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sailorsoons · 2 days ago

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Blood & Popcorn (l.c)

Pairing: Lee Chan x f. Reader

Summary: Fridays are reserved for watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer and stuffing your face with popcorn and pizza. It’s been like that for you and Chan since your freshman year of college. But when he skips your Blood and Popcorn night for a date, things take an unexpected turn.

Word Count: 11,315

Genre: Friends to Lovers, Angst, Fluff

Type: Smut

Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

Warnings: Literally so much misunderstanding and repressed feelings, pining, light themes of jealousy, recreational drinking, recreational weed use, bad communication skills, some mild insecurities, explicit language, explicit sexual content including unprotected vaginal sex (do not do this lmaooo), nipple stim, light teasing, oral (f. receiving), clumsy/playful sex, jokes/banter while fucking. They’re both down horrendous. Joshua as an almost love interest. Jeonghan is both terrible and great at advice.Alternating POVs and some time skips.

A/N: This was originally posted on my old blog, and is being reposted to celebrate Valentine's Day! Enjoy Chan and Bambi the way god intended.

A/N 2: Thank you to @daechwitatamic who beta read this and who this was dedicated to!

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“So why not Blood and Pizza if pizza is always involved but popcorn isn’t?” Mingyu eyes the french fries on your plate. You give him a warning glance, pointing the sharp tines of your fork at him. He retreats, leaning against the cracked vinyl of the booth, pouting. “Also, the title sounds gross.”

“Good thing it has nothing to do with you then.”

“Wow, you’re not even going to invite me?”

“No,” you chirp, popping a shoestring fry into your mouth. You savor the saltiness, humming delightedly. “It’s for me and Chan. Not me, Chan and you. Plus, you know nothing about Buffy.”

“Isn’t that a magic dragon? And are you sure you two aren’t dating?”

The look you send Mingyu makes him hold up his hands in surrender. It isn’t the first time someone has asked if you and Chan are dating, and you know it won’t be the last. You don’t want to start down that avenue tonight, trying to navigate the questions of why and well you seem to be a good match.

If romantic relationships were started over simply having things in common and matching a vibe, you and Chan would have started dating a long time ago. But you’re not, and you’ve already gotten over the fact that you’re not dating and that you will not start dating.

Mostly.

The bell rings above the diner door, drawing your attention. Like he’s been manifested by Mingyu’s dangerous question, Chan spots you and lifts a hand, a smile splitting his face as he heads over. You scoot over in the booth, dragging your plate along with you to make room for him.

Chan is dressed in jeans and a green sweater, your favorite color on him. He sits down next to you, cushioned seat dipping a little as he leans over to kiss the top of your head and steal fries off of your plate. You let him, feeling heat flush up the side of your neck as you look anywhere but Mingyu’s accusatory stare.

“These are so good,” Chan says around a mouthful of fries. “Thanks, Bambi.”

You grin at the nickname, trying not to flush too hard.

“I wouldn’t know,” Mingyu says pointedly. You ignore him, shoving your burger in your mouth. “Apparently I’m not allowed fries or to attend your movie night.”

“Order your own fries,” Chan says.

“Ugh. I already ate mine.”

“So order more, idiot. And of course you’re not invited to Blood and Popcorn. That’s our thing.”

Our thing.

The corner of your mouth twitches as you glance at Chan. He doesn’t notice, catching the eyes of the server and waving happily, giving her a broad smile. She gives him a thumbs up in return, confirming she’ll put in his usual now that he’s there.

There are a lot of things that belong to you and Chan. Studying at the very diner you were sitting in during freshman year had been one of them, though now in your final year there’s not as much of a need to study and you’ve incorporated other friends in your late night trips for grease and calories.

You also shared trivia nights on Tuesdays with Vernon and Seungkwan, football Sundays with Seungcheol, Mingyu and Jeonghan, once a month family dinners with everyone, and most importantly, Blood and Popcorn.

Chan steals another fry off of your plate and you let him, leaning back in the booth. Mingyu glares daggers at you, dark eyes flicking from your plate, to you, to Chan. You grin around a mouthful of cheeseburger and he scoffs before looking away.

Behind you, Chan’s arm stretches across the back of the booth, just barely brushing against the top of your shoulders. Your stomach flips a little, momentarily elated at the contact before you swallow it down with Sprite, pretending it wasn’t there in the first place.

The two boys immediately fall into a conversation about their shared engineering class. You tune it out easily, a learned habit over the last four years of having to listen to Chan tell you the functions of a bridge and the best way to design one. Instead, you focus on the rise and fall of Chan’s soft voice and the way it lulls you into a state of calm.

When the server brings over his order, he pulls his arm from over the back of the seat. Immediately you snatch one of the onion rings from his basket, popping one into your mouth and hissing as the crispy snack burns you. He shakes his head, laughing as he gives you a napkin while you sputter.

“Careful, Bambi,” he murmurs. “They’re literally steaming.”

Mingyu reaches for an onion ring, only to be threatened with the blunt end of Chan’s steak knife. “Don’t even think about it.”

“But she-”

“Bambi has special privileges,” Chan quips. “Order yourself some more fries for the love of God. I’ll pay for them.”

Mingyu immediately stops whining, mood improving markedly as he orders fries, wiggling in his seat happily. Chan cuts his burger in half, asking, “Why were you talking about Blood and Popcorn anyway?”

“Shua asked Bambi out on a date,” Mingyu answers around a mouthful of fries. “She told him she couldn’t go because of Blood and Popcorn.”

Chan stops eating and looks at you, brows creasing. You feel your heart rate speed up as you kick Mingyu under the table. He yelps, knee jerking upward to slam against the underside of the table. The salt and pepper shakers rattle in place as Mingyu bends over to rub his shin.

“He didn’t ask me out on a date.”

“He asked you to dinner!”

“As friends!”

“Oh yeah,” Mingyu snorts, rolling his eyes. “Friends take friends to fucking prime steakhouses. He asked you out on a date.”

For a moment, silence envelops the table. You stare at your fries, watching Chan out of your periphery. He looks away from you, wiping the grease from his fingers onto the napkin. The air feels pregnant with tension suddenly, your anxiety bubbling as you open your mouth to assert once more it wasn’t a date.

Chan beats you to breaking the silence, “We can skip this Friday so you can go!”

You open and close your mouth a few times, heart dropping to your ass. “What?”

“It’s totally fine if we have to skip. I don’t mind.”

Chan picks his burger back up, not looking at you. Heart pounding in your chest, you can’t help but watch him in total silence, trying to string together a response. Sure, maybe Chan doesn’t mind if you miss your weekly solo hangout. But you care.

The ache of the implication cuts you suddenly, a delayed reaction. You feel your throat tighten painfully, reaching for your Sprite to try and swallow past the sudden tension. It does nothing to quell the way the casual dismissal of your tradition keeps cutting you long after he’s said the words, sawing down to the bone.

“I wasn’t aware that we could just skip Blood and Popcorn, I guess.”

“I mean if you’ve got a date.”

That’s not the point, you want to scream at him.

Chan is a lot of things. Perceptive isn’t one of them. If he had been, you know he would have sniffed out your feelings for him a long time ago. Luckily for you, he’s remained completely oblivious over the last four years of your friendship, and you like to keep it that way. Keep it safe.

Nothing ruins a friendship more than unrequited romance. You know that from more than just the media you consume - you’ve seen more than once first hand when one friend catches feelings for the others but the desire isn’t mutual.

It isn’t mutual here. It’s always been very clear where Chan’s interests lie, and you’re totally fine with that. You accept the relationship that you have happily and quietly, and thought moments like are a brutal reminder of where you stand, it’s alright because you also love your friendship. More than you love him - at least, you think so.

So when Chan so easily suggests to go on a date, to cancel your thing with him to accommodate, you know it isn’t because he doesn’t care. He just thinks that you should go on a date because it doesn’t occur to him that the real reason you don’t want to is because your interests are somewhere else. That you don’t want to cancel Blood and Popcorn because it’s for the two of you and no one else.

“Yeah,” you rasp, unsure what else to say. “Um, maybe.”

“Shua is a good guy.”

“Yeah. Yeah he is.”

Mingyu and Chan go back to their conversation about class. You finish your meal in silence, leaning back against the seat as your thoughts wander listlessly. You gaze around the diner, drinking in detail as their conversation becomes background noise and you can no longer understand what they’re saying.

Rounders Diner had been a staple in the college community long before you were born, and continues to be the center for academic life. Students fill the booths sipping on milkshakes as they cram for exams or homework, night shift workers sit at the countertop and order coffee before heading to work, and the jukebox in the corner glows neon, only offering a selection of music from the 50s.

Behind the countertop is an open scratch kitchen, the sound of sizzling grease and yelled orders bracketing an Elvis song you know the words to but don’t know the name of. Black and white tile flooring with years worth of scuffs reflect the canned lighting in the ceiling. Over near the entrance is a wall covered in pictures of students of note throughout the years.

You remember the first time Chan had hauled you to Rounders. It was the first day you’d met, two freshmen absolutely terrified of the world after experiencing two back to back intro courses together. The dining hall was on the opposite side of campus from your classes, but Chan had insisted there was a diner just off the corner that everyone said was a necessary experience.

He was the first real friend you made. Your roommates had become your best friends too, Lorna and Mai splashed across almost every memory you have of college. But that first day is only colored with Chan, who had slid into the seat across from you and looked around the diner with a bright grin like he was suddenly at home.

Wanna start coming here after class?

You did. And you had.

A hand waves in front of your face, making you blink several times before Chan’s face swims into focus. Your thoughts are a little delayed as you drink him in: dark hair framing dark, angular eyes that turn molten brown when the sun hits them just right, a jawline that has turned sharper as he’s aged, though his cheeks still have a youthful softness that you adore, and a grin that makes the world dim.

“What?” you ask him, totally at a loss for words.

He laughs and you feel the corners of your lips turn upward, an automatic response to his mirth. “I asked if you were ready to go.”

You look up to see Mingyu at the register, passing over the bill and a card. “I think I spaced out. I thought you were buying him fries?”

He snorts. “Never fear, it’s my card. Everything okay?”

