest of the guys? You got to know them in different ways too. Jaemin, as always, was the loudest, but his personality didn’t just shine in the parties. When he was serious, when he wasn’t trying to put on a show, he was surprisingly thoughtful, always trying to make sure everyone felt included. You learned that despite his chaotic energy, he was one of the most self aware in the house.

Johnny, too, had a way of making you feel at ease. He wasn’t one to force deep conversations, but when he spoke, his words had weight. He made everyone around him feel like they could be themselves, and that meant more than any joke he cracked or teasing he gave.

Yuta had this quiet, almost cynical edge to him that you quickly realized was just his way of showing care. He’d never outright say something nice, but when he’d pull you aside with that sly grin, offering you a snack or joking about a class you didn’t care about, you knew he was showing you in his own way that you mattered.

It was Jungwoo, though, who became the ultimate surprise. The guy who you thought would be loud and obnoxious all the time turned out to be a mix of energy and warmth — the kind of guy who would talk your ear off but also sit with you quietly, offering a comforting presence without making a big deal out of it. He’d somehow always know when you needed cheering up, but never in an overbearing way.

And every day, you learn something new. Whether it was about their pasts, their quirks, or just the way they saw the world, it felt like the pieces of their personalities slowly pieced themselves together for you, bit by bit. You weren’t just an outsider anymore. You were part of the gang.

But through all of this, Jeno remained the one you’d come to rely on the most. As each day passed, you noticed more about him, how easily he got lost in his thoughts, how fiercely he protected the people close to him, and how much effort he put into the small things that made others feel cared for.

And every time you saw him smile, especially in those moments when his shyness melted away and he let his guard down with you, you couldn’t help but feel a flutter in your chest. You didn’t know where it was going, but there was something about him that made your heart race in a way that felt both familiar and new.

And the more time you spend near him on that creaky old couch in the living room, half listening to Jaemin yell at Jungwoo for stealing his snacks, or walking side by side to the nearest convenience store just to get drinks neither of you really needed, the more that feeling stuck with you. It followed you like a shadow. Quiet, but constant. Soft, but impossible to ignore.

Jeno had this way of making everything feel simple, even when your thoughts were anything but. He didn’t push or pry, but he listened. And when he did speak, it wasn’t filler. It was real. You found yourself looking forward to his little comments, the way he’d tilt his head slightly when you rambled, like he was actually trying to understand you instead of waiting for his turn to speak. The way he always sat a little closer now though never quite touching, but never too far either. That space in between felt... safe.

And you weren’t stupid. You noticed the way the others sometimes exchanged glances when you were around him. The smirks from Jaemin, the not so subtle eyebrow raises from Johnny. Even Winwin once muttered something under his breath that made Yuta laugh too hard for it to be innocent.

Still, no one said anything outright. Maybe they were waiting to see if you would.

You told yourself you were just friends. That this was nothing new, that people got close all the time. But you also knew better. There was a tenderness in how Jeno started waiting for you before meals, how he always found ways to check in, how his gaze lingered a little too long when you weren’t looking.

And you? You were softening too. Letting yourself smile more easily. Laugh louder. Stay longer.

It was strange. The kind of strange that didn’t feel scary. Just… unfamiliar.

So when Jeno’s hand brushed yours one evening while you were both leaning over the kitchen counter, pretending to argue about how much sugar to put in your tea, and neither of you pulled away, you didn’t look at him, but you didn’t move either. The silence stretched, warm and full.

That was the thing about him. He didn’t rush it. He didn’t need to. You were starting to fall, not just for the version of Jeno you once knew, but for the version he was now. The one that was slowly unfolding right in front of you.

And maybe, just maybe, he was falling too.

Just as your thoughts began to spiral soft, fluttery things that didn’t have a clear beginning or end, the front door clicked open. You blinked, momentarily forgetting that anyone but you had access to your apartment.

“Kkura?” you called, already halfway out of your room before she even shut the door behind her.

“Home sweet—” She didn’t even finish her sentence before you tackled her in a hug, practically knocking the suitcase out of her hand.

“You’re back,” you mumbled into her shoulder.

“You act like I’ve been gone for a year,” she laughed, squeezing you just as tight. “It was three weeks.”

“Three weeks of chaos,” you pulled away, eyes wide, face flushed with the overwhelming need to unload.

Kkura narrowed her eyes knowingly. “You have that face.”

“What face.”

“The I have something to tell you and it’s so much that I don’t even know where to start face.”

You stared at her. She wasn’t wrong.

She kicked off her shoes, wheeled her suitcase into the corner like it wasn’t about to sit there untouched for days, and flopped onto your couch like she owned the place. “Alright. Hit me.”

You didn’t need more prompting. The second you sat next to her, it was like your brain finally found the play button. You told her everything. The Jaemin invitation, the frat house party, the chaos that unfolded that night — “I blacked out, Kkura. With Jaemin. That should tell you everything.” — and then, of course, Jeno.

The way her eyes widened when you said his name alone was priceless.

“Wait. Jeno? As in—”

“Yes.”

“And you woke up in his room?”

“In a frat house, Kkura. In a frat house.”

“Oh my god, are you—” Kkura held up a hand, processing. “Are you part of a frat now? Is this a college AU? Did I miss a whole season of your life?!”

You laughed, flopping down next to her. “I’m basically a background character that snuck into the main plot. And no, I’m not in the frat—Jaemin’s just a menace who keeps dragging me to things. But they’re all nice, honestly. Like… way nicer than I expected.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Even Jeno?”

You hesitated. “Especially Jeno.”

There was a beat of silence before she raised a brow. “Uh-huh.”

You rolled your eyes and hugged a pillow to your chest. “Okay, okay, but that’s not the point. Point is, there’s another party coming up. They just finished exams, so they’re celebrating. Again.”

Kkura snorted. “Are they okay? Do they need hobbies?”

“They’re party-crazed but like… weirdly wholesome about it? It’s kind of endearing,” you said. “And they’re sweet. Loud. But sweet.”

She tilted her head. “So...?”

“So… Do you wanna come with me?”

There was a pause as Kkura considered it, then she gave you a teasing smirk. “Only if I get to wear something that makes frat boys cry.”

You grinned. “I’ll allow it.”

The mood eased after that. You were curled up in the comfort of old friendship, your heart a little lighter knowing you weren’t facing the chaos alone this time. Even though the last party had left your memory patchy and your head pounding, the thought of seeing Jeno again, this time with Kkura in the mix, felt exciting in a way you weren’t fully ready to admit.

Still, a part of you was nervous. Not because of the party itself, or even bumping into people you possibly know again but because Jeno had become something steady. And steady things had the power to shake you if they moved.

But that was something to worry about later.

For now, there was a party to prepare for. And a wardrobe to destroy in the process.

You were mid sentence, something about needing to find a top that said “I’m hot but approachable” when your phone buzzed on the coffee table.

You leaned forward and glanced at the screen.

[Jeno]: Are you free right now?

Your heart did that thing again. That subtle little flutter that made you both nervous and stupidly soft. The kind that was quiet but impossible to ignore.

Kkura leaned in, squinting. “Is that… Jeno?”

You blinked, sitting up straighter. “Maybe.”

She didn’t even hesitate and just snatched the pillow from your arms and tossed it across the room. “Go.”

“What?” you laughed. “I can’t just— what if he didn’t mean right now right now—”

Kkura was already standing, grabbing your hoodie and tossing it into your lap. “He literally said right now. You’re not gonna ghost a soft spoken cutie who somehow made it through the Hunger Games of frat life with his soul intact.”

You pulled the hoodie over your head, cheeks warming. “He’s just probably bored or something.”

“Bored of not being around you,” she shot back, folding her arms. “Go. I’ve been gone too long, I need to assess the boy who’s got you smiling at your phone like a loser.”

You stuck out your tongue at her but stood up anyway, fingers already texting back.

[You]: yeah i’m free, what’s up?

As you grabbed your bag and slid your shoes on, Kkura appeared in the hallway like a mom sending her kid off to school.

“Use protection. By that I mean sunscreen. But also, y’know, if you guys—”

“BYE.”

The door shut behind you before she could say anything else, and you tried to pretend like your stomach wasn’t flipping as you walked down the street.

You didn’t even have to knock.

The door swung open before you could lift your hand, revealing Jeno with the biggest, most boyish grin on his face, one that made your chest warm in the most annoying, fluttery way possible.

“You’re here,” he said, and stepped back dramatically like he was unveiling something.

You blinked once.

Then twice.

And then you burst out laughing.

He had set the entire room up like a movie marathon wonderland. Blankets stacked like a nest in the middle of the floor, a projector already on standby, popcorn in a giant mixing bowl, and what looked like an unnecessarily large lineup of snacks. There were also two pairs of matching slippers, one pink and one grey, set right by the makeshift blanket fort.

“Jeno,” you said slowly. “Did you… plan a theme?”

“Movie day,” he beamed. “It’s serious business.”

You stepped inside and kicked off your shoes, grinning at the sight of the pink slippers. “You got me bunny ones?”

“Of course,” he said, like it was obvious. “They looked like you.”

He bent down to grab the grey ones for himself just as Jaemin suddenly poked his head in from the hallway.

“You’re such a loser,” he announced to the room.

“Jaemin,” Jeno said without turning around, “Get out.”

“I live here.”

“Uh-huh.”

But he was still smiling, that same soft expression you’d seen before when he was quietly grateful for this little pocket of peace with you. And even if the party was looming on the horizon, and even if your heart didn’t totally know what it was doing around Jeno just yet… Being here with him, warm and close and laughing, made the idea of showing up to another chaotic frat event feel less daunting. Almost comforting.

You weren’t sure what the party would bring, but for now, it was just Jeno and a movie you were definitely not watching, and the kind of quiet between two people that felt like something was slowly, gently growing.

The house was already buzzing by the time you and Kkura stepped out of the Uber. Actually, buzzing was an understatement, it was throbbing with noise and lights and people. The lawn was crawling with students you didn’t recognize, solo cups in every hand, music bleeding out of every open window, and a suspiciously large inflatable flamingo bobbing from the roof like it had claimed it as home.

You blinked. “Did they— did they rent a fog machine?”

Kkura stared with wide eyes. “Is that a DJ booth in the front yard? What the hell kind of end of exams party is this?”

“I told you they go too hard.” You tugged her arm gently as you stepped around two people tangled in glow necklaces and what looked like matching temporary tattoos. “This is three times worse than the last one.”

“Three times worse?” she repeated, looking around. “No, babe, this looks like it’s three times international. I swear that guy in the Lakers jersey just flew in from New York.”

There were bodies packed against every wall, music so loud it buzzed against your chest, and the sharp scent of beer and perfume mixing in the air like an olfactory warning sign. Still, there was something stupidly infectious about it, the hum of celebration, the wild laughter from someone trying to climb a tree for no reason, the lights flickering from inside like a club scene about to go off.

“Where are your people?” Kkura leaned in to shout over the music.

“They live here, remember?” you said, guiding her toward the side entrance. “Somewhere in this chaos are my favorite frat rats.”

You pushed open the door, the hallway instantly swallowing you in heat and overlapping conversations. It was wild. You didn’t think you’d seen this many students gathered in one place outside of a graduation ceremony.

Soon enough you were halfway through explaining to Johnny and Yuta how you once saw a guy chug half a gallon of milk at a party and immediately regret his life choices, when someone shoulder checked you from behind.

Not a hard bump, just enough to make you stumble slightly mid story.

“Woah—” you turned instinctively, hand still gesturing in the air, only to come face to face with—

“Oh no,” you muttered under your breath.

Because there he was, in the flesh and smiling like the human equivalent of a smirk: Haechan. Hair perfectly styled, drink in hand, and that familiar look of amused mischief glittering in his eyes.

Now, you would think the person who interrupted you was the face you’d been scanning for all night.

But nope.

It was the face you never really expected to see once again... until the universe, in all its twisted humor, plopped him right back in front of you. Again.

“Y/N,” he greeted, like you’d just bumped into each other at a corner store. “You always pop up at these things when I least expect it.”

“You’re the one who popped me,” you deadpanned, one brow raising. “What are you even doing here? Again.”

Haechan shrugged, taking a sip. “What can I say? I’m a social butterfly. Got invited by a friend. I go where the good chaos is.”

Johnny, who was watching with vague interest, leaned in just enough to make it obvious. “Y/N,” he said casually, lips quirked up. “Friend of yours?”

You opened your mouth, closed it, and then sighed. “Uh... this is Haechan. We used to…date. A long time ago.” Feeling the embarrassment creep up your neck.

“Ohoho,” Yuta laughed, leaning closer with narrowed eyes and entirely too much enthusiasm. “Now this just got good.”

“Oh my god,” you muttered under your breath, glaring at them.

Haechan, the little shit, just grinned and raised his cup. “Pleasure. But don’t worry, I’m just here to admire from afar and mess with her for sport.”

Johnny gave him a knowing look. “Well, good luck, man. But don’t mess with her too much and keep a safe distance or else we might have to, you know…casually throw you out the second floor window.”

Yuta nodded. “Yeah. Casually.”

You rolled your eyes so hard you nearly ascended. “Jesus Christ.”

Haechan only laughed, completely unbothered. “Glad to see you’ve upgraded your bodyguards.”

And for a moment, despite the teasing, the noise, the crowded house, it felt surprisingly... easy. Not tense like it could’ve been. Just playful enough to feel like maybe, just maybe, the past really had faded behind the both of you. And honestly, that was a relief.

Until, of course, the boys started muttering something suspicious about how Jeno would loooove to hear about this.

You lingered with them a bit longer, the conversation swerving wildly between roasting Yuta’s ancient phone model and Johnny pretending to be your overly concerned fake older brother, asking Haechan questions like:

“So, what are your intentions with our dear Y/N?”

Haechan leaned against the wall with a crooked smile. “Strictly to make her roll her eyes at least five times tonight. Maybe six if I work hard.”

You shot him a look. “That’s your love language, huh? Mild emotional torture?”

“Yours is biting sarcasm and selective affection, so don’t even start,” he fired back.

“Selective?” You scoffed. “I was literally the nicest to you out of everyone you’ve dated.”

Johnny blinked. “Wait, how many people has he dated?”

“Too many,” you and Haechan said at the same time, which made the group laugh.

And then, right on cue, just as you nudged Haechan with your elbow in mock annoyance, Yuta’s eyes flicked upward right past your shoulder.

“Well, speak of the devil,” he muttered, barely concealing his grin.

You turned just as Jeno appeared from the hallway, hoodie slightly rumpled from the crowd, but still as composed and tall and very much Jeno. He looked a little flushed, maybe from the warmth of the room, maybe something else, but he clocked the group in an instant.

And then his eyes landed on you.

Then Haechan.

Then... your proximity to Haechan.

You could practically see the gears turning in his brain. He was doing that thing again, quietly observing, trying to mask whatever emotion flickered across his face.

“Oh,” you said, voice tilting a bit higher than usual. “Hey. You made it.”

