#my uncommon thoughts on NCT

[ssivinee]

✧Original Visual✧

Irene x Aespa! 96’ liner! F reader:  In the industry, beautiful idols aren’t uncommon. Your beauty was on the next level, all the 4th gen knew. But what if a certain 3rd-generation original visual begins to notice you due to a V-live you did?

Word Count: 1.4k

Note: Simple fic since I may not be able to write much today🥲

Character Vision Board

Choi Y/n, the oldest member of Aespa, was known for many things. Her dance skills, rap skills, composing, and even music production. She’s even the older sister of TXT member Choi Yeonjun.

But if you were to ask the K-pop community and idol industry what she was known for, it was her visuals. Y/n had a powerful gaze, sharp jawline, plump lips, and currently, oxford blue hair that cascaded down her back, ending right above her hips.

One dull day, Karina and Y/n were in SM’s dance studio. It was their day off, and despite being happy about that, the two members didn’t know what to do with their day, so they just decided to go to the company building and chill there.

The two girls wore similar outfits: grey sweats, a basic cropped hoodie, and sneakers. They lay on the black couch, just staring at the ceiling.

"Unnie~, I’m bored~"

"Jimin-ah... so am I."

The two looked at each other as Karina laid her head on Y/n’s lap, trying to figure out how to make time go by faster.

“Wait, what if we do a live?” Karina jumps into action, going to get the company phone, “you finally came up with an idea after so long.”

“You could’ve thought of it yourself!” Y/n chuckles as the girl sticks her tongue out, returning with another phone.

They take a tripod phone stand, attach it, and begin the V-live. After waiting a few minutes for MY to join, they finally had about 5k viewers, so they decided to start.

“Hello, guys,” Y/n stares at the chat while her and Karina wave.

“AESPA’S VISUAL LINE?”

“What did we do to deserve your guy’s grace today?”

“Y/n and Karina’s duo is something I didn’t know I needed.”

“Clap twice if you wanna leave SM.”

Y/n laughed at the several comments she saw, especially the English ones. “You guys know how to make me laugh.”

“We were bored, so we just decided to go on V-live to talk to you guys,” the younger stated, and spam of hearts came from the chat. The two keep reading and begin to read some questions.

“What song are you guys obsessed with at the moment?”

“Spicy by Aespa,” Karina said, making Y/n look at her like she was crazy, “Okay, self-promo.”

“Unnie, that’s how it should be. We’re idols, man,” Y/n laughs at Karina’s statement, hitting her lightly as it was a habit when she found things funny. “Anyways, for me, it would probably have to be Unforgiven & Fire in the Belly by Le Sserafim. They killed it on their album.” Karina nods in agreement.

“Dance Unforgiven? Guys, I haven’t learned the choreography.”

“She’s lying~ She knows it from TikTok,” Karina exposes her in a tattle-tale tone. “Wha~, no way you outed me like that,” the younger shrugs, followed by a giggle. “Do it, unnie.”

“Fine,” Y/n gets up to go to the computer. She ensured everything was connected before playing a few seconds before the chorus. “You guys ready for unnie to slay?” Karina says, and Y/n begins to dance the chorus. Effortlessly, she jumps with a bunny-like hand, then turns her fingers into horns and repeats, doing the same steps.

Once she finishes, the leader goes, “See, I told you she’s a liar. She knew the dance.” Y/n sits back down next to her, slapping Karina’s shoulder, which causes the girl to act like it hurts.

The live went on for 3 hours, and a lot happened. The girls talked, danced, and even sang songs. Now fans had a compilation of them dancing to ‘Kick It’ by NCT 127, ‘Wannabe’ by ITZY, ‘Hype Boy’ by New Jeans, ‘Hey Mama’ by the SWF dance challenge, and more.

Nearing the end, they decided to take one final request, “Psycho by Red Velvet sunbaenim?” When Karina read the comment, Y/n rushed to the computer and played the instrumental version. “Wait, we’re singing to it as well?”

“Yes! I love this song way too much to not sing it.”

The two got in place, and once the song began, Karina focused on dancing while Y/n did the adlibs perfectly. Comments start to go wild over her voice.

“Y/n drank the SM water again.”

“Ain’t no way she hitting Wendy’s notes????”

“Sub-vocal of Aespa, everyone!”

Y/n joins in on the dance now, and the two begin switching lines back and forth, creating a live vocal performance of the song. The second verse begins to hit, Y/n gets hyped and raps, “Hey trouble 경��윈 없이 오는 너, I’m original visual, 우린 원래 이랬어 yeah.” Karina joins her in singing the iconic one-liner. Then the comments go crazy again.

“4TH GEN ORIGINAL VISUALS YUH.”

“Wha~ the rap suits her.”

“I need a collab with Aespa’s visual line and Irene.”

As the song ends, the two are out of breath and fall to the ground. The echoing dance studio now echoed with their heavy breathing, “Sorry guys, we went a bit overboard,” Y/n tells them as the two drink their waters.

“No, you didn’t. It was amazing!”

“I need a live stage version stat.”

“Joohyun-ssi would be proud.”

“I think that’s it for us, you guys. We’ll do a V-live soon with the other members,” Karina tells the chat, and as fans spammed bye, she ended the stream.

“I’m pooped, man.”

“Same.”

The two get up and prepare to head back to their dorms. Once in the van, Y/n stays on her phone while Karina takes a quick nap. She then gets a notification from Instagram, which she questions. That would only mean an idol was texting her, but it would mean they’re an idol she never spoke to before since they didn’t message her regularly.

Looking at her DMs, shocked was an understatement. The Bae Joohyun had texted her, and once she opened the chat, she wanted to throw her phone out of the car.

Irene texted, ‘Wow, Y/n-ssi, you're a beautiful dancer. Thank you for rapping my lines and doing justice to our song.’

...

BEAUTIFUL DANCER?!

Y/n and the Aespa members were reasonably close to certain SM idols, mainly female idols, due to Y/n, Karina, and Winter being in Got The Beat. One specific idol she never got the chance to interact with was the one who was texting her right now.

‘It’s an honor, sunbaenim. I’m glad it got your approval,’ Y/n sends. She was frantic, not knowing what to say, ‘An honor? Your sound so corny, c’mon.’ Before she could even unsend the message, texting bubbles began to pop up.

Oh dear, she saw it. ‘Y/n-ah. No need to be so formal. Just call me Joohyun-unnie.’

If you thought this couldn’t make it any worse for Y/n, it did. She freaks out and has to do breathing exercises to calm herself down.

‘Okay, unnie! May I ask how you knew about the cover?’

‘Ah, the clips circulated very fast, lol.’

Y/n smiled to herself. She was texting someone she thought was untouchable in the industry. The car stops, and she notices they’re in front of their dorm. “Jimin-ah, wake up, we’re here,” she wakes the younger in a delicate tone.

At another dorm, the older woman lay in bed watching the Psycho cover multiple times. “Unnie, do you have my sweater? The red one?” Irene heard Seulgi’s voice.

“Yeah, it’s in here on my chair!” She hears the dancer’s footsteps, and as Seulgi enters the room, she hears the Psycho clip, catching her attention as well.

“What are you watching?” The younger lay on her paid, peaking at her phone to see the familiar girls. “Y/n and Jimin did a cover of Psycho, even singing to it,” Irene shows her the phone, and Seulgi smiles at the two girls.

“I’m not surprised. They’ve always been excellent,” she stands up and takes her sweater. “That reminds me to text them soon.”

Irene says, “You think I can have Y/n’s number?” Seulgi looks at her leader with suspicious eyes.

“Sure,” Seulgi sends your number to Irene, but before she leaves, she asks the latter, “Can I ask why?”

“I just want to get to know her. Is that so bad?” Irene says as she adds your number to her contacts and in a sarcastic tone, “Right, that’s the reason, unnie.”

Irene rolled her eyes as Seulgi left. She wasn’t lying when she said she wanted to get to know you, but Seulgi knew her unnie too well to know that that wasn’t the only reason. Irene thought you were gorgeous, sexy, and very charismatic.

She’d never admit that to her members, though. Maybe she would after she and Y/n establish a bond.

[jnnlibrary]

oh my sweet jesus i loved this so much - reading this was every inch the amazing and beautiful experience i had thought it would be. barista!mark is a concept that isn't all that uncommon (especially for college au!nct) but oh my god, the way that he's portrayed here is just far too perfect. in fact, substitute mark for peter parker and you'll find why mark is known to be the local spiderman.

if you're looking for a fic that has socially intelligent y/n + academically intelligent mark, superb writing (great vocabulary, grammar choices, and incredibly well written emotion), a certain level of nerdy-ness and possessiveness that mark lee is the ambassador of, and a y/n who knows what they want and are not afraid of getting it; this fic is the one you are looking for!

sweet cream, cold brew | lmh ( m )

something about mark lee keeps you up at night, and you’re pretty sure that it isn’t the lingering smell of espresso on his shirt.

alternatively: mark is shy until he isn’t.

read the second part here!

pairing: nerd!barista!mark x reader verse: college au rating: r ( minors, do not interact! ) warnings&tags: unprotected sex, oral (f!receiving), fingering, slightly possessive/jealous dialogue, mark has a thing for tummy bulges because why not, implicitly that also means he has a big dick, a slight???? exhibitionism kink (not actually something that happens, only talked about), johnny exists in this simply to trigger something vaguely feral in mark, reader is a little bit assertive and schemes to get mark's attention, jaehyun is a nosy lil eavesdropper, i think that should be it?? word count: 26.4k

a/n: hello so this was a mess and honestly not a fic i would say showcases my best plot-wise but… what can I say apart from booty wurk mark has me in a chokehold and I needed to release some thoughts and feelings !!! please do not expect too much from the development of the story; i fear it’s quite long and choppy because my ideas were all over the place and i was wringing my hands and brain constantly and i was eager to get to the spicy parts !! this is also not beta’d/proofread, it’s currently almost 1am, and i’ve been writing this on and off for a full week with very few breaks so it honestly felt like a fever dream for me LMAO please forgive any oversights and mistakes; i’ll try to go back on them another day and fix them little by little! finally and …most importantly belated happy birthday, my beloved morkly!

p.s. this will probably be flagged as ‘mature’ by tumblr, which means there’s a high likelihood it won’t appear in tags or searches. please consider reblogging to boost the fic, if you feel so inclined!

You’ve heard tell of how caffeine has inherently addictive properties. 

The more of it you have in your lifetime, the more likely you are to experience symptoms of withdrawal whenever you try to have orange juice for breakfast in its stead. It sounds bad, actually, considering most addictive substances are, but you suppose that its benefits somehow outweigh its milder drawbacks. You’re not much of a coffee connoisseur the way some people — see: your best friends, Yeji and Jisu — are, trying one cafe after the other in pursuit of being able to nominate the winning beans of 2023 (an annual heated debate they participate in for no better reason than their own slow and useless entertainment during their six-hour long breaks), but you do know you’ve only ever experienced good things from having a cup every so often: better energy, a more focused approach to mental activities, and the ability to drive through fifty percent of a road trip without needing pop punk music blasting out of your speakers to keep yourself alert. 

The three of you are generally particular about the coffee you drink, only in different ways. While your friends have a tendency to demand only the best from any establishment — lest the staff hear fiery commentary about the flatness of the brew or the evident coarseness of the grind — you, on the other hand, are a singular individual of rather simple tastes. All you need to survive long days is a glass of vanilla sweet cream cold brew. No modifications to the sugar level or fancy new milk types are necessary; you’ll drink it as it’s served in a grande cup (or a venti, when things prove particularly grueling). 

Of course, you’re strict about other things in the experience of consumption —  like where it’s served and, more importantly, who serves it to you. 

While Yeji and Jisu have rated the Liberal Arts building’s on-campus Starbucks branch as a five with the strict label of POEO — ‘passable on emergencies only’ — branding the menu as “nothing revolutionary” and criticizing most baristas for subpar brewery, you happen to be extremely drawn to the place. Initially, you may have argued that this has to do with the fact that it’s walking distance from most of your classes, confined to the same general compound on campus, so you can always grab a quick recharger whenever needed, no matter how short the timeframe to do so is. Sometime later on, you may have found yourself asserting that the layout of the cafe, albeit small, is very convenient, considering that every table is situated next to an electrical outlet, so you’re never out of battery (important to other students for their laptops and powerpoint presentations, important to you because you have an unhealthy obsession with passing time on TikTok, scrolling past video after video of ASMR girls clicking their twenty-inch long acrylics with their crazy candyland designs), and this makes you feel at ease. 

A month ago, you finally came clean to yourself and, soon after, to your friends, and they came to understand, albeit begrudgingly and with no small amount of amusement, what made this Starbucks unbeatable in your eyes; it had one thing no other coffee shop could lay claim to.

What you know of Mark Lee is accrued from two major sources: long, surreptitious glances in the Modern World History class you share, and irritatingly brief interactions when you place your order from the other side of the counter behind which he stands, long fingers always poised to punch in your order at the speed of light. Sometimes, those encounters get cut even shorter when irate upperclassmen start prattling their orders out before you can even say anything past your own, except even this has its own consolation prize — an apologetic smile at you that seems only for you, although you’re not sure how much of this assumption is true. You’ll just believe it as you feel it. 

And what you’ve learned about Mark Lee has funneled down into two key points for you: first, he is single, a fact you were clued into when a group of his friends came to the coffee shop and sat around the table next to you. You hadn’t been eavesdropping; they’d just been pretty loud, but you’d also perked your ears the moment the one everyone seemed to call “Hyuck” — you aren’t sure if it’s his full name or a nickname, and you don’t particularly care — had leaned in for a conspiratorial whisper about having a vague master plan to set Mark up with an old high school friend’s younger sister that he was just waiting to spring on said Mark, busy slaving away on their six impossible orders near the espresso machine. 

You don’t really know what became of that plan, nor if anyone had telepathically been on your side to outright call it crazy (someone should have had a better reason than you, anyway) since the next moment, Hyuck’s voice becomes significantly louder when it orders the one named Jisung to collect the completed coffee and snacks waiting for them on the counter. However, you feel safe in the assumption that even if it had happened, no repercussions had followed, seeing as Mark still presently comes and goes from his shifts alone and in no clear hurry to meet any cute girls that are sisters of high school friends of his friends. Or, maybe you’re just ignoring what could be truth, but that’s whatever. 

Second, you’ve learned that Mark Lee should not actually be your type — at least, in theory. 

Saying you’re out of his league would be a bit juvenile, but if you had only so many words to describe the situation, you’d say so under duress. It isn’t so much that he’s beneath you in any way, but your interests and general social circles run different routes. Yours tend to be more classically patterned after constantly changing trends, and the people you interact with all seem to have similar goals; you like to call it ‘vibe networking,’ which, from experience, involves connecting with both groups and individuals that are equally aware that they will benefit in some way from any resulting acquaintanceship — whether it be by climbing the social ladder a couple of rungs or being able to call in a quick, off-the-charts favor for something very important and/or very exclusive down the road. You and your friends spend a significant amount of time in a year watching your style and image, something quite a lot of kids in the first couple of years of college tend to do, which means that while you don’t particularly like to spend your time following your grade trajectory, you do have quite a lot of pseudo-friends that all seem to offer something entertaining or helpful to you. 

Mark, on the contrast, prefers to keep his circle very close to his heart, it seems — that which acts as a receptacle for all his interests. You can tell that he likes to be up to date less with trending movies and more with comic books, a separate beast of a world that’s rather unknown to you. More than once, you’ve overheard him chat with his friends about Spider-man Issue Number Whatever-It-Is or engage in somewhat lively (sometimes rowdy, thanks to the Hyuck fellow) discussions about some webtoon you’ve come to understand is called Solo Leveling, which seems to have to do with monsters and hunters — two things you know next to nothing about. You’ve also never seen Mark holding anything remotely close to a magazine; his hands are always filled with either a freshly opened comic or a beat-up textbook. Maybe once or twice, you’ve seen him on his phone, but when you peeked over (surreptitiously, of course) on those occasions, you were met only with brightly colored panels and a singular word: BAM. 

In conclusion — you and Mark Lee live very different lives, likely never truly meant to intersect. 

And yet, you want him — not even in a way that speaks only to your curiosity, but in a manner that feels slightly delusional. More than once, you’ve found yourself having to shut your jaw close after realizing you’ve been watching him steam milk with your mouth slightly agape. Maybe it’s his side profile, which gives you a great view of the way his jaw tenses every time he puts whipped cream on someone’s frappuccino. Maybe it’s his eyes, which always seem to twinkle like he’s harboring some special secret every time someone in line asks for his recommendation on how to spice their order up. Maybe it’s his hands, steady and agile, with just the right showing of veins through the skin to tell you they’ve probably got significant strength to them too. Or maybe it’s just his mind — that thing he always manages to show off in class, working faster than lightning even when the rest of you are in your natural eight-in-the-morning stupor.

Whatever the reason for your interest, Mark Lee makes sure the Liberal Arts building’s Starbucks has you as a regular customer. 

You’re fully aware that this is the twenty-first century, which is why you could, as Yeji and Jisu have so kindly made known, simply ask him out. Under normal circumstances, you would have.

Unfortunately, in this particular area of your life, separate from all others, you’re something of a traditionalist. 

Actually, you just want to know what Mark asking you out would look like. Curiosity has fully gotten the better of you — how can it not, with how he breaks eye contact with you the moment it happens by accident in class, or with how pleasantly and shyly he smiles when you say ‘hey’ to him once you’re about to order? You’d like to see, first-hand, as a recipient of the experience itself, what he would look like taking control of a particular situation like that — something someone like him, so mild-mannered and laid-back, never really seemed to do upfront. 

You’d like to think you’ve given him clear signs. There’s a reason you always come in during his shift times, and it’s the same reason for why you have the same damn drink from the menu over and over again despite not even caring too much about coffee in the first place (something he admittedly doesn’t know and probably wouldn’t puzzle out, given how often you’re in that Starbucks, anyway). It’s that you want him to remember you.

Selfishly, it’s that you want him to think just a little bit more about you every single day. 

But if he does, Mark has never made it very clearly known; apart from taking your order in his genial customer service demeanor or letting a look of brief recognition pass his face over when you cross paths in the hallways, he’s never really shown heightened inquisitiveness about you. For all your differences, only you seem to actually care.

Frankly, that frustrates you, because if you have to think about him unhealthily, it would only be right for him to do that for your sake too. Still, you’ll shrug that hit on your pride off for as long as you can get his attention one way or another.

All you really need is for your plan to pan out as well as you think — and hope — it will. 

The thing is, you’re not even that bad at math. You’ve never really excelled at it, of course, but you wouldn’t go so far as to say you’re in dire need of help from anyone — the kind of help that feels like babysitting, at least.

However, Mark Lee doesn’t know that, and you’re not compelled to make that fact known to him when you notice that he’s leaning on the counter with his elbows, shoulders rolled forward and head bent down. He’s twirling his ballpoint in hand, wrist hovering over a worksheet, and you’re briefly distracted by the rapidly moving shadow underneath it.

His head snaps up when you gently knock on the counter, and the rest of his body follows suit, straightening as he shoves the paper away, one edge crumpling in on itself as it meets resistance in the form of the pastry display glass.

“Hey — hi, _________.” He knows your name, says it easily, and while you’d like to believe it’s because of his unprecedented interest in you, you know that it’s just because you’re always here and always having him write your name on the side of your cup. “Can I get you the usual?”

There’s no particular reason you order what you do; maybe it’s just rooted in the fact that when you first asked Mark for a recommendation, he said that the Vanilla Sweet Cream Cold Brew was pretty good, and you were inclined to believe him (while pointedly ignoring the fact that it was, at the time, a new item all of the baristas were required to push to indecisive, slightly moony-eyed customers such as yourself). Whatever the case, you found the drink generally palatable, and you were also able to score the first of many smiles that fed into your two-semester-long infatuation with him, so it was basically a win-win scenario for all. He even got to do his job by getting some rube (see: you) into trying a new product.

“Hey, Mark.” You’ve long since given up pretending that you don’t know his name and have to check the tag on his cute green apron (why is it cute? You don’t know. It’s the same, standard, Starbucks green, but Mark makes it look homely and natural, somehow). You’ve been here way too many times over the last academic year for a nonchalant, were you talking to me? approach to work, anyway. “That, plus a lemon loaf, if you don’t mind. What’ve you got there?”

His eyes follow the trail of yours over to his wrinkled worksheet. “Oh — no, sorry. It’s nothing.”

“Is it secret?” Your bottom lip juts out, and you see his Adam’s apple bob dangerously, a small telltale sign of minute nervousness before he lets out a short laugh. “Didn’t know we kept stuff from each other.”

You don’t know what makes you say that so naturally. The both of you don’t do much beyond exchanging pleasantries.

“We — uh, well, it’s just a worksheet. For Park Hyosung’s class. College algebra?”

“I’m in Kim Junghwa’s. Can I have a look? I want to know if you’re suffering just as much as I am.”

He pauses, considering your request for a moment, likely wondering if there’s any harm in it before he smooths the paper out and turns it towards you. His handwriting’s a little messy, but his solutions are extremely neat. You see, like, one erasure, max. You also don’t see anything that interests you — except the name written at the top. Still, you can see at a general glance that more than half of his answers are correct; the logic of his organization is way too elegant and his writing’s too sure to be anything else. You whistle low, and his eyebrows shoot up.

“Something wrong?”

“Pretty much the opposite. How is it that you’re doing this without breaking a sweat?”

“Oh, well — it’s not…” He doesn’t even know how to brag. Yet another item in the perpetually growing list of things you find cute about Mark Lee. “I mean, anyone… can?”

“I must not be anyone then.” You meet his quizzical look with a wry smile. “Either you guys are leaps and bounds ahead, or I’m really not going to make it through this semester.”

Another silence passes, just for a fraction of a second — short enough to be passable to others, but long enough for you to wonder if your humor code isn’t up to par with the rest of the world’s — before Mark’s chuckling lowly. His large palm comes down, covering a majority of his answers in the process.

“You’re kidding. I’m sure you’re doing just fine.”

“Mark, look at this face.” You gesture to your evidently dumbfounded, blank expression. “Does this look like the face of someone that’s doing just fine?”

You’re pleased to hear another laugh from him; you don’t know if he really finds you funny or if he’s just the type to be easily amused. You don’t want to know, anyway; assuming is better than actually finding out.

“That bad, huh?” He slides the worksheet away again, like he’s afraid his correct answers are going to offend you into leaving the cafe. Instead, his hands start working on your order, grabbing a cup and scrawling the shorthand of the drink on one of the little boxes. “Ever think about getting a tutor, maybe? If you really feel like you’re drowning, that is.”

“A tutor? I guess that depends. Are you free on weeknights?”

The marker makes a soft screeching sound as he drags it down with too much force, ruining the penmanship of your name. Mark takes a moment to stare at the mistake on the plastic before he looks at you, pointing the rim of the cup towards himself. “Sorry — am I free—?”

“You said I should get a tutor, right?”

“I thought — no, sorry, I was thinking more like one of those department-assigned tutors you can ask the faculty for, or something.”