You hesitate. Not for the first time, the urge to spill your guts to him grips you so forcefully that you almost do right in the middle of Rounders. Almost tell him everything from start to finish, the feelings, the reason you don’t want to date Joshua, how beautiful you think Chan is-

Mingyu starts heading back and you force a grin on your face, bumping his shoulder with yours. “Of course. A little tired, though. Thanks for dinner.”

“You know I’ve got you.” He gets up from the booth and holds his hand out to you. “Always.”

Chan is the stupidest fucking person he knows. He lets out a loud scream into the warmth of his pillow, squeezing his eyes shut as he lays face down in his bed. His arms are shoved under the pillow, fisting in his sheets as the long-winded scream finally begins to die out.

“Yes, that is healthy,” Seungkwan calls from Chan’s desk against the window. “Let the pillow know everything that you’re feeling.”

Scowling, Chan lifts his head up and looks over his shoulder at where Seungkwan is sitting. His roommate is hunched over Chan’s laptop, a document open on the screen as he clicks around rapidly, cursing under his breath.

“Why are you in here again?”

“My literature professor is a dinosaur,” Seungkwan answers. “And only accepts printed essay submissions.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes.”

“No, I mean you don’t have your own printer?”

“No, and I will not be paying thirty cents a paper for an essay that is almost thirty pages long.”

“That’s like, nine dollars dude. Also, why is your essay thirty pages long?”

“Ask the dude who wrote Beowulf.”

“Isn’t that like… a movie?”

Seungkwan mutters something under his breath. The printer chimes, followed by a mechanic whirring as the paper feeds into the machine and starts printing. Spinning in the chair, Seungkwan looks at where Chan is still laying stomach down, face squished against his pillow as he cradles it.

“Speaking of movies - are you having Blood and Popcorn here or at Bambi’s?”

Chan can’t help but smirk at the nickname. It had stuck ever since your freshman year when you’d called Rin Hartford a bambi-eyed bitch for saying nasty things to Mingyu. He thinks that night might be the night he realized he was absolutely head over heels for you, even if he had only known you for two weeks then.

Despite your quiet disposition, you’ve always been the epitome of bravery. He can’t recall a time that you haven’t said what you meant or meant what you said, and defending your friends and speaking up has always been paramount to you.

For someone like Chan who was often the youngest and the softest spoken in any group he was in, you were a breath of fresh air. And you’ve taught him to speak up for himself, letting him grow comfortable pushing back with people - especially his friends - and how to give back what he gets.

Corrupted, Seungcheol joked once. She corrupted him and taught him how to bully us back.

“I’m not really sure,” Chan says slowly, thinking about your conversation at the diner, the exact source of his pillow-scream. “We might not be doing it.”

“Uh-oh. Trouble in paradise?”

“There is no paradise. We’re just friends.”

“That’s the trouble I’m talking about, brother.” Seungkwan turns around to start collecting the pages out of the printer. “Is the Blood and Popcorn cancellation the reason for your pillow screaming?”

“I don’t know that it’s canceled.”

“That really clarifies the issue.”

Chan scowls. “Did you know Shua was into her?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“He asked her on a date.”

“Joshua must have got tired of waiting for you to make a move on Bambi. I guess he decided you weren’t going to.”

Chan frowns and sits up. He didn’t realize Joshua remotely had a thing for you, and while Chan adores the older member of their larger friend group, the thought of him taking you to dinner - a date - makes his stomach tighten.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” Seungkwan clarifies. “That you have had the last four years to nut up or shut up. Everyone has waited for you to make your move on Bambi and you haven’t. If you’re not going to do it, someone else might as well.”

“I mean, anyone could ask her out. It’s not like I have-”

“Don’t you dare say you didn’t have dibs. Dibs can be unspoken, Chan. You’ve been in love with that girl since freshman year, if you think people - especially our friends - cannot tell and don’t respect you enough to give you time to ask her out, you need to wake up.”

“It’s that obvious?”

“Not to her, clearly.” Seungkwan stands and grins at Chan placidly, his essay collected in his hands. “Fortunately for you, the only person who is as dumb as you are is Bambi. Match made in heaven, really.”

Chan chews his bottom lip. That offers a little bit of relief. He doesn’t like knowing that his feelings are so obvious to everyone else, but at least you don’t know. He cannot imagine how uncomfortable it would make your friendship dynamic knowing he was mooning over you while you just saw him as a friend.

“Well, she doesn’t feel that way about me. I’m not going to confess my unrequited feelings and put her in that position to deal with them. It wouldn’t be fair.”

Seungkwan gives Chan a slow blink, smile turning plastic. “Like I said. Match made in heaven.”

Heaving a sigh, Chan throws himself on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. Chan was certainly an idiot for a lot of reasons, but the biggest reason has to be the way he has let his feelings for you fester since freshman year. Instead of implementing preventative maintenance, he’s let the problem grow to the point that his friends are no longer waiting for him to do something about it.

The window of opportunity is gone.

Not that there was a window of opportunity to begin with. Chan has seen what it looks like when you’re interested in guys - dazed eyes, a little flustered, a tiny grin on your face. You’ve never looked at him that way. At least, not really like that. You smile at him all the time, but it’s different.

If he had the slightest indication you looked at him like you were interested, he’d have spilled his feelings a long time ago. Hiding this from you feels almost like a violation of friendship, but in order to preserve the friendship and keep you comfortable, he does what he must.

The memory of him telling you to go on a date with Joshua makes him groan in embarrassment. He presses the heels of his hands to his eyes, seeing stars explode behind his lids. It had been a knee jerk response, something to distract you from the immediate jealousy and panic he’d felt that moment that Mingyu had dropped that bit of information at the table.

Mingyu. That motherfucker did it on purpose - not to rile Chan, but to try and give him a kick in the ass toward the right direction. But like everyone else, Mingyu doesn’t get it. If Chan told you how he felt just to get it off of his chest, it would be putting his burden on you. You’d be the one who had to feel guilty for it being unrequited, you’d be the one who would inevitably feel uncomfortable or out of place.

No. It would be the highest form of selfishness he can think of, offloading the heavy weight of his feelings just to give them to you as a reprieve from carrying them around so long.

Chan blinks away the swimming colors, staring up at the popcorn ceiling of his bedroom again. He can hear Seungkwan singing somewhere in the apartment, liquid voice calming even in Chan’s mild state of distress.

Joshua is a good guy. Honestly, there are only a few guys that Chan knows who would make a suitable partner for you, and he begrudgingly acknowledges that Joshua is at the top of that list. And yet he still feels a twist of self-loathing that he had pushed you so quickly towards it, the regret like bile in his stomach.

The last thing Chan wants to do is skip Blood and Popcorn this week. It is the one guaranteed day of uninterrupted time with you, and he waved it away like it meant nothing to him, which could not be farther from the truth. The nights of watching Buffy and eating pizza and sometimes popcorn mean everything to him.

He just wishes he had been brave enough to stand his ground.

Maybe Joshua Hong is the worst person ever. Chan dismisses the irrational thought as soon as he has it. Joshua isn’t awful at all. It’s just that he’s leaning in toward you and saying something into your ear over the loud din of the party, and Chan watches the way you nod.

Crack. The plastic cup in his hand splits and immediately spills rum and coke all over the kitchen floor. Jeonghan starts yelling at him, ripping paper towels off of the roll and throwing them in Chan’s direction. He mutters an apology, gaze drifting over the kitchen counter to the living room where you’re laughing, head tilted back, warm light splaying across your throat-

“Ya! Don’t just let it pool at your feet!”

Jeonghan’s screech brings Chan back to life. He snatches the copious amounts of paper towels Jeonghan has thrown at him and starts to soak up the drink. The tile floor is already sticky and Chan cringes. No way have either Jeonghang or Seungcheol cleaned this floor any time recently. If anything, Chan has done it a favor.

The party is in full swing around him. He stands up with the soaked paper in his hand, tossing it into the trash and grabbing more while Jeonghan digs underneath the counter. Chan finishes soaking up the spilled drink and comes eye to eye with a new set of paper towels and spray cleaner.

Chan gives Jeonghan the soaked papers. “Jeonghan, your floor is already disgusting.”

“Then you should have no problem cleaning it!”

“Sure, Mom.”

“Don’t call me that!”

He rolls his eyes but does what Jeonghan says, spraying the area quickly and pressing down the paper towels. They come away sticky and black, making him cringe in disgust before tossing them out and washing his hands. As he turns off the faucet, Jeonghan has the decency to hand him a new drink.

Chan takes it without comment, the image of Joshua leaning into you a little too much for him to deal with right now. He drains the cup, sputtering a little. Jeonghan is a heavy pour and the spiced rum goes down rough, his eyes tearing just a little as he finishes the drink.

“Well, that’s one way to stop from spilling.” Chan shoots Jeonghan a look before reaching for the mixer and handle of rum again. “You do normally drink like a fish, but anything in particular driving tonight’s thirst?”

“Nope.”

“Right, so it’s not tall, dark and handsome hanging out with Bambi?”

Chan feels his eye twitch as he heavily pours the liquor into his cup. “Nope. And Joshua isn’t even that tall.”

“Taller than you.” Chan shoots Jeonghan a venomous look. His face is beatific, grin a little bit dangerous as he holds his hands up in a white flag. “You look pretty bothered. If only there were a way to fix that.” Chan looks at Jeonghan with wide eyes, hope surging for a moment. “Just tell her you like her.”

“Why is that the only advice any of you have?”

“Because it’s the only advice I have. Either tell her or get over your feelings. Those are your options.”

“And I’ve already told you, it would just make her uncomfortable. It’s not her burden to bear.”

Jeongan taps his fingers on the countertop, studying Chan. Chan pouts into his cup, taking long draughts, trying not to cringe at the strong taste. He can already sense the oncoming buzz and he welcomes it, needing a little something to distract him from the obvious elephant in the living room.

“Alright,” Jeognhan relents. “Then deal with the consequences and get over your feelings.”

And he will. Chan has always been good at dealing with the repercussions of hiding his feelings, and he does them well. So he tips back the cup and rejoins the party, nerves steeled and ready to deal with the consequences like his friends keep telling him to.