Jeno gave a small nod, eyes still flicking between the people surrounding you. “Yeah, sorry. Got caught helping Jaehyun fix the speaker.”

Haechan glanced between you two, a grin slowly spreading across his face like he had just realized something delicious.

“So this is Jeno,” he said, amused. “The boy you were scoping the room for back at the last party.”

You felt your soul leave your body. “Haechan, I swear to God—”

“What?” Haechan lifted his hands innocently. “I’m just connecting the dots.”

Jeno looked between the two of you, something unreadable behind his smile. “Didn’t know you two were...friends.”

“We’re not,” you and Haechan said at the same time.

Then Haechan shrugged. “Okay, we’re like... very chill acquaintances who used to date and now lightly bully each other.”

“That’s worse,” you muttered.

Johnny chuckled and patted Jeno’s back. “Don’t worry, man. We already threatened him.”

Jeno raised a brow. “What?”

“Casually,” Yuta added with a wink.

Jeno looked at you again, eyes a little softer now, like he was trying to read how you felt in the moment, not just about Haechan, but being here, with them, with him.

And it made your chest warm. Because even though this whole interaction was ridiculous, the way Jeno’s presence settled beside you again though quiet, familiar, and grounding, you felt that same gravity you always did when he was near.

“Wanna go find a drink?” you offered, gently breaking the awkward tension.

Jeno gave the smallest smile, one that felt just for you.

“Only if you promise to save me from any more surprise exes.”

You snorted. “No promises. You’re at a frat party, Jeno. Chaos is literally in the air.”

As soon as you slipped out from the crowd with Jeno, winding through the mess of limbs and laughter and bass heavy music toward the kitchen, you could feel it, that lingering energy around him.

Not tense exactly, but… quieter. Like someone had dimmed his brightness by a notch.

You stole a glance up at him. He was still walking beside you, still Jeno in all his calm and collected glory, but you could tell. His shoulders weren’t as relaxed. His brows kept furrowing every now and then. And he hadn’t made a single dumb comment about the party decorations, which was his usual specialty when he was in a good mood.

And maybe it was selfish, but you didn’t want Jeno like this, closed off and clouded over. Especially not tonight.

So once you both reached the kitchen, finally away from the buzz, you leaned against the counter and handed him a water bottle instead of the soda he’d been eyeing. He blinked, confused, until you gave him a look that said, I know you better than that.

He twisted the cap off, lips barely upturned in a thank you, and drank.

“Okay,” you said, slowly, like it was a spell. “Tell me what’s going on in that big, genius brain of yours. Because you’ve said approximately three words in the last five minutes, and two of them were ‘yeah’ and ‘okay.’”

Jeno side eyed you, chewing his bottom lip before murmuring, “It’s nothing.”

You leaned closer, bumping his arm playfully. “Jeno.”

He sighed, almost like he hated how easy it was for you to get him to talk.

“I just…” he paused, looking down at the bottle in his hand. “Didn’t expect Haechan to be that guy.”

You blinked. “That guy?”

“The one you dated.” He said it simply, but his voice was quieter than usual. “I just… didn’t think he’d be so…close.”

You tilted your head. “Jeno.”

“What?”

“Are you jealous?”

His eyes snapped up to meet yours. “No. I mean— okay, yes. A little.”

You tried not to smile. “A little?”

He exhaled, resting both hands on the counter behind him as he leaned back. “It’s not that I think you still like him or anything. I know you don’t. It’s just… when I saw you with him, and the way he was talking to you, it made me feel—” he broke off, shaking his head, “stupid. For being so obvious.”

Your heart tugged at the sight of him, shoulders drawn in slightly, bottom lip stuck out in that soft pout of his, the kind he probably didn’t even know he was doing. Jeno didn’t often wear his emotions so openly, but tonight, between the haze of lingering tipsiness and the vulnerability of jealousy, he couldn’t help it. He looked so boyish like that, a little sulky and unsure, but still trying his best to seem put together. Like he was caught in between wanting to retreat into his shell and also hoping you’d pull him closer instead.

You did. Of course you did. You stepped forward and closed the distance, standing in the space between his arms as they rested on the counter behind him. “Jeno,” you murmured, gaze soft as you tilted your head to meet his eyes properly, “you’re not stupid. And if you think you’re being obvious… then so am I.”

He blinked, the furrow between his brows easing just a little, but that pout remained, his lips parted like he was about to say something but hadn’t quite decided if he should. Still, his gaze held yours, studying your face like he was trying to memorize every inch of reassurance written on it.

“I don’t care what Haechan said. Or how long we used to know each other,” you said, quieter now, like it was just for him to hear. “He’s part of my past, yeah. But you… you’re the part that feels like home right now. The part I want to keep walking into.”

Jeno let out a tiny sound at that, somewhere between a breath and a scoff, then muttered under his breath, “That’s not fair…” He was still pouting, still refusing to drop the act completely, but his ears were turning pink and you knew he was melting inside. “Why do you always say stuff like that when I’m trying to be mad?”

You smiled, a slow, knowing one. “Because it’s cute when you pout.”

That got him. His lips twitched like he was fighting a smile, but the sulk hadn’t quite left yet.

“And besides,” you added, nudging him playfully, “do I look like someone who’d flirt by talking about water bottles and our last diarrhea trip if I still liked that little twerp?”

Jeno finally let out a small laugh, reluctant, but genuine. “Okay, yeah. That would be weird.”

“Exactly.”

He leaned in just a little, forehead nearly touching yours, voice low and uncertain. “I’m still getting used to this.”

“To what?” you asked, even though you already kind of knew.

“You. Saying things like that to me. Letting me feel this close to you,” he said, gaze dropping for a second before flicking back to your eyes. “It’s weird in a good way. Like I don’t know what to do with myself.”

You gave a soft chuckle and nudged his arm with your knuckles. “Well, maybe don’t overthink it. Just… be you. That’s the version I actually like hanging out with.”

That made him blink, slowly, the corners of his lips lifting like the compliment needed a second to register. “You like hanging out with me?”

You rolled your eyes, amused. “Wow. Groundbreaking information, I know.”

His smile finally broke through, sheepish but warm, and the tension from earlier seemed to melt off his shoulders.

“Thanks for cheering me up,” he said, voice quieter now, a little rough around the edges but more honest than before.

You shrugged, casual but kind. “It’s in the job description now, apparently.”

“Oh yeah?” he teased, his tone lighter now, almost playful. “Does that include benefits or…?”

You raised a brow at him. “Depends. What are you hoping for?”

He mock-thought about it, tapping his chin. “Hmm… occasional emotional support? Priority in your attention? Maybe mild bullying privileges?”

You snorted. “So basically everything you already get.”

He grinned, boyish and bright. “Guess I’m living the dream then.”

You shook your head but your fingers lingered in his, both of you pretending it wasn’t a big deal even though it was. And in the way he looked at you, like you were something new and familiar all at once, it was easy to feel like whatever this was… it was starting to become something more.

The night spun on with a dizzying rhythm, bass thumping through the walls like it was trying to sync with your heartbeat. Everywhere you looked, bodies swayed and drinks clinked, laughter spilling over like beer foam from red solo cups. You’d lost count of how many people were actually packed into the house by now. The place looked like it doubled as a secret portal to every college campus in the country, new faces, old ones, all dancing in that same late night haze.

And somehow, in all that chaos, Jeno kept finding you.

Or maybe it was the other way around.

Neither of you were nearly as obliterated as that first time (thank god), but your heads were still foggy, your bodies warm, your laughter louder than usual. You’d been riding a comfortable buzz for a while now, light on your feet, like gravity had been dialed down a few notches. You weren’t sure if it was the drinks or the music or the fact that every time Jeno looked at you, he did that thing where he bit back a smile and got all pink in the ears.

He was, in a word, adorable.

Also: a complete lightweight.

You watched him now across the room, cup dangling lazily in his hand, cheeks flushed a rose pink that rivaled the solo cup itself. He’d tried to keep up with Jaemin and Jungwoo earlier, poor soul, and now he was tucked near the kitchen, leaning on the counter like the tiles were the only thing keeping him from floating off the planet.

When he spotted you, his expression brightened like a switch had been flipped. “Y/N,” he grinned, stumbling a little as he crossed the floor toward you. “You’re… you’re still upright. How.”

You took a dramatic bow, nearly tipping forward. “Pure talent and spite,” you declared.

He giggled and it was the kind of sound that made your brain pause for a second. His hand found yours clumsily, fingers curling like he was trying to remember how to hold hands in the middle of a carnival ride.

“You’re pretty,” he mumbled. “Just had to say that. You’re always pretty but right now, I think it’s mind boggling.”

You snorted. “Jeno, that was barely a sentence.”

“Wasn’t trying to win an essay competition,” he pouted, eyebrows furrowed like he was actually mad about it. “Just wanted to tell you. You should know.”

You should’ve said something normal. A joke. A thanks. A flirty comeback. But instead you just stared at him, your own heart swaying under your ribs, pulled in by the look he gave you, like you were a song he’d been trying to hum all night.

“You’re really close,” you murmured.

“I know,” he breathed. “Wanna be closer.”

And that was all it took.

Maybe it was the liquor or the late hour or the way your brains were mush and hearts were soft, but your lips found each other like they’d been trying to do it all along. It wasn’t rushed or messy. It was slow, sweet at first, like a curious question. His hands didn’t even know where to land, one hovering near your cheek, the other loosely on your hip. He tasted faintly like whatever punch they’d been handing out, mixed with a bit of boyish vulnerability and something wholly, undeniably Jeno.

You kissed like you’d been waiting for the right excuse. And when he pulled back just slightly, breath warm against your lips, he whispered, “...Still not used to this either.”

You laughed, forehead brushing his. “What, kissing girls at frat parties?”

He shook his head, that smile coming back. “No. Kissing you.”

And before either of you could think too hard about it, you leaned in again, this time messier, bolder, your drunk minds quiet for once, your bodies speaking instead.

Somewhere nearby, someone whooped at the sight, and Jeno groaned, hiding his face in your neck.

“Kill me,” he muttered.

You grinned. “Later. Let me enjoy this first.”

The second kiss was different.

The first had been hesitant, like a question whispered in the dark. But this— this was the answer neither of you knew how to say out loud. There was no more fumbling. No more nervous hovering. When your lips met again, it was with a quiet kind of hunger. Not rushed. Not desperate. But deliberate. Like both of you had made the decision to lean in and just feel.

Jeno’s hand slid to your waist, fingertips curling into the fabric of your top like he needed to anchor himself. His other hand, still clumsy from the drinks, ghosted along the line of your jaw, then up— his thumb barely brushing your cheekbone as if to ground himself. You could feel the warmth of him everywhere, even in the tiny space that still lingered between your bodies.

And then he kissed you deeper.

Slower, like he wanted to memorize the shape of your mouth. His lips were soft and warm and unfamiliar in the most addictive way, moving with a shy sort of confidence, like he didn’t quite realize just how good he was at this. You responded instinctively, molding into him like your body already knew the rhythm. Your fingers found the front of his hoodie, curling into the fabric, tugging slightly, not to pull him closer, but to remind yourself he was real.

And when your teeth accidentally grazed his lower lip, when you half smiled into the kiss because you felt his breath hitch, he let out the smallest sound, something between a sigh and a curse.

It hit you all at once then: how close you were. How flushed his face had become. How the warmth between you was no longer just from the alcohol. It was something else now. Something that prickled along your skin and made your head buzz louder than any drink had that night.

Jeno pulled back barely an inch, lips parted, eyes dark under the soft glow of the hallway light. His gaze flickered to your mouth before returning to your eyes, and there was something electric in it, like a storm waiting patiently to break.

“You can’t just look at me like that after kissing me like that,” you murmured, voice low, breathless.

He blinked, lips twitching into a crooked grin. “I was about to say the same thing.

The air between you crackled. There were footsteps around the corner, laughter in the kitchen, music thudding somewhere in the living room. But here, in this pocket of space, it was just you and Jeno and this quiet, burning thing that had officially woken up between you.

Neither of you said it out loud. Not yet. But something had shifted.

And from here on out, it wasn’t going back.

You weren’t sure who moved first after that second kiss but all of a sudden, it was like the world around you melted into a blur of muffled bass, distant voices, and heat. Pure, electric heat.

Because the next kiss came harder, quicker. Teeth grazing. Breath catching. Jeno’s hands were everywhere, gentle and searching, but firmer now like he was scared to let go. And maybe you were too, because your hands slid up the back of his neck into his hair, tugging lightly, making him groan into your mouth in a way that sent a jolt straight through you.

There was no pause this time. No nervous giggle or break for air. Just mouths colliding and breaths tangled, like every moment you hadn’t kissed before this had been building into this exact explosion. Like two magnets finally snapping together after being held apart for too long.

He pressed you back against the hallway wall like it was second nature, like you belonged there and he was just finding you again. One of his hands flattened against the wall beside your head while the other gripped your waist, like he needed to hold onto something solid or he’d float away.

“Fuck,” he whispered against your lips, voice low and shaky. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“Right back at you,” you gasped, not even realizing you were pulling him in again until your lips met his. Every time he kissed you, it was messier, needier, more addicting.

And then there were your bodies glued together like you didn’t know how to exist with space between you. Every slight movement sparked friction: his knee bumping yours, your fingers fisting into his hoodie, his nose brushing yours when he kissed you sideways, deeper, like he needed to taste every piece of you he’d missed.

Jeno's lips dragged over your jaw, and his hand skimmed lower, fingertips grazing the hem of your top like he was trying to commit every inch of you to memory. His breath was hot against your skin, and you could feel the ache in the pit of your stomach building fast, dizzying.

"Fuck, I can't stop," he murmured against your neck, his voice low, needy. “You taste so good, what the hell—”

And just when you were about to whisper something back, something equally wild, just as desperate—

“OKAYYYY.”

A loud, slurred voice cut through the moment like a wrecking ball, and Jeno flinched like he’d been caught stealing.

“Why do y’all look like you’re seconds away from fucking against this drywall?”

You both whipped around to see Jaemin, leaning against the hallway doorway with a half empty bottle in one hand, grinning like a menace. His cheeks were flushed, shirt untucked, eyes gleaming with every ounce of chaotic drunk energy he was known for.

“I feel left out,” he announced dramatically, blinking at the two of you. “Is it orgy time? Should I drop my pants or...?”

Jeno groaned, forehead falling to your shoulder as your laughter exploded before you could stop it.

“Jaem, get the fuck out,” Jeno mumbled, voice muffled against your skin. “Seriously.”

“You say that,” Jaemin sing songed, wobbling slightly as he pointed at Jeno, “but your hand was halfway down her back and she was grinding like it was the final boss level lap dance hour, so I really can’t be blamed for walking into the foreplay corner!”

You bit your lip, still breathless from the heat of the kiss and now completely dying at the situation.

“Jaemin,” you wheezed. “Go away before I start throwing things.”