“Oh. Are you not one of them?” You sigh, albeit a little over dramatically. Thankfully, he doesn’t really cotton onto your acting, too caught up in befuddlement at the turn of the conversation. “That’s a bummer. I was kinda hoping that if I was going to ask for help, I’d get an actual genius. You know — someone like you?”

You can tell by Mark’s expression that he’s torn between denying your compliment again and responding to your actual question; he looks both relieved and miffed when the student behind you clears her throat.

“Sorry, but— you know that there’s a line, right?”

You both apologize, Mark’s much more sincere than your own, and you step aside. His gaze follows you for a moment before it snaps back to the next customer, his voice abandoning that bemused uncertainty it had taken up with you. You don’t really mind; as far as you’re concerned, any dent in his barista persona when he talks to you is a step in the right direction.

You hang around the pick-up area, receipt in hand, watching Mark clear the line before moving to the actual stations near the kitchen area. There’s a concentration on his face that you find all the more attractive; he has a habit of chewing on his bottom lip when he’s trying to focus on getting the drizzle just right inside the cup’s cylinder.

He tends to try his best at everything, you figure. Not an unattractive quality — not by a long shot.

Mark finishes your drink first; the milk’s still only seeping, cloudy, into the coffee when he brings it over. He doesn’t even have to call your queue number, opting to meet your eye — albeit slightly nervously — instead. You reach out to hold the cup, a calculated move that allows you to brush hands against his without him being able to pull back on instinct. He doesn’t, nor does he really seem to want to, but his jaw tightens as a flush creeps along the curve of his ears.

“You really won’t help me?”

Your question’s abrupt, almost a little demanding, even if your voice is sweet. You’re not above asking this much, anyway, even if you technically want him to make the first move. The redness sinks down to his earlobes.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t really say anything,” you tease. The cup’s on the counter now, so he can easily relinquish it to you at this point, but he still hesitates, only one hand slipping out from under the heat of your palm. He uses it to rub the back of his neck, chuckling softly, and you take this as a green light. “What time does your shift end?”

“Five-thirty. You sure you wouldn’t want someone better?”

You pull your cup slowly to yourself, and his hand, still lightly trapped by your own, follows for a few inches before he’s withdrawing, the counter between the two of you forcing the distance. A smile follows the shaking of your head, and you take a small sip of the drink before you respond simply.

“There’s no one better than you.”

Mark is a prompt kind of person; you learn this when, at five-thirty, he comes over to your table, tugging his apron off over his head. Of course, you might attribute that to his overall personality, but the fact that you spend the remaining two hours of his shift casting him glances from the left side of the coffee shop might have also been a contributing factor. The looks you give him aren’t even furtive; they’re deliberately long, so you never miss whenever he looks over to you from time to time.

He doesn’t hold eye contact for very long (he does it well enough when he’s talking to customers, but it’s not like you’re ordering another cold brew from across the room at that point), but you can read snippets of his thoughts through the fleeting gaze exchanges. He’s curious as to why you’re asking for help, now, of all times, when the semester’s more than halfway over. He’s surprised that you asked him, of all people, because he just can’t conceive of a world that isn’t within a television show where this kind of abrupt, overt request makes sense. He’s flattered that you even asked him out of the blue. He’s equal parts anxious and eager to know what’s meant to happen after his shift, once he starts fulfilling your request.

Most of all, he’s unsure if he’s reading you right — if what it feels like you’re doing is something he’s attaching too deep a meaning to. If he’s right in reading your signs.

You don’t really mind it; you like knowing that Mark somehow wears his heart on his sleeve, even if he tries to remain neutral for the sake of appearances. You also bask quietly in the fact that he’s looking at you twice as much as he ever has in the time you’ve loosely known each other. Still, his bubbling confusion and inquisitiveness seem to be interfering with the rest of his work, especially when you notice that he’s been wiping down the surface of a table two down from where you are for more than seven minutes.

In the hopes of easing whatever tension might be in his heart, you offer him a small smile, but that’s only met with his eyes immediately glazing over and inching a couple of centimeters above your forehead, where the story of Starbucks’ origins is drawn out in a faux-manga style. He pretends to find it interesting, as if he hasn’t seen it a million times from coming into this establishment day after day — you know it well enough, and you don’t even have to, considering you don’t work here — and you can’t do anything but hold back your laughter.

A small part of you says you should just give him the affirmative answer to his biggest question, but every other cell in your body says that it’s no fun if he doesn’t ascertain it for himself.

He has his school bag and textbook in tow when he approaches, taking the seat across from you. There’s a steely resolution on his face, like he’s been emotionally preparing himself for such a daunting task, but it eases up the moment you laugh lightly.

“You don’t have to act like I’m going to eat you.”

“I’m still not sure why you’re suddenly asking me to help you,” he admits. He’s also very honest, you note. Again, not an unattractive trait. “I’m not complaining. I just didn’t think you even had an opinion of me.”

“Why’s that?” You’re genuinely surprised. Mark drums his fingers on the front of his textbook, thoughtful — less for the sake of thinking what to say and more for the sake of considering how to say it. It’s clear he wants to avoid calling attention to the fact that before now, you two have had no reason to run the same track, let alone sit together and talk at a coffee shop, as if you’ve always been the best of friends.

“Genuinely just thought I was the guy who gave you your afternoon coffee every day,” he finally settles. Your eyes widen, and another laugh escapes you — a little louder this time, enough to call the attention of a couple of jumpy freshmen nearby.

“Well — let me put it this way.” You lean over slightly, cupping your chin in your palm. “Was I just the girl you made coffee for every day until now?”

There are clear cogs turning in his head; his eyes unfocus slightly as he thinks of the possibilities. His silence suddenly makes you somewhat nervous; your tone had been confident, and you’d only said that to prove a point, to push him in the right direction, but you realize that you hadn’t previously factored in the possibility that he might simply say yes — or, worse, say no just to avoid hurting your feelings.

You watch his lower lip curl in; he uses his tongue to smooth out the skin that’s slightly dried from work fatigue. You would much rather it peeked out, so you could imagine it against your own. His response is mumbled in a lower register, but you catch some key syllables — didn’t… not … stranger — pretty … you?

“Sorry?” You ask patiently, but the fact that he turns red and laughs again — something you realize is not only a trademark of his personality but also downright delicious of him to be doing — is all the answer you need to let the apprehension seep from your shoulders. “I didn’t catch that.”

Mark clears his throat. “No, I… didn’t think of you that way. I mean… you’re my classmate.”

“Sure,” your tone’s breezy, but the somewhat sloppy confirmation of interest in you makes your heart soar. He just needs more of a push. “And we’re basically friends, right?”

“Yeah.” His voice is unsure at first, like he can’t seem to wrap his head around the concept. You can tell that Mark’s notion of friendship is likely based on shared interests, of which you admittedly have none. Technically, if you were his friend, you’d spend less time just telling him the exact same order every single day and more time sitting around a table trying to learn how to play Magic: The Gathering with him. Still, he takes one long look at your grin and suddenly gains confidence in his next words, as if it somehow convinces him that the briefness of your old conversations had been a mutually agreed-upon thing and not the product of social distance between the two of you. “Yeah. We’re friends.”

“Right. Friends help friends, don’t they? I’d definitely feel more comfortable having a friend teach me than some stuffy upperclassman I don’t know.”

You see Mark’s lips move slightly, in such small movements you could have imagined it as breathing if you didn’t care too much (which you do). He mouths, to himself — friends help friends. For some reason, that boosts his conviction even further, and he nods.

“Makes sense. Well — for as long as you don’t mind me, then.”

“Mind? I asked you, so I should be saying that.”

“I’d never mind — I mean, of course I don’t mind.” He’s quick to correct himself, and you have to stop your own hand from reaching out to try to satisfy your curiosity, the desire to know just how hot his cheeks get when he blushes. “More than happy to help, actually.”

“And I’m more than happy to be here.” You beam at him, and he mirrors your smile. You don’t know what it is about the look on his face — the brightness in his eyes, or the slight lift of his eyebrows, maybe — but it gives you the impression that he might be feeling at least a fraction of what you are: the feeling of your heart lifting off a few inches from your rib cage. “Since we’re on the same page, I hope — should we get to it?”

From the moment that Mark opens his textbook to a chapter on inverted parabolas, he assumes a personality you feel you haven’t seen from him before. You realize that you really do know him in only two limited capacities — his classroom persona that seems to really only view himself and the material, focused on the board and the professor’s words (even up until the useless anecdotes) to absorb as much information as possible, and his more genial customer service form, always happy to assist in the trained, easygoing way you’ve come to meet so often.

Right now, he’s a blend of both, yet somehow neither all at once. He’s quick to catch the parabolas you draw, either wrongly or downright poorly. Despite initial hesitation, he always manages to say something; there’s already a pattern to how he does it, from his slightly awkward, “Ah, sorry, actually —” to the way his finger traces over what you’ve written, outlining the right curve. You find his interruptions so endearing that you start drawing them wrong purposefully — not enough for him to realize your schemes in their entirety, but enough to cast you a few amused glances, like he can’t imagine why you’d map out such an absurd graph. You get the feeling he wants to actually laugh at how ridiculous you’re acting, but he can’t tell if you’re seriously struggling or not, so he settles for a smile he thinks he does well in keeping to himself, but that you catch anyway. He’s patient, even when you have to rip out pages from the back of his notebook because of your ‘mistakes,’ like he’s still catering to your request for an extra pump of syrup for your coffee on sleepy days.

But there’s also that side to him that comes out when he suddenly remembers the distance between you that, before today, had felt unlikely to be closed. It peaks at odd moments, like when you’re borrowing his pen because yours is currently holding your slowly unraveling bun up, and your fingers brush against his. It surfaces abruptly when you lean in to watch what he’s drawing until he realizes how close you are, arm lightly grazing his, and his pen freezes, ink blotting on the paper for a second. It’s in those times that you can almost hear his brain churning out questions — like he’s wondering if you’re just oblivious or if you’re doing something on purpose that he can’t quite believe. Like he wants to ask you what’s on your mind, but he just doesn’t know how.

If he asked, you would reply without missing a beat. The answer, after all, is simple (him). But Mark never raises the question, only does something without fully acknowledging what he’s doing — the adjustment of his glasses on the bridge of his nose, the ruffling of his hair as though to shake off his thoughts, the clearing of his throat to normalize his tone before he explains something you’ve just asked about. There’s always that light tinge of pink to his face that makes him look even more endearing, and it fades and returns every so often for the better part of two hours.

By the time he rubs oncoming fatigue out of his eyes, the sun has already set; there are far fewer people around you at this time, and for as much as you like spending time with him and breathing in the scent of his shirt — always a tinge of Downy, barely cutting through the much more overpowering scent of espresso and sugar — your back has begun hurting from your front-heavy posture and determination to have your face as close as rationally possible to Mark’s. Still, you don’t miss out on the fact that the act of him cracking his neck to relieve tension makes your lips curl inward, trying to stifle an inappropriate noise in reaction to the view.

“I feel like I talked your ear off,” he pipes up, sounding a bit sheepish. “Sometimes it’s hard to know when to stop once you’ve gotten started. I’m just hoping I didn’t bore you to death.”

“Meanwhile, I’m here hoping you aren’t sick of my questions already.” You smile, closing your notebook and hanging the clip of your pen on the spiral. Your arms stretch up first, followed by your back, a light twist to relax your posture into normalcy again. Mark’s breathing falls quiet, like he’d been preparing to say something in response but had let it die in the back of his throat instead. You let your eyes drop, expecting to see him looking at you, as he mostly has been — on and off — since his shift ended, but his eyes are far lower than yours, the telltale redness now growing in evident splotches across his cheeks.

The hem of your shirt has ridden up; while there’s nothing outrageous about it, there’s a short expanse of skin that it reveals, for a brief moment. His eyes are slightly glossy, brow furrowed like he’s trying to find a solution to something he can’t fully understand. You’re not even sure about what he could really be looking at, or if there’s something he’s just thinking of that caught his attention while his eyes focused on a rather unfortunate spot. To test your theory, you suck in your stomach slightly alongside an inhale.

It should be objectively funny to watch Mark blink unevenly, left eye going first before his right tries to catch up, but you manage to stifle your laughter — poorly, though, because you end up coughing a little and breaking him out of his strange trance. You avert your eyes quickly enough for him to look vaguely relieved that you hadn’t caught him looking. So he thinks, at least.

“Anyway.” You feel bad that you have to tear his mind away from whatever faraway land it must be trying to burrow a hole in; the dazed expression on his face dims into hastily hidden embarrassment. You don’t want him to feel awkward, so you just busy yourself with packing up, making an unnecessary show of stuffing your notebook back into your bag as if it isn’t half-empty at this point. “I really appreciate you taking the time to help me.”

“Any time.” His first attempt is a little raspy, maybe from overuse of his voice today, so he clears his throat and tries again. A slow smile builds on your lips. “Any time, really. I’m glad that this is actually helping you; you pick things up surprisingly fast.”

“Wait, really?”

“Yeah. Give it a couple of weeks, and you’ll probably be ready to tackle it on your own again, I’m sure.”

He smiles reassuringly, but all you can think about is how that’s not good. You should pretend to be a little dumber next time, or this will end much too prematurely.

The next five minutes pass in silence; you don’t expect to be knee-deep in conversation anyway since, as much as you try to convince him, you aren’t actually anywhere close to being those kinds of friends yet. There’s an unspoken rule to the give and take of things, where he pauses for you to get an item off the table and push it into your bag before he does the same with his own belongings. Neither of you really intersect paths, save for the moment you both grab your phones and stand at the same time.

His jaw falls open like he’s preparing to say something, then shuts as if he’s better decided against it. You decide to take the initiative to say what you’re assuming he wants to. “Same time, same table?”

“Oh — uh, yeah, for sure.”

You want to ask him to walk out with you. You want to lace your fingers with his, tug him out, and kiss him under the green and white glow of the sign outside. You want to know if kissing his collarbone means you’ll taste a hint of coffee. You think about doing it all somehow, especially since he’s fighting back a slight smile at the promise of tomorrow.

But it just isn’t the right time.

Instead, you place a hand on his shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. The slow movement of his throat — yet another hard swallow — isn’t lost on you, and his eyes land on where the two of you connect. With a grateful smile, you bid him a soft goodbye, taking your leave first.

You don’t look back — at least, not until you’re fully in the cover of the darkness outside. On the gravel path, just out of reach of the lamplight, you chance one last glance back into the store. Mark is still rooted to the same spot, his backpack slung over one shoulder, staring at the table like he’s dissociating from what just happened — like he can’t believe the last couple of hours.

Your smile grows when you see his own, and his hand comes around to the back of his neck, rubbing it lightly like it gives him small comfort to let him know that it was real.

Baby steps, you remind yourself. You’ve already got one foot in the door, after all.

As the days trickle by, you fall into a more comfortable standing with Mark; there’s a routine to your meetings that seems to eliminate the initial and abrupt awkwardness of that first day. You come into that Starbucks at four, greet Mark, who doesn’t ever have to ask for your order, and spend the next hour and a half slowly sipping on it until the ice has thinned and watered down your drink substantially. In that time, you allow yourself to do whatever you want (as if you’ve ever done otherwise anyway), and what you usually want the most is a good view of him. You therefore use most of the minutes you have on hand to regard him from different angles — from the side when he’s frothing milk, upfront when he turns to leave cups on the pick-up counter, from the back when he’s clearing tables — interspersed with moments of checking your TikTok feed, clearing group chat messages, and sometimes re-curling your bangs with a portable iron from the school’s co-op center, a relatively new purchase you tote around these days. You do essentially anything in between to avoid acting too suspicious while he works.

Sometimes, you catch Mark’s eye too; the more your meetings increase in number over the course of a few weeks, the more deliberately he looks over at you, and the longer it lasts. You feel like you’ve made significant progress when your gazes lock and he smiles slightly, albeit a bit unsurely, instead of turning away like he used to. The other day, he’d even passed by while apologizing for how long you always waited for him — not that you ever minded, something you made a point to clarify with him before he walked away, carrying a couple of chairs from the back room with him to replace rickety ones.

That he’s able to transport them easily, as if he’s lugging a bag of apples from the grocery, does not escape your watchful eye.

What you like the most is that you start to learn more about him in a way that isn’t fueled only by your expectations and, therefore, limited by your imagination. You find out that he’s from a close-knit family with a rather cushy background, and this barista job is just for interest funding and experience, in that exact order. Most of his earnings are funneled into the things he collects, which apparently isn’t limited to comic books and special edition blu-rays with director’s cut but also a rather stupendous amount of PopMart blind box figurines. Apparently, he particularly likes the Skullpanda series even if he hasn’t completed it yet; your last session together had adjourned thirty minutes earlier than usual so that he could catch a pre-rush hour inner circle train to Honda, where the flagship store was set to open on that day. He’d promised to show you his pulls (as long as they weren’t embarrassing dupes). You learn that he likes to listen to loud music when he studies to stimulate his mind, and he has a playlist that’s just a jumble of songs from Punk Goes Pop volumes that makes him feel empowered for some absurd reason, like he’s going against the grain. You don’t really get it, but you do like that spiced-up rendition of Ariana Grande’s Problem that he let you listen to once.

Of course, there are things that you find out not through conversation but through continued, closer observation. You notice that he likes to put on chapstick even if his lips aren’t particularly dry, but he does worry on them often, most especially when he’s thinking hard about something. He has a habit of saying honestly… at the start of every other sentence, as if he’s concerned you won’t take his word on anything, even though he’s just talking about how unnaturally hot it was at noon despite it still being spring. He has long eyelashes that you’re equal parts attracted to and jealous of, and he bites the inside of his cheek whenever he wants to pep himself up after grueling shifts. He plays beats you’re not even sure he knows he’s creating against his knee with his fingers, so enthusiastic and consistent in this habit that you want to offer your thigh instead. His shoulders always go first before he laughs, and he does this thing where he raises his hand to cover his mouth at the start of it, which is a shame, because you’d do anything to keep seeing him smile like that — or, better yet, to be the reason for it.

Then there are those things you notice he tries to hide. He always turns his face halfway to the side when he blushes, something he seems to do without fail every time you smile at him. He has to temper the intensity of his grin when you take the time to compliment him on how cool his shirt is, or how nice his hair looks today, or how smart he is, like he doesn’t want you to know how good it makes him feel even if you want him to feel good about it, around you, because of you. Sometimes he denies it for the sake of responding, and his voice always lilts on the first syllable in his refusal to accept what you say, even though he knows you won’t take it for an answer.

And after a couple more careful experiments, you notice that Mark, out of the many things he’s interested in, seems to have a particular thing for your stomach.

You don’t know if it has anything to do with him not really seeing much of it in real life in his own time or if he just has his own kind of fixation on it, but you start to cotton on by the fourth time you meet. An hour of being hunched over a table that’s not at the greatest height in relation to your neck and torso has you stiff, and you’d leaned back in your chair, arms pulling to the air, hoping your spine might feel like realigning if you exerted enough tension pressure that way. Your shirt hadn’t ridden up this time, considering it had been tucked into your jeans, and it was because of this that you’d caught a flicker of something new in his face that you hadn’t seen before.

You could have sworn it looked like disappointment.

Of course, he hides it quickly, as he does with most of his emotional candor, but it’s enough to make you suspicious — enough to make you wonder if Mark is also just keeping something to himself. Or maybe you’re just projecting your own presently secretive nature onto him. Regardless, you think it’s odd that whenever you stand up or stretch, his eyes almost immediately fall to your midriff, like he wants to challenge your clothing into a staring contest before he thinks better of it.

You don’t mind, anyway. He can look as much as he likes. Maybe when the weather’s warmer, you’ll even cater to that interest and wear a crop top. Hopefully, that’ll be the push he needs to act on human instinct and ask you out or, like… bend you over. Maybe.

You’re often plagued with these kinds of thoughts in between the ones you try to keep as family-friendly as possible — now, more so than ever.

Sometimes, it’s easier, especially when you’re caught up in talks with him; despite the fact that he doesn’t seem like much of a conversationalist when it comes to generic matters, when either he or you are enthusiastic about a particular topic, he has a tendency to get carried away. There’s nothing impure about how his eyes light up when you remember to ask him about the movie he saw with his friends over the weekend or the way he hums old Nickelodeon cartoon theme songs under his breath whenever he’s looking for a page in the textbook. It’s more of a situation where you’ll observe something and immediately run with it despite it being an objectively normal action.

Like right now, as you’re watching him turn his pen between his fingers. Now, while he’s shaking his knee in mild impatience, as if he’s trying to will the answer to the worksheets you’ve both been trying to get through for the better part of the day faster. You’d made copies of the problems your professors had assigned and exchanged them under the premise of being able to practice more intensely.

However, whereas Mark is actually focused on solving, you’re just watching him out of the corner of your eye, wondering if he’s ever been told that his fingers are fuck-worthy on a singular, unique level or if it’d feel good for you to ride the thigh he’s currently moving, jeans and all. You consider the feeling of his warm palms on your bare waist as you do it, and you end up wondering if that’s what crosses his mind whenever he sneaks glances at you, too.

You’d know the answer to all those things if he’d fucking ask you out. Maybe you could do it after all. Maybe you should, instead of relying on slowly increasing the probability over such a long period of time. Maybe if you asked nicely, Mark might pull the shades down on the storefront windows and rail you against the glass.

You’re so lost in thought that it genuinely startles you when he plops his textbook over the worksheet, rattling your eraser dangerously close to the edge of the table. You’re still clutching your heart while he rubs his eyes a little too violently.

“Can’t,” he groans, and his neck gives into the weight of his head, allowing it to loll backward. “I feel like the numbers are just melting into each other. I swear, I thought I could read words out of them.”

“Maybe we were a little too ambitious with the double worksheet agenda,” you admit, even though you’ve barely gotten past half of yours and certainly haven’t touched a single item on his. “Should we call it a day for now?”

“Yeah,” he agrees, although he still takes the time to encircle his final answers before clapping his palms to his cheeks (an act that has your mind dangerously close to wandering off inappropriately again) to wake himself up. “Woah. I didn’t even notice how dark it is already. I’d say time flies when you’re having fun, but I’m not too sure about the ‘fun’ part of it…”

You trace his gaze towards the glass; the moon’s already out, surrounded by a smattering of low-light stars. You hadn’t realized how late it had gotten, probably because your mind had been on R-18 mode for most of the afternoon. Also, the days are getting generally shorter, but that fact doesn’t make you feel as embarrassed, at least.

“You got a ride?”

The question once again shocks you out of your small trance, and you turn back to him with wide eyes. “Well — no. Wait, I didn’t know you had a car. Why’d you take the subway, then?”

“Oh — no, sorry, I… don’t.” He looks suddenly sheepish, eyes dropping to the shiny surface of the table for a moment before they snap back up, as if he’s actually actively reminding himself to look at you. “I was wondering if you wanted me to — actually, more than that, are you going home already? Not that you need to stay; it’s not that important, but…”

You try to gloss over the fact that he had just been about to initiate another huge step in the right direction (i.e. offering to walk you home) by beaming at him, maybe a little too widely, if only to mask your disappointment at the sudden shift in conversation. “I have nothing waiting at home for me but a sandwich dinner and Singles Inferno, so hit me with whatever it is.”