“What?” you asked, lifting your voice to be heard over the rowdy game of cards at the coffee table. Joshua had asked you something but the words had been lost on you as your gaze drifted to Chan where he was leaning against the wall, talking to a girl you didn’t know. He was leaning awfully close. “I didn’t catch that.”

Joshua smiles. He really is handsome, and everything someone could want in a partner. He’s kind and gentle, has a little bit of an insane streak, and he is incredibly intelligent and loyal. So why do you feel nothing when he grins at you or laughs?

Your eyes drift over to Chan again and you feel your stomach flip. The alcohol turns to lead. The girl Chan is speaking to is so close to him, both of them turned toward one another as he ducks his head down to say something to her. She laughs and he smiles, looking her up and down.

Jealousy swallows you whole. It roars so loudly in your ears that you almost miss Joshua’s question again. “Did you give any thoughts about dinner on Friday?”

Dinner? Friday? Oh right. He had asked you to dinner on Friday, but you’d declined due to your planned Blood and Popcorn night. With Chan. Who is flirting with the girl next to him, who is flirting back.

The jealousy feels like a raw, rotten thing. It turns the alcohol in your stomach sour, makes the sweat on the back of your neck feel too much, like the room is too loud and too full. Even as the envy rears its head, an ugly beast ready to unleash, you turn to Joshua and say, “I really can’t. Friday nights are really important to me.”

Joshua looks disappointed, but he’s polite enough to nod and smile. “I understand. Maybe a different night?”

“Um, maybe. Would you excuse me? I really need some air.”

You stand abruptly, starling the people next to you. The cup in your hand shakes a little and your throat constricts and oh god. You cannot cry in the middle of a party just because you’re a little buzzed and the boy you like is across the room with another girl.

“Do you want me to-”

“No!” You quip, shaking your head. “Totally fine, I’m so fine, I just need some air. Please! Sit! Stay!”

Joshua raises his eyebrows at your frantic commands and you give a laugh that is a little on the hysterical side as you step over the legs of people sitting on the floor and on the couch. Joshua calls after you as you make the escape but you don’t turn around, eager to get out of the room.

You trip over someone’s foot and nearly launch into a passerby as you go. Strong hands steady you before you totally topple over, though your drink sloshes over the edge of your cup, spilling it on the carpet.

“What is it with you and your other half?” You look up to realize that it’s Jeonghan who stabilized you. “Spilling drinks all over my damn floor!”

“It probably helps. Your floors are disgusting.”

“Ya! That’s beside the point - why do you look like you’re about to die?”

“I feel like I might. I need fresh air.” For a moment, Jeonghan looks confused. You watch his dark brows pull together and he looks over your head, dark gaze scanning for something. For Chan, you realize. It’s usually Chan who leaves with you if you need air or need to stick your head in a bucket to vomit. The realization hits you like a brick. “Not him,” you whisper. “I’m fine.”

Your words land at the same time Jeonghan focuses in the direction you’d last seen Chan. He holds you there, suspended in time for a moment as his eyes dart between you and back to where you know Chan is still leaning against the wall.

There is a flicker of something that you cannot place in Jeonghan’s gaze before it softens and he nods. He pulls you toward him and helps guide you around the groups of people. “Fresh air it is.”

“You don’t have to come.”

“I don’t know, crying alone is kind of lame, Bambi.”

Cool air hits you the second you step onto the porch. Soonyoung is sitting on the railing with Jihoon and Vernon leaning next to him. He waves enthusiastically when he sees you, breaking out into a grin and lifting the joint between his fingers, an offer. You shake your head and he shrugs, passing it to Vernon who lifts a hand in salute.

The smell of weed chases you down the grass slope of Jeonghan’s backyard. It’s not so much a backyard as it is open to the apartment community’s lake. The spray of the fountain grows louder as the sounds of the party fade.

Jeonghan sits down in the grass, leaning back on his hands. You join him, cringing at the dampness from the dewey grass. Taking in a deep breath you close your eyes and lean your head back, letting the wind cool the sweat on your overheated skin. The breeze mists the fountain, tiny specks of water tingling on your face as you sit in silence.

Behind your lids, you can see the image of Chan leaning in toward that girl. The intimacy of the space. You hate how you can recall it in such detail - you’d always been able to remember details where Chan was involved. Like the way he was wearing a black, long-sleeved tee that pulled against his chest and arms perfectly, or the way the necklace you bought him two years ago glinted in the light of the living room, or the way-

“I did it to myself, huh?” you ask, feeling the first tear collect on your lash line. You tilt your head upward, trying to blink it rapidly away. “I could have just told him a while ago.”

“Well, I don’t think you’re entirely responsible,” Jeonghan mutters. “Look, putting your heart on your sleeve is really scary, especially when it’s to someone you really value. But you have to decide what to do. You can either tell Chan you love him or you can decide to get over it. You can’t cling to unspoken feelings, though.”

“I just… I don't feel like he returns the feelings and I don’t want to ruin what we have.”

“Then get over him.” You snap your gaze at Jeonghan, who is looking at you with the cool and calm you wish you felt. “If you’re unwilling to be honest with him, then your option is to get over it.”

“Do you think he would… react poorly?”

“Of course not, but I will not speak to all of Chan’s feelings. Those are his to share, not mine, and I believe in the sanctity of acting on one’s own.”

“You sound so… saintly.”

“Dealing with all your problems has turned me into a saint. Do you know what it’s like being therapy to all of these damn people? You all take ‘door open’ a little too seriously.”

You laugh, feeling a little lighter. Pulling at the grass, you sigh. “You’re right, though. I either need to just tell him or let it go. I can’t just… suffer.”

“If only you’d come to that conclusion a while ago.”

“Bleh.”

Fresh air and the weight of Jeonghan’s words weigh down on you. You know that he’s right. Though you’re confident that Chan doesn’t return your feelings, you don’t explicitly know because you’ve never asked. And if you never ask, you’ll never know.

Calm settles over you as you decide your course of action. Blood and Popcorn is in two days - you can bring it up then.

Nodding to yourself, you pluck more grass out of the ground. “Alright,” you tell Jeonghan, heaving a sigh. “Thanks, Mom.”

“Ugh, you two! Don’t call me that!”

Hands shaking, you stare at your phone. You’ve had two days to mentally prepare for this evening and yet when you look at your phone, you think two days was not remotely enough to prepare for this evening. You haven’t spoken to Chan at all about what time you want to have your weekly hangout, but that’s not unusual.

The only thing unusual is your hesitation to hit the call button and ask what time he wants to come over. It’s such a simple thing - you don’t need to confess your feelings to him right now. But the anticipation of what inviting him over means and the possible disaster it can bring makes your fingers shaky.

Instead of hitting dial, you take one deep breath and let it out slowly. In slowly again, and-

Your phone starts ringing before you can finish the exhale. Your heart pounds in your throat when you see Chan’s name flash across your screen. For a few seconds there is pure panic, but you manage to collect yourself and slide your thumb across the screen. It takes a few tries, your hands clammy with anxiety as you answer.

“Hi!”

“Don’t kill me,” Chan immediately says on the other side of the line. You pause, cocking your head.

“Why would I do that?”

“I have to raincheck on Blood and Popcorn tonight.”

“Oh no, are you sick? Do you need me to bring anything over? Is Seungkwan-”

Chan laughs on the other side of the phone and your stomach flutters helplessly. You hear the creak of bed springs and you know he’s sitting on his bed. He has the world’s creakiest bed. “I’m not sick.”

“Oh.”

You frown, sitting down on your couch and folding your legs. There’s nothing else you can think of that Chan would cancel Blood and Popcorn for, so illness had seemed like the first rational thing. You feel a little embarrassed at immediately trying to take care of him, but push it away to ask, “What’s up?”

“I have a date. Tonight is the only night she was available for like two weeks. She’s in her first year of law school so her availability sucks.”

It feels like the air vanishes from the room. You lean back against the backrest on the couch, deflated. You hold the phone to your ear, but don’t feel the weight of it in your hand. The TV across the living room becomes a blur, the muted program in the background unrecognizable.

A date. Chan has a date. That he’s willing to cancel your night for.

You think back to that night at the diner when he told you to just go out with Joshua instead of doing Blood and Popcorn. How easily he pushed it aside. Like it was unimportant. Easily missed.

“Bambi?” Chan’s voice sounds distant through the roar of your emotions. “You there? The cell service in your apartment is so shitty.”

“I’m here.”

“Oh good. Sorry to miss, please don’t kill me. We can add two days of Blood and Popcorn next week to make up for it?”

“Yeah. Uh. Yeah.”

There’s a pause. “Are you okay?”

“Definitely.” Lie. “Sorry, I just woke up from a nap and I’m a little spacy.” Lie. “No problems here. I’m not mad. Enjoy your date.” Lie.

“Thanks, I’ll let you know how it goes after!”

“For sure.”

When Chan hangs up the phone, you think that Jeonghan was right. Crying alone is lame.

Chan can’t do this.

Sol isn’t the problem - at least not directly. She is beautiful and funny, sharp as a whip and has an edge to her that he loves in women. She is successful, has goals, and she’s sensible. And she’s into him, which is perhaps the biggest plus of all.

But she isn’t you. Sol’s biggest problem is that she’s not you, and it’s not really her problem at all. It is Chan’s and Chan’s alone, and he cannot sit through this date anymore. He’s tried for the last hour already, asking all of the right questions and laughing at all the right places, but he cannot stop the way he wonders if you’re watching buffy. He cannot help but wonder if you’re in those expensive pajamas you like, drinking inexpensive wine from the corner story, his favorite contrast.

Chan cannot stop thinking that his button up is a little too tight on his chest and the uncomfortable way his new shoes rub his ankle. He’d rather be in a tee and shorts, freshly showered and stretched out. He cannot stop blinking his eyes, hating the way one of his contacts is irritating him, wishing instead to be in glasses and the lowlight of your apartment.