He raised his hands in surrender but winked. “Okay okay, damn. Just… tone down the energy before someone walks in and actually gets turned on a.k.a me.”

As he turned and swaggered back toward the party, you and Jeno were left in the hallway, slightly breathless, slightly ruined, and still very much pressed together.

“...Wanna pick up where we left off?” Jeno asked under his breath, voice hoarse.

You grinned, tugging him close by the hoodie. “Thought you’d never ask.”

note: unfortunately if i continue on to the next part i fear it will be too long and exceeding the word count so i had to seperate this into two parts (beware the next part is the angst part…)

[tpwkwriter]

Tour bus blues.

• even the biggest of stars get nervous before shows :/

————

It wasn’t often H felt nervous or anxious before a show, but when he did it was awful to see, his eyes which so normally so full of life and love were filled with a layer of gloss and worry.

Where his hands would normally wrapped around your waist or shoulders they would nervously be fiddling with the rings that sat perfectly on his fingers.

It was ‘one night only’ in New York, you and Harry’s team were backstage of the UBS arena frantically getting ready for the show, apart from Harry was no where to be seen.

It wasn’t until after 3 missed calls y/n was starting to worry, ‘cmon answer H please” she’d sigh while biting her nails in pure stress

“Any luck?” Jeff would ask

“No, none at all, I’m gonna go look for him” she’d stress.

While leaving the arena, not only the cool breeze of air hit her, but the sound of screams and chants of fans queuing up did, Thank the lord they were round the front and couldn’t see her, otherwise she would’ve been trapped in an obstacle course of fans.

Her eyes land on the tour bus, which is where they all spent the most time, she was hoping H was in there.

She creaked the door open and stepped inside revealing the dimly lit row of bunks inside.

“H? Babe you in here” she crooned

No reply.

The slid open the door to look in the lounge section of the bus. There it revealed her H sitting on the velvet sofa, hair messy, and head in his hands looking towards the floor.

“Baby” she murmured, with her gaze softening at the sight.

He looked up, eyes glossy and filled with tears, cheeks flushed and hands shaky.

Without a thought y/n rushed over to his side and knelt down beside him putting both hands on his thigh.

“M’baby, what’s got you like this?” She said, moving her hands to cup his face

He closed his eyes, and sunk into the comfort of her touch before answering.

“Cant do it..I cant”

“What if they hate it..the album” he adds

“H, what have I told you? Hmm the world absolutely loves it so far, people cant wait for your tours and shows and future releases”

“I’ve already heard about 10,000 people chanting ‘as it was’, people are gonna love it, in the short 10 hours of the album being out, they already seem to know all the words, hmm?” She continues pressing a kiss to his lips.

“You’ve worked so hard this baby, you deserve it so much” she stood up and offered him her hand to which he gladly accepted. Once the couple were stood up y/n took it upon herself to fix the mans tousled hair.

“Your gonna smash it out there, my pretty boy” she gushes running her hand through his hair.

“Hate bein this vulnerable sometimes” he says a small smile creeping up on his face.

“D’ya not love the extra lovin from your girlfriend huh?” She smiles leaning up on her tippy toes and kissing him once more.

“I love you y/n” he mutters

“Mm love you”

The what was a sweet moment was kindly interrupted by a frantic Jeff who slung open the door to the bus.

“Harry!! Y/n there you are” he pants

“Been looking for you everywhere!, now come on we have 10 minutes till showtime!” He exclaims running straight back out.

A giggle was left between the couples after that.

They locked hands and left to walk back into the arena, you both make into your shared dressing room, while allowing H to finalise getting ready y/n found herself on Twitter and was reading through all the tweets about tonight including the number one trend which was “NYC one night only Harry styles” a smile lands on the girls face at the sight of it.

Her thoughts were knocked when she felt a pair of arms snake around her waist, she leant back into his hold.

“Everyone’s really excited for tonight H, they say they can’t wait to hear the album for the first time live” she informs

He presses a kiss to her cheek. “Cant wait to see them all, excited for them to hear it” he smiles

“That’s more like it, it’s gonna be amazing”

The last 5 minutes were spent telling y/n how grateful he was just to have her by his side no matter what.

With a Goodluck kiss, he was off to start the show.

———

[wizkiddx]

Please I request you and Tom Holland being the sort of ‘it/star couple’ and being really popular in the media and fans

Req if you want?🤪 + I’d love any feedback/tips <3

Sorry I changed this a bit just cos tom rn seems the opposite of being that public and I have 0 imagination, hope this is still okay!

Summary: Tomhollandxactress!reader - as the two of you go on your first public and official event, Tom cant help but show everyone how enamoured he is by you

The fallout of from yesterdays ceremony was definitely not what either of you had expected. Having stirred from sleep before your boyfriend, naturally you’d killed the morning flicking through your phone. As much as you normally tried to avoid the tabloids and twitter, especially after you released your relationship to the world, having had a bunch of your friends actually sent you links to them - it would be rude not to have a quick scan. Especially because, for once, they seemed to be positive.

You see, it had always been the little things with Tom. Even when you had just been getting to know him, it was the small and unconscious actions that even he didn’t know he did. You always said Toms love language was physical - as much as he wanted to say that it was ‘words if affirmation’ or something else corny he’d read on buzzfeed (you’d got him addicted and now lived to regret it). That didn’t mean that he had to be clinging on to you, or excessive PDA or anything of the sort. It was more subtle which somehow made them more special to you. Now though, the whole world seemed to have picked up on it too.

This was the first event the two of you had actually attended together. As in together together. As in not hiding. You had been nominated for best actress; whilst Tom’s newest movie was up for a few accolades too - so fair to say it was a big night for Hollywoods newest couple. Naturally since your instagram post 3 weeks ago, the world was obsessed with you both. All the way in the car, you leg had actually been trembling with nerves - bouncing up and down in your silhettohe heels. In attempt to calm you, Tom bumped his knee against yours before reaching over to actually squeeze your thigh. 

“It’ll be fine you know?” You sighed shakily, turning your head to face Tom’s soft features. Both of you were dressed to the nines, you were in a glittery red chain-look scrappy dress; Tom in an all black suit, except the little pocket square of satin deep red - embellished with a single chain that came from your dress. Hopefully not too cliche but now the both of you were done with hiding - Tom seemed to want to just a little something. You hummed in response, searching the flicks of warm brown in his eyes with yours. 

“It’s just new and we haven’t encountered all the questions yet so I don’t know how to answer them and -”

“We’ll do them together and-and you can say no Y/n/n… you don’t have to answer anything you don’t want to.” Taking a long exhale, you hesitantly nodded, allowing a small smile to grow on your face. It was terrifying but you had this doting and angelic boy by your side. You’d get through any tough questions.

However it wasn’t actually the answers you spoke that evening that stuck in the public mind. 

When you’d first pulled up to the carpet, Tom instantly hopped out and rounded the car door to get to your side just as you swung your legs out toe doorway. After waving quickly at the screaming crowd, he looked down and offered up his hand to you - which you gladly accepted. The LA weather was beautiful, and the evening was just rolling into golden hour- the suns brilliant yellow-orange light bathing your body as you climbed out the car. 

The screaming used to be terrifying and although today was a little more nerve wracking than normal, you still could be nothing but appreciative for all these people showing up. In your head it was so bizarre that anyone would spend so much time and effort to meet you - really you were just normal person, and pretty boring one at that. Yet here you were in the most bizarre situation, there was nothing else to do but smile and wave. 

Just like that you went into the ‘celebrity mode’. The pair of you worked your way down the sides, smiling warmly for selfies and signing various posters and memorabilia. Really there was nothing to worry about, everyone there was nothing but lovely -  many fan girls squealing about how amazing you looked. Tom kept himself close by, occasionally hovering his hand against the small of your back just to reassure you he was there. 

Eventually you worked up to the press line, all of them calling your names with mics outstretched. The two of you approached the first in a long line, Tom taking the moment to just hook his pinky with yours (thinking no one else would notice) because this was clearly the more threatening part of the evening and he just knew you were feeling the anxieties all over again. 

“Tom and Y/n!!! Wow how are you guys doing?” Hence began the start of overenthusiastic small talk from the blonde interviewer. 

“I mean first I gotta ask you Tom…” She drew out the words, increasing the suspense somewhat, making Tom wiggle his brows “How insane does your girl look tonight?” 

“Oh well” Tom chuckled whilst you tried to shake off the embarrassment. He looked you up and down with the biggest smirk on his face. “It’s fair to say my woman looks absolutely breathtaking. She came out the room and I did a little excited dance before we left.” The interviewer laughed and you bumped into his side, rolling your eyes in a joking fashion- though to be fair it was completely true. The interviewer then asked you a couple questions that were a bit more serious, relating to the darker material of work you were nominated for. During it a random gust of wind flew down the carpet, shocking everyone a little - none more so that the minimal pins in the top of your hair, which did little to restrict its movement and instead was flying allover the place. Squealing a little, your trial of though momentarily broken, both yours and Tom’s hands went to pull the long locks back down into place. You thought nothing of it, Tom had developed this weird thing about wanting to do you hair weeks ago - but you weren’t to complain. Constantly during movie nights, he’s be running his fingers through your strands of hair; or even after a shower he’d learn to plait it whilst you did your skincare routine. Whispering a little thanks to him, Tom then reached down to squeeze your hand as the attention was turned back to yet another interview. 

The first article you clicked on was one that your best mate had texted you the link of. On opening it up, the title already made you scoff a little ‘Tom Holland single handedly restoring all hopes that men aren’t always trash’. What followed was 4 points. 

You ever struggled to get out a car in heels? Get yourself a Spiderman to help you up

Hand holding too much PDA? How about a pinky grip?

Oh and he’s trained himself to become a hairdresser when the wind picks up….

Accompanying each subheading was photos of each moment that as it had happened yesterday evening. Unable to help yourself, you kept looking between your phone screen and Tom - who was still fast asleep, his arm wrapped protectively round your middle.  The hair that had been so securely gelled back yesterday evening, now was falling over the front of his forehead and the sight was enough to give you that feeling in the centre of your chest. The dropping feeling as if you were jumping off the edge of a cliff - the adrenalin rush and heart in mouth moment. It had been 18 months you and Tom had been like this and he still gave you the most intense flutters - even if he was snoring. 

Managing to tear your eyes away from him, you scrolled to the last point of the article.

      4.  And yes we know this is cliche… but we swear we have never seen ‘heart eyes’ in reality more that this.

And there was a photo of you, probably chatting pure shit to the interviewer, paying absolutely no attention to a particular pair of brown eyes on you. It was the way the outer corner of his eyes dropped a little to normal position; the way the corner of his lips were turned up just enough to show the slight dimples on his cheeks. Tom’s face had literally been the definition of uwu and you could not suppress the teenage girl like giggle that burst out your chest. That was enough to rouse Tom with a heavy groan, as he pulled himself flush against your side releasing a deep breath.

“Mhmmm… you laughin at me?” He slurred, eyes still shut against your stomach as you stared to card your fingers through his curls. 

“Actually… I might just be” Smirking down at him, Tom yanked his his neck up, squinting at you with a scowl and barely open eyes. “You look so soft” laughing at his expression, you brought your hand out of his curls to smooth over his frown lines.

“ Don’t try and distract me… what you laughing at?” Still pouting, of course, the boy had never been a morning person

“Just… I think you’ve accidentally made us the new Hollywood ‘it’ couple.”

[minkufu]

That’s basically me too! I can watch the stupidest shit unfold and be invested in the show as long as I love the characters, like no offense but khr has some bad plot points but I love the characters and their chemistry with each other so much that I stay for it lol. (That isn’t to say that I think khr is well written tho it’s a hot mess ajdkks)

Oh yeah LOL Khr is my fav series because the characters are so fun, and seeing people, especially on twitter be like "Why isn't khr more popular? Why don't more people like it???" Always kills me cause like...it's not that good. That's why lmao. Also it didn't get an English dub, which people like to say is a good thing, but you cant complain about the series being underappreciated while praising it for not being accessible. I GOT ADHD YALL I CANT SIT HERE AND READ SUBS ALL DAY!! I don't have much hope of the series ever getting a reboot because it's pacing is so fucked up, so I'd gladly settle with just getting a dub to make it more accessible.

BUT YEAH, you're right it is a mess. the plot is shaky in a lot of places, it's humor is incredibly dated, the writing for the girl characters is exceptionally bad, and even if the daily life arc has great character moments, for the average person looking to get into the series, that shit is a slog to get through. I have to WARN people I suggest the series to that its probably gonna be boring and cringey for the first 20 or so episodes. It is a very hard sell.

You know what made me interested in khr? Fanart of Bel. I saw him and immediately jumped right into the series, barely knowing anything about him. 90 chapters into the manga. 35 episodes into the anime. My short attention span persevered through the bullshit just for him. The Varia on their own carry that entire series for me.

Oh, the fanart in question btw, when I can't remember the name of the artist, I literally just have to type this...

And there he is lol. The artist I believe went by Misteor. They had tons of fanart of Bel in that super pretty style and I was obsessed with it.

[solastia]

Beneath The Surface | 5

Chapters: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5]

Pairing: Jung Hoseok x Reader

Word Count: 5,746

Genre & Warnings: Angst, very sad Hobi Hobi ( I feel like that should be an actual warning lol), some fluff, Jisoo is an annoying bitch and calls everyone Oppa and Unnie, obviously cussing because it’s me. This is mostly an MC character growth chapter, where Sunflower’s past gets resolved so she can move on and be more open to possibilities in her future. 

Notes: I really hate making my Hobi sad, so I hope you guys realize how much work went into this chapter. I literally made myself cry. 

“Hold up, she said what?”

Hoseok gawked in disbelief at Bang PD. He really hoped this was a fucking nightmare because he was ready to wake up. 

“Hoseok, she already told me everything, so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t act dumb. I just wish you would have come to me with this sooner so we would have a more concrete game plan. For now, we just have to post a couple of pictures and maybe have Jisoo show up at a concert or something. We’ve already made the official announcement on Twitter.” Bang PD sighed and rubbed his temples like he was forming a migraine. Hoseok felt like he might be developing one as well. 

Bang PD looked at Hoseok with such a disappointed gaze as he waved a paper in the air that he felt like a worm, even if he was innocent of this. 

Bang PD cleared his throat and read the paper. 

“As the leader of Hypnotic, I feel like it is my duty to come clean with any personal matters that may affect my group. So I am happy to announce that I am officially dating Jung Hoseok of BTS and that I will be making it public knowledge.”

“But none of it is true!” Hoseok yelled, slapping his open palm against the desk. He was just so frustrated. Why wouldn’t anyone listen? “I’ve never even said anything to her beyond hello and goodbye. I’ve never been alone with her, I’ve never touched her, and I am certainly not dating her.” 

