#i firmly believe that coffee or something similar must exist in the lands between

[izar-tarazed]

🥃🥃 have at thee

Izar glances down at the small glasses placed before her, filled with a shimmering liquid: transparent but ever so faintly sparkling with silver as if there was fine stardust whirling within. Well, whatever this is, it’s just the right thing to lure an astrologer into drinking it. She downs the first glass—because apparently that’s how it’s done—, coughs, waves her hand and then inhales deeply.

‟So. Something personal... I don’t recall ever drinking something like this before but I love tea or whatever you call the concoctions you can make with a handful of herbs and boiling water and just the right amount of patience. The nomadic merchants sell some that I’ve come to love. I’ve also tried my hand at throwing together something myself but while the results are drinkable, they taste nowhere near as good as what the merchants come up with. They do have a blend that’s both very spicy and sweet, I like that a lot. But I also like the ones that taste a little bitter or tart at first, with all the other tastes hidden in between, and you have to study them sip by sip, taking your time, figuring them out. They’re easy to dismiss as unpalatable but they actually are if you take your time.

It’s the same with coffee. I don’t think anyone but Kalé sells that? I found it a little tricky to prepare at first—I only make it when at the Roundtable Hold, not when travelling—, but if done right, the smell is divine and then it’s like drinking pure darkness, all bitter and burning but eventually revealing a richness in flavors that is unparalleled. Kalé says you can sweeten it, but I don’t do that.”

She gently puts the empty glass aside, then goes for the second one, eyes sparkling as she empties it. Thinking, she spins it between her fingers.

‟I said for a long time I wasn’t good with blades and it was true, but I also didn’t do anything to improve? I had the rapier Rogier had given me. In hindsight, it was a parting gift. I carried that with me for ages, but I never really used it. And when I did, it felt just… wrong—in part because I wasn’t good with it. But I didn’t want to put it away, either, because it had been a gift. I felt like swapping it for any other blade would have been like disrespecting the gesture. Even with Rogier gone… or maybe because he was gone, I couldn’t bring myself to do anything with his rapier other than carrying it with me.

Then Ensha insisted I should get better in melee and started teaching me how to actually use the rapier, and while I still wasn’t good with it… I got a little better. He insisted I try out different things, and I was like the most stubborn child claiming that he was wasting his time because I’m obviously just not good with blades of any kind.”

She chuckles—maybe about the memory, or maybe because she’s already a little light-headed after these two shots.

‟I ended up trying anyway, because clearly Ensha is even more stubborn than I am, and eventually I understood that I wasn’t irrevocably bad with melee weapons—and that it wasn’t merely about practice, either. I always struggled with the rapier, but I felt more comfortable when I tried different katanas. And I finally went through my collection of ashes of war that I had been carrying around for a while. I asked Master Hewg for help and explanations. And as he glanced at my collection, he looked like I had opened up a treasure chest. Then we all discussed which ones might be of actual use for me, he got to work, and well… Suddenly I had weapons that felt like mine. I wasn’t holding onto them out of nostalgia but I actually used them.

I’ll always be a magic user first and foremost, but by now I can decently defend myself in melee when the need arises. I no longer carry the rapier; I keep it in my chamber at the Hold… I don’t think Rogier would mind that I don’t use it. He’d probably be happy to see I found something that works for me.”

[cloudyyoonji]

College Muse.

Bang Chan x Reader

Summary; Music producer! Chan and Writer! Reader both dwell on each other for some help on a project similar in nature.

Genre; FLUFF!!! 

A/N; Hello! Requests are open at the moment, so please feel free to make a request!!

____________________________________________________________ 

i.

Final assignments, or rather nicknamed the 'direct spawn sent from Satan himself’ by the students on campus, are finally approaching, sent in various forms for all students to stress about on their own, tortured by the assignment questions for countless hours upon hours. 
 But a whole dorm room of stressed-out young adults was certainly reflective of the pits of hell. 
 You’re squished up in the corner of the room, the assignment outline fresh in your mind as you plug in your headphones. 
 “You’re going to write a love story,” your professor has told you, hands clasped behind his back. He clicked his tongue, eyes wandering around the room. “The twist? It needs to be a realistic love story. None of that ‘love at first sight’ bullshit. Write me raw and real material.” 