From the moment he ended that call with you to cancel Blood and Popcorn, all he’s felt is dread. Dread for the upcoming date with someone he should be excited about, dread for telling you how it goes, dread for having to be in public with people and to get to know someone, dread at what happens at the end of the date, does he have to kiss her? Does he have to go get ice cream? What does he do-

“Are you okay?” Sol’s raspy voice draws him from his thoughts - not for the first time that night. She’s leaning back in her seat, dark eyes pinning him to the spot. She is as sharp as she is beautiful, and normally someone like Sol would make him trip over his feet. “You zoned out.”

“I apologize, that was rude of me.”

“It was,” she agrees. She swirls the wine in her glass, looking him up and down before giving him a sympathetic smile. “I won’t be offended if you want to call this off early.”

“What?”

“You’re not interested,” she asserts. Confident. Self-assured. “It’s totally okay if it’s not working for you.”

Heat crawls up the side of Chan’s neck. He runs his sweaty palms over his slacks. “I am so sorry,” he says earnestly. “This sounds so stupid to say, but it is me, it isn’t you.”

“No offense, but I know. You’ve been distracted since we got here. You obviously have something or someone else on your mind.”

“That easy to read, huh?”

“Open book. I have some pride, though. Let’s pay the bill?”

“I’m sorry.”

Her grin is polite. Understanding. “Don’t be. You’re cute and nice, but I cannot suffer knowing your mind isn’t on me.”

“Understandable.”

Chan knows he’s lucky. Anyone else a little less level-headed or less confident might have made him suffer. As it is, Sol does let him suffer a little, sliding the bill over to him with a knowing grin. He likes Sol - not like he likes you, but she’s good people.

“Promise me one thing?” Sol asks before ducking into her Uber. “It’ll help my pride.”

“Sure.”

“Go spend the rest of the evening with whoever it is and make sure you tell them how you feel. It’ll be worth it, that way.”

Chan grins. “Alright. I promise.”

And he does intend to hold to that promise. Something about tonight is different. He can feel it as he walks quickly to his car, undoing the top button of his shirt as he goes. The air is crisp and there are still a few streaks of orange in the night sky, the sun long gone.

Chan calls you as he turns his car onto the road, heading toward your apartment on the northside of down. He drums his fingers along the steering wheel, buzzing with nervous and excited energy as the line rings. When you don’t pick up, he ends the call.

Jeonghan was right - he usually is. Chan could either tell you how he feels or live with the consequences, and he’s decided he cannot live with the consequences. He cannot sit across the table from someone who isn’t you and pretend that he isn’t wondering what you’re doing. He cannot look at the curve of someone else’s mouth and wonder what it would be like if it were yours.

The date had been spurred by the intense wave of jealousy and inadequacy he felt at Jeonghan’s party when he saw you sitting on the couch with Joshua. He has no idea how else he would have had the confidence to start chatting up someone as commanding as Sol, but he was powered by rum and a wounded heart.

Stupid. It was stupid, he realizes now. He has been stupid so many times regarding you and for long enough that even Joshua, the most polite of his friends, felt like they could respectfully intercept you, now.

Well, perhaps you will choose Joshua instead. Chan is fine with that. What you want has always been paramount to him. But if you choose Joshua, it will be with the knowledge that Chan loves you and he always has.

Steeling himself, he gets out of the car at your apartment complex and looks up at the building. He can see the lights on in your living room, confirming you’re still home and probably watching Buffy. The thought sends a thrill through him and he smiles, shaking his head and taking a deep breath.

“You’ve got this, Lee Chan,” he tells himself. “You’ve got this.”

A loud knock on your door startles you. You finish blowing your nose in the issue, trying to suck up the rest of your tears. Pulling the sleeves of your sweater - Chan’s sweater - over your hands, you wipe your face with sweater paws, trying to erase some evidence of your tears before having to face the delivery person.

Grabbing the bills on the counter, you wonder how many people delivering food have seen people answer the door while crying or immediately after crying. Honestly, they’ve probably seen all types of strange situations, which makes you feel a little bit about answering the door after very clearly sobbing.

Unlatching the top and flipping the deadbolt, you yank the door open, prepared to not make eye contact to make it a little less awkward for you and the person just trying to hand you pizza and soda, except-

“Chan?”

It is Chan standing outside of your door. You blink in surprise, giving him a quick once over. He looks really nice, dressed in slacks and a black button up shirt that is a little too tight across the chest - not that you’re complaining - and the top of the buttons undone to reveal the necklace you gifted him. His dark hair has styling product in it, pushing it out of his face, save for a small rebel strand that hangs over his eyebrow.

Chan looks… beautiful. You’re suddenly very aware that you’re in his sweatshirt and sweatpants, face swollen from crying, nose a little snotty and looking worse for wear.

“What are you doing here?”

“Why are you crying?”

Chan pushes his way into your apartment and you let him, dropping your arm as he passes by. He shuts the door for you, flipping the latch and lock out of habit as he turns to you. He reaches out to grab you by the shoulders but you back up a little, suddenly terrified of his touch.

He notices. “Why are you crying?” he asks again, dark brows knitted and mouth twisted in a frown. “Talk to me.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be on a date?”

“Left early, wasn’t working. What’s going on?”

You swallow thickly, realizing you’re at a crossroads. Silence stretches between you as he waits for your answer, looking at you with so much concern that you begin to crack. The tension in your throat returns, the telltale sign of tears and you ball your fists, nails digging into your palms.

A torrent of feelings bombard you. Anger. Hurt. Desire. Relief. Hurt again.

“You canceled Blood and Popcorn.”

Chan opens and closes his mouth, head cocking to the side a little bit. He looks mystified, trying to put together the pieces to the puzzle. “I don’t understand.”

“You canceled Blood and Popcorn for something else. For someone else.”

“I-”

A series of emotions flit over his face. You feel your heart pounding wildly in your chest as you watch each one, trying to catch them as they go. Confusion. Thoughtfulness. Confusion. Realization. You watch as he drinks you in, the tears, the wet stains from crying on the shirt, your words. Slowly, Chan puts the pieces together for the entire picture, and his face becomes so soft that you nearly cringe.

“Oh, Bambi.”

“You can date whoever you want, you’re not mine,” you punch out, wiping a tear as it escapes your eye. Feeling small, you back away from him a little, breaking eye contact. “But it hurts when you shove me aside like that. Look, I know we’re friends, but-”

“Bambi,” he says gently. You’re not looking at him, but you know that tone. The pleading. He’s begging you to stop, you think, but if you don’t get this out now you never will.

“Blood and Popcorn is important to me. You’re important to me. I know you’ve never seen me as more than a friend, but Chan-”

Chan interrupts you again. This time though, it’s by crashing against you. You nearly topple over onto the coffee table with the force of it, but you cling to him, digging your hands into the meat of his biceps to hold yourself to him. His hands press into the small of your back, sending a bolt of electricity to you that you can’t pay any attention to, because Chan presses his mouth against yours softly, stealing all of your thoughts.

For a second, your brain goes static. You’re so stunned you don’t do anything but cling to him, vacantly aware that the softness of his lips are on yours. Tentative. Questioning.

Chan pulls away and your eyes flutter open. He is only an inch away from your face, his minty breath fanning your lips as he begins to apologize, panic on his face. You interrupt him this time, surging forward to crash your lips to his, far less gentle than he had been the first time.

The box you’ve shoved every feeling for Chan cracks open. You feel everything pour out of it, a steady stream of want as you press into him. He smells like teakwood and mint, hypnotizing you. His mouth is soft and eager, sucking gently against your bottom lip.

Everything feels lighter, like gravity has lost all meaning. Chan pulls away from your mouth a little, close enough to brush your lips against his in a feather-light kiss, but enough to gaze down at you through half lidded eyes.

“The date didn’t work out because I kept thinking of you,” he whispers, voice shaking. You feel your breath stop as he speaks, each word sinking in. “It was stupid to ask her out. I was feeling insecure about Joshua asking you out, and it was stupid and petty-”

You kiss him again. He smiles into the kiss, letting you lead him, slow and lazy. You feel his tongue brush against the seam of your lips and you eagerly let him in, toes curling as he licks into your mouth.

“I just want you,” Chan admits, breaking away for a quick breath of air. He presses his lips against the corner of your mouth, your jaw, your cheek. He peppers your face in them as his hands skate up your back, hot even through the material of his sweatshirt. “I have for so long and I’ve been so afraid to tell you.”

“I was afraid too.”

“I have wasted so much time.” His hands cradle your face, turning you to look at him.

Chan is so earnest. Raw honestly glitters in his eyes. Deeper, hiding beneath the surface is something a little darker and more intense. Want. Desire. Something that lingers, waiting for you to call it forward. You love him so much that in that moment you almost cry more, feeling overwhelmed with everything you’ve buried down for years.

“I want to make up for it,” you whisper, stealing a kiss that is more teeth than anything. He makes a noise in the back of his throat. Your hands sink to his waist, gripping at the fabric of his shirt. “I was actually going to tell you tonight, before you canceled.”

“What a stupid man I am.”

You smirk a little. “Yes.”

“Let me apologize,” he murmurs, voice low. You feel yourself shiver as he pushes you toward your room, connecting your mouths again. The kiss is messy and needy, so different than the one moments before. You tangle together, stumbling toward your room. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“Oh?”

The crash landing onto your mattress is not graceful. Chan’s full weight falls on top of you and your foreheads smack a little. You yelp in paint and Chan groans, burying his face in your neck. You can’t help the laughter that bubbles to the surface, exploding out of you as your hands press flat on his back, soothing as you hold him to you.

“First step of apologizing,” you wheeze under him. “Give her a concussion.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, burying his face further in embarrassment. “I’m a little eager.”

His breath tickles your neck, making you squirm under him. He seems to notice, opting to press open-mouthed kisses against your throat. You hum, eyelids fluttering at the stimulation. “It’s okay,” you breathe, fingers turning to claws against his back. “It’s cute.”

Chan leans off of you, properly supporting himself with arms on either side of your head, caging you in. His knee slots between your legs, making your stomach leap in excitement as he scoots it up a little, almost pressing against you.

“You’re cute,” he notes, kisses getting messy as they go up your neck toward your ear. He nips your ear and you let out a sound. His laughter is warm against you and you shiver. “You’re in my clothes.”

“I wear them all the time.”