“Hoseok, can you really blame me for believing this? You’re literally still on lockdown because you got caught sneaking out to see a girl. I hate having to treat you guys like kids, but it is for the good of the entire group. Now we have to deal with this. Hopefully, the fans won’t freak out too much and just accept it. Give it at least a few months, and we’ll announce a split if you’re still set on it.” 

“Of course I’m still set on it. I don’t know or like her. Please, don’t make me do this! Just say it was a mixup or a misunderstanding! I never ask you for anything! The girl that I’m on lockdown for, she cant see this! I’m with her, not Lee Jisoo.” Hoseok pleaded, unable to control the tears anymore. 

Bang PD quietly sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, Hoseok. It’s already been announced. As far as the world is concerned, you’re dating Lee Jisoo.”

Hoseok crumbled into the desk chair, shoving his face into his hands as he sobbed. He was so close to being done with everything. So sick of feeling like he wasn’t good enough, sick of not being able to live like a fucking human. And now...now they were taking away his hope. His Sunflower. 

“Don’t be afraid to stand a little closer, you two. This is a couple photo after all.” The photographer chuckled as he pushed Hoseok and Jisoo closer together. 

Hoseok was so uncomfortable, and he’d never been so close to punching a woman in his life. He’d been practically choking on his rage since the moment she’d step foot in the office. Her smug strut and overconfident smirk had him seeing red. He didn’t understand. Why him? She could have pulled this stunt with any of them. Why the hell did she pick him? He’d never done anything to encourage her or piss her off that he knew of. He didn’t know when they’d get a chance to talk alone, but when they did, she’d learn he wasn’t all sunshine and smiles. 

“Achoo!”Jisoo sneezed delicately. Followed by a sniffle, then two more mouse-like sneezes. Hoseok glared down at her only to see her gaze narrowed in on the sunflower pinned to his shirt. 

“I’m terribly sorry, Hoseok Oppa, but that flower has to go. I’m allergic.” Jisoo batted her eyelashes up at him, and his scowl deepened. No way in hell. 

He ignored her and focused on the photographer. He saw her fake smile start to slip a little from the corner of his eye and gained a little bit of satisfaction from that. He tried to zone out enough to where he couldn't hear the annoying sniffling. She could deal with being uncomfortable for a few damn minutes considering she’s fucking with his life. 

“Jisoo, why does it look like you’re crying?” The photographer asked, walking up to them with a slight frown. “I can’t shoot with you looking like that.” 

“It’s just that I’m allergic and can’t be around flowers. Hoseok Oppa has a sunflower on his shirt.” She responded quietly, almost sounding apologetic. 

“Ah, I see. Hoseok, as charming as you look with your flower, we'll have to get rid of it to get through this,” the photographer sighed. 

Hoseok was about to fight to keep it when he saw Manager Sejin shake his head from behind the photographer. Hoseok dropped his head in defeat. Sejin was under orders to add another day to his lockdown everytime he acted out during this whole debacle. With a trembling hand and a weary heart, Hoseok unpinned his sunflower and gave it to Sejin to hold onto for the duration of the shoot. He couldn’t help feeling like it was almost symbolic. 

Seeing Jisoo’s satisfied expression as he got back into position pissed him off, so he let his mask drop. He let every hateful thought, his disgust with this situation and her, and general unhappiness shine through in all its glory. Her eyes widened, and he swore he heard a little gulp. Good.

“Let’s get this over with, yeah? And quit fucking calling me Oppa.” He slipped back into his Jhope persona, smile as wide as the sun, and prayed his Sunflower would see through it. 

“Stop looking so good.” You groaned at the television in frustration. 

After the news with Jisoo, the media had been going crazy, and now every channel you tried to watch had something BTS related. They’d even mentioned it on a cooking show! The news was always paired with yet another stunning picture of Hoseok, and it was driving you mad. You couldn’t get away from him. Even Momo missed him. Anytime something played that had Hoseok’s voice, Momo’s ears would perk up, and he’d give the saddest little whine. You were both pathetically whipped for the man.

Just as you’re about to throw something at your TV in frustration, your friend Nari lets herself into your apartment. She shakes bottles of raspberry soju knowing you’ll let her stay thanks to her offering. You sigh and scoot over, patting the spot next to you on the couch.

“Not that I’m not happy to see you and those lovely bottles, but whatcha doing here?” You ask as you crack open one of the bottles and take a sip. She follows suit and sinks into her seat. 

“You’ve been either moping here at home or working your ass off in the studio, so no one’s seen you in forever. We’re all worried. What’s going on? Can you finally tell me?” Nari asked softly, looking at you with her big brown eyes filled with worry. 

You sigh and decide it’s finally time to clue someone in on all the madness. You’d never told your friends you’d seen Hoseok again after that time at the bar when you’d first met. You’d wanted to respect his privacy, and while you trusted your friends, you’d just wanted him to be safe. God, that seemed like a lifetime ago. And even though you were hurting right now, you still couldn’t find it in you to be regretful about bringing him home that night.

You cuddle up next to Nari and pour it all out. You told her of your date, the time apart, the week you’d worked together. You’d told her that you were head over heels in love with Jung Hoseok. And that it didn’t matter because somehow he was now dating one of the girls you choreographed for. You observed in amusement as her eyes widened with each twist or reddened when she was angry, or you’d perhaps shared a little too much. 

“Y/N. This whole time. I knew you were upset about something, but I assumed it was because of your ex. Holy shit though, JHope and you! I didn’t know you were going through so much. I feel like a horrible friend.” Nari’s face fell, and she threw her legs over your lap and cuddled up to you. You chuckle and pat her head fondly. 

“I’ll be fine.” You reassure her, but she looks at you like she knows that’s a lie.

“I know you say that, but your eyes tell me a different story. The way you talk about him...you never sounded like that with your ex. Like, never. I was never even sure you liked him, let alone loved him. When you talk about Hoseok though? I’m almost envious because he sounds like your soulmate. You really loved him, didn’t you?” 

You should tell her no, keep repeating the lie over and over until it sticks. Instead, you just tell her the truth. “Yes, I did. I still do. I can’t make it stop, and I don’t know if it ever will.” You pat her shins draped across you with a heavy sigh and give her a bittersweet smile. 

“What we need to do is get this Jisoo chick out of the picture,” she declared, causing you to raise an eyebrow in amusement. 

“You sound like you’re in the mafia now.” You laugh. “Besides, she’s an idol. Even if I do work with her, there’s nothing I can do.” 

“I will gladly join the fight.” Nari declares, fist to the sky.

“There’s nothing to fight against. Get your shoes off the couch and stop quoting Hamilton.” You giggle as you push her legs off you and get up. You weren’t as drunk as you wanted to be and the two of you had run out of soju. You were sure you had some wine somewhere around here. 

You were distracted from hunting through your cabinets when you heard a gasp. You quickly turn around to see if Nari was okay. She was staring at her phone in shock. 

“What is it? What’s wrong?” You ask, trying to peek. Nari quickly slammed the phone against her chest, blocking it from your view. She looked up at you with alarmed eyes. Clearing her throat, she murmured, “Nothing.” 

“Nari...” You spoke in a flat warning tone. Somehow you knew what you were about to see. “Just show me.” 

With a great show of reluctance, Nari handed you the phone. Right there on the official BTS twitter was a picture. A couple picture. Of Jung Hoseok and Lee Jisoo. 

Your hand was shaking so much that you couldn’t keep the phone still, but you could still make out every detail. Jisoo looked so proud and beautiful as she stood next to him, her tight pale green dress complementing Hoseok’s grey and green suit. He was smiling widely, and you didn’t know if it was just a vain hope that you thought his eyes looks unhappy. Your eyes scanned the picture, feeling like something was missing. You stared, wondering what you were looking for when it suddenly hit you. 

The sunflower. There was no sunflower. 

You scanned the entire picture, thinking maybe they’d told him he couldn’t wear it with that outfit. Perhaps he’d had to hide it somewhere. So you looked at every corner and crevice the picture showed, zooming in on everything. Not only was there no sunflower, there wasn’t even a single flower of any kind in the picture. 

It was over. Hoseok didn’t want you anymore. 

You inhaled shakily and handed Nari back her phone, not meeting her eyes. You push yourself up off the couch and make your way to the kitchen to renew your search for the wine. You needed it now more than ever. 

“Y/N...Do you want to talk about it?” Nari asks tentatively as she walked behind you. 

“No. What’s there to talk about? He’s moved on to someone in his own world, someone his company obviously approves of. He looks happy. That’s all that matters, right?” You answer, voice shakey as you try to keep your emotions in check.

“Stop pretending you’re okay, cause I know you’re not,” Nari whispers as she hugs you from behind and the contact makes you break down. You crumble to the floor and Nari follows you down, gathering you up and rocking you gently as you sob. 

Tomorrow, you promise yourself. Tomorrow you’ll go back to being fine. You’ll go to work and pretend that seeing Jisoo doesn’t kill you inside. You’ll go back to trying to live your life without Jung Hoseok in it. 

But tonight you needed to be miserable. Tonight you needed to cry and mourn what was probably the love of your life. So you let Nari play with your hair as you wept all over her until you finally fell into an exhausted sleep and hoped he’d be in your dreams.

You stare at yourself in the dance studio mirror as you wipe the sweat from your face. You’d had the girls working for three hours now, and you were tempted to add another hour in hopes it would wipe the smirk off Jisoo’s face. 

This whole time you’d been wondering how Hoseok and Jisoo had happened. You didn’t even remember them ever talking, but they apparently had because she was looking at you with such venom that there was no way this was about dance practice. 

She knew. 

Jisoo was looking at you with pride and disdain. The look of a woman who’d won. The look of a woman who probably pitied you. If she knew, that meant Hoseok had told her, because you were sure the two of you had been careful enough. Why would he tell her? Did they sit around and laugh behind your back? Were you really so desperate for love that you’d become an easy target? 

“Y/N Unnie, you look distressed. Is everything alright?” Jisoo asked sweetly, her eyes wide and a worried look on her face. The overall effect was ruined by her smirk. 

“Oh, I’m just super Jisoo. Just worried about the choreography. If you were a better dancer, it wouldn’t be an issue, but I’m wondering if I should dumb it down a little. Don’t be afraid to ask for help, sweetie.” You mock in a dulcet tone.

The rage that filled Jisoo’s face made you childishly happy. You turn away and prepare to leave when Jisoo grabs your wrist and digs her overly long nails in. 

“I’m so sorry, Unnie. Maybe now that I have Hoseok Oppa, I’ll get better. It’s amazing what those hips of his can do. But you already know that, don’t you?” She coos, and you have to clench your fist behind you to keep from smacking her. You tear your wrist away, momentarily allowing your irritation to be seen. 

“You are far from the innocent you portray yourself to be," you answer in a monotone. You clench your teeth and hope you can keep your emotions in check. Your job was more important than Jisoo’s enjoyment of your pain. 

“Oh, Unnie. Are you upset that I took your man? Don’t be. I’m doing you a favor after all. Eventually, he would have gotten bored with a nobody like you. He needs someone who understands life as an idol, someone who looks beautiful next to him. Sadly, that’s not you. Don’t worry, I’ll treat him well.” Jisoo smiles evilly. 

“You know, the truth about what a bitch you are is going to come to light, and we’ll see how much of an “Idol” you are then. If I find out this is all fake and you’re hurting my Hobi, I will fucking end you.” You growl, your patience finally nearing its limit. 

Jisoo’s throws her head back and laughs. “You think you can threaten me? You? You’re nothing. Hoseok already told me all about your little camping trip fuck. Said it was the easiest lay of his life.” Jisoo narrowed her eyes at you, searching for signs of weakness. You gave her nothing and quickly turned to storm out of the room. 

“Get back here. I’m not done talking to you, wench!” Jisoo shrieked.

“Sorry. I don’t speak skank.” You taunt as you slam the door behind you. 

You quickly make your way to your car and throw your duffle bag into the seat next to you. You lean back and finally let your tears fall, angrily hitting the steering wheel. You couldn’t remember ever crying this much over anything. You didn’t even cry when your fiance had cheated on you. You didn’t want to cry anymore. 

You wanted to get drunk. 

You start your car and call Nari, ordering her to get the girls together. It was time for a night out. 

It felt bizarre sitting in this club again. The last time you were here was when you were drinking away the fact that it was supposed to be your wedding day and you’d met Hoseok. A night that seemed so long ago when it really wasn’t. Now you were back, mourning your shitty love life yet again. In the same seat at the same table with the same girls. Nari had already told you she’d tried to invite the boys again, but their lockdown was no joke. She hadn’t been able to get a hold of anyone but had left messages letting them know they were here.

You zone out as the girls chat around, your gaze narrowed on the booth that Hoseok had dragged you to that first night. You want to laugh and cry at the same time as you think about all of the stupid “get to know you” questions Hoseok had asked you. Beyond the usual “What’s your favorite color,” he’d also asked ridiculous things like “What cartoon character turns you on the most?” and “What kind of dance style should our firstborn specialize in?” You smirk to yourself when you remember his judgemental look when you’d told him clog dancing was probably going to be pretty popular by then. God, you missed him.

You are brought back to the present when your friend Tiffany pokes your side. “You might want to look over at the bar.” She says, and your eyes follow her pointing finger. 

At first, you don’t see anything out of the ordinary. The usual assortment of greasy men and sad women. A little flicker of hope wants you to believe it’s Hoseok she’s pointing out, but you hadn’t told her anything about him yet so it couldn’t be that. Your eyes flutter across the bodies assembled in front of the bar, and you finally spot who your friend is pointing out. Even from behind you can tell who it is. With a heavy sigh, you observe the man with irritation as he turns around and meets your eyes. 

Your ex-fiance Seon smiles like he’s genuinely happy to see you. When you notice he’s walking towards your table, you nod towards another open booth, not wanting to subject your friends to whatever drama he was about to start. 

“I’ll be right back.” You murmur to your friends, smiling reassuringly at Nari who was looking at you with concern. 

You slide into the booth and stare at Seon. He’d obviously come here straight from work, as he was still in his suit pants and white shirt. You thought he’d maybe lost a little bit of weight and wondered if he was forgetting to eat again. He did that sometimes when they were working on something big at his company. You shook your head and reminded yourself it wasn’t your problem anymore, although five years of worrying about the man in front of you was a hard habit to break. 

You were a little surprised with yourself. You’d imagined various situations where you’d run into him again and you’d always pictured you’d be an emotional wreck. Instead, all you felt was mild irritation and trepidation over whatever he wanted to talk to you about. 

“What are you doing here?” You ask, trying to force yourself to keep a civil tone.

“Work. We’re celebrating closing a huge deal. You remember that one with the CEO from Japan that we’ve been talking about for almost a year? It went through. Probably going to get a promotion after this.”

“Congratulations, Seon. I’m happy for you. I know you’ve been working hard for that one.” You were amazed by much you really meant it. 

“You look good, Angel.” He says softly, smiling as he fidgets with his drink. 

You snort at the use of the nickname. “Did you pull that overused line straight from the post-breakup manual?” 