“Oh, cool.” His lips turn up, and the corners shake, this show of happiness once again tamped down by his own inexplicable desire to maintain a safe distance. How are you supposed to tell him you’re desperate to bridge that gap without using those exact words? “I came from the flagship store yesterday — the one in Hongdae that I told you about?” He allows the smile to widen slightly when you nod in genuine understanding. “Got the last six boxes of the collection I’ve been trying to finish.”

You whistle appreciatively. “Can I ask you for a loan on my next phone bill? You know, once I’ve upgraded to something pricier.”

“Nah — just itching to complete the set,” he laughs. You wonder if he’s been doing that more often because he knows its crippling effect on you, though you doubt he’s that sly. Again, maybe you’re just projecting too much of your own motivations onto him. “This was probably about two months of saving up combined.”

“No new Iron Man issues to look out for, then?” Your voice is warm even though it takes on a teasing tone; Mark’s hand rubs the back of his neck, and his expression is a little sheepish, but you’re happy that the times he used to go completely quiet, opting only to blush at your attempts to act more familiar with him are pretty much gone now.

“Maybe next month.” You also like that he doesn’t really treat his hobbies as secrets, neither out of shame nor snobbishness. He explains these things to you the same way he does the topics you study — with an air of contentedness, like he’s happy someone listens to him without interrupting. On your end, you have no qualms with listening to his voice for hours, wondering when he’ll stop using it to greet you when you come through the door and when he’ll start saying your name in a way that makes you feel like you’re the only one he sees whenever you’re near. It’s a win-win situation (sort of). “I was actually debating between this collection and a really rare copy of Spi— well, never mind that. I just thought — since you were asking me a bit about blind boxes last time. You know, if you wanted to. With… me.”

As much as he’s become comfortable talking to you about things that don’t involve coffee orders and school, you can’t say that you aren’t doing your fair share of the work in connecting the dots; the demand for your efforts is exponentially higher in moments like this, when you think he’s trying to ask you something but can’t seem to find less-than-eager words to avoid what he thinks might spook you.

Luckily, he augments his fragments with action; reaching into his backpack — which you notice seems to be bulkier than usual — he starts extracting small brown boxes, all with the same design; it seems, for lack of better words, aesthetically gothic, and you reach out to pick one up, turning it over and examining the print on each side with vague interest. Mark starts laying them out on top of each other until there’s a small, somewhat unstable pyramid in front of him, then shifts his attention fully to you, just as you’re putting the box in your hand atop all the rest.

“I’d love to.” You beam as he does, and there’s a wondrous relief in his eyes that tells you he’s glad you manage to catch onto his words — or lack, thereof — surprisingly well. “For as long as you don’t blame me for any bad draws.”

“The contents have already been decided by my own hand — sort of,” he chuckles. “Point is, I would never do that to you. But I won’t lie; I kind of want to rely on your luck a little more.”

“What makes you think I’d have any of that running through my system?”

“Not sure — beginner’s luck, maybe? You just kind of look like one of those kinds of people to me — like… you’re just made of good things.”

You don’t know how to take this compliment; on the one hand, it’s easily one of the sweetest things Mark has ever said to you that doesn’t involve anything with actual sugar content. On the other, you know you’re not as lucky as he makes it sound, considering you’re still striking out on getting past the borderline of friendship with him. All you can do is smile, nodding and making to move closer to him by sliding into the next seat.

It’s hard to ignore the sight of him stiffening; something like surprise mingled with both fear and interest flashes strong across his face, but you don’t do anything to acknowledge the slight change in atmosphere, choosing to settle down comfortably and clap your hands. “So. What are the rules? What can I do, and what can’t I?”

“Uh.” His throat constricts at the right moment, the syllable getting caught and causing him to clear his throat. You know that this is the nearest you’ve ever been to him, the sleeve of your shirt tickling his arm. Upon closer, albeit brief inspection, you note that he’s also rather veiny. That doesn’t do your impurity any favors. “Not… really rules, or anything like that. Just — these are the ones I’ve been looking for. Not that you can really control it, but in case you were curious about that.”

You squint intently at the scaled-down images he points out. There’s one that looks like a penguin caught in an oil spill; another that seems to be in a polar bear costume, dozing; and — “What’s… halo? Halo…bios?”

“It just means marine life,” he answers quickly, like the thought means close to nothing to him to know something that obscure. Whoever said that smart is the new sexy wasn’t joking. “Like… all things that live in the ocean, that kind of thing.”

“And you know this because?”

He pauses, looking thoughtful. “I’m not sure. I guess I must have just learned it when I was curious about what it meant some time ago. Isn’t that how we all learn things?”

You shake your head incredulously, and he smiles a little apologetically. “You never cease to amaze me.” Your nail drums against the silhouette of one with a question mark on it. “What’s this supposed to be? Can you draw your own figurine, or something?”

“No.” He’s clearly amused, but his expression’s still patronizing enough for you to not feel too bad about saying something idiotic. “It’s a secret design — a money drainer, basically. You could buy a full set of this and still not get it. Some people will open hundreds without any luck, so it’s really rare.”

“You don’t want it?”

“I try not to get too caught up in the secret thing,” he admits. “Otherwise…”

“No rare print comic books for the rest of your life, basically?”

He taps his nose, and you both share another laugh. It’s nice, you think, to have come this far — to be someone Mark can share his interests and thoughts with. You may have been stretching the word to its limit when you first punched your way into his social life and called yourself his friend, but it feels more real now, more natural to think about and say. Even if he still sometimes seems to be hyperaware of the gap between the both of you, there’s no denying, at least, that it’s been significantly reduced, and this much is a testament to that.

“Well, leave it up to me. I’ll let all of this beginner’s luck rub off on you,” you announce with overflowing albeit unfounded confidence.

You both decide to open a box each at the same time; Mark suddenly panics and asks you not to unseal the foil bag right away without looking at the card inside first, earning him one slightly alarmed look followed by a burst of laughter at his pained expression when you pretend to rip open the packaging. Comparing pulls, you identify them using the set chart — your luck doesn’t seem to be operating at full capacity yet because you can only offer him the card of one that looks like a floppy pigeon, which he responds to with a slightly apologetic grimace before saying he’s already pulled that thrice in the past. He, on the other hand, is turning the card of the polar bear over in his palm, trying not to make you feel bad for your duplicate pull by slipping it under his textbook when your eyes land on it.

The second round isn’t much better; both of you manage to pull something he’s already added to his collection, and as you’re ripping the seal to your third box, he pauses and watches you. You think it’s because he’s concerned about the obvious shit luck you’ve had thus far and wants to snatch it from you before your negative energy transfigures whatever’s inside into something he doesn’t want, and you’re just about to offer the half-opened package to him before he pushes the one on his end to you.

“No way, Mark.” Your eyes are wide, a palm up to reject it. “If that turns out to be another dupe by my hand, I’m literally going to walk into oncoming traffic.”

He has to control his amusement at your words so that it doesn’t completely shake his voice into incoherence. “I picked all of these while I was there, so if anything, you’re only riding off my bad luck. Besides, this is your first time doing this. I want you to have fun.”

“But,” your voice is pained. “Your money.”

“It’s not a big deal. With how few I need to complete them, I was definitely bound to run into more repeats than new ones.” He taps the front of the textbook — or, at least, the part of it not buried under the figurines and sealing tapes yet. “Probability mathematics.”

“I thought we already ended the study part of the day,” you grumble but concede, putting aside the one you half-opened to tear the top of his. You’re careful when you shake out the foil packaging, making sure to place it upright on the table before extracting the card. Both of your faces fall — yours more than his — when you see it’s a repeat of the polar bear.

“Almost. It would’ve been a pretty lucky pull earlier, so it’s technically not bad,” he tries to reassure you, but you childishly feel like you’ve been the sole source of his disappointment thus far. “Try the last one.”

It’s irrational, but you’re suddenly anxious about it. For some reason, you’re worried that this will topple the carefully constructed ladder you’ve propped up against Mark’s tower of social defense. Even if he’s being genial about your rotten pulls, you don’t know how much of it is just resignation to dismay on his part.

You say a small prayer, then fully rip off the seal; you don’t even take out the packaged figuring anymore. You just shimmy the card out of the box, turning it over when you notice it’s upside down.

For a moment, your shoulders deflate. It’s closest to this pastel purple figurine in the middle of the line-up, its stupid puckered lips almost taunting you. He hadn’t even mentioned it as something he’s looking for, so you almost feel like this has come to a horrible full circle. But then he grabs the box, checks the list, and looks back at your card again. He looks shell-shocked, and you’re not sure if it’s the strong air conditioning directed towards the two of you or if it’s just his hands, but the image he’s holding is shivering slightly.

You look more closely at it, and something just doesn’t feel right. Color palette aside, there are notable differences — different colored lips, a more intricate ear design, and closed eyes. It’s…

“Dream eater,” Mark’s voice is hushed, almost reverent, and very, very close to your ear. “It’s the secret one. You’re… incredible.”

“What are you talking about,” your words are just as raspy; you’re not sure if you’re actually choked up with emotion or something — over a figurine, you have to remind yourself. “You picked all of this. I just ripped open the box.”

The hush that falls over the both of you feels very concrete, weighty on your shoulders. His fingers creep towards the foil packet — the only one he actually opens because there’s no way he’s not keeping it. The shiny purple head gleams under the fluorescent, the glitter around the star and moon designs catching the light as he turns it left to right, like he’s worried it’s a fake. You can tell why people want these things so much; there’s a thrill in you that lingers, makes you feel warm and alert. It’s anticipation, despair, excitement, and triumph all in one sitting.

You’re stroking the smooth curve of the design by the ears lightly when Mark speaks up again and says the most outrageous thing.

“I want you to have it.”

“What?” You actually have to pop your ear canal in front of him with your pinky to make sure he knows how ludicrous he sounds. “This is… you said it was crazy rare.”

“Yeah. And you pulled it, with your magic. That’s like… unimaginable luck. Even more than beginner’s luck.”

“Like I said, I literally just opened the box.”

“No — you have like… the golden touch.”

“Please,” you hiss, a genuine testiness to your voice. “Do not. I was just here for the ride — the experience, and all.”

“Seriously, take it.”

“Absolutely not—”

It’s a chaotic moment of him trying to hand you the figurine and you outright rejecting it, with both your palms working hard to push it back to him. Instead of nudging the plastic back, though, you end up placing the full force of your hands against his fingers.

There’s no actual spark when you touch, but your reactions make it feel like there might as well have been; you even lock eyes in startled unison, like you can’t believe that just happened, before you pull away quickly, Mark drawing the figuring back to his torso while looking away towards the counter, where a lowerclassman is wiping down the stains. You want to scream at your warped reflection in the window. You barely initiate contact with him, but you imagine that if you ever did, you would prefer to not be saying something as abjectly negative as absolutely not while doing so.

Your mind flails in an attempt to mitigate the issue and water down the embarrassment, and clearly he’s struggling to figure it out too, because he pipes up before you can piece your thoughts together.

“No, really.” His tone is a lot milder and, consequently, a lot more persuasive this way. “You should take it. I want you to.”

“It’s not mine. This is your thing — your hobby.”

“That’s why I’m giving it to you. I swear — I want you to keep it.”

“Why?”

He lapses into silence again, but his face is much redder than earlier. His mouth opens in an attempt to say something, but he just manages to uh his way back into a state of quiet, which gives you a chance to speak instead.

“We can… share it,” you suggest. “Shared custody…. ish.”

His eyebrow cocks involuntarily, and his jaw falls again, but all he does in actual response is nod — slowly at first, then with more sureness to the act.

“Yeah. We can share it. I’d… like that.”

You’re glad that the bulk of the awkwardness has fizzled out fairly easily, and when you think about it, this feels like a pretty good course of action; you like that it’s this little link between the two of you now — something you share that no one else can touch.

Mark, you notice, is smiling as well — more to himself than towards you, it seems. His thumb grazes across the face of the figurine, slow across the lips, and you’re once again falling into a pit of nonsense by wondering when he’d do that to you.

“Thanks for staying with me, _________,” he finally says, and your heart jolts and melts all at once. “And for… doing this. For chatting with me. And giving me your luck, and all that. Great way to end the day… with you.”

You say no problem, but you instantly regret it when you realize you could have just said it didn’t have to end just yet.

“__________? Hello? Come back down to Earth?”

“Shut up,” you sigh at the guy seated across you — Seo Youngho, an upperclassman, your Gender Studies classmate, and current project partner, waves in front of your face. You shoo his hand away, which only joins his other one as he throws them in defeat above his head. “Stop moving. Be quiet. Don’t talk.”

“That’s the same thing as shut up and be quiet. What’s up with you?” He demands. “Fifteen minutes ago, you were full of ideas. Now I feel like I’m talking to a wax figure.”

You’d been engrossed in your report for the last hour and a half, and the subject matter is admittedly something you enjoy — the role of gender in Twenty-First Century Korean marketing and advertisement, a title Youngho had taken more than ten minutes to type into the Google Docs header because he was pissed off at how the numbers looked like in the fonts he chose. He’s an enthusiastic classmate and someone you’ve come to be friendly with, not only because he’s genuinely approachable but also because he has fits of nosiness and talkativeness at the strangest moments, so a chunk of your relationship is mostly based on social terrorism on his part. You like him well enough most of the time — save for the last fifteen minutes of this hour.

Because Mark had just come in for his shift fifteen minutes ago, and suddenly Youngho is much too noisy for your taste, and his head is honestly way too big to the point that it gets in the way of your opportunities to see Mark behind the counter. You even resent him for choosing a booth instead of your usual table all of a sudden, because your view of the central barista’s area is much more limited from this angle, especially since the huge espresso machine is in the of your field of vision.

You’re also (currently and abruptly) mad at Youngho because you remember that he’s the reason you’ve had to skip out on a couple of sessions with Mark. Like, it technically isn’t his fault that you have a lot of research to do for the literature review section of the paper, nor is it his fault that this is your final requirement that comprises a whopping forty percent of your grade, but like… you’ll blame him anyway. So you’re much more irritable, and you’ve definitely been missing Mark’s presence. In fact, you kind of just want to shove Youngho’s balloon head away and call Mark over to sit with you, but you’re not that much of an animal to actually do that.

Probably.

There had been inquisitiveness across Mark’s face when he’d come in; his eyes had trailed to the table at which you usually sat, surprised to find two guys hunched over a single phone there instead of the usual you, waiting for him with your eyes bright and your smile wide. You’d like to think it’s because he’s gotten as used to seeing you as you’re used to waiting to see him — like he just expects you to be there.

You hadn’t really known how to call his attention to where you were, especially since Youngho was prattling very matter-of-factly about the academic journal he’d unearthed yesterday and how he thought it would be useful in reshaping the methodology of your paper (whatever). There was a moment in which you briefly considered ordering another cup of coffee just to get in line to talk to him, but your hands were already shaking from the venti you’d had to keep yourself from passing out in front of your partner.

So you’re more than relieved when, half an hour into his shift, Mark finally steps out from behind the huge machine, a mug of water for himself in hand, and turns away from the front of the store to drink it — only for your eyes to lock as he twists his torso in your general direction.

The mug stops just inches from his lips, but you could swear he smiles at you briefly when he recognizes you, so you return the favor. Youngho’s face contorts into abject befuddlement, turning around to see what you’re grinning at.

“Oh, you poor sap,” he snorts, finally letting the puzzle pieces fall into place.

“What?” You’re still distracted even if Mark has taken a gulp of water and is now attending to a gaggle of girls still in the throes of discussing what to order.

“What what? You gonna spend the rest of the day eyefucking Mark Lee from over here? At least let me get a different table.”

“Shut up,” you repeat sullenly, coming back down to his level and finally — albeit reluctantly — meeting his eye (just because Mark isn’t looking your way). “What were you saying about the sample size?”

“That it’s much too large to be feasible, a point we closed twenty fucking minutes ago,” he says pointedly. “Is it a thing for baristas or a thing for smart guys?”

“It’s a thing for Mark Lee,” you sigh, following Youngho’s suit and shutting your laptop close. You’re at least glad he’s not annoyed that you’re delaying work for a crush, or maybe he’s also just equally lazy at this point. “You ever look at someone and think you would give it all up for a chance to hit that?”

“No, because this isn’t a porn movie, and I’m clearly not the main character in whatever’s going on in there.” He jabs at your forehead; you swat his hand away again.

“Well, I would.”

He rolls his eyes. “So do it, dumbass.” He says this so simply, like he can’t imagine why you’d be holding yourself back, which is a valid thing to feel, except it’s not really any of his business.

“Can’t.”

“Because?”

“Because it doesn’t fit into my elegant master plan. Also because I want him to ask me out. I just want that victory.”

“Oh yeah, there it is.” Youngho leans over, wiggling his fingers at your ears like he’s greeting a next-door neighbor. “Hey, delusion. Good to see you. Do you even understand how crazy it is that you’re taking a Gender Studies class while waiting for your dick-in-shining-armor like a damsel in distress?”

“Asshole,” you grumble, violently opening your laptop monitor again. “Get back on Google Drive.”

Thankfully, Youngho complies, and the next two hours pass in relative silence and productivity, with you hammering out a vague references list that he promises to format in your stead so you can ‘spend more time dreaming about Mark Lee between your legs.’ You want to strangle him, but there are far too many people in the cafe for you to get away with it. Also, aforementioned Mark Lee would only be a witness to your criminal record, and while you think there’s something romantic in killing for love, or whatever, you’re not sure it’d make the best impression on him.

“Next week’s my birthday,” Youngho announces as he stands to tug on his jacket.

“Congratulations,” you say wryly, peeking over his bulletin board torso to see Mark tugging off his apron and picking up his school bag. Your heart hammers in your chest as he looks over at you briefly, and something like embarrassment passes over his face before he busies himself with neatly folding the fabric. “Go away.”

“Usually people look uncomfortable for not knowing and then start thinking about what gifts to get the celebrant, but I always felt you were kind of a revolutionary.” He snaps his fingers right in front of your eyes, and you look up at him, a little offended. “I’m having a get-together — and by get-together, I mean it’s gonna be a rager. You should come.”

“When?”

“Next Thursday.”

“Can’t,” you chew on your lip, wondering if Mark is leaving. His movements seem particularly slow, but you wonder if he’s just taking his sweet time because he has nothing better to do. Of course, he would have something better to do if Youngho stopped fucking obscuring you from him and vice versa. “Busy. School… whatever.” Not completely untrue. Most of what you do with Mark has to do with school.

“This moony-eyed thing is just not for you, I fear.”

“Are you going to be here all day?”

“Are you? Why don’t you just fucking ask him out, you lunatic?” You can’t imagine why he sounds so exasperated. It’s not like this is his problem — or his business, for that matter. “Maybe if you did, you could fuck him and move on with your life and be an actual contributor to society’s development.”

“Has anyone ever told you how nosy you are?”

“Constantly.” He brings his palms down on the table, the thud shaking you out of another oncoming stupor. “Think about it. Maybe it’ll make you stop making that stupid face.”

“You’ve got a stupid face,” you mumble, sulking as he pinches your cheek as a goodbye before heading out of the shop.

At least you finally get to see Mark in full, glorious view — and you get to watch him come closer, although his stride is somewhat cautious.

“Hey.” Even his voice sounds unsure — almost like the way he used to sound earlier in your friendship. “I didn’t want to interrupt you and… your friend?”

“Oh. Well, you wouldn’t have been interrupting,” you inform him, completely genuine. “He was spouting a lot of nonsense.”

“You guys seemed pretty close.”

“I guess it’s a proximity thing,” you sigh, and Mark raises his eyebrows slightly in question. “We’re partners.”

“Oh.” The way he draws out the syllable is slow. “That definitely makes sense.”

The silence stretches out between the two of you again, with Mark checking his shoelaces. You almost grab your head; it hadn’t occurred to you until now how damaging missing meetings with him would be to your friendship. You feel like you’re slowly being dragged back to square one, and you want to give him an explanation.

“He’s actually… I haven’t been able to see you because I’ve been working on something with him.” you offer, trying to answer a question he didn’t even ask. “Sorry about that. I swear I’ll be back on track tomorrow.”

“No, no — I completely understand.” He pauses thoughtfully. “Thank you… for telling me, though. I— uh, appreciate that.”

“I’d love to see you tomorrow, though.” You try injecting more pep into your voice. “I’ve really been behind on my algebra. I’ve definitely been drowning without you.”

“Oh, yeah.” A small smile graces his lips, but you can’t tell if the reluctance behind it is from fatigue or something that looks oddly like sadness. “I’m down for tomorrow. Same time, same table, right?”

“Yeah, for sure.”

“Cool. See you, _________.”

You watch him turn on his heel, walking to the front door, and something like fear mingled with desperation clutches your heart. Fuck the traditional route, you think. You don’t know what it is about how he’s acting now, but it’s making you feel like he’s slipping through your fingers. All that hard work — there’s no way you’re letting him go.

“Mark, wait.”

You’re at his side, fingers curled into the sleeve of his jacket before you can figure out exactly what you want to say. You feel as surprised as he looks at your sudden liveliness in action, and his gaze trails from your clenched fist to your face slowly, like he’s trying to memorize this whole position.

Your exhale’s shaky, but even still, you try not to sound overtly self-conscious when you ask, “Do you like Chinese food?”

Something in the furrowing of his brows tells you he can’t seem to see where this conversation is headed, and that slightly bothers him. “I like it well enough. Why?”

“There’s this really good dim sum buffet near my mom’s office. We tried it before — the Xiaolongbao is awesome.”

“Hey, that sounds pretty cool. I love Xiaolongbao. I’ll definitely have to check it out then.”

You want to tear your hair out. “How about — you know, checking it out with me? Tonight? You know… together. With me.” You already fucking said that.

You’ve never seen Mark blink this rapidly; he looks like he’s trying to crunch large numbers in his head. A small part of you actually worries that he’s malfunctioning, but just when you think he’s going to glitch out completely, he clears his throat. It bothers you how uncomfortable he looks. “Tonight? Oh man… it’s my cousin’s birthday tonight. I can’t… reschedule. Well, obviously. Maybe some other… time?”

Your ‘oh, yeah’ is small, and so is the ghost of Mark’s smile. You can’t help but feel like he’s pitying you a little, although he doesn’t seem like the type, but the thought of it alone makes you want to puke. He makes no motion to move, and you think he’s extending this awkward moment out on purpose until you realize you’re still hanging onto him and he has no way of telling you to let go nicely.

Fingers unfurling from his sleeve, you take a careful step back, but when he walks away, it feels like you’ve gone much, much further away.

The worst part is that you can’t even figure out why.

Luckily, the next few times you see Mark, you manage to rebuild a rather shaky bridge back to where you had been. You even manage to strong-arm him into sharing an apple fritter one afternoon, and you know it’s a bit sad to think about it a particular, untrue way, but you can’t help but pattern what you’re doing into some kind of pseudo-date. Pathetic isn’t a word you normally associate yourself with, but you’ve been borderline desperate for progress where there seems to be none, so you take small victories where you can get them.