So now you were here, a rough playlist of love songs playing to tune out any background noise of Jisung and Felix yelling as they play some video game, and Wendy’s muffled tapping that seems to be echoing through the whole common room. 
 You sighed, scrolling through countless open tabs on your phone, pen scrawling little notes here and there as you find something interesting to write. Language of Love? Was there such a thing? 
 You note Bang Chan enter the room, keys in one hand and a bag in the other, as you swipe through the songs on your phone, turning back to the notebook to write out a summary of your findings. 
 The couch beside you sinks, causing you to look up and immediately roll your eyes at your dorm mate, who has a goofy grin as he looks down at you, fingers pulling the string of one of your earphones. 
 “Whatcha doing?” Bang Chan asks in the same annoying drawl of a voice he uses to get on your nerves, typically whilst you were studying. 
 You drop the pen in your right hand, using it to shove him off your shoulder, a whine leaving your lips as he laughs at your frustration. 
 “Go away, I’m trying to study.” 
 “On what?” His eyebrows are raised now. “Cheesy love songs? Shouldn’t you study something a bit more interesting? I can show you a few of my demo’s if -“ 
 “They're not cheesy love songs,” you pout, cutting him off. “Besides, it's not the music that I am studying. I’m trying to be a writer, remember?” 
 He takes full advantage of your rhetorical question, letting the whole ‘light bulb moment’ type of exclamation leave his lips in a higher pitch than his regular voice, cut off when you shove him away again, this time curling into a smirk. 
 “You’re studying Love?” “Yes,” you sigh finally, “I have to write a ‘realistic love story’ for my final.” 
 “Oh,” He sits back into the couch now, nodding. “That should be easy for you.” 
 You turn to him now, materials abandoned measly on the arm of the couch, eyes narrowing on the boy as he sits, arms crossed. 
 “And why would that be the case, Bang Chan?” “Because you’ve clearly been in love.” 
 Your hard demeanour drops as you watch the boy for a second or so. “I’ve never been in love, Chan.” 
 “Sure you haven’t,” the blond laughs, “I’ve read your writing. You can convey it perfectly.” 
 Now you’re interested, folding your arms again as you realise that the boy has not a clue of what he’s talking about. 
 “Chan, I’ve never been in love,” you tell him, ignoring the heat that seems to have made its way to your cheeks. “I’ve only ever written about it from an outsiders point of view. I’ve never even been in a proper relationship.” 
 Its a tad awkward. You can see that the top of his ears is painted red by embarrassment. You avoid his eyes in hasty flicks from one thing to another. The fabric of the couch, to the carpet, to the pair who are sitting in the middle of the room, controllers in hand. 
 “It's okay,” the boy finally says, avoiding your eyes too. “I’ve never been in love either, and I’ve got to write and record a freaking love song.” 
 You let a small ‘oh’ slip from your mouth, nodding as your eyes trail back down to your messy notes. 
 “Maybe we could help out each other? Some study dates perhaps?” The boy suggests, a hand indicating your pile of notes, a cheesy smile trying to help fuel his suggestion, trying to win you over. 
 “Not a freaking chance,” you reply, knocking off his smirk as you gather your things. “Do your own study, Mr Bang, then I’ll think about it.” 
 And with that, you leave his shell shocked self on the couch, knowing perfectly well that you’d be showing him those notes in a day or so. 
 ii.

As luck would have it, you were here, two days later, bribed by the one and only for your notes, his not-so-terrible corrupt gift being to buy you coffee for the remaining three weeks until your assignments were both handed in. 
 There was only one weakness you had, and he had exploited it with a smile. But you’d let him. After all, free coffee was free coffee. 
 “You know,” You raise your head, watching the boy over the top of the iced coffee that was clutched in your sweater-ed hands. “My teacher recommended we ‘fall in love’ so we could write a song about it for the unit.” 
 You can't but help laugh, nodding as you swallow the bitter liquid. 
 “My professor said the same.” Rolling your eyes at the memory, your smile turns to a cringe. “Then all the couples cheered and started making out.” 
 He mirrors your disgusted face, fingers curling around his mug of coffee as he sits up to properly read your notes. 
 “‘Love is manipulating” you tell him. “The fine line between love and hate can only come down to trust, which is why love often only ends in pain. We’re pushed to find love, and it can only ruin us. Love simply cannot exist in a realistic sense”