“Does that exist? I could use that. How to survive breakups for absolute morons.” He joked, and you genuinely laughed. His smile softened as he watched you. You return his stare and just sit in silence for a minute. Seon keeps searching your face like he’s looking for something or memorizing your features.

“Why did you come over here?” You blurt, growing uncomfortable. 

“I wanted to apologize.”

You cock an eyebrow and prepare to say something snarky, but his expression makes you pause. He looked like he was sincere. Of course, you’d thought he was nothing but honest and sincere throughout your entire relationship and look where that got you. Still, you nod for him to continue. 

“I’ve wanted to call you since then to talk to you, but I either chicken out or decide it’s better to just let it be and let you move on with your life. However, I just can’t pass up the chance to tell you how sorry I am. I know that nothing I can say will erase what I did, or how unbelievably stupid I was to do it, but the least I could do is tell you that I regret it so much and that it was never your fault.” 

You bite your lip and soak in his apology. You’d always wondered if you’d done more, if you’d been more, would he have cheated. You’d felt like used trash for months, so this was nice to hear. 

“Thank you.” You whisper, looking down at the remnants of your drink. 

“I just...kinda want to tell you why? I mean, I didn’t go out and choose to do that with a reason clear in my mind, but I’ve been moping around the apartment alone for six months now. Plenty of time for introspection.” 

You look up surprised that he’s willing to give you more. He’d never been the most emotionally open person. You nod and observe as he takes a deep breath before locking eyes with you. 

“I think...it was mostly because I was scared? You know how my parents are. Poster children for a marriage gone wrong. The rumors are that once upon a time they were madly in love. Now they have screaming matches three times a day and make jokes about waiting for each other to die. I just...didnt want that to happen for us. I didn’t want you to wake up one morning and realize you were just waiting to die to get away from me. I didn’t want to see the love in your eyes dim year after year as you realize I’m not worth it. I wanted you to be free to find someone who deserves you more than me, someone who’s not so fucked up. So I kinda subconsciously did that in the hopes of being caught so you’d end it without regrets. I realize that I went about it in a shitty way, but that just proves my point of how I don’t deserve someone as great as you. I should have manned up and told you my fears. Then you could have just hated me for being a coward instead of a cheating coward.” 

To say you’re surprised by everything he’s telling you would be an understatement. This was probably the most you’d ever heard him speak about his feelings. You sigh deeply and grab his hand. 

“I don’t hate you. I was angry, though. So god damn angry. At myself, at you, at the world. I was disappointed. Afraid. I worried that with any future relationship I had I would be waking up every morning and wondering if that was the day they’d grow bored with me too. But I never hated you. It’s hard to really hate someone that you’d spent five years loving.” You tell him as you pat his hand. 

“Never bored. Five years and I was never once bored. Sex with you was always amazing so you can take that off your list right now.” Seon jokes and you giggle and slap his arm away. 

“I just want you to know that I’m not telling you all this because I want you to take me back. In fact, I would be incredibly upset if you did take me back after going through all that to let you find someone better than me. I just...wanted to give us both some closure and I wanted to make sure that you knew that it was absolutely not you. You took such good care of me that six months later I’m still trying to learn how to cook and do laundry. You supported me in everything, and I always appreciated how much you were there for me. I will always, always love you. You were the first person to love me and even if the both of us end up married to someone else in the future, I will always regret never marrying you. I just never thought I deserved your love. The blame is all on me and my issues. Speaking of which, I actually started counseling last month, with the therapist that you told me to look into about my parents. I decided that I probably needed it so that I don’t try to sabotage my relationships again in the future.” 

“That’s great! I’m glad you’re doing that.” You smile at Seon warmly. You were starting to feel a little lighter inside. At least one of your issues was getting resolved. 

Seon chuckles before clearing his throat. “Also, I know it’s a lot to ask, and I totally don’t expect you to take me up on it right away, but I was hoping we could still see each other? I don’t mean see each other, but like, hang out? It’s just...for five years you were not just my girlfriend, but you were also my best friend and my one constant in life. I wake up, and I forget that you’re gone. I start your coffee and toast, put on pants and grab a leash to take Momo out for a walk, and it’s not until I wonder why I can’t find him that I remember you’re not there. I just really miss talking to you. I miss you. And I miss our son. How is Momo?”

“Your son Momo is fine.” You grin. You’d forgotten how he always called Momo his son. “He missed you for awhile. Refused to sleep in his crate unless I put a shirt of yours in there. Look, I can’t promise to be able to easily become your friend again, but I’ll try. And in the meantime, you can have visitations with Momo if you wanted. I’ll admit that beneath the anger, I did miss you too. We did have five years of good memories before that day.” 

“Thank you. You didn’t even have to talk to me, so thank you for listening, and I hope you’ll want to see me again sometime. Thank you, Angel. Goodbye.” Seon’s eyes were suspiciously watery as he grabbed your hand and placed a soft kiss on the back of it. You smile and pat his cheek. 

“Thank you. I was worried I’d be bitter forever. Call me in a couple weeks, and we’ll set a day for you to take Momo to the park or something.” You say as you stand up. You spot bright red out of the corner of your eye as you step away from the booth. Out of curiosity, you glance towards the bright color only to be met with Hoseok’s shocked eyes. He frantically looks between you and Seon, confusion and hurt in his eyes, before hardening his gaze and stomping away. 

“No, HOSEOK. Come back! Shit...” You yell after him, trying to make your way through the sweaty crowd. You spot Nari at the bar and corner her. 

“What are they doing here? I just saw Hoseok?” You shriek, grabbing her by the arm as you keep walking towards the door he exited out of. 

“I guess Sejin saw my texts on their phones since he’s the one holding onto them and decided to give them a free night for good behavior. Most of them are at the booth already. I guess they can’t stay that long tonight though since they have some meeting tomorrow. Come sit, I’m sure he just went to get a drink.” Nari tries to reassure you, no doubt seeing your panicked eyes. 

“No. He saw me talking to Seon. He probably thinks I moved on because of the stupid dating announcement. God, the way he looked at me, Nari. There’s no way that dating thing is real. He looked genuinely hurt. I have to find him. I’ll talk to you later.” 

You storm out of the club, frantically searching for Hoseok. You walk up and down the streets and dark, scary alleys. Your feet were still in your stilettos, and they were in so much pain. There were even bloody blisters on the back of your heels that would make dancing considerably painful for a while. Finally, after an hour and a half of searching, you decide to give up, mostly because you could barely walk anymore. Either he’d found a taxi, or he just didn’t want to be found. 

You head back to the club and search for your friend's table. You wanted to at least try to get one of the boys to relay the message to Hoseok that what he thought he saw wasn’t right. As you finally get close enough to the booth, you see it’s once again a girls-only table. You ask Nari, and she tells you that they’ve all gone home already. Your last option is her, so you tell her to text them all that you needed to talk to Hoseok. You text him yourself as well, although you know the chances of Manager Sejin relaying your messages are slim. 

It’s time to give up and go home, you decide. You say goodbye to your friends, receive a hug and an order from Nari to call her later, and order a taxi. You have him stop at a convince store and buy four bottles of Soju. You were going to need them. You stumble into your apartment in an unhappy daze, stopping to peel your high heels off your blood crusted feet, before plopping onto the couch. You scratch Momo behind his ear and crack open your first bottle, forgoing glasses altogether. Soon enough, your mind starts to blank of everything but Hoseok, and you fall asleep thinking of his dismayed expression.

You couldn’t remember ever feeling this hungover in your life. 

Since the moment you’d woken up and rolled off of the couch to crawl to the bathroom, you’d been throwing up. You’d only made it through two of the Soju bottles before you’d passed out and you usually made your way through six at a time with no problem. You wracked your brain trying to think of what else it could be. Maybe something you ate? It couldn’t be anything else because you just had your...

You weakly grab your phone and find your tracking app. Your last period was two months ago. Right before you’d met Hoseok. 

“Shit...shit...fuck...” You call Nari in a panic, saying two words you’d never said before. It was a code you’d all established back in college when scares were the norm. It meant I need you and bring the stick.

“Code Stork.” 

[haeiheart]

accidentally falling back — lee jeno by @haeiheart [part two out of two]

summary! You were bored, a little tipsy, and way too online— so you tweeted a dramatic ranking of your exes, complete with oversharing and emotional damage. You didn’t think they’d actually see it, much less respond. But only one caught your eye. The quiet one. The one who never said much but always seemed to say the right thing. And somehow, Lee Jeno’s reply does something no one else’s could: it makes you feel everything all over again.

pairing! ex! lee jeno x reader genre! exes 2 lovers, slow burn?, second chance, fluff, angst (angst time people!!)

warnings/mentions! reader interacts with other ex dreamies! sakura (lsrfm) and jiwoong (zb1) as y/n best friends! they both painfully want each other! kind of stupid break up? jeno is a cutie (a real one at that) very sulky asw, not exactly miscom… but beware of the arguements that eventually happens. nct frat once again (bye i cant help myself), some 127 members appear!!!

notes! this is a continuation of “ranking dreamies as ex bfs! post!” I wasn’t planning to give it a written fic continuation but i caved in after someone asked for it which i will gladly give to yall!! i hope you enjoy the two parts i had to make because this was too long that it exceeded the word limit… also this was not proofread so umm hopefully there’s no embarrassing mistakes. here is the twitter thread also the context behind this fic -> here!

word count! 10.4k out of 34.6k

PART ONE -> here!

It didn’t take long after that night for things to fall into a new rhythm, if you could even call it that. A rhythm implies stability, some kind of predictable beat, and this? This thing between you and Jeno was a chaotic symphony of kisses stolen between class, fingers laced under the table at someone’s afterparty, him tugging you down onto his bed with that needy look in his eyes that made your knees weak no matter how many times you swore you’d “take it slow tonight.”

You still had your own apartment. Technically. But the truth was, you hadn’t slept there in days. Your spare toothbrush was now sitting in a cracked blue cup in the frat’s shared bathroom (Jaemin had stolen it once as a joke and Jeno nearly went to war for it). Your charger was permanently plugged into the outlet by Jeno’s bed. You knew which of the guys snored, which ones left the milk out, and who always tried to eavesdrop outside Jeno’s room whenever things got too quiet between you two.

You didn’t mind. In fact, you liked it. You liked how easy it was to fall into Jeno’s world. How he’d quietly shuffle into the kitchen in the morning and pour you cereal before you’d even asked. How he’d tug you onto his lap during movie nights, arms caging you in like you belonged there. How he kissed you so often, so deeply, distractedly like he couldn’t help himself.

It was easy. Natural. Maybe even too natural.

Because then came the little cracks.

You’d been curled against him on a slow Thursday evening, your head on his chest while the movie played forgotten in the background. His fingers had lazily traced your spine through your shirt. And it was so intimate, so safe, you let yourself ask—

“Do you ever talk about me to the guys?”

Jeno hummed. “All the time.”

“What do you say?”

He didn’t answer immediately, just chuckled and tucked your hair behind your ear, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “They know I’m crazy about you.”

Your heart fluttered at that but it wasn’t exactly what you’d asked. Still, you smiled, leaned into him. Let it go. For now.

Another time, someone had asked if you and Jeno were “a thing” in front of him. You froze, watching him expectantly. But Jeno had just laughed, mumbled something like “yeah, whatever you wanna call it,” before moving on to refill his drink. You told yourself not to read into it. You told yourself you knew how he felt.

But then came the silence in the quietest spaces. The kind that crept in after he kissed you goodnight, but didn’t say anything else. The kind that settled when you woke up next to him and he was already on his phone, scrolling through something with a sleepy smile, without a single word. Not cold. Not distant. Just… comfortably unbothered.

And that was the problem, wasn’t it?

Because in his head, everything was fine. You were his. He treated you like it, talked to you like it, held you like it. But never once, not once, did he actually say the words.

And no matter how many kisses or lazy mornings or nights tangled in his sheets you shared, that absence began to echo.

You started to wonder if this was it. If this was all he’d give. If he thought the pieces he offered were enough to build a whole future on.

And maybe they should’ve been. But it was the not-knowing that killed you.

So when he held your hand under the table, when he brushed his lips over your knuckles with that soft smile, your stomach twisted. Because how could he not see it? How could he not know that you needed to hear it?

That love, real love, wasn’t always silent.

That sometimes, it needed to be said.

And yet… he hadn’t asked. Not officially. Not once.

He never said you’re mine or do you wanna be my girlfriend or even something low effort like so, this is a thing now, right? Nothing. Just the kisses. The clinginess. The soft smiles that felt like promises.

You didn’t know if it was just you overthinking, overreading. But at night, curled up beside him in that too small mattress, when he’d kiss your shoulder or whisper dumb things into your neck while half asleep, a part of you always wondered. Does he think this is real? Or am I just convenient now?

Jeno, on the other hand, had no clue you were spiraling. Because to him? You were his. Full stop. As far as he was concerned, the moment your lips crashed into his at that party, when you tangled your fingers in his hoodie and moaned into his mouth like you couldn’t get close enough, yeah, that was it. That was his internal “she’s mine now” switch flipping.

He didn’t need to ask. In his brain, the way he spoon-fed you spicy ramen when you were hungover, the way you wiped ketchup off his cheek with your thumb, the way you whispered his name when you were curled up in his sheets, that was already the answer.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to ask. It was just... he already believed it was true.

So he kissed you like he was kissing his girlfriend. He gave you that boyish, sleepy grin like you were his person. He curled his fingers around your waist under the covers like it was a given.

And you let him. Because you wanted it too. But still, something inside you itched every time someone referred to you as “Jeno’s girl,” and you couldn’t quite figure out if it made you warm or made you worry.

Still, neither of you said a word.

So days turned into weeks. Kisses turned into patterns. His room turned into a shared sanctuary. The boys rolled their eyes when you emerged from Jeno’s room wearing his hoodie again. You rolled yours back, but part of you loved it.

Because he looked at you like you were it.

And you touched him like he was yours.

But somewhere between his steady hands and your tangled sheets, a question was still waiting to be answered.

And neither of you knew when or if it’d finally come out.

The memories you had with Jeno after the kiss were the ones you found yourself replaying at the oddest moments. Half asleep at your desk. In line at the campus café. Walking home after class with your headphones in but no music playing. They weren’t just memories, they were anchors. Little flashes of warmth that reminded you how real it all felt.

You remembered the late night he’d taken you to the bookstore downtown. It had been pouring, and instead of waiting for the rain to let up, he grabbed your hand and ran for it, both of you slipping and shrieking through puddles until you slammed into the warm glass doors. You were both soaked. The store was nearly empty. The clerk gave you a look that screamed please don’t drip on the papers.

But Jeno had just laughed and pulled you deeper into the aisles. You ended up huddled together in the graphic novel section, reading snippets out loud to each other in the soft, fluorescent glow. He pointed to a panel and went, “That’s you. The chaotic raccoon character,” and you slapped his arm. “Excuse me, I’m obviously the heroine. You’re the one with the emotionally repressed villain arc.”