Unfortunately, you haven’t been able to revisit your stupid dim sum plan; sometimes, he says he has somewhere important to be, but most of the time, it’s actually your fault. No — it’s Youngho’s fault, because he keeps bothering you to finish the project. You’re aware that he can’t do it himself, but since he’s informed of your current plight, he could at least stand to be more sympathetic.

And you hate the way Mark looks every time you splutter out that you have to take a rain check for that reason; it’s not even disappointment, or something, which would be much more understandable. It’s this mysterious kind of faraway look, where his eyes glaze over a bit and he seems suddenly very lost in thought — or completely dissociated. He never strays away from his normal response of “next time, then,” but that ‘next time’ fades into the weekend and into the start of next week, and you have to spend every other evening with an annoying Seo fucking Youngho on a Google Meets call instead of eating soup dumplings loveshot style with Mark Lee.

Thursday night rolls around, and the former performs the most irritating stunt yet: blowing up your phone with so many KakaoTalk messages that it almost buzzes off the table during your session with Mark. Luckily, he seems to have learned a thing or two from his comic books, catching it before it hits the floor.

“You sure you don’t want to answer it?” He asks, gingerly handing the phone to you like he’s afraid it’s going to explode from all the pinging.

“Without the shadow of a doubt,” you sigh, flipping the screen downwards. Buzz.

“It kind of seems important. Or, like… urgent.”

“He’ll live. Unfortunately.”

Mark falls silent, fiddling with the page he’s on. He’s neatly highlighted the formulas on the page with blue ink, and his finger keeps scratching at the slightly wet paper. Buzz.

“Didn’t you say you two were partners?”

“Yes. Also unfortunately.” Youngho is actually a great person, but you kind of hate how Mark’s paying more attention to his texts than to you right now. “What did you get for number ten?” Buzz.

“A hundred and twe— are you really just going to let it keep ringing like that? What if he’s… I don’t know. In trouble? Like, he needs you?”

You smack your phone on its back, hoping that the punishment reaches Youngho because he absolutely is in trouble — only with you. “He’s just making a racket because it’s his birthday and he probably wants a bunch of people to trash his parents’ house, or something.”

“Sounds like fun.” The dubious tone in Mark’s voice indicates that his idea of fun definitely isn’t that. Buzz.

“Not really, but I assume he’ll only pipe down if he manages to get his way.”

“He must really want you there.”

There it is again — that weird, distant expression that makes you feel like he’s trying to free himself from the tethers of the earth. You close your textbook in defeat; it wasn’t even like you got the answer to number ten correct anyway. Buzz.

“He just wants everyone there, I bet. But I probably should show up so he shuts up.”

“Oh — yeah, okay. We’ll call it a day, then?” He’s avoiding your eye as he starts packing his things, which is actually impressive because you have practically nothing but your book to keep in comparison to his pencils and protractor, so you just stare, willing him to look at you.

You want to know what’s going on in his head. You want to know what’s going on in his heart — what he thinks of you, why he seems warm one second then almost like a stranger the next. You want to know if he knows you like him and if him not doing anything even if he knows is a sign that he doesn’t like you back. You want to know if he’d let you kiss him, if he’d kiss you first, if you can meet not because of sweet cream cold brews or algebra but because you just want to be together.

You just don’t know how to ask. For as much as you like him, for as much as you want him, you haven’t figured out the most basic part of this — if you mean anything more than a two hour talk to him at all.

“Mark.” This feels awfully like the dim sum conversation, only somehow ten times more disastrous. “Come with me.”

“Sorry?” The appalled look on his face makes you squirm in your seat.

“I don’t really want to go, but maybe if we go together… we can just hang out a bit and leave once it’s boring… I think it’d be fun,” you explain lamely, deciding at the last second to drop the with you that had originally come with your sentiment.

“I don’t think your… partner will like someone uninvited showing up.”

“I’m inviting you.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not how it works.”

“You’d be, like, my saving grace or something — my excuse to scram. We’ll say we came right from a study session; we only popped in halfway through for the sake of greeting him a happy birthday. Then we can just go. We can say — uh, we’ve got more work to do.” You’re practically begging him at this point, and you don’t even get why. You just don’t want him to leave looking the way he does — confused and a little detached. You want the Mark that had smiled at you while giving you your coffee — the one that had kindly pointed out an arithmetic mistake in the most gentle way possible. You want to open blind boxes with him, whine about your rotten luck, and part ways with his warmth still against your coat sleeve.

You don’t know what comes over you then, but you pluck up the courage and initiative to slip your hand in his. He stiffens a little, but you don’t care; your fingers squeeze his in urging.

Something in his expression breaks — cracks first, then falls away, before he’s nodding, still looking vaguely thoughtful.

“If you think it’ll help you, then… okay.”

The bus ride to Youngho’s neighborhood is uneventful because it’s quiet. You stand close to Mark at all times, but you barely touch, save for the times your knuckles accidentally brush his when you lurch forward slightly as the vehicle comes to a dangerously abrupt stop. He doesn’t ask anything about the party or the company that’ll populate it, which is just as well, because you don’t have a clue.

You know it’s the right house because the door’s wide open and there’s music coming from inside; you can’t make out much more than the deep bass pumping through the concrete, but you’re pretty sure it’s making your heart jump in your chest even more than it already is. There are quite a few people you vaguely recognize on the lawn, and even more that you absolutely don’t; a good number of them glance at you and Mark as you step through the threshold then look away, probably deciding you’re of no real consequence or harm to their moods.

Youngho’s easily spottable because of his massive height; he towers over the rest of his guests, and the red plastic cup in his hand calls even more attention because he’s lifted it over everyone else’s heads. You throw Mark an apologetic glance that he responds to with a short nod before you dive into the crowd alone, trying to weave your way to where you’d last seen Youngho.

“Bro, finally!” Youngho greets you, pretty much shouting over the music. “Where’s the gift? Did you leave it on the table?”

“Happy birthday, Youngho. Do you know how close you were to being blocked?”

“I see you brought mister espresso with you,” he ignores your comment completely, nodding to Mark. When you turn back to see him, you notice he’s squishing his arms closer to his sides, trying to minimize the space he takes up. “So what? Y’all get to hook up already?”

“No. I brought him here because we were in the middle of something and someone,” you stop, offering him a pointed look that’s also ignored. “Wouldn’t stop texting.”

“Cockblock,” the guy next to Youngho, who you now realize has been eavesdropping, singsongs. “Oh, sorry. You looked angry when you stomped through the crowd, so I wanted the juicy details. Name’s Jaehyun.”

You take the hand he offers you briefly, introducing yourself. When you say your name, realization dawns on his face, and he jabs his forefinger at you.

“Oh, dude. You’re that girl — the Starbucks Showstopper.”

“The what?”

“That’s what his friends call you.” He scratches his ear, seemingly racking his brain for more information. “I’m with Mark and a couple of his friends — Lee Donghyuck and Na Jaemin — in College Algebra.”

You completely gloss over the fact that you’ve finally found out the real government identity of the mysterious figure named ‘Hyuck.’ “They… talk about me?”

“From time to time. Not really. Once or twice. Donghyuck only calls you that because Mark apparently keeps blowing them off to hang out with you.”

“How do you know this?”

“I have ears. It’s not hard when they talk like no one’s around.”

You shush Youngho’s exclamation of and you’re saying I’m nosy?, your heart hammering hard in your ears, practically drowning out the music. “What… what else did they talk about?”

“Not sure. Something about not seeing you that often these days. Jaemin teasing Mark about getting dropped now that you don’t need his help anymore. Donghyuck piling on and saying you’ve got a boyfriend.”

“What?”

“Don’t shoot the messenger.” Jaehyun still inches away from you when your voice rises in pitch and decibel. Some people around you start, then move away as well, as if scared you’re going to incinerate them. “They were just teasing him that you probably ditched him after you started dating someone. Your partner in some project, or what.”

“Oh gross.” The realization hits you like a speeding truck. Youngho’s expression is affronted.

“First of all, you bitch. Second of all, as if I would date someone who didn’t even buy me a gift. Or want to come. Or yelled at me after coming. Wow — now that I think about it, you’re terrible, _________.”

“Oh, shit; that someone was you?” The only person that isn’t tense in this conversation is Jaehyun, who laughs point blank at Youngho’s sour face. “I think they were offering to put you into one of their Death Note notebooks. Sucks for you, hotshot.”

“What a smudge on my good name,” Youngho sighs mournfully. “On my special day, too.”

“I desperately need you two to be quiet for one second. I have to — where’s Mark?”

Even when you stand on your tiptoes, you’re not nearly as tall as the two of them; it’s Youngho, with his freakish height, who manages to spot Mark by the bowl of nachos, looking as though he’s trying to decide if they’re safe for consumption. You hardly excuse yourself; actually, all you say is a distracted “later” that dismisses Jaehyun’s cooing that something’s going down and you should clue him into all the mess later as a thank you. Your appreciation of his sudden and somewhat short-lived presence in your life is still up in the air.

Mark’s busy making a sour face at the sip of punch he’d just taken; he only straightens up when you’re right in front of him, putting his cup down next to the nachos. “Hey. Did you get to find… um…”

“That’s not important.” Your hand bunches the fabric of his jacket in a death grip, something he barely has time to register, let alone question, before you’re tugging him through the throng of people. You want somewhere quiet, somewhere private, and you initially consider the lawn, except you know it’s strewn with cups and has stragglers debating whether to go home or not. You can’t risk any of them being expert eavesdroppers like Jaehyun, so you make a beeline for the stairs instead.

“We’re not leaving yet?” He has to shout over the music, but there’s no resistance in his stride; he follows you up and waits patiently, although a little perplexed, as you check the doors on the second floor. Two are locked, one is a bathroom, and the other is a messy, musk aftershave-scented place you can only presume is Youngho’s room. Talking in front of a sink and a toilet doesn’t feel like it’ll be very productive, so you just drag Mark into the bedroom, kicking aside the crumpled shirt on the floor — which you could’ve sworn you’d seen Youngho wear for class yesterday. “_________, what’s going on?”

“Mark Lee,” you burst out, ignoring the fact that his eyes widen slightly at your tone. “What’s your fucking deal?”

You don’t think you’ve ever sworn in front of him before; that much is evident when he continues to gawk silently, unable to find words to respond to your question. Or maybe it’s just the volume and force with which you demand an answer. The problem is that you don’t even know what kind of reply you want. A small part of you nags that this is uncalled for, especially at this level, with you practically caging him into an unknown room. In fact, even now, you’re still embarrassed at your behavior, wondering if you’ve gone too far and stepped over a line between you.

But the source of all your frustrations is, in fact, that line — one so strangely drawn, clear at some points and almost invisible at others. Sometimes, he seems simply content with the barest minimum of friendship: talking to you, helping you, politely laughing at your (terrible) jokes. But there are also times he blushes too hard for it to not mean anything, times that he makes you feel like you could mean a little something more to him too.

Yet, from there, he wavers, stepping back so as not to get entangled in something you don’t understand — like when he grows distant every time you mention Youngho to him. You don’t understand why he would unless he echoed, even just a little, the longing in you. But you also don’t get why he stays and builds more walls around himself, like he’s determined to ignore all the other signs — like he doesn’t want to know if it’s really true and will just accept the assumption that it is. You hate not knowing where you stand with him, and while you could easily ask, you know you don’t want to.

And for a long time, you’ve convinced yourself that it’s because you want to see Mark step out of his comfort zone and initiate something, but the ugly truth is staring at you: it’s simply just that you can’t stand the idea of seeing him come to the conclusion that you can’t be anything more to him than someone he makes a sweet cream cold brew for every so often.

There’s a moment of tense silence between you two, where you’re just staring at each other — him, perplexed, and you, agitated — and the only sound that passes is the faint but unmistakable voice of Youngho going who has the cake cutting knife? from somewhere down below. You try not to get caught up in the fact that Mark still looks cute when he’s dumbfounded.

“Sorry?”

“What,” you repeat pointedly. “Is your deal? Why have you been acting so weirdly around me these days? I thought — I thought we were… getting closer. I thought… we…”

You’ve confirmed it now; you’re the epitome of cowardliness. You can’t even say I thought we liked each other — because you know that you do, but you still can’t honestly, assuredly tell if he does. Maybe you just read too deeply into the smallest things — smiles before he asks for your order, glances at you when he thinks you’re not looking, sharing the dream eater figurine — to fuel your own emotions without really checking the depth of his.

“I thought we were cool,” you reroute your words, and they come out flat and lame. “But just when I think you’re warming up to me, you suddenly pull away. Like… you’re afraid of me. Or you don’t like me. I don’t know.”

“It’s not — I don’t — I’m not afraid of you,” he stumbles over his words, and even in the darkness of this space, you see his face turn bright red, very quickly. His feet shuffle, not because he’s lost his balance but because he seems to want to get rid of a sudden restlessness. “I do like you. We are — we were getting — we’re close. We — we’re friends. You said that, and we are.”

“Is it only because I say we are that you agree?”

“What? No, I—” His hand passes over his face, slowing at the curve of his chin. “I really like being friends with you. I like being around you.”

“Then why do you act so weird these days? Like — you’ll be fine one moment, then you’ll back off, like you suddenly remembered you don’t want to be around me.”

“It’s not like that. I’m — I don’t get…” He takes a deep inhale, recalibrating himself for a moment before his voice comes out again, less strained this time. “I just don’t want you to feel uncomfortable around me.”

“How could I?” There’s something more than confusion coloring your voice; there’s hurt, too, and he looks as surprised as you feel at hearing it. “I wanted to be your friend. I was the one that asked you to hang out. I was the one who wanted you to talk to me, to help me, to go to a goddamn dim sum place with me. Why would I feel uncomfortable? Or are you just using this as some roundabout way to say you feel uncomfortable?”

Mark falls silent, and you don’t know why this speaks volumes all of a sudden. His eyes are trained to the tips of his sneakers, which are rising in soft bumps every few seconds; he’s curling his toes inside them. You feel like you’ve gotten the worst answer possible, and something grows cold in your chest.

“You feel uncomfortable around me.” You rehash, but it’s no longer a question. “You don’t know how to get rid of me.”

“No, it’s not that.”

“You think I’m only using you.”

“No.”

“Then what?” Your voice breaks, no longer out of anger, but a desperate sadness. The moment your eyes feel hot and prickly, you decide you want to end the conversation. It’s embarrassing, you think, for someone like Mark Lee — whom you like, who only ever sees you as a friend — to see you get choked up at a fucking birthday party at someone else’s house.

A beat later, you’re mumbling a half-hearted forget it, and you detest overdramatics, but you hate the idea of being in a room with someone who’ll never return your feelings even more right now; you push past him, already on the thought of calling a cab home instead of taking the bus so that no half-drunk businessmen coming from their company dinners see you crying.

But something warm wraps around your wrist, then closes over your hand, and you’re unable to move, Mark’s palm pressed against the back of yours. When you look back, you notice he’s still not looking at you, but his ears are practically on fire with how red they are, and you feel his fingers tighten slightly, tremble slightly against yours.

“It’s not that. I didn’t ever want you to think — I heard about you two. That you were dating someone. Seo Youngho.”

“What does that matter?” Your words come out a little more bitterly than you expect, and you have to remind yourself to reel it in. “That doesn’t explain your discomfort.”

“I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he repeats, still evidently careful in choosing his words. “Because you wanted to be friends.”

“I don’t understand,” you state bluntly. In the back of your mind, you note that Mark’s grip keeps tightening and loosening, unsure of whether to keep holding on or let go. But there’s something else, too — the soft graze of skin against yours, his thumb gliding over your knuckles.

“That was all you said you wanted to be, right?” He waits for a response, but when you don’t give him one, he lets out a shaky breath and continues. “You kept saying — we were friends. You wanted us to be close like that. I just wanted to respect it, even if…”

“Respect what?”

“That you didn’t want… anything else.”

The music downstairs is a bit tamer now; you hear the door opening and closing every so often, signaling guests leaving here and there, but there are still enough footsteps downstairs for you to know that there’s a crowd Youngho hasn’t gotten rid of and therefore has to attend to. That much is good; you’d get slapped with a homicide charge if he came up here all of a sudden.

“You were jealous.”

Mark’s fingers pinch the bridge of his nose for a moment. “I tried to stop. I don’t have a lot of practice with — well, I didn’t know how to approach the situation. I thought I was still acting normally; I didn’t think… I didn’t want you to feel weird and stop hanging out with me just because… I couldn’t fix it.”

“Your friends are assholes,” you mumble, and he finally meets your eye, equal parts startled and amused. “We aren’t. Weren’t. We never were dating.”

“Even without that, I thought… it was a bit embarrassing. Liking someone like you — someone as pretty as you, as nice as you — I thought it would make you feel weird. Then you’d start avoiding me too. Or, worse, you’d keep doing it just because… you… felt bad for me.”

You don’t know what you find more ridiculous — that you hadn’t seen figured it out or that you could have avoided all of this if you’d just been a little more honest with him too. Mark’s hand starts loosening around yours, a little too much, and you turn your palm and grip his hand before he can escape. He stiffens again, just like earlier, but you now understand better why he does.

“I just wanted to keep hanging out with you as much as I could. I thought… It’d be fine, just spending time with you, and I’d be able to like you for a while, on my own, then…” He looks a little pained. “Then just let you go. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry you couldn’t let go?” You sigh softly, your palm guiding his until they connect, face to face, and you can finally lace your fingers into his. There’s no resistance, but his hand trembles slightly in yours still. “If there’s anything you should be apologizing for, it’s that you ever thought of doing it.”

Something clears in the air, lightens in his expression, and he chuckles, albeit a little shyly still. “It’s because I never thought someone like you would like someone like me.”

“I like you.” And it feels right to say it now, not at all out of the blue, never in fear of an answer he’s already given. “I like you when you smile at me every time you ask for my order. I like that you never get impatient when I’m getting my answers wrong. I like seeing you excited when you talk about a new series you’re looking forward to — something new you really want to collect. When you blush, when you laugh loudly, when you spin your pen in your hand — I like you in all those times.”

“Even when I’m jealous?”

“Especially when you are.” Your free hand comes up to cup his jaw, and you’re reminded of the fact that you’ve wanted to feel the strength of the angle under your palm for ages now. It’s not at all a disappointment, and your heart flutters irregularly in knowing you could’ve done this a long time ago, but it doesn’t matter because you’re doing it now, and fuck if Mark Lee doesn’t look good this close to you. “So be jealous — because now, you know you can be.”

Kissing him is better than you imagined, and you’ve imagined a little too much to be embarrassed at this point; there’s a heat to his lips that matches the one across his face, an upturn to them that makes you smile too. The setting’s not at all an expected one, but you’ll take it, not because it’s dark or because it’s private but because Mark’s in here with you, and you would have kissed him in a brightly lit football field full of people for as long as he’d let you.

You’d like to think he’s flushed for a reason other than shyness when you pull away, even if his laugh is quiet and breathy. In fact, when you murmur not enough, he’s the one that closes the gap this time, offering freely what you ask for with such little eloquence. The natural trepidation in his mouth relaxes, gives way to a curiosity that keeps you locked for so long that you forget you need to breathe, much more intent on finding out if Mark’s tongue tastes as good as you’ve imagined for so long.

It doesn’t; it tastes even better.

It’s still not enough, not by a long shot, but you have to resurface before you pass out like this, and even he looks a little dazed when you pull away — not in a bad way, with a grin on his face that you can only classify as endearingly goofy: slightly lopsided and a little shy, but with an unmistakable air of satisfaction.

“Months,” he mumbles, his lips still dangerously close to yours. Your eyebrows rise in questioning, and he laughs in that infectious way that makes you want to join in without even knowing what the punchline is. “I’ve been thinking of kissing you for months.”

And you do share the laughter this time, not out of amusement but of a happiness that spills without restraint. “But you’re suddenly holding back now?”

“Just letting myself bask in the moment, I guess. Letting it sink in so I remember everything.”

The two of you stand there quietly, still trying to fully parse the progression of events, and a small part of your mind registers that Mark’s thumb is still drawing circles on your skin. It’s also not enough — this touch, this closeness. You know now that he’s been thinking of you for months, and it reminds you that you spent that time dreaming of him too. And you remember you’ve always wanted to be even more familiar with him, and suddenly the desire is overwhelming; he’s right here, and you don’t ever want him out of your grasp again.

“Where are you going?” He’s only curious for the sake of it; there’s no alarm in the question because you keep your fingers tightly woven in his, tugging him along as you walk past him to the door. He’s still staring in wonder after the lock clicks shut. “What’s… happening now?”

“You waited months to kiss me, right?” He nods in response at your question. “I’ve been waiting just as long to have you too.”

His mouth falls open, but he doesn’t manage to say anything; his jaw tightens just as quickly when he feels your free hand trail down his chest, feather-light and asking for a green light. Your index finger stops just above his navel and draws back slowly, but not before you feel the shiver that runs down his torso.

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to,” you murmur, giving his hand a little squeeze. “But I just want you to know — I want to. I want you.”

A thoughtfulness settles on his face, and his eyes graze over yours, trying to read your seriousness. You don’t know how honest you look, but your words hold enough truth in them. A silence stretches over the next minute, but to you, it feels like an eternity, and you lose the test of patience somewhat, smiling softly at him.

“You don’t want to?”

“I—” His tongue peeks out, running over his bottom lip. “I do. It’s not that I don’t want to, but…”

“You seem worried.”

A hesitant nod. “I’ve never — well, no, I have, but not — with someone like you.”

“What’s someone like me?” You laugh airily.

“Someone pretty like you — I don’t know. Someone who seems to know exactly what they want. Someone who seems like… they could do better than me.”

“Mark.” You can’t keep the incredulity out of your voice. “I do know exactly what I want. I want you. The rest — I don’t care about. As long as it’s you, I want it.”

He cracks a smile, half of relief, half of disbelief. You don’t miss his hand coming up to press, warm, against your waist. “For real?”

Your fingers curl into the front of his shirt — an anchor to bring you closer, until the tips of your noses are brushing. “For real.”

The third time you kiss is slow, almost careful; there’s lingering worry in the line of his mouth that your lips try to ease until his slightly part under the movements of yours. You feel the tension leave his form in waves — first in his shoulders, then in his arms, until you’re able to press yourself closer and feel the slight give of his frame against your smaller one. He’s radiating an immense amount of body heat that’s pricking your skin and keeping you alert, and you’re hyperaware of the smallest things — the weak tremble in his mouth, the slight roughness of his teeth under your tongue, the ridges of his palate above it.

He tastes nothing like what he smells, you learn. Instead of the air of earthy coffee stuck to clean linen, you inhale a combination of spearmint and mild saltiness that’s made slightly sharper by the lingering splash of alcohol from his accidental sip of punch earlier. You decide then and there that this disparity is important to you; it makes you feel like you’re the only one who can have this experience — that everyone else can know his scent, but now, only you can know what Mark Lee tastes like.