“Wait, wait, wait. You don’t believe that romantic love can exist at all?” 
 You take another sip of your coffee, shaking your head to confirm your answer to his question. “No.” 
 He’s put the notebook down now - or rather dropped it onto the table -, slumping back into the chair as he shakes his head at you, the same smile never leaving his features as he stares at you in disbelief. 
 You mirror him, leaning back, to only gesture to him. “What's your idea then?” 
 Chan seems to think for a second, fingers digging into his pocket to grab a pen, body slumping forwards as he begins writing in your notebook. 
 You take note of the way he slants the paper when he writes, turning his head just slightly to look down at it. It was almost strangely attractive. Chan himself was strangely attractive when he was writing, whether that was in a lecture, or when he was jotting down lyrics. 
 You can see how his fingers grip the pen tightly, pressing it into the paper to write in small, precise letters. Under the curly mess of blond, his eyebrows furrow as he concentrates, transferring the words swirling his head, to the paper. 
 Then he sits up, knocking you from your observatory state, eyes awkwardly landing on the almost empty glass in front of you as you try to mask the fact you were staring a little too intently. 
 “My insight,” he reads. “is that true love will only prevail when one can open their heart and mind, without a doubt that the other person will hurt them. Unlike what you said, I really do think that love is possible.” 

“Maslow explained love to be a need. Everyone must experience love at some point in their lifetime to feel like they are completely themselves. Everyone deserves to feel loved, and everyone needs experience what it feels like to be loved.” 
 You sit forward in your seat. “But that's the thing,” you argue. “A realistic love can only bring you pain and sorrow. That why we only read about fabricated love from peoples minds, because it makes us forget about what a painfully cruel world we can live in.” 
 He sits back, shaking his head, no hint of a smile this time. “But we don’t have to live in that kind of a world. You said it yourself; ‘can live in’. I promise you Y/N, I’ll change your mind by the time the assessment is finished.” 
 “I’d like to see you try.” You reply, eyes firmly on his. 
 He sticks out a pinky, a silent promise. You smile, wrapping yours around his. I promise to change your mind. 
 iii. 
 It’s been a few days since that promise had been made, Chan still not managing to change your mind. Your views were still the same on love, even if your whole common room had disagreed on the most part. 
 But you’d both been busy on this assignment. Chan has been making beats that you could hear through the wall, somewhat soothing to your mind when it was running wild. 
 You’d only had a few hours of sleep, scattered throughout your day. You’d spent it at the computer mainly, your desk littered with empty pens and screwed up paper. 
 Well, it wasn’t just your desk. Your whole room seemed to be completely engulfed by stray papers, many of which had overflowed out from the bin. 
 You hadn’t really left the room, only heading out to the small kitchen for a pack of instant noodles, or to go to the bathroom, then closing the door to the dark room as you returned to your original hunched position. 
 You’d also only seen Chan in brief glances as you were heading back to your room. It seemed that perhaps Chan too was plagued by days of pondering, just as you were. 
 Your glasses are almost pressed against the screen of the monitor, watching the blinking cursor. You can barely see the word; Love, the title of your narrative. No matter how much you looked at the word, you still couldn’t fathom the word. Nothing special came to your mind upon hearing the word, rather only the memory of Chan intertwining your pinky’s in a silent promise to change your mind about love. 
 Was this the first stage of that promise happening already? 
 Likewise, nothing came to your mind upon starting at that stupid cursor for hours on end. You couldn’t possibly start a realistic love narrative with a pinky promise, could you? 
 You don’t quite register the door opening, but you sure do see it. The light of the day seems to burn your eyes almost instantly, a groan escaping from your lips as you scrunch your eyes closed and rub your aching temples with the pads of your fingers. 
 “I knew you were brainstorming, but holy shit Y/N.” 
 Your ears perk up at Chan’s voice, eyes opening to take in the blond who is standing in your door frame, eyes wide as he takes in the discarded drafts of writing. 
 Your eyes follow his, pointed over at the overflowing bin in the corner, a giving him a small sheepish smile when his eyes meet back with yours. 
 Shaking his head, he takes your wrist, pulling you up from the chair. 
 “Hey!” You groan, knees sore from your countless hours of sitting. 
 “We’re going for coffee. You need to get out of this room - No, no, no - this building. You need to get out of this building.” 
 You sigh, following him out of the overflowing room wordlessly. Chan had a habit of being right about things, and this was one occasion you knew you couldn’t argue with him on. 
 The walk to the coffee shop helps you clear your stormy head, ideas coming and going, but the idea of finally having a coffee scratches at your mind. 
 “Hey,” Chan breaks you from your thoughts, walking from the front counter with a number in his hands. “Let’s sit. I’ve ordered.” 
 So you both pile into a booth, awaiting your coffees with sleepy anxiety. 
 Not much is said, yet not much needs to be said. You feel somewhat at peace now that you’re out of your own head. Chan really helped too. You two have become so close over the last few years, that these moments were really nice. You could just chill in each other’s presence without it being awkward. 
 Upon the arrival of the coffees, you perk up a little coffee, drinking up the bittersweet liquid as soon as it touches your fingertips. 
 “Slow down, you’ll make yourself sick, my god.” 
 Looking over your glass, you can see him laughing. Shooting him a sheepish smile, you place the glass down, your fingers fiddling with each other. 
 “Any luck with the music?” You ask finally, looking over the table. 
 “I’ve got the music, it’s just the lyrics and the recording now. But that’s always the hardest part. I’ve got some ideas, so I’m going pretty on track with it all. How’s the writing going?” 
 “Shit,” you laugh, shaking your head. “I’ve developed writers block on the topic of love it seems.” 
 “You’ll get there. Really, it’ll come to you when you least expect it.” 