He just grinned. “Can’t lie, I do like knives.”

You kissed him in the corner of that bookstore, rain still lashing the windows, and he held you like he never wanted to let go.

Then there was the night he made dinner at the frat house, like actual dinner, not cereal or ramen. He’d kicked everyone out of the kitchen and cooked while you sat on the counter, watching him dance to some dorky playlist.

He’d stirred pasta like it was a military operation, then turned to you, tomato sauce on his cheek. “Chef Lee Jeno’s specialty,” he’d announced proudly, handing you a bowl.

You blinked. “This is just spaghetti.”

“Shut up and eat it.”

You did. It was salty. Horrible. He looked so smug.

You kissed him anyway.

There was also that time he surprised you with a thrift store date and said you both had ten dollars and thirty minutes to find the dumbest outfit possible for each other. You’d picked out a neon green windbreaker and a trucker hat that said “MILF hunter” (which he wore for the rest of the day, unironically). He chose a ruffled pink blouse and sparkly tights for you and nearly cried from laughter when you walked out of the dressing room.

“It’s giving... magical disco grandma,” he gasped, leaning on the nearest rack to keep himself from falling over.

You were breathless from laughing too hard. “You’re so lucky I like you.”

And then he’d said it.

So soft you almost missed it.

“I’m lucky, period.”

Your heart had clenched. You didn’t say anything. But you held his hand for the rest of the day like you were afraid it might slip out of yours.

Those moments were yours. Undeniably.

But still.

Still, he never clarified anything.

He never called you his girlfriend. Never said it out loud. Never had the “talk.” And at first, you didn’t need it. You didn’t even want it. The feelings were too new, too tender, too beautiful to define so soon. But days blurred into nights and weeks into months, and each kiss piled on top of the last like bricks in a home you weren’t sure you were allowed to claim.

You’d spend a full afternoon with him and go home aching with joy… only to spiral at 1 a.m. because someone asked if you were together and you didn’t know how to answer.

Because what if you said yes and he said no?

What if you looked at him and saw a future and he looked at you and only saw now?

You didn’t want to ruin it by asking. But not asking was starting to ruin you.

So you let the memories carry you, like echoes of a love story halfway written. You held on to the laughter, the cooking disasters, the way he said your name like it was something sacred.

But somewhere in between all the soft touches and jokes and early mornings with tangled sheets and tangled hearts, the silence had grown too loud.

And all you wanted more than anything was for him to say it.

Just once.

You didn’t plan to go insane. Honestly, you didn’t even realize you were insane, not at first. It wasn’t dramatic, not this grand emotional unraveling. It was smaller than that. Quieter. Just little things you’d been stuffing into the corners of your mind for weeks. A slow, creeping discomfort you couldn’t name at the time. Things like the glance Jeno didn’t return when you looked at him too long. Or the way his fingers sometimes brushed yours without catching, without holding on. The way he touched you so gently, so confidently, like you belonged to him already.

Like he’d already decided you were his without ever asking if you agreed.

And maybe that was the part that made your chest ache the most. That somewhere along the way, the affection turned habitual. The kisses came easier than words. The late nights curled into each other’s limbs began to feel like routines. But in all the moments of closeness, you were still waiting. Waiting for the part where he said it. Where he made it real. Where it wasn't just the way he smiled at you like a promise, but the way he said it out loud, clear and honest.

You didn’t need grand gestures or some romantic speech. You just needed the clarity that you were his girl and not just because you acted like it.

Which is why it hit you sideways that afternoon, lazily folded into the lumpy couch in the frat house living room, with Jaehyun’s voice pulling you out of your thoughts mid conversation. You were talking about your evening plans, maybe grabbing drinks with Kkura, maybe seeing if Jaemin wanted to go somewhere stupid like that claw machine café you both found hilarious.

“Oh, I should probably text Jaem back too,” you said without much thought, aimlessly scrolling through your phone. “We all might grab dinner near his old place.”

Jaehyun looked up from his drink, expression half focused, brows lifting slightly. “That cool with Jeno?”

You blinked, still caught in the haze of your phone screen. “What?”

He gave you a mild shrug, like it wasn’t even a weird question. “Just figured. I mean, you two are basically joined at the hip. Thought he’d be coming with or something.”

You tilted your head, genuinely confused. “Why would I have to run it by him?”

Jaehyun paused, squinting like he was making sure you were serious. “...Because you’re dating?”

Your heart skipped something ugly. “Wait, what?”

His face changed then, surprise softening into disbelief. “You’re not?”

You sat up straighter, like your body was trying to escape the weight of the conversation. “No. We’re not. He never—” You faltered. “We never talked about it.” Though you had been feeling down about it, you wouldn't have guessed everybody thought that you two were real. Everybody felt that you two were real, besides you.

Jaehyun’s lips parted, like he had more questions, but he stopped himself. Instead, he leaned back, blowing out a slow breath, gaze flicking toward the wall like it held better answers than you did. “Huh. Wild.” He didn’t sound judgy. Just surprised. “Could’ve sworn. You two act like… you know.”

“Yeah,” you said, quieter now. “I know.”

He nodded, not pushing. “Well. Shit. You guys do you, I guess.”

That was it. That was all.

And somehow, it felt like your entire chest caved in.

Because it wasn’t just Jaehyun. It wasn’t just some misunderstanding. It was that everyone thought you were already something. And maybe Jeno thought that too. But you didn’t know for sure, not really, and the fact that you had to hear it from someone else before confronting it yourself? That made it worse.

Worse than every unspoken kiss. Worse than every moment you leaned into him and felt him hesitate. Worse than the fact that it wasn’t even the first time you'd wondered, is this it? Is this enough?

Now you were left with the awful question of why he hadn’t said anything. Why he hadn’t asked. Why did he look at you like you were his but never gave you the courtesy of making it true?

The couch suddenly felt suffocating. The frat house is too loud. Your throat thickened with the weight of pretending you hadn’t just been gutted by the simplest misunderstanding in the world.

Because maybe that’s all it was to him. Just something simple. Just assumed.

But not real.

Not to you.

It started accidentally.

You didn’t mean to start spending every day with Jaemin, Kkura, and somehow Haechan. But after that offhand conversation with Jaehyun left your stomach in knots, the idea of returning to the frat house felt suffocating. You needed air, space, clarity, and without meaning to, Jaemin gave it to you.

It started with a casual text:

[jaemin]: “yo i need you to save me. I almost bought cargo pants with embroidered skulls.”

He was joking. Probably. But you were already halfway to the thrift strip he mentioned before he could follow up with a location pin. And somewhere between talking him out of the skull pants and getting into a passive aggressive argument over which candle scent was more “emotionally healing,” Haechan appeared. Apparently, he and Jaemin bonded over beer pong at the last party, and now, somehow, Haechan was just there.

You might’ve raised an eyebrow at first, but then Kkura showed up for “moral support” and just like that, the four of you were a unit.

One day melted into the next, coffees that turned into late lunches, spontaneous thrift store raids, trips to claw machine arcades where Haechan kept winning tiny plushies and pretending to give them away before stuffing them in his own pockets. Jaemin dragged you into dressing rooms just to spin dramatically in jackets he wasn’t going to buy, and Kkura began documenting every hangout with blurry candids, some of which were suspiciously well-timed to catch your reactions to Haechan’s dumb jokes.

You'd barely notice when the sun dipped below the horizon because you were too busy arguing with Jaemin over whether or not a hideous crocheted vest counted as “ironic hot.”

“It’s giving... decaying garden gnome,” you told him, arms crossed, tilting your head at his reflection in the dusty thrift store mirror.

“Exactly,” Jaemin said, striking a pose like he was on a runway. “Avant-garde. Revolutionary. I am fashion.”

“You are delusional,” Haechan muttered from the corner, clutching three different denim jackets he was trying to get you all to help him pick between.

“Take the one that doesn’t make you look like a backup dancer in an early 2000s boy band,” Kkura offered, barely glancing up from her phone as she snapped a picture of Jaemin mid-pose.

It was blurry, but your laugh in the background was clear. She smirked. “That’s going on the album.”

There was an album. Kkura had started it half as a joke, uploading blurry candids of the four of you under the group chat name: Himbohub.

Most of them were from the arcade. That became your usual stop after class when no one wanted to go home just yet. It was loud and colorful and kind of sticky, but in a charming, childhood nostalgia way. Haechan took the claw machines as a personal challenge. He won something almost every time, usually a squishy animal or one of those weird bootleg characters that looked just off enough to be cursed.

“This one’s for you,” he said solemnly, holding out a wonky looking pink cat with one eye half-sewn shut.

Your hand had barely reached out when he jerked it away.

“Psyche. She’s mine now.” And he shoved it into his hoodie pocket like it was treasure.

You hit him. He grinned like it was worth it.

Jaemin, meanwhile, kept wasting tokens on the photo booth, not for the photos, but because he liked watching the countdown stress you out.

“Three… two— oh no you blinked, let’s do another.”

“I swear to God, if I see one more photo of me mid-blink—”

“Too late. Already printed. Frame it for your wall.”

Kkura usually sat on the edge of the dance game machine, snapping pictures, yelling out scores, and stealing sips from whatever drink was closest. She once forced you and Jaemin to compete on DDR, but Jaemin started voguing halfway through and lost spectacularly.

“Performance over perfection,” he said, flipping imaginary hair as Haechan booed him.

You’d find yourself laughing so hard your stomach hurts. Sweating from too many games, buzzing from sugar and soda and the warmth of having people who made the world feel big and safe and full of light.

You’d pile into someone’s car after, limbs tangled, fries shared, music blasting. Sometimes you’d end up back at your place, all of you crashing into the couch, talking about everything and nothing.

“Do you think ghosts get bored?” Kkura asked once, lying upside down with her legs thrown over the back of the sofa.

“They haunt people for fun, I think they’re good,” Haechan replied, mouth full of Cheetos.

“I hope I come back as one that just steals socks,” Jaemin added.

You had no idea how the conversation had ended up there, but you didn’t care. The night stretched on and on like it didn’t have to end.

Somewhere in between, Jaemin started walking closer to Haechan, their shoulders brushing more than necessary. Kkura began taking photos without telling anyone, catching the little in-between moments. Haechan started giving away his plushies without faking it. And you started feeling... good again. For the first time in a while.

They weren’t trying to fix you.

They were just with you.

Present.

Loud.

Warm.

And every time you laughed so hard you had to cover your face, every time Haechan shoved a drink into your hand or Jaemin swung an arm over your shoulder or Kkura silently handed you a tissue after an emotional overshare, you felt a little more like you again.

Even if the ache of Jeno still hovered under your skin like a bruise, even if his name still lived quietly in your mouth, even if your heart still tripped over itself every time your phone lit up...

For a while, in those days, in that haze of fried food and photo booth printouts and claw machine prizes, you almost forgot to hurt.

Almost.

It felt easy for now. Light. Uncomplicated in the way your life hadn’t been for a while.

Which is why, when Jaemin casually said, “Let’s swing by the house real quick, I forgot my charger in the living room,” you didn’t even blink.

You followed him up the walk to the frat house, familiar steps but a completely different feeling in your chest. The four of you were still talking as you came in through the side door, laughter carrying as you stepped into the kitchen. Haechan was saying something stupid, something about how you all should enter a reality show together as “the hot disaster friend group” and you were still wiping tears from your eyes when the air shifted.

It was small. Subtle.

But you felt it. That shift.

And then came the voice. Low. Pissy.

“What is he doing here?”

You froze like the words had been pointed directly at you. And in a way, they were.

Jeno stood just past the kitchen threshold, hand curled around a bottle of water, eyes locked on Haechan with something sharp in them. He didn’t even look at the rest of the group. Just you. Then Haechan. Then you again.

Your throat went dry. “We’re just hanging out.”

Jeno scoffed. Not even subtle about it. “Yeah, I can see that. Been doing a lot of that lately, huh?”

Jaemin’s brows furrowed immediately. “Yo, what’s your problem?”

“My problem?” Jeno’s voice dipped lower. “I haven’t seen her in days, and suddenly she’s just hanging out with—” his gaze flicked to Haechan again, “randoms.”

“We’re not randoms,” Kkura cut in sharply, her tone clipped. “Chill.”

But you were already stepping forward, heart thudding hard. “Jen, what’s going on?”

He didn’t answer you right away. Just looked at you with that same expression, something tight in his jaw, in his shoulders. It wasn’t just irritation. It was that ugly, festering thing that had clearly been building. And now it was cracking through the surface.

“Why are you hanging out with him?” he asked, barely masking the frustration. “Of all people?”

You blinked, stunned. “What?”

“Haechan,” he clarified, like it wasn’t obvious. “Your ex?”

You stared at him. “Jaemin is also my ex.”

“That’s different.”

“No, it’s not,” you snapped, eyes narrowing. “What’s your deal?”

“My deal is we’re dating.”

The words hit like a slap.

The silence that followed was loud, too loud. You could hear the soft hum of the fridge, the distant noise of someone moving upstairs. And you could feel every eye in the room shift between you and Jeno, but it didn’t matter anymore. All that mattered was the way your heart stuttered in your chest.

You stepped closer, voice suddenly low. “No we aren't you never asked…you thought we were dating?”

Jeno looked at you, confusion threading through the anger now. “Yeah? I mean, we’re always together. We’re kissing. We sleep next to each other. You’re always at the house.”

“And you never asked me,” you said, your voice cracking just slightly. “You never asked. You never even talked to me about it. You just assumed.”

Jeno opened his mouth, but you didn’t let him.

“You assumed I was yours because you touched me like I was. You kissed me like I was. But none of that ever came with a conversation, Jeno. None of it came with a single goddamn word. You just started acting like we were something and thought that was enough.”

He looked stunned. Like he couldn’t comprehend what he was hearing. “I didn’t think I had to say it. I thought it was obvious.”

You let out a breathless, bitter laugh. “Well, it wasn’t. And now I’m standing here, trying to explain why I’m allowed to hang out with my friends, and you’re losing your shit over something you never even claimed.”

Jeno looked at you, eyes wide, hurt, finally sinking in behind the disbelief.

“I’m not your girlfriend,” you said, voice shaking. “Because you never made me one.”

No one said anything.

Jaemin’s eyes dropped. Haechan looked away. Kkura put a gentle hand on your arm, but you barely felt it.

Jeno looked like he’d been punched in the stomach.

But you didn’t take it back.

You couldn’t.

Because the truth was, no matter how many kisses, how many laughs, how many nights tangled together on that shitty frat couch, none of it meant anything if it never came with a choice. A real one.

And you were done waiting to be chosen silently.

You didn’t even realize how tense your hands were until Kkura gently touched your arm. Just enough pressure to ground you. Just enough to remind you that you were standing in a room with three of your closest friends and Jeno was about to unravel something personal in front of all of them.

You could feel their eyes on you, Jaemin’s confusion, Haechan’s discomfort, Kkura’s concern and the longer you stood there, the more your pulse pounded like a war drum in your ears.