He groans. “I know. Fuck I know.”

“Is that what does it for you?” You move your hands from his back to his waist, pulling the tucked shirt from the waistband of his slacks. His hips twitch forward, excited. He busies his mouth with pressing wet kisses to your jaw. “Me in your clothes?”

“Everything does it for me. I am down horrendous for you.”

“I really didn’t know.”

He moves a hand to pull at the collar of his sweatshirt, exposing more of your collarbones to him as he kisses. “Everyone else did,” he assures you. You hiss when he bites down and licks over the sting, looking up through dark lashes to gauge your reaction. You nod a little and he grins, doing it again. “Biting. Got it.”

With trembling fingers, you work the buttons on his shirt. You steal touches as you go, greedy for him. Too long have you hidden what you want in the shadows, too long have you resisted this. Now, you take.

You brush your fingers against the flexing muscle of his stomach as you pull at the shirt, making him moan deep in his throat. His skin is like fire as you brush your fingers across its warmth, shoving his shirt off. He leans up, letting it fall from his shoulders, rippling to the ground.

The light from your hall glows behind Chan, halloween him in golden light. Your breath catches in your chest as your fingers press to his skin, brush over his shoulders and chest, down his stomach. You feel him twitch beneath your hands but he lets you explore, breathing hard under your reverence.

Golden boy, so full of fire. It’s all you can think of as you stare up at him, equal parts light and dark in your bedroom. Your hands drop to his belt and you tug him to you, desperate for him.

“Kiss me,” you beg.

He does. His mouth is greedy, stealing your breath. A thrill shoots through you when he slides his knee up higher, pressing it between your legs. You breath the kiss to gasp at the barest amount of pressure and Chan grins, watching your reaction through a heavy gaze.

“Take this off for me,” he asks, voice raspy. He pulls at the hem of his sweatshirt on your frame. “Please.”

You lean up, pressing your mouth to his collarbone in a sweet kiss as you pull the shirt over your head. He helps you, tossing it somewhere else. His hands go to your sides, fingers tracing up your curves as he pushes you back down, claiming your mouth again.

It feels like you might go crazy. Your bare chest presses against his, the friction turning your blood to liquid fire. His knee is firm between your legs, and when his hand slips to your waist, squeezing you and urging you to roll your hips you can’t help but let out a moan in the shape of his name, helpless.

“Fuck,” he swears, dropping his forehead to your shoulder as he helps you move against his thigh. “If you say my name like that again I might bust in my fucking pants.”

“Chan.”

“Don’t,” he laughs, biting your shoulder. “I want this so bad.”

“I want you.”

“I might pass out due to sheer joy.”

“I have some ideas on how to revive you.”

He lets out a swear and you laugh. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

“Maybe.”

Truth is, you think he might be the death of you. You’d die happily in his arms, completely swept up in the feeling of Chan’s tongue as it skates across your skin and up the swell of your breast. When he pauses, you look down at him. He smirks, happy to have your attention before he flicks his tongue lightly over the peak of your nipple.

You squeeze your legs around his thigh, back bowing off the bed. He lets out a chuckle, repeating the flicking motion as he watches you with dark, satisfied eyes. It drives you insane, the way he watches you with equal parts reverence and determination to find out what makes you squirm.

Chan is a fast learner. His teeth scrape against your nipple and you whine, thrashing under him as he teases you, pulling gently. The sting feels so good, making you melt into the mattress underneath him. He makes a sound of appreciation, sucking gently and sending you to the moon before trailing his mouth toward your other breast.

The hand on your hip squeezes you, reminding you why it had been there in the first place. “Keep going.” His breath fans against your skin and you tremble. “I like seeing you worked up.”

“God,” you whisper, trying to roll your hips against his leg again. It feels so good but it’s not enough, and as he sucks greedily at your chest you feel like you might rip at the seams. “Who knew you were so… this.”

You feel his wet grin against you, tongue flicking against your pert nipple. Your head falls to the side as you pant, trying to catch your fucking breath.

Of course he can reduce you to nothing so easily. No one knows you better than Chan, the two of you like twin flames. Every touch of his tongue, every press of his fingers into your skin, every breath of your name on his lips were made to unravel you because it’s Chan. Your Chan.

Your Chan who gently pulls the sweatpants from your hips, groaning low and slow when he sees the way your panties stick to your folds. Your Chan who kisses and bites the softness of your thighs, breath ghosting across sensitive flesh, fingers prying your legs apart when they start to twitch shut.

You’d always been made for him. To think otherwise was folly. You know that now, hand gripping his bones tight as he pulls your hands to the side, the cold air hitting your aching cunt. He lets you squeeze his hand, not caring that your gripping is bone-breaking.

“Hmm.” He looks up at you and you look down at him. His eyes are blown and he grins, shaking his head a little. “This for me?” You nod, your thoughts banging around the near empty space in your head as you do. “Fuck.”

And then his tongue presses against you, flat and warm and fuck fuck fuck. You can barely function as Chan drags his tongue slowly up your pussy, avoiding your clit entirely before dragging it back down. He makes a sound in his throat that sounds like a whine and you nearly lose it there, driven insane by him.

Chan takes the hand he has linked with yours and rests it on your hip, pressing into you to keep you still. You buck under his mouth and he laughs, unbothered as he looks up at you. The vision of him between your legs makes you dizzy, his hair mused, tongue pressed between your folds, eyes starving.

Your other hand grips his wrist where his opposite hand holds you open. You cling to him, thighs twitching as he licks you at his leisure. His mouth is a weapon, bringing you to the edge of insane easily. When he closes his lips around your clit and sucks gently, you fear you might break.

He can sense it too, setting himself to the task of pushing you over the edge. Chan learns you so quickly - maybe just knows you intuitively - alternating between circling his tongue around your throbbing bundle of nerves and sucking on it gently.

“I am going to die,” you gasp between ragged breaths. “Your fucking mouth.”

“Yeah? Feels good?” The buzz of his words drive right into your lower stomach where your orgasmed has so much compacted pressure you know you’re going to snap any moment. “Taste so good. I could eat this pussy all fucking night.”

“Fuck, Chan. I’m gonna come.”

He gives a harsh suck to your cunt, the wet sound obscene. “Good.”

“Like that.”

“Yeah?” he asks, panting. He does it again, following your instruction. Your mouth falls open as you nod, unable to string together more than. “Mmm.”

Chan doubles his effort, the wet sounds of his mouth making it all the harder to keep it together. He keeps you in place as best as he can, but his little hums of pleasure and the combination of his mouth and tongue send your orgasm slamming into you.

You think you say his name. You have no idea if anything comes out at all. You come hard, thrashing against the bed as he licks you through it, uncaring. Every nerve in your body is on fire, limbs tingling as you float in the momentary high of your peak before you start to come back down, breathing raggedly.

A cramp throbs in your fingers that are still twisted in Chan’s grip. You loosen your grip a little bit, feeling a little bad about almost snapping his fingers. He doesn’t seem to mind, head still between your legs, tongue gentle and pressed against your twitching entrance. He avoids your clit, letting you catch your breath.

“Chan,” you mumble. He lifts his head, your arousal spread across his mouth. He is a mess, spiking your need for him. You pull at him, wild. “Kiss me.”

He doesn’t hesitate. He scrambles up to you, letting go of your hand in favor of cradling your face. The kiss is hungry and wet, your heady taste on his mouth as you drink him in. You don’t care, desperate to have him close, pulling him into you.

One of your hands snakes between your bodies, pressing against the firm outline of his cock through his pants. He lets out a whine, shaking his head as he breaks the kiss, breathing heavy.

“Don’t,” he begs. “I will cum right now.”

“Oh?”

“I’m so serious, I almost came untouched.”

“Wow, I really do it for you, huh?”

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.” His sincerity makes you flush and you peck him on the lips. “I cannot promise I will not come apart after a single stroke.”

“Don’t care.” You undo his belt, pulling. “Want it. Want you. Please don’t make me wait.”

He curses. “I can deny you nothing.” He sees your wicked grin and shakes his head, laughing as he pulls away to kick out of his pants. “You like having me wrapped around your finger, huh?”

“You’re not the only one whipped.” He looks at you, doubtful. “You think I share my fries with anyone? Be so real, Chan. That’s something only you can do.”

“Got it. French fry privileges, what else can I weaponize?”

You don’t answer his question, distracted by him as he peels his briefs off and fists his heavy cock. You lick your lips, drinking in the length and thickness of him, the sticky, swollen tip, the way he pumps himself when he kneels on the bed again.

“Hmm?” he asks, noticing you're distracted. “Everything okay?”

“You have a nice dick,” you blurt. He pauses, raising his brows, thighs pressed to the back of yours. You fold your lips flat, a little embarrassed by your outburst. “Thank you is the proper response to a compliment.”

He bursts into laughter and you can’t help but join him, covering your face as it heats up. “Don’t hide from me, wanna see you,” he teases, grabbing your hands and pulling them from your face. He pins them above your head. “And thank you.”

Chan runs the head of his cock along your sticky folds, both of you moaning in unison. His hand still pins yours above your head, making you feel open and vulnerable. Your knees squeeze his hips as he ruts against you a little, eyes focused while he uses his other end to guide himself to your entrance.

“Mmm,” the sound escapes you as he presses in, the ache in your core doubling for a second as he sinks further. “Fuuuck.”

“Okay?”

“Very. Just- slow.”

“You got it, baby.”

The term of endearment hits you low in the stomach. Between him whispering baby and sinking into the hilt, you don’t know what drives you crazier. The easy answer is just Chan. It’s simply Chan who does this to you, who turns you inside out, who reduces you to a whimpering mess.

Chan lets go of your hands and brings it to your face. He leans down, supported by the other hand as he kisses you gently, letting you adjust to his girth, pussy spasming around him as you try to keep it together. The kiss is slow and sweet, in contrast to the feral kiss you shared earlier.

“Fuck,” he breaths against you mouth, laughing. He presses his forehead against yours. “You’re fucking squeezing me. I might die.”

You do it on purpose this time and he hisses, all of his muscles clenching. “Like that?”

“Doonnn’t. If I come right now I’ll be so embarrassed.”