 You nod along at his words, but it soon turns to a sigh, head falling into your hands. 
 “Chan,” you say tiredly, pulling your head up to look at the boy with all the strength you can truly muster up. “If you don’t let me sleep on your right now, I think I’m going to die.” 
 He loses it. With his head thrown back, you can see that the boy is as almost as tired as you are. Yet, he does get up, slipping into the booth beside you. 
 You fall into him, coffee abandoned from your mind, eyes closing as your head touches his shoulder. 
 His arm goes around you, perhaps instinctively. But you’re too tired to even care, your one final brain cell figuring that perhaps he’s holding you close so you don’t collapse head first into the table. 
 “Thank you,” You whisper tiredly. “I didn’t want to die on a sticky table. Your hoodie is really soft, so now I can die peacefully.” 
 You can feel his smile, the slight laugh too. 
 His free hand pats your hair. “No sticky table endgame for you, my dear.” 
 You laugh at this, eyes still closed as your cheek is pressed to the material of his hoodie. 
 You let your body finally relax a little, blending into the atmosphere of fresh coffee ground - one you really loved. But you can’t ignore the new scent either. This scent felt different, made you feel different. 
 You’re not sure if it’s butterflies or the coffee, but this feeling was something you really had no idea of. 
 Was this the second stage of his promise? 
 iv. 
 The days seemed to blur into each other, most of your hours spent with Chan. You two had made the college cafe your staple shop, meeting at some point in the day to have just space out completely together. It didn’t matter if you were writing on your laptop, or if he was producing on his, his company was just enough for you. 
 It had happened a few times today, but you once again realised with a jolt that you couldn’t stop thinking of the cute producer. You could see him now over the top of your computer, earbuds in as he nods to the beat only he could hear, a wide smile gracing his features when he meets your eyes. 
 Above everything, you wanted him to hold you like he had again. You wanted him to chuck his arm around your shoulders as he laughed at something you’d said. You wanted more than a housemate. 
 You smile back at him, eyes half focusing on the lines you’d typed out. 
 Boy, you’re falling for him, but there's no way in hell that you would be telling him that. 
 “Hey,” Chan’s voice takes your out of your thoughts. “It’s getting late. We should probably head back.” 
 Nodding, you close up your laptop for the night, shoving it into its bag along with the few pens and notebook you had. 
 You both slip out of the cafe, the night air cool against your skin. You adjust the strap of your bag, pulling it up as it begins to slip over your shoulder. 
 With your phone in hand, you can see that its quite late, probably something you’d live to regret tomorrow morning for your 4-hour long lecture. 
 Upon arriving at the dorms, you change and immediately collapse into your bed, bidding Chan a loud ‘goodnight’ as you turn off your lamp. Eyes closing, you barely even remember falling asleep. 
 You also don’t quite remember your dream, but what does stick with you is the sheer terror of a nightmare. It grabs at you, even whilst your asleep. 
 Your eyes shoot open in a blur, breathing heavy as you take in your surroundings. The hefty unsettling feeling lays over you, pressing into your chest as you come to sense just where you are, and what you had been dreaming about. 
 Pushing yourself up, you find yourself getting more anxious, eyes welling as a black pit settles in your chest; heavy. 
 Your feet hit the carpet, hands crossed over your arms as you walk towards the door. 
 The time is far from your mind. 
 Taking a shaky breath, you lightly rap on the door to Chan’s room, your breaths echoing around the kitchen. “Chan, are you awake?" Some part of you prays that he doesn’t answer, to save yourself the embarrassment of being completely in such a state because of one of your nightmares. But then, if he did answer, would it be so bad? 
 The door opens, Chan’s tall frame looming over you. You can see him well, even in the darkness, his hair is slightly tousled, clothes wrinkled. But his eyes are open, awake, and full of concern as they land on you. 
 You don’t say anything, but rather step forward, arms wrapping around his middle. His body relaxes, arms wrapping around your frame. 
 “I’m sorry,” Your voice shakes, cheek pressing against his chest as you try to banish your anxiety away. “I had a nightmare, and I didn’t know what else to do…” 
 He nods, holding you a little tighter. It seems to relieve you in some weird way; to be held in the arms of someone you know is safe. 
 You’d told him previously about how your nightmares were induced by stress. When it had gotten especially bad within your first year of studying, he’d stayed in the common room with you until you’d felt better. 
 “You don’t need to explain,” Breaking away from you, he keeps a hand on your wrist, opening the door a little wider. “You can stay with me if you’d like.” 
 Wordlessly, you nod, following him in. 
 Sitting down on the side of the bed, you feel slightly awkward, watching as he crosses to the other side and slips under the blanket. 
 “You can lie down you know.” “O-oh, okay.” 
 Some part of your brain cringes at your response, knowing that you’ll probably live to regret it later. But for now, you lie down, focusing your efforts on trying to get to sleep. 
 You let out another shaky breath, eyes wandering over the room of his room. Knitting your fingers, you try not to disturb the boy with your fidgeting. 
 A hand comes into contact with your own, making you look over at the boy, who is wide awake next to you. He gestures for you to move a little closer, a light smile on his features. 
 “Are you sure?” You whisper, heartbeat loud in your ears. 
 “You look like you need a hug.” 
 So you comply, turning into him, head rested on his arm. You feel his free arm pull you close. 
 Sure, you’d hugged Chan before, hell you’d even cuddled him. 
 But this was different, right? Your heartbeat was telling you that much, a constant pound in your chest you prayed that Chan couldn’t feel. 
 You’re not sure when exactly you close your eyes, but when you open them again, you’re pressed to his chest, his hands laying neatly on your back as his arms encircle you. 
 You barely realize how close you truly are, slumber taking over you in a short few seconds, mind shutting down for the night once more. 
 Chan is holding you. Chan is holding you.