“We’re not doing this here,” you muttered, shooting a pointed look at Jeno.

He opened his mouth like he wanted to argue, but thought better of it. Silent, jaw tight, he followed you down the hallway to the same spare room you’d stormed into days ago, only this time the air was already thick before the door even shut.

You turned to face him. Your arms were crossed, but it wasn’t for defense, it was to keep yourself from shaking.

“What the fuck is going on with you?” you asked, sharp.

“Yes, I’m serious!” you snapped, taking a step forward. “You humiliated me back there in front of everyone because what— you’re mad that I haven’t been glued to your side for three fucking days?”

“I’m mad because you’ve been with him!” Jeno shouted back. “You and Haechan and Jaemin, running around like— like none of this means anything to you.”

Your chest caved with disbelief. “None of this means anything to me? Are you listening to yourself right now?”

“You didn’t even tell me where you were,” he said, frustrated, dragging a hand through his hair. “You just disappeared.”

“I didn’t disappear. I needed some goddamn space, Jeno. Because being with you feels like trying to read between the lines of something that never fucking ends.”

He stepped closer, voice rising. “You could’ve just said that.”

“I have! I’ve been trying to talk to you, trying to figure out where I stand, but every time I get close to asking, you kiss me instead or look at me like I’m already yours.”

“Because you are.”

“No, I’m fucking not!” you yelled. “You never asked. You never chose me, not really. You just assumed I was yours because it was convenient.”

Jeno looked like you’d slapped him. “That’s not fair.”

“Neither is being strung along like this,” you said, voice breaking. “You get all the perks of being with me, but none of the responsibility.”

His hands curled into fists at his sides. “That’s not true.”

“Then what are we, Jeno?” you asked, pushing the words out like venom. “Because I’m tired. I’m tired of pretending to be okay with not knowing what we are. With everyone else thinking I’m your girlfriend, while I sit there not even knowing if you’d claim me if someone asked you to your face.”

He exhaled sharply, eyes gleaming with something, rage or pain or both. “You want me to say it now, then? Is that what this is?”

“I want you to stop acting like loving me is implied!” you shouted. “Like I should just know!”

He looked at you, something behind his eyes shifting, snapping.

His voice snapped louder than you expected. “Well, maybe I didn’t think I needed the label when you were already acting like you’d say yes to anyone who gave you attention.”

Silence.

It was one of those moments where the world didn’t stop, it just went quiet.

Your heart dropped.

He saw it the second it hit you, the way your expression shifted, like the words physically landed. Like they’d taken root in the one place he swore he’d never aim to hurt.

Your voice, when it came, was hoarse. “What the fuck did you just say to me?”

Jeno’s face paled, the words hanging in the air like smoke.

“I didn’t mean—” he started.

“No,” you cut in, your tone cold, shaking, wounded. “No, say it again. You think I’d say yes to anyone? Is that what all of this was to you? Me being easy? Me being just another girl who gives you attention or seeks it?”

“Y/N, that’s not—”

“Save it.”

He reached for you, but you took another step back like his hand might burn.

And it did. It would’ve.

You weren’t even sure if it was anger or heartbreak swelling in your chest, but whatever it was, it made it hard to breathe.

“I can’t believe you just said that to me,” you whispered.

And then, without another word, you turned and walked out, quiet, final, leaving Jeno alone with the echo of his own mistake.

It was silent after the door slammed shut.

Too silent.

You didn’t say a word when you walked back into the kitchen, face blank, fingers curled tightly around the edge of your phone. Jaemin, Haechan, and Kkura all looked up at you, wide-eyed, waiting, but no one pushed you for anything. You didn’t need to say what happened. Not really. It was all too loud in that house, even when no one was speaking.

“Get your shoes,” Jaemin said gently, standing.

“Wha— Jaem, it’s not—”

“We’re going out,” Kkura added, taking your hand before you could protest further. “You need a change of air. And probably sugar.”

Haechan stood too, more serious than usual. “We’ll trash talk him later.”

You let out the tiniest, exhausted laugh, and that was enough for them to rally. Ten minutes later you were out of that house and in the passenger seat of Jaemin’s car with your knees pulled to your chest, the wind pulling at your hair through the window crack. You didn’t even know where you were headed, just that it wasn’t back in there.

The rest of the day blurred.

A quiet lunch at a half empty diner, milkshakes passed around, bad gossip and even worse impressions of your professors. Jaemin forced you to help him shop for an ugly beanie “for the sake of fashion crimes,” and Kkura pulled you into a skincare aisle like your life depended on you finally buying lip balm that wasn’t expired. Haechan, for once, didn’t push too many jokes, just stuck close, annoyingly gentle in the way only he could get away with.

“Don’t say I never do anything for you,” he muttered when he bought you that pastry you barely glanced at.

You didn’t say it aloud, but you knew what they were doing. You knew it was a distraction, a giant group hug disguised as retail therapy and chaos. And it worked, kind of. The ache was still there, lodged under your ribs, but it didn’t choke you the way it had earlier. At least not with them.

Meanwhile—

Jeno didn’t leave his room.

He hadn’t moved much since you walked out. The door stayed shut. The blinds stayed down. His phone buzzed a few times, probably Jaemin or even Kkura trying to feel things out, but he didn’t look at it. He didn’t want to look at anything.

What he said played on loop.

He hadn’t meant it, not like that. Not to cut you like he did. But the words had flown out sharp, too fast to catch, and by the time he saw your face, it was too late.

Now the guilt sat in his chest like concrete, weighing down every breath, every thought. The silence was loud. The house didn’t feel like home with you gone, and the room felt colder with the echo of your voice still bouncing off the walls.

And Jeno, for once, didn’t know how to fix it.

You were fine.

Or at least, that’s what you kept telling yourself like a mantra. The kind of lie you repeat until it sounds true. Like if you stared at your reflection long enough and said, “I’m fine” with the right tilt of your head, the puffy eyes and cracked lips would look intentional like maybe you’d chosen to fall apart a little, like it was a vibe.

But the truth was uglier. It sat heavy in your chest, coiled somewhere between your lungs and your throat, stubborn and choking. You hadn’t touched your assignments. You hadn’t left your apartment since you stormed back from the frat house three nights ago. Your coat still hung half-off the hook by the door, the sleeves twisted like they’d given up mid-shrug. The air inside felt stale, thick with the scent of uneaten leftovers and lavender wax melts that had long burned out.

The first night you didn’t cry. Not really. You just lay there fully clothed, face buried in the pillow Jeno used to sleep on when he stayed over. You’d kept it there even after he started asking you to stay at his place more often. You said it was “for backup.” But really, you just liked how it smelled like him. Now it didn’t. It smelled like time passing. Like something fading.

It wasn’t until the second day, when you opened the fridge looking for something, anything, to fill the silence, that it hit you. The coconut yogurt. The stupid probiotic coconut yogurt Jeno made fun of and then started buying for you anyway because he said, “Fine, be healthy and mysterious.” You stared at it, hand frozen on the fridge door, and everything unspooled. Your throat burned. Your chest cracked. And you cried, not in the gentle, cinematic way people cry in the movies, but in hiccuping sobs that came out too fast to breathe through. You slid down to the floor in front of the fridge and wept until your hands went numb from clutching your knees so hard.

You didn’t call anyone. But they showed up anyway.

Kkura was the first. She didn’t knock. Just let herself in, arms full of iced americanos, her bag weighed down with a ridiculous number of face masks. “Get up,” she said, as gently as possible. “We’re not doing this.” You blinked at her from the couch, wrapped in a blanket that smelled like old detergent and defeat. She handed you a drink and held up a pastel pink sheet mask. “We’re exfoliating the sadness today, babe. You don’t get a say.”

A few hours later, Haechan let himself in with his usual flair, kicking the door open like he owned the place. “Emergency delivery!” he sang, hoisting up an obnoxiously large pizza box. Two flavors of soju dangled from his fingers. “Healing comes in slices, bitch!” He didn’t wait for an invite, just made a beeline for your bed and collapsed onto it, scattering your pillows like flower petals. “What do we think? dramatic crying playlist, or trashy Netflix romance marathon?”

Jaemin trailed in after, as if he hadn’t spent fifteen minutes arguing about whether or not to come. He dramatically flopped onto the floor, arms splayed like he was in a crime scene photo. “I brought emotional support gummies,” he announced, shaking a bag of sour candies like they were sacred. “Also, I wore this shirt because I know you hate it and thought maybe insulting your eyes would distract you from your existential collapse.”

You peeked up from your blanket cocoon. “I don’t hate that shirt.”

“Yes you do,” he scoffed. “It’s literally neon.”

Somewhere in the mess of wine-stained paper cups, greasy pizza crusts, and Haechan trying to teach Kkura how to do a TikTok dance while balancing a slice of pepperoni on his head, you laughed. Just a little. Just once. But it cracked through the fog like sunlight.

The next night, Jiwoong FaceTimed you from a beach you didn’t recognize. The ocean stretched behind him in shades of blue that looked fake, the kind you’d only see in ads. He answered without a hello, tilting his head at the sight of your face and greeting you flatly with: “You look like you’ve been losing a custody battle with your emotional stability.”

Your lips twitched. “You’re in a postcard and still bullying me?”

“I’m multitasking.” He angled the camera to a puppy lying belly up in the sand, tongue flopped sideways like it had never known hardship in its life. “This is you. No thoughts, just vibes. You’ll be back to this version of yourself soon.”

You nodded, throat tight. “I’m trying.”

“I know. That’s why I called.” He paused, the sound of seagulls echoing in the distance. “You need me to fly back and beat him up?”

You choked a laugh. “No. Maybe.”

“I’ll bring churros.”

“Okay, that’s tempting.”

And in the quiet moments between calls, in the laughter that felt just a little forced but still better than silence, you started to feel like maybe you’d be okay.

You weren’t there yet.

But god, you were so lucky to be loved like this.

However on the other side…

Jeno hadn’t left his room in three days.

The air inside felt stale. His sheets were tangled around his legs, hoodie tossed somewhere across the room like it couldn’t bear to stay on him. His phone lay face down on the desk, buzzing a few times that morning but he ignored it.

He couldn’t tell if he was still angry or just…hollow.

His mind kept going back to the look on your face when he said it. That sharp second where your expression cracked like glass. You didn’t yell. You didn’t even look surprised. Just hurt. Tired. Like you’d finally hit the wall you’d been dancing around.

And then you left.

He should’ve stopped you. Should’ve run after you. But instead, he just sat there, mouth still parted like a fucking idiot, the weight of his own words echoing in his chest.

It wasn’t until the third night, after skipping dinner, again, and hearing a faint knock on his door for the fifth time that the sound of the lock clicking open made him sit up.

He expected Jungwoo or Jaemin.

He did not expect Johnny to walk in, followed by Jaehyun, Doyoung, and Yuta, holding a tray of food and a six pack of soda.

“Okay,” Johnny said, glancing around. “This is disgusting.”

“Jesus,” Doyoung muttered, wrinkling his nose. “It smells like sadness and Doritos in here.”

“I bet he hasn’t showered,” Yuta added, eyeing Jeno. “Have you showered?”

“Leave him alone,” Jaehyun said mildly. “We’re here for a heart to heart, not an intervention.”

“I’m fine,” Jeno croaked, voice dry.

“No, you’re not,” Johnny said, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Which is why we’re here.”

They didn’t force him to talk right away. Just passed him the food and turned on some shitty rerun of a zombie drama they all half watched. It was quiet, strangely comforting. But after the silence stretched long enough, Jeno sighed and set down the sandwich he hadn’t touched.

“I fucked up,” he said.

Johnny raised an eyebrow. “We know. We heard.”

“I said something worse than I ever should’ve said to her. I didn’t mean it the way it came out, I just…” He rubbed his eyes. “I was so angry and scared and fuck, I was jealous. I didn’t even think. And now she probably hates me.”

“Jealous of Haechan?” Jaehyun asked.

Jeno nodded. “But it wasn’t just him. It was all of it. Her being gone. Hanging out with other people. Laughing with them and not me. I thought we were…” He trailed off.

“You thought you were dating,” Doyoung filled in.

Jeno looked down. “Yeah. I guess I did.”

Yuta leaned forward. “But you never asked?”

Jeno shook his head. “I just thought… I don’t know. We were acting like it. It felt like it. She stayed over. We kissed. She laughed at my dumb jokes. She wore my hoodie.”

“Bro,” Johnny said, deadpan. “You just described half the frat. That’s not a relationship.”

“That’s a sleepover,” Doyoung added.

Jeno dropped his face into his hands with a groan.

“I should’ve just said something. I thought if I asked, I’d mess it up somehow, or she’d get scared off. I thought if I held onto it tight enough, it’d be real.”

“It doesn’t work like that,” Jaehyun said, not unkindly.

“I know that now,” Jeno muttered. “She was right. She waited. I didn’t ask. I made her feel like she wasn’t worth the actual words.”

“Sounds like you need to say them now,” Yuta said.

“Yeah, like yesterday,” Doyoung muttered.

“But how?” Jeno whispered, looking up. “She probably doesn’t want to see me again. I said something that if someone said that to her, I’d punch them.”

“She might be mad, yeah,” Johnny said, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder. “But if you mean it, if you’re honest, if you’re real, she’ll hear you out. If you care about her, and you want to do this right, you have to start with accountability. No excuses. Just truth.”

“And maybe,” Jaehyun added, “try showering first.”

Jeno laughed, weak but real, and the others chuckled with him.

But even with the weight still heavy in his chest, something in him settled. Maybe it was the clarity. Maybe it was just hearing it all out loud. But he knew what he had to do now.

Whether you wanted him back or not he needed to tell you that you were always worth the words.

Before this interrogation It had been four days since anyone had heard Jeno’s voice through the door.

Jaemin hadn’t pushed.

He hadn’t knocked more than once. Hadn’t tried to start some forced, clumsy heart to heart the way others might have. Because Jaemin knew Jeno, knew that the kid only came out when he was ready, when the storm had passed far enough that he could walk through the wreckage without shaking.

Still, that didn’t stop him from checking in the only way he knew how.

A bowl of rice. A cup of miso soup. Sometimes instant ramen, other times leftovers from whatever late lunch Jaemin grabbed with you and the others. He’d quietly leave the tray just outside Jeno’s door before retreating back downstairs, back to the makeshift “therapy hangouts” with you, Kkura, and Haechan.

He didn’t talk about Jeno during those meetups.

Didn’t talk about you when he was home.

It was hard. Torn didn’t even begin to describe it.

But this was how he could at least care for both of you. Quietly, in the background, where his loyalty didn’t have to be loud or obvious or make anyone choose.

So that morning, just like the others, Jaemin reheated some dumplings and poured a bit of tea into a small insulated bottle. It wasn’t fancy. But it was warm. It was something.

He was halfway down the hallway, tray in hand, yawning as he turned the corner, when the sound of a door creaking open made him stop short.