You have to keep your wits about you to avoid this addictive stimulation of your senses; you let go of his hand only to lock your fingers around his neck, and there’s a show of trust in how he lets you lead him backwards, until his knees are hitting the edge of the unmade bed. The kiss breaks as he’s forced to settle on the mattress, and he looks up at you in what can only be described as a quiet kind of awe. He doesn’t complain when you place your hands, heavy, on his shoulders, using his sturdy form to keep you stable as you move to straddle his lap.

“I feel like,” his voice is hoarse as he speaks up. “We should have picked a different location. Someone… could walk in.”

“I locked the door,” you remind him, a light reassurance in your voice. He doesn’t say anything immediately, but it’s clear there are cogs turning in his head, and you think it’s unfair that he’s thinking way too hard about something else that isn’t you, right now, in this position. In a bid to rectify this, your face presses into the side of his neck, breathing in that familiar scent and leaving a light kiss on his skin right after. Your lips mark the moment he swallows hard at the contact. “Besides, would you really be that unhappy if someone did?”

His hands tighten against your waist, prompting you to leave another kiss against his collarbone. “What — what do you mean?”

“You wouldn’t like it if someone — say, Youngho — walked in to see me on your lap like this?”

The silence that follows your words is tense, and you can tell that Mark’s breathing has become shallower. Again, you can feel his throat constricting slightly, and you can’t help but laugh breathily as you nip at his skin, just under his Adam’s apple. He’s surprisingly easy to tease, you realize — quick to turn speechless and prone to hanging onto your words.

To say that you wouldn’t want to use that to your advantage would be a downright lie.

“Tell me,” you urge, your tone deceptively gentle. “You wouldn’t want him to see you kissing me like this? To see me wrapped around you, begging for more, saying your name over and over? You don’t want him to watch you take me — so he knows you’re the only one that can?”

A strangled groan punctuates your words, but it comes from him; his fingers dig hard into your side with barely constructed restraint. “What do you want from me, _________?”

“I want to know if kissing me was the only thing you wanted for months.”

You pull your head away, nudging his chin with the tip of your nose. Another groan escapes him, and his head tilts back slightly, almost like he’s praying. But when his gaze comes down to meet yours at your level again, you see a firm resolution in his eyes that stirs your heart — which takes off the moment he shakes his head, slowly but surely.

“Then,” you whisper. “What do you want from me?”

He doesn’t say so much as shows; he takes from you your breath, steals another kiss that’s now firmer and more openly demanding. Suddenly, his mouth can’t seem to stay still, trapping your lower lip in between his, drawing out your taste until it mixes with his against his teeth. You feel your head growing light again, and you’re pleasantly surprised that it’s suddenly become difficult to keep up with his lips, asking more from you without restraint. A hum of need sounds in the back of his throat, vaguely dissatisfied, and he’s telling you wordlessly that it isn’t enough right before he attaches his lips to the base of your neck, just above your collar. You think he’s just about to return the favor, but a laugh leaves you when you realize he’s taken it a step further, his teeth grazing your skin lightly, soft nips signaling how eager he is to sink his teeth in with only his slowly weakening self-control stopping him from doing it. Mark’s breathing is slightly labored when he pulls his lips away, warm breath fanning over your chest.

“It’s crazy — and stupid,” he croaks out, voice slightly raspy. “But I want it, and I don’t.”

“What do you mean?” Your fingers drag into his hair, combing it upward messily from his nape. He leans in for a quick kiss that’s somewhat misplaced, landing on the corner of your mouth instead of squarely atop it.

“I want them — him to see us. To see me with you, kissing you — fucking you, too. I want everyone to know we’re like this.”

You’ve never heard Mark say anything so forwardly before; a sweet, warm flush builds in your face, pleased at how comfortably he manages to say it — pleased that he’s saying it to you. “Then what’s the problem?”

“I don’t want him to see you.” There’s a bluntness to his words, but hiding behind them is an undertone of pleading — a serious request. “I don’t want him to see how pretty you look. I don’t want him to see you when you’re bare, or how you look when I’m inside you. I don’t want him to see—”

His voice wavers and dies, and you wonder if he’s embarrassed, but when you read his expression, you see an unyielding longing. A smile tugs at your lips, and your hand comes around to cup his chin, thumb extending upwards to drag his lower lip down.

“You don’t want him to see what’s only yours.”

He swallows hard again, but he doesn’t wait long to nod. Understanding passes between the both of you, silently but completely, and Mark presses his face to your throat, feeling the hum resonate as he places another long, firm kiss there.

“You’re mine,” he whispers, in a way that almost feels like he wants to convince himself of something impossible to believe. He doesn’t even wait for your affirmation, prefers to read it in the way you shiver lightly once his lips travel further down. His kisses trail past the collar of your shirt, and his hands are unabashed in how they seek skin, pushing the fabric upward so he can settle the palms of his hands, warm against your waist. Oddly, they don’t travel upwards; they only brush against the dip, down slightly over the upward rise of your hips, then upwards again, almost soothingly. It’s almost like he wants his mouth to meet them, but he stops halfway, sidetracked by the curve of your breasts.

He barely pulls away, only does for a moment, enough to meet your eyes.

“You’re only mine,” he repeats, his voice softer now. You realize he’s still waiting for some confirmation, and when you do, you’re quick to give it to him — quick to erase any doubt.

“I’m yours,” you affirm in the same tone, in the same careful volume. “Only yours, Mark.”

Whatever else he wanted to ask for, he knows you’ve given assent; that much is clear when he buries his face between your tits, inhaling your scent. You briefly wonder if he might feel just as intoxicated around you as you do around him, if your pleasant dizziness in being this close to him, in tasting and smelling him is something he experiences too, but you don’t get much time to dwell on it the moment you feel his lips part, a slight wetness seeping through the fabric. He’s kissing your chest, teeth grazing just above the cup of your bra, nipping without any real objective other than to feel the pad’s slight resistance to his mouth.

You almost miss what he says as he shifts his head, lips brushing over the curve of your breast — another breathless ‘mine’ that isn’t ever punctuated; his lips still stay parted, mouthing at the cloth, like he’s desperate to feel what’s underneath through it. There’s pressure where his tongue presses flush against the shape of your tit, tightness whenever he chooses to nip, attempting to take the flesh and all that’s between you and him between his teeth.

Not enough, you think, even when a whimper of need bubbles out of you; you want to be closer, your thighs pressing against the sides of his. You’re close in almost every way, but you still inch yourself further forward, enough to feel the taut hardness in his jeans. Your hips settle right there, letting fabric ride against fabric as you center yourself.

No sooner do you press yourself flush against him do you gasp; the light sting sends a jolt up your spine when his teeth close around your nipple through your bra, and when you look down at him, you see the corners of his mouth pulled up in evident satisfaction. He’s quick to atone, his tongue dragging your shirt slightly upwards in his attempt to soothe, and for some reason, the push of fabric and the barely-there feeling of motion leaves you tingling.

“Mark.” Your voice comes out in a whine, but in the haze you’re in, you don’t really have a clear idea of what you’re asking for. All you know is that you want more of him, and for as much as he’s already given you in kisses and words, you aren’t even halfway down the list of everything else you wish you could demand from him. You say the only thing that comes to mind — the only thing that really encompasses what you feel. “Mark, I want you. I want more of you.”

His hands on your waist are replaced by the significant tightness of his arms, locked around your torso; you don’t even have the time to take in your awe at the fact that he can easily carry you, turn you over until you’re on your back, until he’s already eased one knee between your legs.

The way he looks down at you is a mixture of hesitation and desire, but the former’s erased when you reach out for him, murmuring another ‘more’ so you can pull him in. With one palm pressed against the mattress, he lets his free hand graze against your side again, bolder in its movements, and his fingers trace a path up to your breast, squeezing the soft flesh through layers. Your back arches upwards in response, eager for more contact, for touch that’s almost there but not quite, and he smiles when you make a noise of frustration from his fingers tweaking the soft nub of your nipple.

“Mark, please—”

“Would you really let him see you like this?” His thumb’s still idly grazing over your breast, following the rise and fall of its curve. You swallow hard, trying to keep your voice level despite the growing want that threatens to break through it. “Would you really let him watch you… get fucked?”

You shake your head, and his brow furrows.

“I’d let him watch you fuck me,” you correct him, and the confusion in his face gives way to pure satisfaction the moment you make this nuance clear. “It has to be only you.”

His grip tightens briefly against your breast again, and he leans down, pressing a surprisingly chaste and brief kiss to your lips.

“Then I’ll unlock the door next time and give him a show.”

You don’t know if it’s what he says or what he does after — his hands bunching your shirt upward until the hem’s just below your neckline — that makes your breath hitch, but you decide it doesn’t matter when you realize you’d much rather be focusing on the journey his lips take, slick against your stomach as he presses languid kisses down to your navel. His fingers hook into the waistband of your jeans, the weight naturally pulling them down, and you see his muscles tighten for a moment as he stops himself from tugging them off completely.

Mark’s mouth is unparalleled in its attentiveness, seemingly intent on making sure he’s covered every inch of your stomach in warm kisses, but you only realize he’s somehow stalling when he starts the cycle again, his nails digging into the taut elastic of your jeans as though to remind himself to curb his desire.

You take the initiative instead, raising your hips slightly to signal your want, acutely aware of the fact that you brush lightly against his thigh when you do so. His eyes lift first, followed by the rest of his face, and he’s watching you quietly. You might have thought he was unsure of what to do all of a sudden again, but his knee pressing closer, an unmistakable pressure against you, is enough to tell you that he’s only curious to know what else you’ll do.

The second time you grind against his thigh, his hands catch your hips, keeping them aloft just long enough for him to tug the band of your jeans downward; he peels them off you with surprising ease, returning to the same position between your legs, hands still firm on your waist. With that done, he only has the thin garter of your panties left to curl his fingers into, bunching it into his fists when you roll your hips up one more time. You manage a shaky noise when you feel the stark difference — the roughness of the denim against you, the stick and drag of flimsy cloth. Mark lets out a low but unmistakable hiss.

“I can’t believe—” his idea is cut short by the movement of your hips again, and his grip tightens, knuckles pressing into your skin. “Can’t believe you’re here. I can’t believe we’re doing this.”

“What am I supposed to do,” you breathe out, the sound momentarily getting stuck in your throat. “So that you know it’s real?”

His fingers relax their hold, palms now pressed against your thighs; they travel between your hips and your knees, a soothing and thoughtful motion. “God — I don’t know. I just want — I just want you so badly. Like… I’m going to go crazy if I don’t have you now.”

You lean up, your weight resting on your elbow, and your other hand reaches out; Mark meets you halfway, bending just a little lower to press his cheek against your palm. There’s something intimate, something so giving about the way he turns his face to your fingers, pressing a fluttering kiss just under your thumb. The tips of your fingers trace the shape of his lips, even when they pucker again under your digits.

“Take me,” you murmur quietly. “Right now — from now on, every part of me is all for you.”

His exhale is shaky, but his fingers have a sureness to them; they slip under your thighs, cradling the backs of your knees, and lifting until they’re folded over your chest. You don’t even have the time to wonder if you should feel exposed all of a sudden; his breath warms the inside of your thigh as he presses his lips there — not a kiss, just a touch as he speaks.

“I want to taste you,” he mumbles, partly distracted with the act of inhaling the mild scent off of your skin. “Every inch of you — I want to know just how sweet you are.”

He lets his hold on your thighs relax, letting them fall apart; he busies his hands with your panties instead, hooking a finger into the strip of cloth just covering you. It’s clear you’re both aware that the fabric sticks light to your skin, poorly masking your wetness, and interest mingled with hunger flashes across his face as he pulls it aside.

“You’re so pretty,” he says, sounding like it’s a comment more for himself than anything else. His gaze flickers to you for a moment before it moves back to your pussy. “The prettiest fucking girl in the world.”

The pressure of his thumb between your folds causes you to forget what you wanted to say, and you know Mark had been nervous, but you realize that it doesn’t mean he’s supremely inexperienced by any means; there’s a quiet, understated confidence in the way he rubs slow, thorough circles, moving upward towards your clit. Your face, your neck, your whole torso feels flushed, but you power through the instinct to tilt your head back so that you can keep watching him — the minute changes in his expression, the slowly building strength in his touch.

“I want to taste you,” he repeats, looking up at you. “I want to know what you taste like when you cum against my mouth.”

You’re not sure if you’re gawking because you can hardly believe Mark Lee — your eternally blushing, mild mannered campus crush — had said all those words strung together into such a lewd sentence, but you’re sure as hell not going to deny him. Your hand travels down your torso, and he watches, curious at first, then awestruck when your index and forefinger settle against either side of your folds, pulling them apart in offering.

His eyes end up transfixed on your pussy again, observing how your fingers ease your folds further apart the more he massages his thumb against your slit. His mouth is slightly agape, intent on drinking in the sight, unaware that you’re trying to memorize this view of him too — Mark Lee, touching you, wanting you, eager to take you fully.

“I’ve always wanted to see what it’d look like with your face between my legs,” you say in a hushed tone, but he catches it anyway, briefly looking up at you again. “I’ve always wanted to know what your tongue would feel like against my pussy.”

Your index finger bumps against the tip of his thumb, and he stops its motions, allowing you to move his digit down until the pad of it hovers just in front of your tiny hole. You can see one cheek tucked between his teeth, bitten to muffle the groan you wish you’d heard louder.

“Won’t you show me?”

You think you hear him rasp out a ‘fuck yes’ before he bends down, pressing his half-open mouth against your pussy. The squeal of delight that leaves you is half-strangled as his thumb curls, hooking into your entrance. It starts a shallow, distracted motion, with his attention funneled much more clearly into keeping his tongue working. Flush against your slit, it drags up, and he releases a guttural noise at your taste, lips pursing slightly on the way back down — like he can’t stand not trapping every drop of wetness with his mouth.

The intensity of his tongue, the idle thrusting of his thumb — you’re not sure what you want to focus on more, and the result is you whimpering incoherently at the starkly contrasting combination of the two. Mark moves his mouth like he’s never tasted anything as good in his life; the sounds between your thighs are wet, sloppy — almost embarrassingly so — but you don’t have the presence of mind to dwell on that because Mark Lee is eating you out and that’s really all that you can think of.

The tip of his tongue suddenly flicks upwards; you keen, long and low, when it starts to circle your clit in that same intense, circular movement his thumb had gotten you used to. Your sensitivity skyrockets, and you’re completely unable to control the upward bucking of your hips, but Mark stays supremely unperturbed, his free arm winding under your thigh to keep the both of you steady. Your noises are growing embarrassingly loud, and you realize just how needy you’ve become when you vaguely notice that there’s a pattern in what you’re saying — his name, over and over again.

“Did you do that too?” He asks softly, his words slightly muffled against you. “Say my name, I mean — when you thought of me.”

“God, yes.” Your voice comes out strained, teetering on the edge of slurring. “So many times — every single fucking time.”

“Promise me something.” He lifts his head, and you see a fieriness in his gaze.

You nod — at this rate, whatever he’d ask you to do, you would without question. “Anything.”

His thumb presses in deeper, up to his knuckle and you reflexively tighten around his digit, but he keeps it anchored there, pushing down against your walls. He drinks in your gasp, the widening of your eyes, the way you chew on your lip with a singular kind of contentment on his face.

“Promise me — from now on, you’ll make sure I’m always there to hear it.”

The only kind of assent you’re able to make is a moan as he dives down again, mouth buried in your warmth, his nose pressed tight against your clit. His tongue moves in strong strokes, broad swipes that push your folds apart further, and his thumb, while not moving, increases in pressure to the point that you feel a heaviness adding to the growing pleasure. Your hands fly down, seeking some kind of sense and reason, and you thread your fingers into his hair, grip tightening as your climax builds in stride.

“Mark, I’m—” close, you want to say, embarrassingly so, but the moment he hears his name, his lips attach to your clit, and there’s suddenly so much more pressure as he sucks, almost like he’s desperate to draw out your orgasm. He chooses this of all time to start moving his thumb again, and this time, his movements are anything but slow and idle; they’re filled with the intent to drive you over the edge. “Fuck me, oh my god—”

“I want to,” he murmurs, pausing for just a moment to drag the tip of his tongue around the nub. “God, I want to. Let me see you cum first; let me taste how sweet you are.”

His thumb stops, buries deep into your pussy, and you’re not sure why this, of all things, is what pushes you beyond control; you’re only half-sure you say his name when your orgasm hits, the rest of your consciousness much too clouded by pleasure. He doesn’t stop, revels in the way you squirm under him as he hums low and keeps his tongue working against your clit. His licks become longer, more thorough as you come down from your high, your cries softening into whimpers as his tongue both attempts to clean you up and makes you messier in the process. His arm is still curled around your thigh, keeping you from inching away from him, even if instinct and stimulation are telling you to.

You’re barely lucid when you sit up, and Mark inches back, somewhat startled; you grab the front of his shirt, and the sight of his mouth, slick and glistening from your wetness, only makes you more curious to know what you taste like on him. You find out how tangy it is, how rich the two of you are together on his lips, and you’re able to fully appreciate the skill of the mouth that kisses you deeply, leaving traces of you against your tongue and teeth.

“Please — fuck me.” It’s the only thing you can say at this rate, only half-coherent and still trembling with desire, but Mark doesn’t seem to care that you’re stuttering over such a simple request. His thumb wipes traces of saliva off the corner of your mouth, kisses it clean for good measure, then straightens up, his hands working at his belt. You almost miss the fact that his hands are shaking slightly as he undoes the buckle and tugs it out from the loops.

You want to help — it’s the least you can do, after all, and your fingers push the button of his jeans out through the hole, his hands working in tandem to tug the zipper down. However, your movements falter when you hear a noise from just outside the room — the sound of the doorknob being jangled, the thud of a body gently hitting the door, as though worried it’s stuck. You glance up at Mark, ready to reassure him, but he either hadn’t heard or doesn’t care because he’s too busy stepping out from the pool of denim at his ankles, and you get completely sidetracked by the bulge straining against his boxers.

You almost ignore Youngho’s voice grumbling ‘Jesus Christ, now of all times? from behind the door, but you leverage it instead.

“Should we let him in?” You ask, tone innocent despite the evident deviousness in your words. It pays off, though; Mark’s cock twitches unmistakably under thin fabric, and he actually looks like he’s considering it. “You’re just about to fuck me, after all. Weren’t we going to — what did you say? Put on a show?”

He worries on his bottom lip, like he’s unsure if you’re serious, but in the end, he shakes his head, reaching out to smooth your hair away from your face and ushering you to lay back down. The lips that meet your forehead are gentle, almost apologetic.

“Not now,” he murmurs against your skin. “Right now, you’re all mine.”

You laugh lightly, nodding, and he chuckles too, but the sound of it slowly dies down when your finger hooks into the garter of his boxers. You can feel his breathing hitch as you tug it down, the elastic catching when it meets the shape of his cock, but you don’t make any move to free it just yet — for some reason, you want to see him do it.

“Show me.”

He complies without hesitation, one hand dragging the elastic down over his thighs, the other curling around the base of his length, and your face flushes as satisfaction works through your system at the bare sight of him.

Mark Lee is big — not monstrously so, but enough for you to make a pleased noise as your hand joins his, fingers barely wrapping around his girth. You give his shaft a gentle squeeze, and his exhale stutters, watching you stroke him, long and thorough in your movements. Your palm swipes over the tip, leaking precum, allowing it to slick up your hand enough to keep your movements smooth. You’re fixated on the tension in his lips, the throb of his cock against your palm, and the way his gaze never leaves your face, like a small, amazed part of him still can’t believe what you’re doing, even if you’re both half-naked already.

“I want to suck you off,” you plead, grip tightening slightly. He grits his teeth, stifling another groan, but he shakes his head clearly enough for you to slow your movements in mild surprise.

“Can’t — not now. I need to be in you so badly.” His breathing’s sharp and heavy, like he’s trying to keep himself in check. “You don’t even know — how long I’ve wanted to feel you.”

Your hold relaxes, and you let him maneuver you, his renewed hold on your hips dragging you closer to the edge of the bed. In this position, he can spread your thighs further, and you angle yourself optimally — enough for him to get a full view of your pussy, wet and still aching from your last orgasm.

“You don’t know how badly I’ve wanted to know how tight you are,” he continues, and there’s a faraway look in his eyes that makes you think he might be entrenched in fantasy. “How much I would have killed to see you — have you like this. I’m not gonna be able to wait anymore.”

His fingers dig into your sides, thumbs stroking your stomach in a weak pattern. The underside of his shaft presses against your folds, still half obscured by your panties, in a way that’s heavy enough to make you mewl, your hips reacting before your mind can, and he hisses softly as he feels his length glide along your slit before you relax your stance again.

“I can’t wait,” he reiterates, a breaking in his voice that sounds almost tortured. You don’t want him to either, want to see him buried to the hilt inside you, and you raise your hips again in need. “I want you so much it’s driving me crazy.”

“Then take me.”

And you’re not sure if it’s a demand or a plea, but he no longer stops himself; his hand fists his cock a few times, coating the slick of precum along his length before he lines the tip up with your entrance. His other hand’s flush against the inside of your thigh, a light pressure ensuring he always has enough space to fit himself between your legs — enough space to bottom out completely.

Mark’s considerate in his pace — maybe he knows he’s big, or maybe he’s just naturally careful, but he allows you the time to adjust to the stretch. Your nails almost puncture holes into the sheets, your grip so tight you wonder if it’s just to brace yourself or to hang onto the last threads of your sanity. He’s only halfway in, but you’re pushing fullness already, and he stops when his cock meets slight resistance, looking up at you in concern.

“You’re not—?”

“It doesn’t hurt,” you reassure him softly, and it’s true; the adjustment brings about slight discomfort, but it’s almost nothing to you — not compared to how much more you want. “Give me everything; I want all of you inside me.”

He pauses still, trying to read your expression for any lies, but when he can’t find any, he nods, his jaw tensing as he presses both palms against your thighs, keeping you open as much as possible to accommodate him. He doesn’t even stop when you whimper, feeling a tightening twitch in your pussy that also causes him to groan, until inch by inch, you’ve taken him, his hips flush against yours.

He doesn’t move — not yet, his eyes trained to where you’re connected like he’s once again unable to believe what he’s doing. You hear him mumble something to himself that you want to hear too; you squirm slightly, and he hisses through his teeth, looking up at you and finding the questioning in your face. He offers you a small smile, albeit somewhat strained.

“You’re tighter than I thought.”

“You’re bigger than I thought,” you hum, and neither of you is really to blame; the tight fit, the slight breathlessness it leaves you with, is perfect, you think — just what the both of you need. “Did you often think about fucking me?”

“Probably just as often as you’re making it sound like you thought about having me fuck you, I think.”

“Don’t get cocky,” you warn, but there’s no real heat in your voice.

“I won’t. But it makes me feel good — knowing you wanted me just as bad.”

“I still do.” Your gaze is lazy, a little hazy, even if you’re anticipating so much. Even just the feeling of Mark, throbbing inside you, is already slowly building the pleasure in your stomach again; you wonder if you could cum like this, given enough time, given enough patience. “I’m still waiting for you to fuck me. God, Mark— please.”