... 
 The sound of your alarm is blaring, body groaning almost subconsciously as you roll over to stop the noise. 
 Hand flapping out across the bedside table, you suddenly realize with a jolt that you’re not in your room. 
 Bolting upright, you take in the unfamiliar room, your alarm cutting off to signal 6 more minutes of sleep. But you can’t sleep, mind wide awake as you process what exactly happened last night. 
 Looking around, there are no traces of the boy, rather a yellow sticky note in his place. 
 “Had a 6am lecture. There’s a coffee in the fridge though!! Shoot me a text when your lecture is finished and we can get some actual coffee.” 
 You smile down at his messy scrawl, eyes gazing around the room. 
 It is neat, everything in its own spot. His desk is specially organized, music equipment laid out near some pens and an open notebook, a notebook you saw him with quite often. 
 You don’t even realize your standing in front of it till you see the messy scrawl of song lyrics writing in your hands, eyes darting back and forth as you take in the words. 
 His songs, they were beautiful. 
 Then it hits you like a bolt of lightning. His songs seemed to spark something deep in your mind, fingers itching to write down the ideas that have been summoned to the forefront of your mind. 
 Neither less to say, you didn’t focus too much on your lecture, but rather sat at the back, fingers clicking over the keys of your laptop, the ideas are written in a messy scrawling only you could truly read sitting next to you. 
 You’re writing, after a long case of writers block. But you’re writing with him at the forefront of your mind. 
 If that was a good or bad thing, you don’t know. But you do know that your feelings about Bang Chan had definitely changed. 
 You like him, just like you always had. He was still your goofy best friend of a housemate, who laughed with you when you did something stupid, who made you both hot chocolate on your 3am study sessions. 
 The boy who promised to change your mind about love. Now he really was. 
 v.