And there Jeno was.

Hair still damp from a long overdue shower. Face bare, hoodie replaced by a fresh t-shirt. He looked tired, but cleaner. Human again.

And he was staring at Jaemin.

More specifically, at the tray in Jaemin’s hands.

They stood there in silence for a second. Not tense. Not quite awkward either. Just… unsure. Cautious. Like two friends on opposite sides of a line neither of them meant to draw.

Jeno’s gaze dropped to the dumplings, then back to Jaemin’s eyes.

A beat passed. Then he gave a soft, crooked smile. The kind that didn’t reach all the way to his cheeks but still managed to feel real.

“I guess it was you,” Jeno murmured. “You’re the one who’s been feeding me.”

Jaemin didn’t move at first. Then his lips twitched into something close to a smirk.

“Well,” he said, voice dry, “you clearly weren’t going to feed yourself.”

Jeno chuckled, just barely. “Fair.”

Another pause. Jaemin stared at him, then finally extended the tray. Jeno reached out slowly, fingers brushing the edge.

“Thanks,” he said quietly.

Jaemin shrugged like it was nothing. But it wasn’t nothing. They both knew that.

Jeno looked at him again, something fragile in his expression. “I heard you were with them a lot. With her.”

“Yeah.” Jaemin’s tone didn’t waver. “She needed people.”

Jeno didn’t ask if she’d talked about him. Didn’t ask if she cried. He just nodded, lips pressed in a line. “Makes sense.”

They stood there again in the quiet.

And then Jaemin exhaled. “I’m mad at you,” he said bluntly. “You know that, right?”

Jeno nodded again. “Yeah.”

“I don’t know how long I will be. But I still care. So… don’t starve. Or die. Or whatever.” His voice softened at the end. “That’d piss me off even more.”

Jeno huffed, biting back a tiny smile. “Got it.”

Jaemin gave a short nod and started walking away, but not before glancing over his shoulder once.

“You’re gonna have to fix it yourself,” he said. “If she ever lets you.”

Then he disappeared around the corner.

Jeno stood there, holding the tray.

And for the first time in days, he felt the smallest flicker of hope pulse somewhere inside his chest.

It started with a text.

[jeno]: hey. Can we talk?

You didn’t answer.

The screen stayed quiet for an hour. Then another.

Then another text.

[jeno]: i get it if you’re not ready. just… please let me know you’re okay.

Still nothing.

The next morning, he tried again.

[jeno]: i shouldn’t have said what i said.

[jeno]: i didn’t mean it.

[jeno]: i was angry and stupid. and scared.

He waited. Refreshed the screen. Waited some more.

You saw it. You always did. But your fingers never moved. You couldn’t make them. Not when the sound of his voice in your head still made your chest twist. Not when the memory of him, of that night, still throbbed like a bruise under your skin.

Jeno started calling.

The first time, you watched it ring out.

The second time, you let it go after two seconds.

The third, your phone buzzed in your hand while you were out with Jaemin and Kkura, and Jaemin glanced over with a tight expression, like he wanted to answer for you.

You tucked it back in your pocket and said nothing.

He stopped calling after that.

Two days passed.

You assumed he got the hint.

But you should’ve known better.

Because when the knock came that night, gentle, tentative, barely there, you thought it might be Kkura. Maybe even Jaemin, checking in. But when you opened the door, your heart stumbled.

Jeno stood there.

Not in frat clothes. Not with that hood pulled low over his eyes like he’d been avoiding the world.

He looked… like he tried.

Hair brushed down neatly. Sweater a little wrinkled. Eyes tired. Hopeful. Frantic. He’d showered, you could tell. He looked cleaner, less like the shell he’d been hiding inside. But his expression was barely holding together.

Your breath caught.

“Hi,” he said, voice rough. “I know I shouldn’t have come here. But you weren’t answering and I—I didn’t know what else to do.”

You didn’t answer at first. Just stared at him, like if you blinked, he’d disappear.

Jeno shifted, something desperate flickering in his eyes. “Please, Y/N. Just let me talk. I won’t push for anything. I just—let me be in the same room as you again.”

You looked at him. The small way his chest rose and fell like he hadn’t breathed right since that night. The way his hands trembled slightly, fists unclenching at his sides.

You were angry. Still were. Still hurt.

But something in you, the part that once stayed up talking with him until 3 a.m., the part that remembered his dumb laugh in between kisses and how he’d hold your hand without thinking, couldn’t close the door.

You stepped aside.

He didn’t move until you spoke.

“Come in,” you said, quietly.

And Jeno, relieved, stunned, exhausted, stepped over the threshold like it might break him.

You didn’t say anything after he stepped inside. Just walked back toward your small living room and left the door slightly ajar, like maybe you still hadn’t decided if you wanted to keep him in or not.

Jeno followed slowly, quietly, like he was afraid any sudden movement might make you vanish. His eyes scanned the room, the half empty cup on the coffee table, the throw blanket you’d probably curled up under when you weren’t speaking to him, your phone tossed aside, screen dark.

You sat on the edge of the couch and didn’t look at him.

He stayed standing.

And then he started.

“I meant to say it.”

Your gaze flickered up, sharp, uncertain. He swallowed.

“I meant to say I wanted to be with you. That I already felt like I was. That I didn’t realize how fucking much it meant to say it out loud until it was already too late.”

You said nothing. Just pulled your sleeves over your hands, eyes low.

Jeno sighed, stepping closer but still giving you space. “I thought we were on the same page. I know that sounds stupid now, but I really thought… you felt what I felt. I thought we didn’t need to talk about it because it was just there, in the way we were with each other. In the way I looked at you. How I always wanted to be around you. How I couldn’t sleep unless I was texting you goodnight, or hearing you breathe next to me.”

You looked away.

“I didn’t say it because I was scared,” he continued, voice cracking now. “I didn’t want to ruin whatever we had. I thought if I pushed too much, or made it official, you’d think it was too much too fast. You’d… leave. I didn’t want to risk losing you.”

You didn’t answer, but your shoulders tensed.

He noticed. And for a moment, he was quiet again. Then—

“But that’s not an excuse. I should’ve said something. I should’ve fucking said something the first time we kissed, or the morning after, or that time you stayed over and didn’t even bother with your apartment for three days. I should’ve asked. I should’ve told you you weren’t just some girl I was messing around with. You’re not. You never were.”

He rubbed a hand down his face, voice hoarse. “I didn’t just like you, Y/N. I loved you. I still do.”

You blinked hard. Your throat burned, but you kept your jaw locked.

“I know I hurt you,” he said, softer now. “That night… I was frustrated. I was confused, and I saw you laughing with him, Haechan, of all people, and it just flipped something in me. It wasn’t about trust. It wasn’t even jealousy, not really. It was fear. Because for once, I actually had something I didn’t want to lose.”

You finally looked at him then, and something about your expression made him pause. You weren’t angry. Not exactly.

You were exhausted.

So he kept going.

“You don’t owe me forgiveness. Or another chance. I get that. But I needed to come here because… I needed you to hear it from me. Not through a text. Not through Jaemin. Me. I wanted to tell you I was wrong. That I shouldn’t have expected you to just know what we were. I should’ve said it. I should’ve asked you.”

He looked down, hands clenched at his sides.

“I’m sorry I made you feel like an option. I never wanted that. Not for you. Not for us.”

He took a shaky breath.

“And I’m sorry I said what I said that night. I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean any of it.”

The room fell silent. You stared at the wall past him. Your throat was so tight it ached, your chest heavier than it had been in days.

When you finally spoke, your voice was low.

“You really hurt me.”

Jeno looked up slowly, like the words had physically struck him.

You still didn’t meet his eyes.

“I thought I was going crazy,” you said. “One day we’re acting like we’ve been together forever, and the next I’m being avoided when it comes to the serious questions. That it almost felt like you didn’t think I’d stay.”

Jeno opened his mouth to say something, but you kept going.

“You didn’t say it, Jeno. You didn’t ask. You just… assumed. And then got mad when I didn’t read your mind.”

He shut his mouth. Nodded once, tightly.

You took a breath. It hurt. “I needed to hear it. I needed to know I wasn’t just building something out of nothing. And when I didn’t hear it, when you didn’t say it, I started to believe maybe I made it all up.”

That broke him a little.

You could see it in the way his shoulders folded inward, in the flicker of panic across his face. Like he was suddenly watching every moment with you through your eyes, and finally saw the cracks.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, quieter this time.

You nodded, arms hugging yourself. “I know.”

And then neither of you spoke. The silence didn’t feel peaceful—it felt fragile, like something raw still bleeding just under the surface.

Jeno stepped forward, one pace.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he said.

You looked at him. Finally. “Then don’t say things that make me feel like I was never yours to lose.”

And Jeno’s heart splintered clean through.

Next thing you know, you witness something you never thought would unfold in front of your eyes.

You hadn’t seen him cry like that before.

Not like this.

At first, it was just the way his eyes glossed over. A quiet blink, a shift in breath. But then it cracked, a tremble in his jaw, a sound he barely swallowed down. And then the tears fell, slow and then all at once, as if holding it in had finally run out of room inside him.

He turned away for a second, dragging a shaky hand over his face like that might stop it.

It didn’t.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered again, voice breaking. “God, I’m so sorry, Y/N. I fucked this up. I fucking ruined it. And I don’t even know how to fix it because—”

His voice choked off.

You stared, frozen for a beat. You didn’t expect this much. You didn’t expect him to crumble in front of you like the words he’d been holding in had cracked something wide open. Jeno was always so composed, so quiet in his sadness, but this?

This was him unraveling.

You stood slowly and stepped toward him.

“I never wanted to hurt you,” he said, still trying to catch his breath, his voice hoarse and wet with tears. “I thought I was protecting us by not saying anything, and all I did was make you feel invisible. I made you think I didn’t care, when that’s all I’ve ever done. I don’t know how to stop caring about you.”

Your chest squeezed.

“Jeno,” you said gently.

“I kept thinking about the look on your face that night,” he mumbled. “How you just… shut down. And it’s all I’ve been thinking about. That I did that. That I pushed you to a place where you had to convince yourself I didn’t mean anything to you. And I hate that. I hate myself for that.”

You touched his arm, tentative. His whole frame shook under your hand.

“I still love you,” he said, barely above a whisper. “I still want this. I want you. I’ll do it right this time, if you let me. I’ll say it every day. I’ll make it clear. I just— I need you to know that it was real. It’s always been real.”

Your throat was tight. You didn’t realize tears were welling in your own eyes until you blinked and one slid down.

“I know,” you said quietly. “I know it was real.”

He looked at you like your voice alone was something to hold on to.

You hesitated, then added, “And… I’m sorry too.”

Jeno’s brows knit, confused.

“I’m not saying I take it all back,” you said. “Because you needed to hear what I said that night. But I know I got… cold. Defensive. Angry. And I didn’t mean to shut you out like that. I just—when you said those things, it felt like everything I’d let myself believe was fake. And I didn’t want to feel that again. I didn’t want to feel small.”

You sniffled, laughing bitterly. “So I built a wall so fast I didn’t even realize I locked myself in, too.”

Jeno stepped closer. His eyes were red, lips parted like he was still trying to catch his breath.

“I forgive you,” you said.

His breath hitched.

You nodded slowly. “I forgive you, Jeno. And I still love you too. That didn’t go away.”

He looked like he might cry again at that.

And maybe you did too, because when he reached for your hands this time, you didn’t flinch. You let him hold them, fingers trembling against yours. He pulled you close like he didn’t want to risk you slipping away again, and when you let him, that’s when the tears really came again for both of you. Quiet and full of everything you hadn’t been able to say until now.

His forehead pressed to yours.

“I’m gonna do better,” he whispered. “I swear I’ll do better.”

You nodded, hands curling around the fabric of his hoodie.

“We will,” you murmured back. “We’ll do better.”

And just like that, the hurt didn’t disappear. But it settled, softened into something that could finally begin to heal.

Together.

Jeno’s breath was still uneven, but the storm behind his eyes had settled into something else now, something quieter, more certain. He pulled back just enough to look at you fully, eyes tracing every part of your face like he needed to memorize this moment.

His thumbs brushed your knuckles, slow and reverent, before he took a steadying breath.

“Can I ask you something?” he said softly.

You nodded.

He hesitated for a beat, not out of doubt, but weight. Like the question had been sitting in his chest for a long, long time.

“Will you be mine?” he asked. His voice cracked, not out of fear, but sincerity. “Like... officially. No more almosts. No more blurred lines or half steps. Just mine. My girlfriend. And of course without a doubt I’m yours”

The way he said it wasn’t rushed or desperate. It was raw. Honest. Like this wasn’t just about claiming you, but about finally choosing you out loud. Finally giving the love between you a name that couldn’t be mistaken for anything else.

He swallowed. “Because I should’ve asked you a long time ago. And I don’t want another day to go by where you don’t know exactly where we stand.”

His gaze never left yours. “So…will you?”

The room held its breath.

And this time, he waited.

Your breath hitched, just a sharp, shaken inhale because everything inside you cracked wide open the moment he said it. All the anger and confusion and weight of the past few weeks lifted just enough for your heart to finally speak louder than your fear.

“Yes,” you whispered. Then again, stronger, like it needed to echo. “Yes, Jeno.”

And you didn’t wait.

You surged forward, crashing into him like you’d been holding back for years, not days. Your hands tangled in the collar of his hoodie, yanking him down, and he met you halfway, mouth already parting, gasping against yours like he’d been dying for air and finally found it in your kiss.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t careful. It was weeks of everything unsaid exploding in between the seams of your mouths, desperate, messy, clumsy in the way that it could be. You pushed him back, lips never breaking, until his back hit the door and he groaned into you like he didn’t care if the world burned around him so long as you stayed pressed against him like this.

His hands found your waist, gripping like he was terrified you’d disappear again. Your fingers slid under the fabric of his hoodie, palms running up his chest, nails grazing just enough to make him shiver.

“You’re mine,” he murmured into your mouth, breathless. “You’re mine now.”

You kissed him harder in response, like yes, fuck yes, I’m yours, but only because you chose me.

His mouth dragged across your jaw, then lower, tongue hot as he kissed down your neck, hands still trembling as they held you close. You weren’t thinking anymore. You couldn’t. All you could feel was the heat of him, his body, his words, the way he whispered your name like it hurt to say but he needed to keep saying it just to believe this was real.

When you finally pulled back to breathe, your foreheads touched, your lips swollen, your hands still gripping his hoodie like you might fall if you let go.

“I missed you,” he said quietly, voice thick with emotion. “I missed us.”

You nodded, brushing your nose against his. “Then don’t fuck it up this time.”

“I won’t,” he promised, eyes wide, lips twitching like he might cry or smile or do both. “I swear to God, I won’t.”

And just like that, you kissed him again, so deep, so consuming, it felt like starting over. But this time, you weren’t drifting through some unspoken dream.

You were finally wide awake.