“Why? It’s just me.”

“I don’t want to one-stroke my dream girl, are you serious?”

“Dream girl, huh?” He pulls out a little before shallow thrusting back in. “Mmm yeah. That feels good.”

Instead of answering your jest, he kisses you slowly. His strokes are slow but deep, making you sigh. He feels so good, having him like this. Chan presses his body against you, melding the two of you. You wrap your legs around his waist, squeezing to keep him as close as possible.

Your name falls from his lips as you move in sync. You can feel his heart pounding in his chest, feel him shake in your hands. He buries his face in your neck, mouth pressed against your skin as he breathes heavily. You cling to him, as though you could press your love into him, as though you can transfer it through touch.

Chan slides a hand between the two of you, reaching down to circle your clit gently. You whimper in surprise, squeezing around him and drawing out a low sound. “I’m gonna come soon,” he murmurs. “Do you have another one, baby? Can you try for me?”

You nod. He presses his lips to your temple, driving his hips faster, fingers firm. You feel yourself wind up again, desperate to catch up to Chan, to give him what he wants, to come undone together. You’d do anything for him - anything he asked. You always have.

A glint of metal catches your eye. You see the necklace you gifted him hanging around his neck, tapping his collarbone in time with his movements. The sight of it makes you possessive, your desire for him surging. Gripping the back of his neck, you bring his mouth to yours. You don’t kiss him, but your mouths are pressed together as you mutter, “I love you, you know?”

He groans, hips stuttering, fingers firm. You’re so close, you feel yourself right on that edge again. “I do know,” he admits, his cock pressing that perfect spot inside of you that has the room spinning. “I love you too, you know?”

You feel him smile against you. The kiss he gives you is so gentle that it sends you over the edge. You hold him tight, coming undone around him as he groans into your mouth, unraveling with you. When he stills, you keep holding him to you, his embrace warm.

Chan nudges your nose with his. You open your eyes to find his dark ones peering at you. You smile, lifting a hand to trace your fingers along his jaw, the gentle slope of his nose, the roundness of his cheeks. You note the faint freckles under his eyes, his long lashes, the way one side of his lips lifts before the other when he smiles.

“Hmm?” he asks.

“You’re so pretty.” You trace your finger to his nose and then flick it. He frowns and pulls away, making you laugh. “There is cum leaking down my leg to my ass.” He thrusts once sharply and you whine. “Chaaaan.”

“Hmmm?”

“Can we shower?”

“We?”

You grin. “You speak French?”

“I speak pussy.”

“Ew, get off of me!” you laugh, hitting him in the shoulder. He laughs too, rolling off and pulling out. “Take me to the shower, you loser.”

“Oui.”

“Then I want to watch Buffy - oh no.”

“What?” He stands and reaches a hand out to you, helping you up. “Are you alright?”

“I ordered pizza and they probably tried to deliver.”

“That’s okay.” He pulls you toward the shower and smacks your ass lightly, making you yelp. “Start the shower, I’ll call and get it re-delivered.”

You pause, looking at him, unable to bite back the smile. “I love you.”

“Mhmm. Love you too, Bambi.”

“I know I’m good looking,” Chan murmurs, eyes on the screen. “But you’re staring very hard at me.”

You’re laying against his chest, head tilted up to look at him. You can’t help it, watching the blue light from the TV dance across his face, reflected in the glasses he put on after the shower. His hair is still damp and fluffy, skin glistening from the skincare post-shower.

“You are good looking.”

“Damn. Only like me for the looks?”

“Well your jokes aren’t very good.”

He levels you with a glare and you laugh, kissing him quickly before settling down in his arms again. His embrace is warm and he smells like your shampoo. You press yourself into him further and he grunts, letting you.

“Can we do Blood and Popcorn forever?” you ask, watching him fondly. He smiles and kisses your forehead, flooding you with warmth. “Please?”

“Anything you ask, baby. Blood and Popcorn forever.”

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forevamark · 3 days ago

Text

4. the unbearable truth | time lapse l.mk

Pairing: mark lee x fem!reader

Tags: pre idol debut to idol au, christmas and new years time line, slice of life moments, college student reader, substantial plot leading to smut, very dialogue heavy, angsty moments, slow burn, relationship struggle, lovers to exes to lovers

Intended for 18+ readers, minors do not interact.

masterlist for time lapse

previous ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ next

Word Count : 5.5k+

Summary: Mark has always had the dream of becoming a big music star, meanwhile your aspirations lied with academics and coexisting with Mark. Mark struggles with telling reader that he will be leaving for Korea to pursue his music career very soon, in fear of losing what they have.

warnings are under the tab for chapters that apply.

A/N: I'm so sorry this took so long! I'm trying to graduate rn just like y/n :( but enjoy the angst train!!

December 14, 2023

The creak of the old wooden floors under Mark’s socks was a sound he hadn’t realized he missed until now. The familiar scent of his mom’s cooking wafted through the house, mingling with the faint lavender detergent she always used for the curtains. He leaned against the kitchen counter, watching his dad flip through a worn photo album at the dining table.

“This one’s from the camping trip back in 2015,” his dad said, tilting the album for Mark to see. The photo showed a group huddled around a campfire, their faces lit by the warm glow. Mark was in the middle, arms slung around someone who was laughing—someone who wasn’t supposed to still make his heart twist like this.

His mom glanced over his dad’s shoulder and immediately caught her slip-up. “Oh, Mark, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize Y/N was in this one,” she said, her voice tinged with regret.

Mark forced a small smile, waving it off. “It’s fine, Mom. Really.”

But it wasn’t. Not entirely.

They moved on to the next page, yet the conversation seemed to circle back to you, no matter how much they tried not to.

“Oh! Remember that Thanksgiving when Y/N helped me bake those carrot cookies?” his mom said before catching herself. She winced. “I mean—uh, anyway, you used to love that carrot cookie recipe.”

Mark exhaled softly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, I remember.”

His dad chuckled, oblivious. “She was always such a great sport about all your mom’s baking experiments. You two used to make a good team in the kitchen.”

“Dad.”

His father finally looked up, realizing his mistake, and his face softened. “Sorry, son. I know it’s... a touchy subject.”

Mark shrugged, swallowing the lump in his throat. “It’s fine. Let’s just... talk about something else.”

The room fell into a brief, awkward silence, broken only by the clatter of dishes as his mom set the table. After a moment, she sat down across from Mark, her expression unusually serious.

“Mark,” she began, her voice gentle but firm, “I know we keep slipping up, but... maybe it’s because we can’t help but associate so many happy memories with her. She was such a big part of your life. And I think—maybe—you miss her, too.”

Mark stiffened, his gaze dropping to the table. “Mom...”

“And not just her,” she pressed. “I think you miss a lot of things. Home, maybe. The simpler times. The you who didn’t have so much pressure on his shoulders.”

His jaw tightened, and he let out a slow breath. “I’m fine. I chose this path, remember? I wanted to go to Korea, to chase my dreams. And I’m doing okay.”

“You are,” she agreed, her eyes softening. “But that doesn’t mean it’s easy. And it doesn’t mean you don’t feel lonely sometimes.”

He looked up at her, his defenses cracking under the warmth of her gaze. “I... yeah. I miss her. And I miss home sometimes. But leaving was something I had to do, Mom. I couldn’t stay here and wonder ‘what if’ my whole life.”

“I know,” she said quietly. “But it’s okay to miss what you had, even while you’re building something new. It doesn’t make you any less brave or successful.”

Mark leaned back in his chair, the weight of her words settling over him. “I guess... I’ve just been trying not to think about it. About her. Or what I left behind.”

“You don’t have to bury it, honey,” she said. “Feel it. Remember it. And then let it be part of what drives you forward, not what holds you back.”

Mark nodded slowly, his chest feeling a little lighter, though the ache remained. Maybe it always would.

The table was quiet for a long moment, the hum of the old fridge filling the space. Mark sat there, his fingers gripping the edge of his chair as his mom’s words echoed in his mind.

He opened his mouth to say something—anything—but instead, a choked sound escaped. He quickly looked away, blinking rapidly as the pressure in his chest grew unbearable.

“Mark?” his mom asked softly, leaning forward.

“I’m fine,” he said hoarsely, shaking his head. But his voice cracked, betraying him.

Before he could stop himself, his head fell into his hands, and the tears came.

“I miss her, Mom,” he said, his voice muffled but thick with emotion. “I miss her so much.”

His mom was at his side in an instant, her arms wrapping around him. She didn’t say anything, just held him as he let everything out.

“I miss everything,” he continued, his words spilling out like a dam had burst. “I miss sneaking into her house at night, trying not to wake her parents. I miss the way she’d laugh at my stupid jokes, even when they weren’t funny. I miss how she’d make me feel like I could do anything, like I was invincible. And I miss home—your cooking, Dad’s dumb stories, the way things used to be before I left.”

His shoulders shook as he let out a shaky breath, his hands clenching into fists. “I thought I could just leave and be okay, but I’m not. I’m not okay, Mom.”

She rubbed his back soothingly, her heart breaking for him. “Oh, Mark... it’s okay to feel this way. You’ve been holding all of this in for so long, haven’t you?”

He nodded, swallowing hard. “I thought I could just keep moving forward, you know? Like if I focused on my career, it wouldn’t hurt so much. But every time I think about her, it feels like... like I can’t breathe.”

His dad, who had been silent until now, finally spoke. “You know, son, sometimes the things we try to leave behind have a way of sticking with us. And maybe that’s not such a bad thing. It just means it mattered.”

Mark wiped his face with the back of his hand, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. “I still love her, Dad. I don’t know if I’ll ever stop.”

His dad nodded, a small, understanding smile on his face. “Love like that doesn’t just go away. But the question is—what are you going to do about it?”

Mark looked up, his eyes red and glassy. “I don’t even know if she’d want to hear from me. It’s been so long. What if she’s moved on?”

“Maybe she has,” his mom said gently. “But you’ll never know unless you try. And even if she has, at least you’ll have said what’s in your heart. You deserve that closure, Mark, whether it’s a new beginning or a final goodbye.”