He chuckles good-naturedly, but even that’s drowned out by the long moan that leaves you once he draws his hips back; your body’s mildly shocked into a new adjustment, feeling a sudden emptiness that’s quickly mitigated by him filling you back up again. The pace is slow, almost torturous, although you know he isn’t doing it to get a rise out of you. He wants to ease you into speed, careful to help you adjust fully; his restraint in his movements is all the more evident on his face, in the furrowing of his brow and the determination in his gaze. Even with that, he can’t help what he says, so intent on controlling everything else he does that he lets his words spill out over your noises.

“Pretty,” he grunts out, and when your walls twitch around him, he accidentally thrusts sharper — just enough for you to whimper a little more loudly, and he has to reel his strength back again. “God, you’re beautiful. I should’ve told you sooner how much I wanted you. All those times I had to imagine you wrapped around me like this, wondering how much tighter you’d get once you came on my cock. All those times you drove me crazy while I was alone, when I could have been in you— I could have found out how good you felt. How pretty you’d look under me. And you’re still even prettier, even better than I ever dreamed.”

There’s an erratic melody of moans under his words, spilling from your mouth, and the fact that he riles himself up enough to increase his speed slightly doesn’t escape you. He’s a little less careful now, seemingly entranced by the view he gets, watching his shaft disappear into you only to come out glistening, and a part of you hates the idea of snapping out of his reverie, but the majority of your thoughts now lean towards wondering how much more you can get him to break free of his own self-imposed restrictions.

“I wanted to ask you so many times.” His eyes snap up, coming back into focus as he takes in the sight of you, flushed, hair tousled, gaze darkened. “Almost every day — I sat there, thinking about how all I could do was go home and fuck myself, frustrated you weren’t doing it for me. I should have taken you home with me right then and there — should have let you watch me touch myself thinking of you, should have let you touch me into cumming on your fingers.”

His breathing staggers as he leans in, eager to see you clearer, to hear your words, slowly becoming airier as they come out. For a moment, his gaze falls, torn between watching him move into you and meeting your eyes, but he ultimately chooses the latter once you speak up again, your tone even more hushed than before — like it’s meant to be a secret between just you and him.

“But there were times I wanted you even more than that, to the point that I almost felt like I couldn’t wait.” His eyes widen slightly, a few precious seconds of wondering if he understands what you mean, right before you confirm what he thinks. “I thought about making a move right then — I should have kissed you. I should have asked you.”

“Asked me what?” His voice is gruff with the effort to keep himself in check despite the fact that it’s clear to the both of you that it won’t last.

Your lazy smile’s illusionary; it hides the triumph swelling in your chest at knowing that he asked exactly what you hoped him to.

“I should have asked you to fuck me in front of everyone there.”

“God,” his eyes squeeze shut, his grip tightening. “Please. I can’t—”

“I should have bent over for you there, begged you to stretch me out right after our session,” you continue, bordering on merciless. “Mark, you don’t know — how badly I wanted to be on your lap, your cock in me, with everyone watching. How much I wanted you to fold me over that table, have people watch you pound me, have them listen to how good you make me feel. No one would ever even wonder; everyone would know I’m yours.”

You pause, allowing his eyes to fly open once again, and there’s a pleading in them that’s begging for release. Your eyes soften along with your voice, but you’re this far gone; you should at least see it through.

“And everyone would know you’re mine too.”

“Fuck,” he growls, and his hips stutter before new resolve fills him, his hips driving into you with the force of a strength you didn’t even know he had in him; your thighs tremble at the intensity, at the renewed impact, and feeling him drive his cock deeper into you has you crying out somewhere between a moan and a sob. “Fuck, _________. If I had known you’d thought about me like that — God.”

It’s your turn to shut your eyes for a while, allowing yourself to focus on his movements, breaching your tightness even faster now. You feel his hands skim up your sides again, fingers digging into the fabric of your bra and pulling them down until your bare tits are cupped in his hands. You shiver as his thumbs pass over your nipples, toying them into firm nubs.

“One day,” he hums out, his voice giving way to a slight hoarseness again. “I’ll do it. I’ll fuck you in front of him — in front of Youngho, in front of everyone. I’ll let them wonder how tight you are, how fucking warm you are, and I’ll let them leave knowing no one can know but me.”

It’ll never happen, you both know, but something about agreeing to something so absurd is what has your body almost shaking in longing, and it’s what causes him to press in deeper, folding your legs closer to your torso. Your hands do what little they can to help, keeping your thighs apart so as not to obstruct his view. You can tell it’s somehow not enough, not really all of what he wants when his brow furrows, and he shifts his weight, pushing into you at a new angle.

The stark difference has you gasping before you can control it. Immediately, Mark stops, and you’re already shaking your head before you even hear him say anything, presuming he’s paused out of concern. But before you can say you’re fine, his hushed voice cuts through the silence.

“Do that again.”

“What?”

“Do it again,” he mumbles, sounding distant. “Breathe in. Suck in your stomach.”

You’re not one to complain at such a simple request, albeit a little odd, so you comply, inhaling enough to tighten your torso. You’re surprised when you feel his cock twitch inside you, and you blow out the air alongside your question. “Mark, what are you—”

“I can see it,” he says in utter disbelief. “When you’re like this, I can — I can see my cock inside you. Just a bit.”

Your eyes follow his gaze, fixed just below your navel. From this angle, without any movement, you can’t see a thing, but you assume he’s not one to abandon fucking you so intently without good reason, so you press your palm against your stomach, just above your pelvis. Nothing really feels significantly out of place — up until the point when Mark draws his hips back again, and you feel the backward slide of his cock.

Your throat tightens, and you don’t really understand the feeling that spreads in you — a unique kind of arousal, knowing how deep he is inside you and how you’re taking all of him in despite the fit, because of the fit. Your hand falls away, allowing Mark’s to take its place, and he exerts just a little more pressure against your stomach in an attempt to get the most out of the experience when he thrusts back in. He groans, feeling the bulge push back up, and he quickly picks up the same pace, renewed in intensity so he can experience the rapid rise and fall he creates under his palm.

The faster he goes, the harder he presses, and you’re not sure if he knows it, but the onslaught of friction is what’s making you whine and squirm even more; you’re trapped, in the best way possible, in his hold, your hands back to clinging to the backs of your knees like a lifeline. Pressure from the outside builds on the slowly growing pressure inside, a knot in your pelvis that’s coiling so tightly you feel like you can’t breathe. If Mark notices how close you are, he doesn’t make it known; he’s busy feeling the outline of his cock against your stomach, and when he looks up at you again, his eyes are hazy.

“I would fuck you every single day, every single hour if I could feel this every time,” he whispers in a way that’s almost reverent. “Let me — I want to keep seeing you like this. I want to feel how deep I am inside you, too. Let me fuck you all the time.”

You nod, and your first attempt to say something is just another choked sob. When you do manage to get something out, it’s broken in tearful stutters. “M-Mark, I’m s— I’m so close… I’m — fuck—”

“Do it.” It’s not a harsh command but an urging made on short breath; through your misty vision, you see tension in Mark’s face and shoulders, like he’s bracing himself for something too. You barely register the ping in the back of your mind, too focused on the way he’s pressing his palm harder on your stomach, the way his hips quicken their pace — he’s close too. “Let me feel you — want to feel you cum all over my cock.”

You inhale, not to speak but to let out a loud whimper; your teeth dig into your lower lip as you try to stifle the moans that threaten to follow, but in the end, you whine out his name. Your thighs threaten to close, trembling as you finally reach your climax, an impossible explosion of pleasure, and you have to squeeze your eyes shut so that you don’t get dizzy from the stars that burst around your vision.

“Fuck.” Mark’s voice is strained, his one hand still firm against your stomach, the other sliding against the inside of your thigh. “You get even tighter — you feel even better when you cum.”

“Mark,” you hiccup, unable to do anything but flutter around him as he pistons harder into you. You don’t even know what you’re asking for when you say ‘please,’ but he somehow seems to, and you trust that your body’s saying something you can’t fully detect in this state, with your mind floating in the aftermath of ecstasy.

“I know,” his tone is soothing in contrast to the intensity of his thrusts. “I’ve got you. Just a little more — where do you want—?”

You blink slowly, his words sinking in at too leisurely a pace; his hips stutter dangerously before you’re able to respond. You barely even do that, your hand gently brushing over the one against your stomach, but he catches onto the meaning quickly enough.

You’ve never heard your name said in such a beautiful way; hearing him moaning it lowly is enough to make you whine again, and that noise is drawn out when he shifts and slips out of you fully. Your brain’s fuzzy, but your senses are at least sharp enough to drink in the perfect sight of him cumming — the way he leans his head back, jaw taut and eyes shut, as he pumps his cock and the heat of his release against your skin, pooling against your stomach once he finally cums. You see a shiver run through him, and then he’s still for a while in this position, the both of you basking in the afterglow of your highs.

You’re still weak and sensitive when Mark finally comes back down, a lucidity you don’t have right now coming back into his gaze. All you can do is smile when he leans in, catching your lips in another kiss — one that’s surprisingly soft and slow in comparison to everything else, but still leaves you breathless when he pulls away.

“Let me clean you up,” he murmurs, and you hum in agreement, your body limp as you watch him move off the bed and pull a handful of tissues from a box on the desk on the opposite wall. Even his hands are gentle when he scoops you up, shifting you until your head can lean against the pillows. They carry a scent you’re not used to, and your nose scrunches, rejecting the change, but that’s quickly overpowered by Mark’s familiar coffee-and-linen one when he presses next to you, careful as he wipes his cum off your stomach and thoroughly cleans between your thighs. From somewhere down below, you still hear hushed voices, and the front door slams shut again. People are still in the middle of leaving, but you know Youngho will likely run out of guests soon, and this makes you feel like the timing’s suddenly become urgent.

“I want to date you properly,” you start, slightly slurred but unmistakably blunt. Mark’s gaze snaps to yours, slightly amused, as he balls the tissues up in his fist. “You never asked me, so I’m asking you.”

He looks perplexed. “I just never thought you wanted me to, so I didn’t try.”

You reach up, locking your fingers into his hair and using your grip to pull him down. Your kiss is a little demanding, with a tinge of excess frustration, and he pulls away laughing lightly.

“Do you still think I don’t want you to?”

Mark hums thoughtfully. “I think you made a lot of things clear tonight. On my end, I was happy enough to be near you.” He smiles down at you, and in the faint light, you can see the flush slowly return to his cheeks. “Having you like this — dating you… there’s no way I’d say no.”

Your shoulders relax, satisfied with his answer, and you beam up at him — an act he easily returns, breathtaking and endearing all at once.

Moments later, you feel his arm wind around your waist; he allows you to lean into his side, his other hand crossing over his lap to stroke your thigh. His face turns, pressing a kiss to your hair, and you feel his lips move, hear the quick rush of a whisper. You tilt your head, eyes slightly wide in questioning. “What was that?”

He shakes his head at first, trying to pass it off as nothing. But when it’s clear your curiosity won’t abate, he chuckles softly, his hand gently cupping your chin so that you can only look at him. His thumb strokes your bottom lip gently, as if trying to coax the same words out of your mouth before he murmurs them to you one more time — and this time, he sounds fully convinced of them.

“You’re all mine.”

[rosenpacht]

Jaehyun as an ESTP (again) (NCT Daily vid: To you pt. 3)

SOOO I found something that makes me smile throughout the entire video.

Honestly, I’ve been waiting for the 3rd part of NCT’s ‘To You’ video, especially Jaehyun’s part. Like I’ve been wanting to see how he would act in the video. I mean, obviously the video is sooo touching (although Jungwoo kinda trolled a bit lol), so I was looking forwards to see Jaehyun like be serious and all.

Eeeek. WROOONG.

I should’ve known better. Jaehyun is so ESTP...

I don’t know... I’ve never done something like that video, so I don’t know how I (as a fellow ESTP) would act. But what I explained in one of my previous posts about the ESTP love language, actually shows here in Jaehyun. The ‘words of affirmation’ being our last one.

(click here to read the post that I’m talking about)

Right from the beginning...

AWKWARDDDDDD~~~

Jaehyun be like “I love you hyung but this is too cringy..........”

On a serious note tho,

KKEUT. 끝

HONESTLY THOUGH,

I feel like Jaehyun was being the sincerest. But, like I said, it might be a little bit awkward for us to be in an emotional situation like that. Obviously, the whole video was supposed to be serious, and sincere. And like I said before, ESTPs are better at SHOWING our love rather than saying it out loud.

.....I think(?)

Bonus: Jaehyun being cute without even trying imma cry

[junicai]

infinite.

| summary | When Aria's with her boys, it feels like the sky's the limit.

| word count | 2.3k

| warnings | none

| era | circa. June 2021, filming for Hello, Future music video

The grass in the empty stadium had been liberally covered in fake flower petals - the healthy green of regularly watered grass slowly becoming overshadowed by the light pink and yellow that settled lightly atop it. 

The white corduroy overalls that Aria donned were splashed with colour in fake paint splotches to compliment the petals - yellows and greens and pinks mixed with blues and oranges in a jumble of streaks that were stark against the otherwise plain material. The Doc Martens that all eight of the members had been fitted for were all padded at the toe and the heel - lest the hard rubber break away skin and cause them to bleed during filming.

Aria crunched several petals underfoot in the heavy boots as she wandered over to the other boys who had been released from hair and makeup a handful of minutes before her. 

The sun was just reaching it’s highest point in the sky, the heat bearing down onto her exposed midriff and almost entirely cancelling out the cool breeze that threatened to rise goosebumps on her stomach. The floaty, bell-sleeved crop top was, in Aria’s opinion, absolutely gorgeous. She had already planned out the best way to corner Heejin unnie - one of the stylists that had an especially soft spot for Aria and her pout, when used effectively. 

Shaking her freshly dyed blue hair out of her eyes, Aria broke out into a light jog to catch up to Renjun, swinging an arm around the boy’s shoulders. 

“Hi!” She smiled brightly. 

Renjun wrinkled his nose at her playfully. “Hey. You done in makeup?”

Nodding, Aria replied, “Yeah. They wanted to touch up the colour in my hair and stick a couple more tattoos around.” She pointed to the new daisy sitting underneath her eye, and the Make Peace, Not War written in differing fonts along her left forearm. 

He aah’d exaggeratedly, patting his own upside-down HELLO on his arm absent-mindedly, before frowning lightly. “Is your colour coming out already? I thought they only dyed it a couple days ago.” Lifting up a hand, Renjun brushed away the strands in Aria’s fringe that were falling into her eyes, cringing lightly when they came away covered in blue residue. 

Aria pulled away from his fingers, shaking her fringe back into place. “They didn’t have any dye left, so it’s hair chalk.” She explained. 

Renjun made another noise of understanding, looking at his smurf coloured fingertips thoughtfully. When his eyes flickered up to meet Aria’s, they had a mischievous glint in them, and she barely had the chance to turn on her heel and break out into a run before Renjun was giving chase hot on her heels. 

“No!” 

“Yes!” 

Her boots were beginning to rub the skin around her ankle raw, still not broken in enough to stand the test of a sprint through a football field, but Renjun was behind her - holding up his hand threateningly - and that was enough to keep her powering through the burn.

“Stop it!” Aria panted, laughter beginning to soil her already failing lung capacity. Her pace was lagging, but much to her relief; so was Renjun’s. With a final burst of energy at seeing the ground she’d gained on him, Aria made her escape attempt-

Only to be captured by Jeno, strong arms wrapping around her waist and swinging her around in a circle to be plopped right back down in front of a now jogging Renjun, an evil smile on his face. 

“Lee Jeno!” Aria protested, wriggling against the arms that had yet to release her. “Let me goo!” 

He deigned not to respond, but Aria could see the matching glint in his eye, and she resigned herself to her fate. He shared a nod of understanding with Renjun who was advancing slowly now that his victim was immobile. 

“Renjun.”

A small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. 

“Renjun, I’m sorry.”

His smurf-hand raised threateningly again. 

“I’ll do your dishes for a week.” 

With a final step, Renjun was now within a half-arms distance from Aria. 

“Jenooo-” Aria cut herself off with a squeak, as Renjun dragged his fingers over the bridge of her nose, leaving behind a trail of the blue hair chalk. Aria flailed in Jeno’s grip, but he held her fast, even going so far as to tug her down into his lap on the ground to hold her steady. 

Now entirely stuck, Aria resorted to flailing her limbs as much as she could, which really wasn’t a lot when Jeno tucked her legs beneath his knees, trapping her with all four of his limbs as Renjun rubbed the rest of the hair chalk off of his fingertips and onto Aria’s nose and cheeks. 

Revenge enacted, her attacker eventually settled back onto his heels, fingers now chalk free - having spread most of it over Aria’s face as a replacement for blush. 

Aria let out a small sneeze when the loose dust tickled her nose, blinking harshly in surprise. 

With her eyes closed, she couldn’t see the hand Renjun held to his heart, or the pout that Jeno’s lips formed at the cute sound. The two men peered up at each other, silently agreeing that: Yes, it was unfair that she looked so tiny and cute with blue blush. Sometimes, life wasn’t fair, and it was coming for Renjun and Jeno’s heart in the form of a very tiny girl with a blueberry nose. 

With a pat on the arm from Renjun, Jeno released Aria from his grip who promptly turned around and rained a series of light smacks onto his chest, only stopping when her rings snagged in the necklace he wore. He made no effort to help her, asides from holding her up when he accidentally leaned back and nearly took her down with him. 

“Traitor!” She declared once she had untangled the jewelry. For her own revenge, she ran a finger through her hair to collect the chalk and smudged the colour onto Jeno’s cheek in a bright smear. 

The shocked look in his wide eyes was enough to have Renjun coughing out a laugh, the other two soon following. The patch of grass they had settled onto was far enough away from the filming location that there were no petals to hinder Aria’s plans of laying down onto her back, hands splayed over her stomach as she laughed along with the boys. 

“Guys!” It was Mark’s call that drew their attention away from the coloured chalk - although Renjun did let out another snicker at the light blue cloud that Aria’s hair left on the grass where she had been laying - and together the trio made their way back over to the other five members. 

When Jeno and Renjun got distracted in comparing the temporary tattoos they had both been decorated with, Aria slowed her pace enough to let the two wander ahead without her. 

She slid her focus away from the duo and towards the group that had settled in between the flower-covered goalposts, some standing, some sitting.

The bright colours of this concept was a nice change, Aria thought. She loved doing sexier concepts - don’t get her wrong, she loved the empowerment that came with it, and the twitter reactions were always fun to scroll through - but she’d missed this kind of bubble pop. Songs that made something uncurl up in your chest, complemented and encouraged by all the bright colours and messages. 

When Aria had read through the lyrics the first time, she’d never felt like she’d loved a song more without hearing it. They meant something, especially to her. 

Hello, Future; and all that.

And the costuming was always so fun. Short skirts were never the most ideal things to dance in, and the heeled shoes were the bane of her existence (no matter how good she looked in them) so the sturdy boots and durable overalls was a welcome switch-out. 

Her boys looked happy with it as well.

With Hot Sauce, there was an infinite amount pressure to get it right. It was the first full album that NCT Dream was going to release, and it was 8DREAM. They had Mark back. They were all adults at that point. There were expectations to meet. They couldn’t pass things off as being children anymore; they had millions of eyes watching them, and it was like having someone breathing down your neck. 

The pressure just kept mounting and mounting until it loomed over them all like dark clouds that you could just know held heavy rain. It was like they were debuting all over again. Re-debuting as eight again. Aria doesn’t think she remembers a single thing from the set at all. The whole thing is just a blur in her memory. 

Hello, Future, this time around, is different. The members had gathered in the living room around Donghyuck’s laptop when the Hot Sauce music video aired, watching as the views racked up and positive comment after positive comment poured in. They’d read through each and every one, Mark and Aria translating the English ones that the others couldn’t read. 

If Aria cried, one arm wrapped tightly around Jaemin, with the other held Mark’s right hand in his lap, then no one commented on it. It could be, because they had tears of their own in their eyes - but no one can say for sure.

They ended up sleeping on the floor that night, laptop discarded on the couch that was stripped bare of pillows and throw blankets. Curled around each other - this time with her head on Renjun’s chest and her stomach monopolized by both Chenle and Jisung lying horizontal from each other, Aria felt the tension and the fear that had been teeming underneath her shoulders for the last two months abate. 

The terror that if the album had flopped, then they’d be facing disbandment like so many kneitzens wanted. 

Or worse: Dream would keep going, but they’d lose Mark again. 

Even the thought made something horrible curl up in the pit of Aria’s stomach. 

No. 

Never again. 

The odd sleeping arrangements were not something that were uncommon in the Dreamies dorm (Honestly, Aria can’t remember the last time she had slept alone in a room, let alone a bed. They had a system worked out for when someone genuinely needed time alone, but otherwise, most bedroom doors remained open all night.)

This time, Mark was forcibly settled into the middle, everyone clamoring that he’d missed out on nearly three years of them - and he wasn’t getting ride of them that easily again. 

To his credit, Mark went without much argument, although that probably falls down due to the fact that god, he had missed them too. 

Over the weeks of practicing together, re-working the choreography for the songs that had been released when Dream was seven members only, they found their rhythm again. The one that they had lost in 2019, the one that Mark had taken with him when he’d graduated from the group.

Finding it again felt easier than breathing. 

Aria thought she’d never get to see her boys smile so brightly as they did together again, giving the colourful flowers lining the grass a run for their money. 

From her position a ways away from the group, she watched as Chenle immediately launched himself at Jeno as soon as he was close enough, tackling the older boy onto the ground where they both landed with a thud, Chenle’s head whipping backwards with the force.

She watched as Jeno - ever careful - had tucked a hand behind Chenle’s head to catch him even before they started to fall, his hand taking all the impact as they came into contact with the ground.

Jisung was quick to clamber up, eager to pull Renjun over to Jaemin and show him what they had been doing. She watched as Jaemin held up a small crown made of the fake petals, held together loosely by the short strands of confetti that were scattered around the goalposts. 

Mark was leaning his back against the post, head tilted down onto Donghyuck’s shoulder. Donghyuck was watching Jeno and Chenle wrestle with each other - cheering for one or the other, depending on who was winning at that exact moment. 

Aria watched as Donghyuck slowly slipped into silence, tilting his head down to look at Mark’s peaceful expression as the eldest seemed to almost doze off on his shoulder. 

And, she watched as Donghyuck lifted his eyes, flickering from each of the members. His eyebrows furrowed, scanning the group again before he craned his neck towards the rest of the field.

When his eyes locked onto Aria’s, he raised an eyebrow, but deigned to stay quiet - choosing against startling Mark with a yell. His expression was enough, though. 

Donghyuck understood Aria on a certain level that she thought not a lot of people could. She had a unique bond with each member of Dream, but Donghyuck sometimes knew what was going on in her head before she even did. 

Which is why, instead of teasing her for being an introvert, or running away; when Aria strolled up to join the group he just extended the arm that wasn’t wrapped around Mark’s waist, beckoning to her.

After being firmly tucked into his other side, Aria curled into his chest with a sigh, shivering lightly when the sun slid behind a cloud for a brief second and the air felt cooler than it had all day.