“It's finished!” 
 You look up at the blond who is beaming as he walks towards you, notebook in hand. 
 You know what he means immediately. The song, the love song, was finished. 
 You give him a grin equally as big, gesturing for him to sit across from you in the booth. 
 “Can I listen?!” You ask, watching as he fumbles with his phone. 
 “Of course,” he looks at you incredulously. “You don’t get a choice.” 
 You laugh at this, shaking your head as he hands you his earphones, fingers hovering over the play button on the track memo. Giving him the thumbs up, you can’t but help the chills that run over your body as the first note plays. 
 “I love it already.” You tell him. He holds up a hand, silently telling you to keep listening, but the smile on his face is evidence that your compliment is enough to fluster him a little. 
 The song is almost exactly like your story. From the recounts of precious memories to the feelings of being grounded, safe. 
 Some part of your heart swelled at the lyrics, and the other sank. 
 The song was so beautiful, and yet so sad. Just how long would you two be walking together in your dreams? 
 “What do you think?” 
 He’s taken out one of the headphones now, a wide smile on his face, but fingers fidgeting at one of his rings. 
 “I really like it, Chan.” You tell him, which was certainly the truth. You do like it. “It’s really beautiful.” 
 You guess that some selfish part of you wanted the song to be about you. That this was his way of confessing. That you two could walk together in one dream, just as the characters in his song do. 
 But the boy just smiles, thanking you as he stuffs his things into his pocket. 
 “Do you want your regular?” He asks. “Yes please.” 
 Your eyes linger over his frame as he slips out from the seat, walking towards the counter. 
 His hair often bounced as he walked, but you noted that today it was laying slightly flatter than his usual curly mess, parted down the middle, brushed, and styled too. 
 It’s like he was trying to impress someone. And maybe that someone wasn’t you. 
 Even if this was the case, you couldn’t scrap your whole story now. You would finish it, even if it meant you had to do it painfully. 
 Setting the number down, his hand runs in front of your face. 
 “Hello? Earth to Y/N?” 
 You blink, knocking you from your unconscious staring. “Oh, sorry.” 
 His smile fades slightly, body leaning forward. “You okay? You don’t seem like your normal self.” 
 Forcing up a smile, you shake your head, pointing to your temple. “Too many thoughts today.” 
 You had a habit of being in your own head, Chan knew this too. It was just what you did as a writer, brainstorming ideas or little snippets of writing you acted out in your head. 
 “Do you need paper?” 
 You nodded, fingers pulling the pen from your bun. 
 You’d put it there during your lecture, something you often did on the days your creativity sparked. 
 He passes you his notebook, the same one you’d seen earlier that morning, flipping to a blank page before pushing it in front of you. 
 You hesitate, looking up at the male across from you before you press the ink to the paper. 
 One thought seems to come to the forefront of your mind, pen swirling across the page in cursive letters as you write it down 
 “I think you might have the prettiest eyes in the world.” 
 It was cheesy, but it was really the truth. Every time you made eye contact with Chan, his eyes seem to glimmer. Watching him produce was like that too. You could see the passion reflected in his eyes. 
 “I think you might have the prettiest eyes in the world,” You barely register the words coming from your mouth, looking up at Chan with wide eyes. 
 “I said that out loud didn’t I.” “Yes. You did.” 
 You cover your face in embarrassment, and apology on your lips. But he speaks before you get a chance to even justify yourself. 
 “You know,” he looks around the cafe. “I usually hate Monday’s, but now I get to see you, so I quite enjoy them.” 
 Your heart beats wildly in your chest, hands dropping into your lap. You avoid his eyes, pink staining your cheeks. Was this what you thought it was? 
 He shakes his head, hands now flat on the table. 
 “Will you continue being my Sunday poetry and coffee, muse?” 
 You look up at him, heart in your throat. “Did you just ask me out in fancy terms?” 
 “Maybe,” Chan shrugs. “You have to admit, it was a good line. So what do you say?” 
 Sitting up now, you finally look him in the eyes, his light smile triggering your own. 
 “I say yes, but only if you continue to be my pre-lecture 6am Monday coffee.” “Deal.” 
 vi.