He let those words sink in, the weight of them settling alongside the ache in his chest. For the first time in a long while, he allowed himself to think about the possibility of reaching out—not just to her, but to all the parts of himself he’d tried so hard to leave behind.

“I’ll think about it,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

His mom squeezed his shoulder, her smile warm and reassuring. “That’s all I ask.”

“You’ll always be tethered together you two,” she starts with a warm smile, “you two spent so much of your lives together, it’s not good to keep them buried. It’s good that you still care about her. I know it may not look like it, but deep down she’s still tethered to you.”

And as Mark sat there, the smell of his mom’s cooking filling the room and his parents’ presence grounding him, he realized that maybe it was time to stop running—from his past, from his feelings, and most of all, from her.

“I need to get her back,” he said straightening out his posture and composing himself, “this isn’t right without her.”

“There we go Mark!” his dad said while getting up to hug him, “you don’t give up.”

Mark was going to your graduation, and you were going to fall back in love with him.

December 15, 2023

The morning light streamed through the curtains, illuminating your small apartment with a soft, golden glow. You stood in front of the full-length mirror in your bedroom, your graduation gown draped over your shoulders. Your fingers smoothed the fabric absently, your heart caught somewhere between excitement and an ache you couldn’t quite ignore.

Your gaze shifted to the black cap resting on your desk, its surface decorated with tiny, carefully arranged rhinestones and a bold quote in gold lettering: hello, future!

Mark had insisted on helping you with it, staying up late one night despite his own schedule being packed. He’d teased you for picking a simple quote but still carefully glued each gem, making sure it was perfect. You remembered the way his face lit up when you two finished, his arm slung around your shoulders as you admired your work.

You bite your lip, willing yourself not to cry.

You turned back to the mirror, adjusting the cap over your styled hair. Your eyes caught the delicate heels on the floor, pristine and elegant, a stark contrast to how you felt inside. Mark had worked overtime to save up for them, presenting them with a goofy grin and a note that read, For my rockstar, who shines brighter than any stage light.

Your chest tightened as you slipped them on. You hadn’t worn them since your breakup.

Walking into the living room, you froze at the sight of the couch. It was still the same soft, slightly worn piece of furniture where you two had spent countless nights. The memories flooded in uninvited: Mark sprawled out with his guitar, humming softly while you reviewed her notes; the way he’d throw a blanket over you two as you drifted off during late-night study sessions; the quiet comfort of his presence as you dreamed of your futures.

Your throat closed up, and you sank onto the couch, your fingers tracing the armrest. A small brown stain reminding you of your favorite take out, and the small things that only Mark would know at the perfect time.

The weight of the moment hit you all at once.

You were about to graduate, something you had both worked so hard for, but he wasn’t here to celebrate with you.

As you rested your head against the cushions, your cap slipping slightly to the side. Tears welled in your eyes, and this time, you didn’t fight them.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this without you,” you whispered into the empty room.

Your voice wavered, breaking under the weight of emotions you’d kept buried for months.

You missed him—more than you wanted to admit. Mark had been there for everything: your late-night breakdowns, your victories, your dreams. And now, as you stood on the brink of achieving one of their shared milestones, the absence of him felt unbearable.

Taking a deep breath, you straightened up, brushing away your tears. You reached for your phone and opened the private photo gallery, scrolling through old pictures of you two. There you two were, smiling brightly, you in his hoodie and him grinning as he held your favorite drink in one hand and peace signs in the other.

Your thumb hovered over his contact, the familiar name staring back at you like a ghost of the past. You wondered if he was thinking about you today—or if he even remembered the cap, the shoes, the promises you made on this very couch.

Your phone buzzed suddenly, snapping you out of your thoughts. It was your photographer, letting you know they were ready to start.

As you stood, taking one last look around the apartment, the memories lingered, but so did your determination. You adjusted your cap, forcing a small smile in the mirror.

“Here’s to moving forward,” you murmured, even as your heart whispered,

But I still miss you.

With that, you grabbed your bag and stepped out the door, leaving behind the echoes of a love she wasn’t sure she’d ever fully let go of.

–

The sun was unforgiving as it bore down on the packed university auditorium, the air abuzz with excitement and the murmur of proud families gathered to celebrate their graduates. Seungcheol sat near the top of the auditorium, nervously adjusting the collar of his white button-up for the hundredth time. It was already perfectly straight, but he couldn’t stop fidgeting. He glanced down at the bouquet of flowers in his hand—roses, lilies, and baby’s breath, a group of flowers he bought from Winn Dixie.

“She’s going to love these,” he muttered under his breath, though his voice lacked conviction.

Nearby, your family huddled in a tight circle, their expressions a mix of anticipation and mild irritation as they avoided looking his way. He had made his presence more than known since arriving—offering to carry their things, insisting on getting the best seats, and loudly recounting stories of how Y/N had stayed up late preparing for her exams, as if they didn’t already know.

“Is he ever going to stop talking?” your older brother whispered to your mom, who responded with a barely concealed sigh.

“Doubt it,” your dad grumbled, crossing his arms. His sharp glare cut across the distance between them, and Seungcheol froze mid-step as if the weight of their collective disdain had finally hit him.

Still, he wasn’t the type to give up. He tightened his grip on the bouquet and plastered on a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I just want to make today special for her,” he murmured to himself, more determined than ever.

“Oh we know, Seungcheol,” your mom sighed while patting his shoulder and sitting next to him, “I think they’re about to walk out now.”

–

You straightened your cap one more time, as Pomp and Circumstance played in the background.

It’s time! All of this hard work, it’s time!

The crowd erupted into congratulatory cheers as your graduating class walked out. The journey to your seat felt like a blur. Your leg tapped incessantly waiting through all of the fluff and pleasantries from your esteemed professors. And soon enough, it was your time to walk.

Your row stood together heading towards the stage, and you wince as you hear Seungcheol calling out to you, clearly disregarding the current students’ names being called. You look over to him, your family trying yet failing to get him to pipe down.

His grin was infectious, but you were burning red in embarrassment. The large gaudy balloons behind him stared back at you. As you awaited your turn, your eyes scanned the crowd full of familiar faces from the library and just soaking in the moment.

And as the universe would have it, your eyes meet a single hooded and masked figure in a light blue button up. His phone was up clearly pointed at you.

Mark.

Wow, he really came! You couldn’t believe it and the confidence soared through you fleetingly as you felt yourself being pushed forward to hand your name card to the staff member reading out names.

“Y/n, Y/LN!”

You felt a rush of anxiety roll off you as you shakily walked across the stage to shake the dean’s hand.

“Breath, y/n, you’re finally done!”

You follow their advice and plaster a giant smile towards the camera.

Your friends and family’s cheers were loud but Seungcheol’s was embarrassingly aggressive.

Your ears pick up another voice from the other side of the auditorium.

Mark stood jumping up and down, holding his phone tightly and just about fell over through the row in front of him.

He chanted your name and for some reason, it all felt right.

This is the moment you always wanted.

You smile all the way back to your seat.

As Seungcheol didn’t relent on his own parade of accolades and cat calling, Mark sat down and watched you in awe.

“I’m so proud of you, Y/N,” he whispered.

–

“Congratulations!” Seungcheol said as he held out the bouquet and obnoxious balloons, his grin impossibly wide. “You were amazing up there! You looked so good, and I mean wow this dress—”

“Thank you,” you cut him off gently, taking the flowers and squeezing his hand to calm his nerves. Or was it your nerves… what was Mark doing here? I mean yeah your heart is soaring at the fact he came- WHAT? NO!

He smiles at you wildly, pulling his hand away to engulf you in a giant rocking hug. You embrace him back, letting out the sigh you have been holding in for hours now.

This is fine.

Yup.

Your father cleared his throat loudly, a not-so-subtle reminder that they were watching.

“Alright, family picture time!” Seungcheol announced, clapping his hands together. “I’ll take it for you. Everyone line up!”

Your mom raised an eyebrow, her tone as sharp as ever. “We were just about to do that, actually.”

“Perfect timing, then!” he replied, oblivious to the sarcasm.

As your family reluctantly shuffled into position, Y/N placed a hand on Seungcheol’s arm. “Maybe... let them lead this one,” you whispered.

Seungcheol blinked, his enthusiasm deflating ever so slightly. “Right. Of course. Family moment.” He stepped back, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

Seungcheol backed away slowly, trying to make himself busy by staring at the nearby tree… which of course Mark just so happened to be standing by, watching the entire interaction, his body in mid turn, awaiting to retreat into the crowd. He was embarrassed to even show up… you’re happy right?

Their eyes met with quick anger and jealousy.

Mark’s arms filled with white and pink tulips- your favorite, and the build-a-bear box tucked in his palm.

Seungcheol was about to storm towards him but was quickly whisked away to take a picture with you.

You sported a tight lipped smile as his arm found it’s way to your waist.

As Mark watched you hug Seungcheol, he felt the familiar tug at his heart of seeing you and and him at Izaiah’s party the other week. Angst, hurt, and jealousy flowed through him, but most of all envy and cowardness.

Mark’s shoulders hung low, and he turned around trying to find the quickest and quietest exit.

“Mark, right?” he heard a small voice say from next to him.

He turned to see the build a bear employee from the mall.

“I could tell from the box, have you found her yet?” she asked excitingly.

“Yeah, I did,” he responds sadly.

“Well, why do you still have everything in your arms? I don’t know… give it to her, maybe?” she laughs.

Mark sighs meeting her gaze. Oh? She’s in a full graduation cap and gown, how rude of him!

“Oh! Uhm…ha, Congrats to you! My apologies for having you stop me while I burden you with my …problems,”

“Thank you,” she smiles with hands on her hips, “My name is Camille by the way.”

“Mark,” he says with a small smile.

“Like we didn’t already know that haha…” she pushes him lightly.

As Camille tried to convince Mark to approach you, he was so in his head that he didn’t notice the longing eyes from you just yards away.

So this is how he moves on, huh? And to think he cared! All this time, it was for his new girl…

The girl pushes him lightly causing him to chuckle and it feels like someone stabbed you in the stomach. She looks over at his bouquet and take it out of his hands, smelling the fresh tulips. It feels like someone is twisting a knife around in your stomach.