Feeling her shudder, Donghyuck tilted his head down to look at her the same way he’d looked at Mark a moment ago, before pressing a kiss to the top of her head. 

“You okay?” 

Aria nodded. “M’okay.” 

(Donghyuck didn’t realize that his lips were blue from the chalk until Jisung pointed it out, some thirty minutes later.)

[rosenpacht]

Okay so, I have a few things I wanna for this video because this teaser just makes me WANNA SCREAM AND SHOUT AND LET IT ALL OUT AArgGgHH

I have never been this hyped for nct comeback. I mean I love them and all, but I've only been following 127 so far, and even during their Kick It comeback I wasn't really that hyped (but yes I do love LOVEE the song and mv). Even nearing Make A Wish comeback I was like "yeah well", you know? I'm just not the type to be hyped for every comeback because I mean they have comebacks every year and it's always slayin. BUT THIS TIME,OMG.

Okay, let's talk about the ot23 teaser. The second teaser.

I honestly thought Jaehyun was joking when he said they had drones for this mv?? But he was not kidding, they did have drones for it. Just the scale of this music video y'all, they be really raising up the roof?

And when Winwin said the set looked like a stage set. I was like "well what do you expect with 23 people you gotta accommodate them all". What I didn't expect was that they were having a whole ass frickin concert stage for this mv. And they literally filmed it at the stadium/gymnasium they usually use for concerts. WHAT?! That's like just...on another level.... Tell me if there's another artist who filmed their mv with a concert stage at a concert venue like nct did. And all those lights? I mean...

I am more impressed by the scale of production rather than the teaser itself. I mean, sure i played it like a hundred times to see their faces and of course i fawned. But because I know a few things or so about stage production (I used to make concerts and shows until the pandemic hit), I just know how much money they put for this mv. Probably even more so than any other SM artist's comebacks or debut.

The scene where Mark is chanting? Do you see the screen behind them? That's a whole ass LED screen, and it's not cheap. And then the strobe lights behind them when they were dancing? Same. And not to mention the stage itself.

I just mean as someone who also produces stage performances, I really appreciate the scale that they're bringing to the table just for an mv comeback.

And lastly, i really wish Jaehyun's shirt is not transparent, bcz that'll be the death of me.

Bye.

[OFFICIAL] NCT 2020 ‘RESONANCE’ MV Teaser #2

[yuta-nakamots]

Yuta-Nakamots’ NCT 127 Masterlist 

Welcome to my masterlist! Please make sure to check out the guidelines for rules about my writings and feel free to take a look at the upcoming release schedule. Be sure to join my general taglist if you’d like to be tagged in my future works. Thank you and have a nice day!

Key

Genres f || Fluff a || Angst s || Smut m || Horror and other mature genres t || Action

Extras ✧ || 200+ notes ™ || ToMie TradeMarked (inspired by a dream I had)

m . t a e i l

The Christmas Song (f) || Teaser || - Single Parent!Taeil x Single Parent!Reader - 4.7k

It wasn’t uncommon for when the weather grows colder, many hearts do as well. Though you hoped this was not true in the case of yours and Taeil’s, that the warmth of each other’s hearts would be enough to break the ice. Part of the Taste of Winter Collab.​  Part of the NeoWinter Festival and the NeoHoliday Festival.

s . j o h n n y

Touch (f,s) ™ || Teaser || - Volleyball!Johnny x Reader - 8.6k

As a first year student majoring in English, you would have never thought that you’d end up working for the sports news network at your university. Even more so, flirting with one of your coworkers who happens to be on the men’s volleyball team. Part of the NCT Sports Collab.​

[2:50pm] WAP (f) - Boyfriend!Johnny x GN Reader - 0.2k

l . t a e y o n g

Back 2 U (f,a,s,m,t) || Teaser || Prologue || Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5 || - Gang Member!Taeyong x Gang Member!Reader - 27.2k (ongoing)

To ensure the fate of your gang in the new era, your parents decide to arrange a marriage with the most powerful clan, the Lee clan. Taeyong, the up and coming leader of the clan, is soon at your beck and call, ready to give anything for you even if it’s his own life. Inspired by @choco-mark’s series, A Marriage Of Inconvenience.

✧ Tiger Inside (f,s) || Teaser || - Hybrid!Taeyong x Reader - 6k

Your life in quarantine is as boring as normal until your long-time boyfriend Taeyong wakes up with new features, specifically those of a tiger. Neither of you know what to do besides continuing on with your daily lives and accommodating to his new habits. Part of the Wasn’t On Pawpose Collab.​

Long Flight (f,a,m) ™ - Among Us!Taeyong x Among Us!Reader - 5.6k

Join your crewmates in a multiplayer game of teamwork and betrayal! But beware…as there may be an impostor aboard! Their goal is to eliminate the rest of the crew and they will sabotage the ship, sneak through vents, deceive, and frame others to remain anonymous and kill off the crew. Part of the Neo Clock Event. Check out the masterlist here.

✧ Summer 127 (f,s) ™ - Boyfriend!Taeyong x Reader - 2.3k

Going to a waterpark was a great way to beat the summer heat though things only seem to get hotter while you’re there.  Part of the the Sunny Side Event​. Check out the masterlist here.

Stuck With You (f) - Boyfriend!Taeyong x Reader - 4.3k

Going on vacation with Taeyong for his 26th birthday was already a gift in itself but it made you realize that there’s no one else you’d rather be stuck with for a the rest of your life than him.  Part of the Around the World in 31 Days Event. Check out the masterlist here. Part of the TaeTae Day Event. check out the masterlist here.

n . y u t a

✧ Playing Games (f,a,s) || Teaser || - Frat Boy!Yuta x Reader - 11.2k

Yuta is a notorious frat boy known for sleeping around with tons of girls yet never getting into a relationship. You never would have thought you’d become entangled with him until fate ends up placing both of you in the same beginner guitar class during your spring semester. Part of the Bingo Collab. Check out the masterlist here.

Pandora’s Box (f) || Teaser || - Soccer!Yuta x Reader 

Yuta was one of the best offensive players on your university’s soccer team yet his defense was just as strong. Namely, his emotional defense. It became a personal goal of yours to break away into his heart and score points in your favor. Part of the Quarter Life Shenanigans Collab.

[12:57pm] From Home (f) - Boyfriend!Yuta x GN Reader - 0.3k

[5:04pm] Fly Away With Me (f) ™ - Dad!Yuta x GN Reader - 0.5k

k . d o y o u n g

Good Thing (f) ™ - Love Alarm!Doyoung x Reader - 1.6k

The Love Alarm app makes it easier than ever to find love but things never seem to be in your favor. You have come to doubt the sensibility of it because, do you really need an app to find love? Part of the Love Alarm Event. Check out the masterlist here.

Highway To Heaven (f,a) || Teaser || - Street Racer!Doyoung x Reader - 4.6k

Doyoung was one of the biggest names in street racing though part of him knew he couldn’t compete forever. But just like a checkered flag, the day he finished his racing career came sooner than he expected. Part of the Adrenaline Rush! Collab​

[7:13pm] White Night (f) ™ - Vampire!Doyoung x Vampire!Reader - 0.2k

Part of the NeoWinter Festival.

j . j a e h y u n

✧ Baby Don’t Like It (f,a,s) ™ - Idol!Jaehyun x Idol!Reader, Idol!Yuta x Idol!Reader - 9.8k

Relationships can get messy as seen by the way you’ve managed to fuck up one that you weren’t even officially in to begin with but at least your boyfriend seems pretty supportive of it all. Part of the 23 Days of Christmas Event​. Check out the masterlist here.

✧ Whiplash (f,a,s) || Teaser || - University!Jaehyun x Reader, University!Jungwoo x Reader - 10.7k

After your letters to your two crushes, who you thought you’d never have a chance with, are mistakenly received, you’re greeted by a world of indecisiveness. You don’t know which way to go, which man to go with, and every choice you make feels like getting whiplash. Part of the To All the Members I’ve Loved Before Collab​. Check out the masterlist here. Part of the Summer ‘127 Event. check out the masterlist here.

Friend In Me (f) - University!Jaehyun x Reader - 0.9k

Not one for costumes, you weren’t over the moon showing up to a Halloween party dressed as Bo Peep with her three sheep. A drunk Buzz Lightyear and a handsome sheriff Woody quickly change your mind about that, though. Part of the NeoHalloween writing festival. Check out the masterlist here.

[12:10pm] Paper Plane (f) ™ - Physics Teacher!Jaehyun x Student Teacher!Reader - 0.5k

k . j u n g w o o

[jeontaehui]

homesick.

summary if you’re going to ask what’s been bothering taehee lately, she’s a really tough nut to crack. it’s her home in australia that she misses but doyoung reminds her she’s got a home here too.

featuring doyoung 

words 2.2k 

warnings mentions of the virus, taehee talks about her family situation

I. JULY 2020 IN NCT 127’S FIFTH FLOOR APARTMENT 

it wasn’t uncommon for taehee to show up without a word in the fifth floor’s dorm, even during the ungodly hours of the night. she’s able to let herself in ever since taeyong gave her the combination of their apartment’s keypad lock. so, it was no surprise to doyoung when he saw taehee, deep in thought as her eyes were closed, seated somewhat comfortably on the couch of their living room at one in the morning. doyoung guesses she got here a few minutes ago by the way her jacket was still on.

“taehee,” he calls as he pours himself a glass of water, waiting for a few moments before hearing a responsive hum.

“you can go to my room if you’re not planning to go back up any time soon,” he takes a sip from his glass, slightly raising his brows in question when a small smile plays on taehee’s lips and heads towards his room. “you sound like you don’t want me here,” he hears her say before entering. doyoung sighs, “you should be resting,” placing the glass on the sink before switching the kitchen lights off.

when doyoung gets back to his room, he sees that taehee already took a seat on the chair by his desk, her jacket draped over the back of it. he opts to sit on the edge of his bed facing her. “why is hyung not here?” taehee asks, referring to their manager. “he has stuff to do,” doyoung yawns as he rubs his face to stay awake, watching the younger girl pick at the things on his table. “how ‘bout you? don’t you have a schedule at five?”

almost all the members were used to taehee’s late night and early morning schedules. sometimes, they aren’t even shocked that taehee’s been at the practice room an hour or two earlier than their scheduled time. “it’s already one a.m. you’ll only get four hours of sleep.”

“can’t sleep.”

the annoyed click of her tongue tells doyoung she’s been keeping something in her mind. knowing taehee, she’s worried about having the members know what’s bothering her just as much as the the issue itself. 

sure, she’s more than willing to empathize and give a listening ear to the people around her, but for taehee, expressing her burdens is a much harder deed to take on. doyoung bites his lip, “it’s really okay, you know.”

taehee scoffs softly, she didn’t want to sound disrespectful. some of the members were trying harder than she’d let them, but in times like these, she just feels like there’s no hope for her at all, “i know, you guys always say that. but it’s always easier said than done.”

she sighs while pulling at her fingers, a habit she has when she’s anxious or nervous. “i don’t wanna trouble you more than i already am by coming to your dorm. i thought you were asleep so i stayed in the living room.” 

doyoung shrugs, “well, you’re here now so...” 

the latter looks up before closing her eyes, and he knows he’s getting taehee to open up to him, even just a little. “by all means, rant to me.”

it’s always been a challenge for the boys to get taehee to share her troubles; hiding behind the excuse that nothing’s bothering her at all, that it’s just the numerous sleepless nights causing her eyes to swell and dull. she brushes them off with a sad smile. they know her well enough to conclude that wasn’t the case, not until she breaks down at the smallest of things. some members though, like doyoung, try to at least get an idea of what she’s feeling beforehand. after all, it’s not healthy to keep it in her for so long.

“it’s okay. how ‘bout we start with how you’re feeling. hmm?” the older member inquires, grabbing a pillow to place on his lap. “what do you feel right now?”

taehee’s eyelids flutter open, but she keeps her eyes trained on the ceiling above them, “i feel.... i feel lonely.” doyoung looks at her with sympathy, giving her a few moments, but then she adds, “and guilty. but that’s just a small portion of it, i guess.”

doyoung blinks a couple of times to keep his composure, yet his heart breaks inside for the girl, “okay, let’s start with lonely. what’s making you feel that way?”

silence. 

“i miss my parents,” she inhales, before letting out a deep sigh, “i think.” taehee tries to keep her tears to herself as much as possible, causing an aching feeling to come up to her eyes. “and i know i’m here with you guys and it doesn’t hurt as much as before but i miss them so bad. it’s already enough that dad and i don’t live with mom since she’s in canberra, but i haven’t seen them in years and it’s just killing me.”

“you call your dad, right? it’s the weekend tomorrow,” doyoung tries, “you can go on video call with him after your schedule.”

“it’s just not the same anymore,” she puts an arm over her eyes, already feeling that tears were threatening to spill. “everything is just, shit,” she takes another pause, “i know dad’s taking care of himself. he’s at home, he laid off work for a while — he wants the kids to stay at home since the beaches are too packed... ironically. i transfer money, but he insists he’s fine.

“well.... how is your mom doing in the hospital?” doyoung continues to ask, and taehee softens with the genuine concern laced in his tone, yet a weak groan soon overcomes the back of her throat, “i don’t know— i’m not sure. and that’s what worries me the most.”

“your mom’s a doctor. she’s working hard to save lives, and she’d have to be healthy to do so,” doyoung tells her slowly, trying to assure her. “she’s staying safe. i’m sure of that,” he hopes to provide solace to her somehow. he wouldn’t been able to sleep too if these were the thoughts that plagued his mind. “have you called her?”

“two weeks ago,” he frowns slightly at the dejected reply. “it’s definitely more than that,” taehee keeps to herself.

silence takes over the room once again as each of them resort back to their own thoughts — with doyoung thinking of what to make of this situation while taehee, well, worries.

“fuck, what if she got sick and didn’t tell me- “

“hey,” doyoung inches closer to taehee, placing his hand on the arm of the chair, “listen, don’t think like that.” taehee shakes her head in dissent. even if her arm was covering her face, doyoung knew she was crying by how her body shook with her soft cries. “as much as your mom is putting her safety on the line to help others, she’s not careless enough to get sick. okay?”

“it’s still dangerous,” taehee thought once more, but she allows doyoung’s words to sink in and wills herself to believe his words. he watches taehee’s shoulders rise and fall with every breath she took, and soon she finds herself nodding, letting the older boy know that she’s better somehow. he relaxes back into his original position, though worry still swims in his eyes. “just put a little more trust in them, yeah? they’ll be fine.”

the younger one gives him another curt nod as she acknowledges him. sitting up, she eventually looks the vocalist in the eye and a tear slips down her cheek. “oppa,” her voice cracks as she shivers, and doyoung finally catches a glimpse of those glassy eyes, “i really want to go home.”

more start to stream down taehee’s cheeks, and she squints as if she was trying to prevent any more from spilling. “i don’t know why i keep missing something that wasn’t really there in the first place,” she shook her head gently while she spoke. she sees doyoung look away for a moment, watching as he brings his hand up to swipe the wetness pooling in the corner of his own eye. her throat starts to hurt, “is that even possible? i-i keep worrying and i don’t know if this is coming from both sides.”

doyoung doesn’t respond and instead inhales deeply, opening his arms wide to beckon her over.

without a word, taehee goes to sit beside him and breaks down into his chest, her heavy tears staining the front of his shirt. “i’m here. i’m here for you,” he rubs her back, “that’s it, just let it all out.”

he continued to whisper sweet words to her until she calmed down, slowly letting her go to reach for the box of tissues that lay on his desk. “here,” he gives her a small smile as he hands her the container, “don’t want you having snot all over my bed.” taehee giggles at his teasing, pushing his shoulder softly with her free hand as she wipes her nose with a tissue. she feels a hand come to softly smoothen down the top of her head, and suddenly she felt cold and warm all at once.

“they love you,” doyoung mellows, “there are times when you can’t feel it but they do. you’re a sweet daughter, taehee.” the girl gives him a sad smile.

“so,” taehee hears him clear his throat, “you said you felt guilty too. guilty about what?”

she lets out another scoff, but this time with a little smile on her face as if to make fun of herself. “i have this weird thing where i keep things to myself as much as possible to not worry you, but now that you are i just feel guilty about it.”

doyoung nods considerately, “i would tell you ‘it’s okay’, but seeing how you just hurt yourself by keeping all that sadness in,” he pokes at her cheek gently, sighing before deciding to end his sentence there. he knows it could be long before taehee could fully open up to them without having to worry, but it’s a journey he’s willing to take with her if she’d let him. 

“i told you. it’s hard for me,” taehee mumbles. her parents have sacrificed a lot to get her here, and ultimately, it included the time they’d have with her. she wanted to do well, to excel, and if that meant she’d have to make sacrifices too, she would. she wanted to become independent; she kept her problems to herself. she didn’t want to become more of a liability to her members when they were still trainees, their debut being pushed back a bit due to the unexpected addition. “i don’t want to weigh you down more than i already did.”

doyoung shakes his head while pulling taehee closer by the shoulder, “how many times do we have to tell you you’re not a burden. hmm? you already do so much more than me.” this causes taehee to straighten up in protest and open her mouth to speak, but doyoung carries on, “you dance, you rap, you can even sing. you also do lots of things behind the scenes, so don’t sell yourself so short like that. you’re our ace, remember?”

“shut up, you know that’s just for the publicity,” taehee mutters, a small frown taking place on her lips. “mm, but it’s true,” he told her, tone laced with sincerity. “i really do think you’re our ace.”

taehee hesitantly gives him a thanks for his compliment, her voice barely above a whisper. she may seem confident in front of the camera, but at the end of the day, she’s just one of the people who continue to face battles within themselves. though despite her stubbornness, her members never fail to remind her of their love and appreciation for her (as cheesy as it sounds). 

“well, don’t dwell on being guilty anymore,” he pulls her towards him again to let taehee know the genuineness behind his words. “people are all different, we’re all built differently. but the members are patient, and we’ll continue to be, so just... just let us take care of you.”

“open up to us. we’ll be there to catch you,” he turns to look her in the eyes, and taehee melts again at the weight of his words, “don’t be scared okay? we’re your family too.” she blinks away the tears, pulling doyoung closer to give him a tight hug. 

glancing at the clock on his desk, the neon green numbers read 2:54 in the morning. doyoung pulls away and stands up to fix the pillows on his bed, “sleep here, i’ll just sleep on hyung’s bed.”

“i can walk myself back to the dorms.”

“it’s already late.”

“we live in an apartment building.”

“yeah,” doyoung nods sarcastically at her obvious statement, “with other people. you never know what can happen, and i’m too lazy to walk you to your dorms so you’re staying here.”

taehee chuckles at his honesty. to be frank, she’s also tired from letting go of some of the emotional baggage she’s been carrying with her, so she agrees to stay the night, deciding to just wake up early for her five a.m. schedule and head back upstairs. “what if hyung comes back?”

“then we’ll just share his bed,” doyoung jokes, and taehee giggles once again.

once settled, doyoung stretches to turn off the lamp on his desk, muttering a, “goodnight, taehee.”

“goodnight, oppa,” she replies, yawning as she turns to her side. “thank you once again.”

“anytime,” and not sooner than ten minutes, sleep takes over them both. with the reassurance and comfort given by doyoung, taehee could now sleep with a less heavy heart.

[decembermoonskz]

izzy! about your rant- this is one of the main reasons why i kind of stopped writing for skz. ive said it numerous times, but stays just dont know how to appreciate their creators. especially with fics like yours; you write fantasy stuff and things that are so so original and well thought-out, but in the end, its not what the community on here knows how to appreciate. its so easy to get notes on smut -and i dont wanna sound like im bashing smut writers, i just dont really get the appeal- but why do writers like you and so many other stay writers that write things like you do, not get the same amount of interaction? its a problem thats been talked about since i can remember, but the stay consumers on here still dont seem to understand how much interaction makes a difference in our motivation to post.

since i started writing for nct, i got much more interaction and feedback; i got asks, i got comments, reblogs- i got everything i wanted and desired as a skz writer. im not telling you to change who you write for, because thats stupid; you love stray kids and thats who you want to dedicate your time to, but im just further pointing at the fact that the audience is at fault, in a way. its not your fault you dont get interaction and you are not ungrateful for wanting it, its totally normal and understanable.

we didnt start writing to get notes; we were all writers before posting on tumblr. yes, we write for ourselves because it brings us joy. but since we have people that read and consume what we create, it would be amazing to get at least some reblogs and feedback. dont feel bad about it and dont let anyone make you feel bad about it.

i learned not to really care about notes and stuff, because it only made sad in the long run, but one thing that i use to reassure myself when posting is that i had a lot of fun with it, i love what i created and there will always be someone that finds it, even if it is just one person, and if that person likes it and it made their day, its worth posting even for that one person.

keep going izzy, your writing is beautiful and it will always find someone that appreciates it:)

whoa hey bar i wasn't prepared for how long this was thank you so much for sharing your thoughts on this. i remember you saying these things before. i really agree with your third and fourth paragraphs for sure.

honestly rants on this topic are very uncommon for me because i enjoy my writing way more than note counts. i think the reason i'm even really thinking of this stuff now is because i've recently been writing my own original stuff ✨✨✨ so that's been a lot of fun, just as fun as writing my fics and it made me realize i could just as easily keep my fics to myself and enjoy them. idk if that makes much sense??? but yeah it just has me thinkin'

i really liked what you said in para 4 for tho, because that's exactly how i feel about my writing. i know that if one person really likes it then i think it was worth posting it in the end. when black rose came out i was honestly shocked with how much feedback it ended up getting and the fact that it's well on its way to 900 notes is mind-boggling to me. then there's gold and silver, i adore that series with my whole being and regardless if one or one hundred people read it i'm finishing it, seeing people actually enjoy something that i know is "unconventional" for a community (online-wise not just stayblr) that tends to gravitate towards more general likes and preferred genres really made me really happy.

yeah even tho i'm well aware of how the stayblr area doesn't really do much for engagement i really do love to write for them. i've written for enhypen too and i still enjoy it but skz will always be who i write for most (i have thought of experimenting with other idols too but not sure who yet maybe nct dream? no guarantee but it has been a passing thought)

i get what you meant tho, i don't have any hate for smut writers, i'm friends with some of them and have interacted with some of them and they're really nice people, so absolutely no hate to them. it's just very obvious where the community directs their eyes to rather than sfw things or more plotted content. that's just a reality we have currently so it's not one person or a certain type of writer's fault. :)

i really appreciate your encouragement tho bar you're a true gem and i hope you have the best days, you always make my day you sweet bean. (stay safe and hydrated okay? and don't be shy to come and say hi every now and then i miss you *hug*)

[chaoticminhos]

swim captain (chapter one)

pairing: bang chan x reader

genre: angst i guess? it’s really just an intro chapter

warnings: none

word count: 2k

a/n: first chapter!!!

you walked into school with minho's arm draped over your shoulder. he didn’t normally pick you up for school, but it was pouring rain outside and you were not about to walk to school in that, not when you had a best friend with an, admittedly questionable, functioning car. plus, minho couldn’t let his dear swim team manager get sick from the cold the day before a meet, could he?

the school day went by as it always did, slow and painful. the boys were all anxious to get to practice and prepare for the next day. You were, too, even though you weren’t competing.

you used to compete. you’d been on the female swim team for years, but when the two best swimmers on your team transferred schools, the team fell apart, leaving just the boys team. you didn’t mind much, though. for the past couple years, you’ve been managing the male swim team instead of competing in your own, and you loved it. although you still had to attend all practices and meets, you could do homework most of the time, and you weren’t swimming for hours on end, which meant you no longer had sore arms and legs constantly.

you still swam a lot, of course. you couldn’t be close friends with the entire swim team and not go in the water every so often. the boys on the team invited you to every swim team party, and being invited to swim parties obviously meant swimming, and you even got in the pool during practices sometimes, mainly on days after meets because coach tended to give the boys an easy day after a competition. you were treated as part of the team, other than the fact that you weren’t subjected to the harsh warm-ups and workout, and they would not let anyone tell you different.

today, however, was the exact opposite of an easy day. it was the day before a meet and coach was stressed. he didn’t make the boys do much to strain their muscles, since he didn’t want them to be sore for the meet, but boy, could he give them a headache. muscle aches or not, the practice was everything but easy.