Bursting into the common room, you hold up the stapled mass of paper in your hand. 
 “It’s finished!” You exclaim to those in the room, getting a load of cheers and claps in return. 
 Even though your assignment was due tomorrow, you had to admit that this was the first assignment you’d really invested your time in doing, hopefully producing one of your best pieces of writing so far. 
 Chan appears from nowhere, easily taking the stapled story out of your hands with nothing but a swipe, planting himself on the couch as he flicks to the first page. 
 You sit across from him, eyes watching as his flick over the pages of typed print, a small smile here and there. 
 “This seems like a very familiar story.” He smirks, handing the stack back to you when he’s finished. 
 You roll your eyes, biting back a sarcastic remark. 
 “It seems my professor was right about finding someone to fall for.” 
 He raises an eyebrow at this. 
 “Does this mean your views on love have changed?” “...yes.” 
 The mumbled reply doesn’t go unnoticed by Bang Chan, body moving closer to yours, a wide smile on his features. 
 “Did I finally convince you? Did you really change?” 
 “Only for you, Bang Chan.” You tease, shoving him away. 
 His hand touches his chest, face expressing an overdramatic response to your words. “Stop it, I’m shy.” 
 Rolling your eyes, you hit his head with printed narrative, standing up from the couch. 
 “I think this calls for a coffee.” 
 “Agreed,” he links his arm with yours. “I could use a coffee.” 
 ... 
 Knocking on the door of your professor, you shoot Chan a nervous smile, hand pushing down on the handle at the sound of a muffled ‘come in’. 
 “Hi,” you say, holding out the stack of paper towards him. “I’ve just come in to give you my assignment.” 
 “Ah,” he smiles, taking the paper with two hands. “Thank you.” 
 His eyes flick to Chan, who is standing at the door, then back to you. 
 “Y/N,” he asks, eyes turned up in a smile. “Did you enjoy this assessment? I’m trying to get all of my students feedback on it.” 
 “Oh,” you breathe, nodding. “I really enjoyed it. I feel like I learnt a lot, and grew as a future writer.” 
 He nods, holding up your pages. “I sure look towards to reading this. Thank you, you may go now.” 
 Politely bowing your head as a silent thanks, you give Chan a small smile as you turn back, walking towards the corridor. 
 “Oh Y/N!” “Yes, sir?” 
 Your fingers are on the handle of the door, other hand lacing with Chan’s nervously. 
 “Didn’t I tell you?” He gestures to Chan and you, a knowing smile on your face. 
 You both laugh nervously, nodding. 
 He smiles at this, shaking his head. “Go on, you two lovers. I won’t waste your time much longer.” 
 Quickly scurrying off, you two laugh about your professor. 
 “How much do you want to bet that he totally planned this with your teacher.” 
 “Hey, that’s a fair idea,” Chan replies, looking down at you. “He probably knew that someone was bound to take his advice.” 
 Rolling your eyes, you shove him away from you lightly. 
 “I take everything back.” “C’mon! I’m your man now!” 
 His shoulder rubs against yours as you two continue walking. 
 “You know, I flirted with you nonstop for like the last few months.” 
 You stop walking, looking up at him. 
 “You did?” “Yes, but you were way too thick to notice. Hell, Y/N, I literally called you sweetheart, muse, and my dearest.” 
 You huff, crossing your arms. “So you planned this? For me to finally fall for you whilst we were doing this topic?” 
 He shrugs with a cheesy smile. “Maybe. I mean, now you get to get your 6am Monday coffee with me.” 
 You shake your head at him, wrapping your arm around his middle. “I’m glad you did because now I get free coffee for the rest of my life.” 
 Arm around your shoulder now, he laughs, throwing his head back in such a way that made you laugh along with him. 
 “You just make my day,” he comments, pulling you closer to him. “SIKE you’re an idiot!” 
 The kiss that is pressed to your cheek makes you squirm, trying to push him in the chest. But his grip is way too strong for you, laugh loud in your ears. 
 Shaking your head, you finally push him. “You’re dead to me now Bang Chan.” 
 “Baby!” He muses, now walking backwards as he keeps up with you. “Cmon! I was only being sarcastic!” 
 “I’m going to laugh so hard when you trip over.” you deadpan, eyes focused straight ahead as you cross your arms over your chest. It was hard not to smile, it tugging at the sides of your mouth. But you don’t give in to the itch. 
 “That’s only because I’m falling for you, sweetheart.”