And the cherry on top of killing you slowly was watching him hug her tightly with his eyes closed.

Your aura was palpable to your friends and family, almost as they can envision the slow bleeding out of your heart as you watched the interaction.

“How about we head to dinner now, y/n,” Kathy says to you softly from your right.

“Who even is she anyways?” Izaiah says from your left.

“The new graduate is riding with me of course!” Seuncheol announces while slinging an arm around you, “just let me take care of something first.”

You nod lightly and walk over to your mom explaining the plans to meet up for the gathering. Seungcheol kept his smile plastered until you were lost in the crowd. His eyes narrowed as he pushed his way over to meet Mark.

“So what did you graduate with?” Mark smiles lightly before taking the flowers back from Camille’s arms.

“Got a lot of nerve showing up here, Big Shot,” Seungcheol hisses out while bumping into him.

“It was psychology…” Camille says with a questioning glare between the both of them.

“Thank god you moved on,” Seungcheol laughs before looking at Camille, “Careful with this one!”

“I think I see what’s going on here…” she says with a tight lip, “Mark, this will be an easy win for you don’t worry.”

Mark laughs lightly while taking in a deep breath, “Thanks Camille. Enjoy your day, congratulations again.” Camille walks off while shaking her head, but not without a hard shoulder check towards Seungcheol.

“Of course I would be here for her big day, I’ve been there every step of the way.”

“You were, now you’re not. Just give it up, bro,” Seungcheol says while moving closer to Mark, his own frame towering over him, “Look at her, yeah,” he turns Mark to align with you smiling with the balloons around you, “That’s the face a girl makes when she’s happy. That’s the face a girl makes when you treat her right,” if that wasn’t enough he whispers into Mark’s ear, “That’s the face a girl makes when she moves on from a little bitch.”

Mark shakes in pain.

You look so happy.

“Can’t you just let her go? For her.”

Mark’s hands loosen on the bouquet of tulips in his hands.

You look so much more happy.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take these off your hands,” Seungcheol says with a smirk, “Thanks man, didn’t think she was a tulip girl,” he grips Mark’s arm as he seeths out a final, “Stay the fuck away from her. It would be a shame if you can’t perform due to…say a broken leg?”

Mark stands still as tears well in his eyes.

“Cheol!” he can hear you calling out for him.

“I’m coming babe!” he yells out and let’s go of Mark while walking over to meet you.

“There you are, time to go now,” you smile, not evening noticing Mark’s sulking in the background.

“Just had to surprise you one last time,” he grins and engulfing you in a hug, turning just slightly to wink at Mark.

“Tulips! How did you know they’re my favorite?”

Because of me. Mark tries to say, but his voice fails him.

Seungcheol sneaks a cheeky kiss on your temple, “Wait I think I dropped my keys one sec! You keep walking I know you walk slow in those heels.”

You roll your eyes and walk away, Seungcheol running up to Mark one last time, “Almost forgot!” He snatches the build a bear box right out of his hands, “Thanks Mark, you always did know what to get her!”

His eyes never leave you as you trot along in your heels towards the parking lot. Amidst the throbbing pain in his chest, a realization hit him.

He couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him. So much so he bent over and leaned against the tree to hold him up. Maniacal, he sounded.

If you didn’t love him anymore, why did you wear those heels?

—-

The cool December air hums with laughter and the flickering glow of fairy lights were strung across the backyard. The scent of barbecue and freshly cut grass lingers in the air, mixing with the distant sound of chatter and music. It’s your graduation party—your moment. After the past year, after all the pain, the doubt, the nights where you thought you’d never make it through, you finally have something to celebrate.

So why does it still feel so… unreal?

“Hey,” Kathy nudges you, pulling you from your thoughts. “You should actually enjoy this, you know? This is everything you worked for.” She gives you a pointed look before taking a sip from her cup. “You deserve to be happy.”

You exhale, trying to let the words sink in, but there’s a part of you that still hesitates. You glance around at the people who have come to celebrate—your family, your friends, even the neighbors who barely know you but showed up for the free food. It’s all so perfect. Too perfect.

“It just doesn’t feel real yet,” you admit, voice quieter than you intended.

Kathy smiles, but there’s a knowing glint in her eyes. “Well, it is. And if you don’t start acting like it, I will personally make you.”

Before you can respond, another voice cuts through the air.

“Oh, come on, are we really just gonna ignore the elephant in the room?”

You turn to see Izaiah, standing with his arms crossed, shaking his head in clear disapproval. He doesn’t even bother lowering his voice as he jerks his chin toward the other side of the yard, where Seungcheol is deep in conversation with your uncle.

“Because that guy? He’s the worst.”

Your stomach tightens. “Izaiah, not now.”

“Nah, now is the perfect time,” he presses, stepping closer. “We’re all thinking it, Y/N. I literally just talked to your brother about him. He sucks! You’ve been pretending to be happy, but you don’t have to force it. Yes, you have been out more, but it doesn’t feel like you. You’ve had a rough year, sure, but that doesn’t mean you have to settle for some guy who acts like a dick every time he speaks.”

Kathy chokes on a laugh, trying to play it off when you glare at her.

“Hey he’s funny!” Kathy chuckles, “He pulled our girl out of her funk.”

“Are dumb or are you stupid? She’s still in the funk! Girl open you’re eyes!” Izaiah exclaims.

“Zai, I’m fine,” you say, the words coming out sharper than you intended.

“Are you?” He doesn’t budge. “Because you don’t look like someone who just got their life back on track. You look like someone trying really, really hard to convince themselves they’re okay.”

You open your mouth to respond, but before you can, your mom’s voice rings out from the deck.

“Alright, everyone! Let’s head on inside, it’s getting pretty cold. It’s time for presents!”

The conversation halts, tension still thick in the air. You force a smile and step away, feeling Izaiah’s gaze linger on you, filled with something dangerously close to concern.

“Everything is fine. This is what I have always wanted.”

“We’re not done talking about this.” Zai rolls his eyes and looks at Kathy, “Can’t believe you support dating this child of a man.”

“We’re not dating, yet.” you whisper.

“He’s hot!” Kathy shouts at him as she watches Zai pull a middle finger at her from behind his retreating frame.

Seungcheol was at the door girating his hips while beckoning everyone inside with some silly shouting.

Zai turns around one last time to shoot you both a disappointed glare.

“Well, he can be hot at times…” Kathy takes back.

As you make your way to the stack of neatly wrapped gifts, you push down the words you don’t want to admit are true. Maybe Izaiah isn’t wrong. Maybe you are pretending. Maybe you aren’t as happy as you want to be.

But tonight isn’t the time to think about that.

Tonight, you’re supposed to celebrate.

Even if you don’t quite know how.

You sit on the cushioned patio chair, a pile of torn wrapping paper and envelopes gathering at your feet as the night continues with your loved ones around you. Your dad stands nearby, his phone raised, recording every moment while your friends and family watch with warm smiles.

“Alright, last one,” you say, reaching for the final gift on the table.

The moment your fingers brush against the box, a flicker of recognition sparks in your chest. It’s a Build-A-Bear box—white with blue stars, the signature handle looped through the top. A few people chuckle knowingly, but you can’t bring yourself to look up just yet.

And then you see it.

“Whose this one from?” You raise an eyebrow at the only left suspect.

“Guess who!” he laughs uncomfortably.

You barely notice as you get up to sit next to him, “So which one did you get me?”

“It’s a surprise!” he says with a smirk.

Your hands feel a little too steady as you carefully lift the lid, peeling back the tissue paper inside. A plush bunny, soft brown fur, wearing a tiny graduation cap and gown. Your stomach clenches as you pull it out, holding it in your lap. There’s a faint weight to it, heavier than a normal stuffed animal.

“This is so cute!” Kathy gleams from the side holding her camera up, “look over here for a pic!”

Izaiah rolls his eyes again as you two get scooched together for a picture.

You turn the bunny to look at you, and you couldn’t help but have a wide grin.

“You like it?” Seungcheol asks oddly smug.

“Of course, I love it,” you say with a small peck to his cheek, “wait I didn’t know you put a voice recording in it!”

“Oh!” Seungcheol exclaims while grabbing the bunny out of your arms and holding it out of your reach, “Forgot about that sorry!”

“Well, let me hear it!” you say confused.

“Let’s hear it, lover boy!” your dad playfully yells from the side with his camera out.

“Uh… it’s a little personal don’t worry guys just a bit embarrassed…” he sweats.

“Just play the fucking bunny, y/n!” Zai shouts grabbing the stuffed animal out of his hands and throwing it at you.

The audience in front of you cheering for you to press it.

“Y/n, don’t-”

You press the little button on it’s hand.

The audio begins with an undeniable stutter.

A stutter that makes everyone go silent, you gasp.

“Is it on? Okay. U-uh hi Y/n, congrats. You finally did it. I can’t believe you’re already done. Just know that I have never stopped thinking about you. Every time I’m at the studio, practice – fuck I just wish I would have known that chasing my dreams meant losing you. I wouldn’t have picked this. It was supposed to be us, everything I sing, it’s about you. It’s so hard without you. But. This is the life we live in. I’m happy that you’re happy. This bunny represents your dreams and all starting. Y/n. I can’t wait to read your book one day. Just know I’ll always love y–.”

The audio cuts right before he finished. A silent sob overflows.

“y/n,” Seungcheol says while reaching out for you.

“Go home.” Zai says cutting him off, using his body as a barrier.

“I just-”

“Go home,” Kathy sighs while ushering him away.

“Alright party’s over everyone!” Your mom calls out solemnly gesturing for everyone to leave.

--------------------------------

Seungcheol... i'm bout to beat you up!!!

hehe anyways, sorry this took so long :(

as always, lmk your thoughts, questions, predictions... lowk the more the better it makes me feel motivated to post these bc it reminds me that there are people who will actually read my works and it's not just a little hobby to satisfy my delulu <3

xoxo eva

#nct smut #nct fanfic #forevamarkupdates #forevamark full fic #forevaeva updates #mark lee smut #nct angst #nct mark lee #nct mark lee fanfiction #nct mark smut #mark angst #mark lee angst

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