“we have never gotten first in a meet that NCT is competing in, boys. the closest we got was over a year ago when we landed in second, and even then, we were 7 seconds behind in total.”

a chorus of ‘we know’ and ‘yeah, coach’ echoed around the pool room. you were all sat on a metal bench against the wall of the swimming room right next to the door to the dressing room. you sat on that bench practically every practice. the only time you weren’t on it was if the boys had you in the water with them.

you were sat in between felix and hyunjin as your coach spoke, silently begging him to speak faster because the boys had just got out of the pool and sitting shoulder to shoulder with two soaking wet boys was making you pretty cold. after all of your efforts in the morning to stay out of the rain, too.

“get a good night's rest and eat well tomorrow, okay? that includes you, y/n. just because you aren’t performing doesn’t mean you get to slack off on taking care of yourself.”

like you had said, you were treated as part of the team.

you laughed, “okay, coach, but only if you promise to, as well.”

he pointed a finger at you jokingly, “you don’t tell me what to do.”

the boys laughed and coach dismissed them to get changed back into dry clothes and head home. this in turn meant it was time for you to pack up anything the boys had used during practice and make sure the pools were covered and clean. manager things.

while bending down to lay the pool cover on the pool the boys had used during practice, you felt someone come up behind you and lightly shove you like they were going to push you into the pool. they immediately pulled you back to avoid you actually falling, but it scared you, anyway.

minho laughed as you yelled in surprise, holding you close to his chest so you wouldn’t accidentally actually fall into the pool during your fit.

it didn’t surprise you when you heard minho’s laugh. he loved to mess with you. between him and the 7 other boys, there wasn’t a day that went by where you didn’t get teased or scared or generally harassed at least once. more often than not, you got messed with many, many times in a day, but that’s what you get for being friends with 8 teenager sized kids. you shoved minho’s arms off of you as the last of the boys came out of the locker room.

you joined the rest of the boys near the bench where they were making sure they had everything in their bags. your coach had left the room, having done everything he needed, and that left just the 9 of you to talk.

“you guys are gonna do great tomorrow. you always do.”

“it’s because we have such a great manager.” hyunjin replied, amusement in his voice.

you let out a sigh, “i know. what would you guys ever do without me?”

“crash and burn, probably.” chimed in seungmin.

“probably?” began chan, “we’d definitely be done for if y/n left us.”

you laughed at their words, cheeks turning pink at chan’s comment. although he treated you and spoke to you in the exact same way the rest of the boys did, you always found yourself blushing at his words. you wouldn’t exactly say that you had a crush on the captain of the team you’ve been managing for years now and have since the first time you met him, but that would summarize the situation you were in.

you grabbed your own bag and swung it over your still damp shoulders, cringing as the straps pressed the wet material into your skin.

minho placed an arm around your shoulders, a gesture he meant to be warm, but it only pressed the cold fabric closer to your body.

“ready to go?”

you frowned at him, attempting to shrug his arm off of your shoulders, “i can walk, it’s not-“ you cut yourself off with a yelp as thunder sounded, unconsciously shifting closer to minho. he chuckled as you grabbed for his free arm, now completely accepting the one across your shoulders. you could deal with the wet fabric pressing to your skin if it meant minho would make you feel safer.

you weren’t deathly scared of storms, but you didn’t like them by any means. especially not when the thunder was so loud.

“still wanna walk?”

you glared up at him, keeping your arm around his. no one gave it a second glance, it wasn’t uncommon for you to be this close to minho. it wasn’t uncommon with any of the boys, to be honest. they were cuddly and so were you, it worked out.

still holding on to minho’s arm, the two of you left the building, calling goodbye to the boys behind you. the second you got out the doors and into the wind, you began mentally cursing yourself for refusing to grab a jacket that morning. minho, ever so attentive, noticed you shivering and pulled the two of you under a small roof alongside the building. he took off his sweatshirt and handed it to you. you pulled it over your shoulders and thanked him, continuing the path to his car.

he turned the heat on in his car and rubbed his hands together. you felt bad, he must have been super cold after surrendering his jacket to you. you wanted to apologize, but you knew minho wouldn’t let you. he was the type of person to seem like he didn’t care about anyone too much but would do anything for those he cares for without a second thought.

he turned the radio on and pulled out of the parking lot. he didn’t need directions to your house. he had been there quite often, whether it being for swim parties or to pick you up or drop you off.

he pulled into your driveway and stopped to let you out, but you didn’t budge.

he raised an eyebrow at you, “what?”

“don’t wanna be alone.”

“aren’t your parents home?”

you shook your head, “they’re in the cities for business right now.”

without asking any further, he pulled the key from the ignition and reached into the back seat for your bags, tossing you yours and throwing his own on his shoulders, opening his door and heading to your front door. you hurried to leave the car and unlock your house, not wanting to be out in the storm for any longer than needed, especially since minho was only wearing a t-shirt.

the two of you stepped into your house and he headed right for the living room after kicking his wet shoes off. you did the same, tossing your bag next to his on the ground beside the couch.

“go take a shower, you must be freezing,” you said to him, “use the one in my room, i’ll put some of my brothers clothes he left when he went to college on my bed for you when you get out.”

minho nodded, heading in the direction of your bedroom.

“don’t take too long, though. i don’t wanna be alone for too long.” you mumbled, quiet, but still loud enough for him to hear.

he chuckled at your request, promising not to take too long as he walked into your room. you waited until you heard the water running to go into your brother’s room and find some clothes you thought would fit minho, ending up with a pair of grey sweatpants and a loose white t-shirt, throwing one of your brothers old school hoodies in the mix as well, in case he got cold. you didn’t bother to fold the clothes, tossing them onto your bed and sitting down on your living room couch. you turned the tv on and pulled up netflix, searching for something in the horror section. you weren’t the biggest fan, but you knew minho liked scary movies. he was only staying to make you feel better, it was only fitting that you watch a movie he’d actually enjoy and not some sappy romcom that you’d usually force him into. you let the movie start up, pausing it before anything started, partially so minho wouldn’t miss the beginning but mostly because you weren’t equipped to handle any of the movie alone.

after a few minutes of you snuggling into the couch trying to distract yourself from the storm with your phone, the water shut off and minho strolled into the living room, sitting down right beside you and pressing the play button for the movie. he checked the title, raising his eyebrows at you.

“horror? aren’t you like… already terrified because of the storm?”

you sat up, “you’re here, dummy. i’ll be fine. plus,” you added as an after thought, “this movie isn’t even supposed to be that scary.”

oh how wrong you were. it wasn’t even half way in and you were huddled into minho’s side for dear life. you tried to blame it on the thunder, arguing that you weren’t scared of the mediocre at best plot and execution of the movie, but you both knew better. minho had his arm draped over your shoulder in his usual protective way. the only times he moved were when he was shifted from your flinching at the jump scares.

by the time the movie ended, the storm had calmed down and thunder hadn’t struck in a while. minho was going to head back to his own house, but you insisted that, since it was dark and the roads were still wet and it was already to late into the night, he could just crash at your place. it didn’t take much to convince him. he’d spent countless nights on your couch after movie nights and impromptu hang outs.

you handed him a pillow and some blankets and said goodnight, waking into your room and pulling the door shut. whether it be because there weren’t any loud cracks of thunder or that minho’s presence made it easy for you to relax, you fell asleep right when your head hit the pillow.

[rouiyan]

𝘙𝘌𝘔𝘌𝘔𝘉𝘙𝘈𝘕𝘊𝘌 ☾ [ 𝘭.𝘮𝘬 ]

⧏ part of the ‘before i met you’ collective ⧐

synopsis: — “girl, i got your lovin’ on repeat.” but like, literally because mark can’t seem to stop replaying the memory of your love, over and over again, in his head. endlessly.

✧ idol!mark x (fem.) reader → idol!jeno x reader ✧ post breakup au, cheating au

✧ genres : angst, nostalgia, minimal fluff ✧ word count : 4.7k ✧ disclaimers : suggestive themes, mentions of infidelity, mentions of sex, minor swearing

✧ playlist : you were good to me - jeremy zucker, chelsea cutler | highway to heaven (english ver.) - nct 127 | be my mistake - the 1975

author’s note — a sad spinoff of mark’s infamous line in highway to heaven. it’s really sad, i don't know why you would read this and i'm unsure of why i wrote this in the first place. enjoy!

✧ PRESENT

mark takes four, evenly spaced out swigs of water, deciding to down the whole bottle before realizing that he's only a third of the way through his recording session. he's tired, the vein in his forehead showing and his hands limp by his side. there isn't much to the song, except the few lines that are in a deeper range, but mark swears that it's the lyrics that are getting to him. his throat seems to close up at the words 'love' and 'you,' and the producer is annoyed to say the least, telling him to take a break not thirty minutes into the session.

the said boy slips the headphones off of his neck and hangs it securely on the sheet stand, exiting the room per the producer's instruction. mark hesitates before taking a seat at the couch, even the most inconspicuous things seem to make his mind spin. he closes his eyes to rest but almost instantly wishes he didn't because he's met with the sight of you.

✧ NINE (09) MONTHS AGO

the producer's angry at mark but he isn't entirely sure why, too preoccupied with glancing through the thick glass window, separating the rest of the studio with the recording room he's currently in. he figures it probably has to do with the fact that he can't take his eyes off your sleepy figure on the black leather couch, clutching the matching black leather pillow to your torso. your eyes are glossed over and laced with fatigue, laid shut for most the time, only snapping open at the sound of mark's singing voice. 

he thinks, well knows, that you're cold, noting how you're dressed in only a thin baby blue cropped camisole and his sweats that are obviously too big for you. despite the heat of summer outside, the recording studio stays cold with a generous amount of ac. he's in the middle of silently reprimanding himself for not thinking of bringing a hoodie for this specific case scenario but is brought back to reality when the producer has taken it upon himself to play the backtrack of the song, not bothering to notify mark in his current state. 

mark rubs at his throat with his left hand, his right clutching a wilted sheet of paper with the lyrics and his notes on it. he takes another glance at you, giving a small smile and thumbs up, before jumping into his part at the right beat. a part of him is always nervous when you decide to join him in the studio but moreover, he's extra motivated to give you the best (almost) one-on-one show he can, absolutely giddy off the times when your eyes would glisten with astonishment at how well he could rap and sing or when he would comment at how he thought this line should sound and how that line should should be sung (especially after you had told him, albeit a little drunk, how hot he looked when he was so clearly passionate for what he did).

while he came to the closing line, confident he had closely nailed it, he met eyes with a displeased producer. quickly finishing up, mark questioned him, with a quirked brow, only to be met with a rather comical response. "your girlfriend's snoring too loud, i can't focus. can you ask her to leave, please?"

this wasn't the first time the two of you had encountered complaints like these and mark let out a low chuckle as he nodded in understanding. mark retrieved his phone and quickly dialed jeno, whom he knew would be awake, asking him to pick you up at the main entrance, however soon. after confirming the ride and returning his phone to his pocket, he took quick and quiet steps to the couch where you lay and slid an arm under your knees, another around your back, lifting you as gently as he could. mark felt you curl into him and he looked down to make sure you were still asleep, returning your mindless gestures with an involuntary smile.

he loaded you into the backseat of jeno's pristine mercedes, careful not to fold your legs in an uncomfortable way, and jeno returned the curt nod he had sent in thanks. the boy looked as he usually did at this time of night, messy hair and glasses just about slipping off his face. stretching the seatbelt across your frame, mark gave you a quick kiss to the forehead and shut the door as quietly as he could.

mark trudged back into the studio, gulping down a good amount of water before stationing himself in front of the mic once more. he felt another surge of motivation, the source this time being the strong desire to head back to the dorms as quickly as possible to cuddle you to sleep. his head should be brimming with thoughts on how to better approach his line but instead, he focused on the realization that whether you were there or not, you were always his motivation, his driving force.

✧ EIGHT (08) MONTHS AGO

the night was young, or rather the morning was, the clock on mark’s nightstand telling you it was just past two a.m.. your head was brought back to face mark’s, his finger guiding you by the chin, and he closed the distance between your lips with haste. it wasn’t like midnight makeout sessions were all that uncommon for the two of you but these days you felt that mark wanted something more from you. his kisses that were once filled with slow adoration and sweet smiles now felt rushed and with a new purpose that you couldn’t quite place. 

unknowingly, you stopped kissing him back, not realizing until he detached his face from yours. mark’s eyes were clouded with confusion and something you could only describe as lust, though you were scared to confront him about it. moments were shared just looking into each other’s eyes before his low voice broke the silence, “what are you thinking about?” 

you genuinely contemplated his question but were unable to come up with any string of words that could encompass the suspicions you had. so you replied with a nonchalant, “nothing,” knowing that he would take the hint that you were uncomfortable and stop before anything escalated.

it was shocking to you how mark had simply accepted that as an answer and returned closer, this time peppering small kisses to your jawline, down to your neck. you let out a small grunt at this but didn’t stop him nonetheless, opting for silence. his lips had reached the base of your collarbone and you felt him rearrange his hands so they were at the hem of your shorts, sliding two fingers under to smooth out the skin beneath. 

you felt he was about to pull down your shorts, hands already moving quickly, when you shot your hand up to his wrist. “stop,” you let out, weak and embarrassed, with the hope that you could dodge this situation out the window. he lifted his head ever so slightly to look you in the eyes and for a fleeting second you think you saw a hint of annoyance in his expression. well, that’s new.

“every time, y/n,” his voice sounded exasperated, “every time i think we’re getting somewhere you always stop me.” a few seconds elapsed as you drank in the understanding that he knew you were avoiding having sex with him. 

“is it me? and i doing something wrong?” you were surprised at how small he sounded, in stark contrast to the words he had said just before. his eyes were no longer hungry but instead, worried and distressed, and you had an inkling that this was somewhat of an inner debate for him as well.

“no, mark. it’s just- i’m not ready for it. i’m not mentally ready for it.” the words were slow and precise coming from you and you hoped that they delivered the amount of sincerity that you meant. you went on, continuing your thoughts, “i’ve always thought that i would wait until i was 20,” you paused, trying your best to stop your voice from shaking, “but i’ve always known that i want my first time to be with you.”

he took his arms from your hips and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. mark neared you once again but this time encircled his arms around your shoulders, bringing your head into his chest, the sobs that you had suppressed now being forced out by his sweet actions. he stroked your hair until your erratic heartbeat slowed and whispered into your ear, “it’s okay, baby, i understand.” 

it was the first night of few that you had gone to sleep feeling safe in his arms, now with his knowledge of your insecurities. mark, on the other hand, didn’t quite know how to feel, his thoughts keeping him up until the ungodly hours of morning before his mind surrendered to his tired body.

he knew, first and foremost, that your feelings were to be respected. he knew, more than anything, that forcing you to have sex with him was simply not an option, much less a possibility. but laying in bed that night he couldn’t help the unsettling feeling in his stomach of disappointment. he couldn’t help but think about how he had to wait until your twentieth birthday, at the very soonest, in order to fulfill the desires that had stampeded his mind since day one. however wrong he knew the situation to be, he couldn’t help but think that he really wasn’t going to wait and that maybe, just maybe, he could get away with switching things up.

✧ SIX (06) MONTHS AGO

you were at the dorms since seven in the evening, occupying yourself while waiting for mark to return from his hangout with his old school friends. it was late by now, nearing one in the morning, and as usual when situations like these would occur (as they often did these days), you found yourself in jeno’s room, sitting on one of the many cushions strewn about the floor in front of the large flatscreen tv, also propped up on the floor because jeno hadn’t bothered to buy a table for it to sit upon. the two of you were loud despite the quiet hour, yelling at the screen in hopes that it would give you some extra power up or increase your abilities at striking the opponent. also as usual, jeno would win, sending you into a long rant about how you would’ve won if only you had used the character that jeno used or if you hadn’t fallen off the map twice or if jeno just, didn’t play. he had retorted with something along the lines of, “i think that what you’re really trying to tell me is that you just suck at this,” and you had agreed good-naturedly, not wanting another full blown pillow fight to take place.

halfway through laughing at jeno for being too slow to pick the character you both were eyeing for the next round, the door to his room had opened, revealing a very worn out mark, his lips curved into a lopsided smile until he noticed your close proximity with jeno as he tried to strangle the controller out of your hand. you and jeno had paused, mid-strangle and mid-struggle, looking at mark with wild eyes, filled comically with surprise. 

“hey y/n, i- i’m back,” were the words that had left his mouth after he had conquered his flustered state. further venturing into jeno’s room, mark noted the childlike glances you and jeno stole at each other like children caught in the middle of a fight and wondered when the hell you guys could have possibly gotten so close. you were almost always busy in the daytime, as was jeno, and mark was reluctant to admit that maybe it was in those times where he was absent, in his free time that he used to save up solely for you, that the two of you had gotten well past acquainted with each other. a familiar feeling of guilt gnawed at the edge of mark’s mind as he realized that the time he spent on his sexcapades was also time you spent with other people that were not him. the jealousy must have outswept his guilty mindset because he gently prodded at your elbow and said, “my room?” before you could press play for yet another round. to his relief, you had nodded excitedly and turned to excuse yourself from jeno, the boy nodding in return and shooting knowing smiles in your direction.

it was no surprise to you that mark had already pinned you under him barely two minutes after settling into bed. these days, he was so kind and gentle with you that you were so sure that he might as well be the love of your life. it softened your heart that mark had really heeded to your preference to not have sex until you were twenty and you couldn’t help but feel even more prepared, now that you knew it was with someone so worthy of your trust. 

tonight though, you felt as if it were okay to break the little rule you had made for yourself, with the way mark was kissing you and the low thrum of excitement and longing in the pit of your stomach. you felt as though you didn’t need a number to signal when you were ready but rather a feeling, a sign, that made everything clear. you were so sure, oh so sure.

with your hands tracing the bottom hem of mark’s shirt, you held onto it and raised it up and above his head and outstretched arms, ridding him of the shirt and tossing it aside. your hands explored the vastness of his bare chest and broad shoulders, your eyes clouded with the one thing mark had always wanted to see, lust. his heart soared and pumped wildly in his chest as he watched the expression on your face slowly morph into confusion. switching his line of vision down to where your eyes were trained, he felt his heart drop, and his mind reeled at the sight of a hickey, proudly flushing the skin just under his collarbone, unabashedly. your eyes on him suddenly felt like they were burning holes through his composure, like they were carving up the secrets he had buried deep within his heart. he felt it all, his world of carefully planned lies crumbling under your stare and wilting at the touch of your fingers on his guilty skin.

you watched him gulp visibly and had to remind yourself for the fifth time in the last ten seconds that you didn’t give him that hickey, not today in his bed, not yesterday or the day before in yours. you pressed your index finger hard into the colored blotch, pushing him off of you, sitting up and gulping yourself before asking, “why is that there?” 

mark’s silence only increased your desire to throw up. your emotions had really took a sharp u-turn and instead of feeling like the luckiest girl in the world, you felt shitty and even more than that, pathetic. “mark, why is that there?” you repeated, and after being left in the dark once more you urged on, “who did that, mark?”

mark seemed to be at a loss at what to say, his mind bickering endlessly on whether to come clean or say that it was just an unfortunate burn mark. but after minutes of debating, he could only come up with one thing that felt the most appropriate to say, “i’m sorry, y/n.”

your tears fell, sliding down and across the crevices of your face unopposed. mark’s hand instinctively went to wipe them with the pads of his fingers but he found his wrist caught in your hand. again. you gently laid his hand back on the bed and reached for his shirt, tossing it in his direction, then almost ejecting yourself off the bed and out the room before you were stopped by mark’s incessant rambling in attempts to make you stay.

“y/n it’s exactly what you think, i’m not gonna lie. i know, this is bad. i’m bad and- and extremely at fault. i just- i thought i wanted more. but please, y/n- y/n please look at me.” 

the tears in your eyes made everything seem like distant blurbs but even if you could see clearly, you doubt that you wanted to see him. “i can’t, mark.”

“okay, yeah i get that. but please, trust me when i say that i’m so sorry and that- that they didn’t mean anything to me, nothing at all. and that i won’t mess up again- ever again if you just,” he paused, entirely sure that this wouldn’t work but going on nonetheless, “give me another chance, y/n.”

if your heart could break again, you’re sure it would’ve. the ache that had dulled in the last two minutes returned again, this time twofold, as you hung your head low, back still facing the boy. “they,” you muttered as though it were a foreign word, “they as in... more than one.”

mark chastised himself at the minor slip up but felt that it was better anyways to fully come clean. he let go of his shirt that he was harshly gripping and slid off the bed, crossing the room quickly and grasping you by the shoulders to turn you towards him. you let out something that could only be described as a sad yelp and pushed his arms away, gently. “this isn’t something we can just talk about, mark. no matter who or how many times or even how many. all i know is that it’s over, we’re over.”

with that, you left the dorms, scurrying to get out of the damned place, ignoring jaemin’s worried glances and jeno’s ‘are you okay’s?’ you were anything but okay. you were falling apart with each step you took, farther and farther away from the boy that had once made your heart whole, the boy that had also crushed it in his bare hands, the sharp edges scraping his flesh apart like glass. you walked the long two-hour walk home, sore feet yelling at you but you were deaf to everything except the memory of mark. the elatedness he had made you feel and the crippling pain he inflicted on you not a second after, it was all coming down in fast breaths and shaky hands. you felt as if you were on a rollercoaster, the cart unfastening itself from the rails just as it hit the climax, the only way to return to the ground was to plummet to your death.

✧ TWO (02) MONTHS AGO

mark was really uninterested in his cereal but there was nothing else in the pantry that could fill his stomach. jaemin enters the kitchen as well, but says nothing to mark as he also sits along the counter with his own bowl of cereal. both the boys sit in silence... that is, until you enter seven minutes later, when the boys are just about sipping the sweet and lukewarm leftover milk. you’re carrying two large brown paper bags, one in each hand, and your back is turned towards the pair, unaware of their presence. just as your about to turn and set one of the bags onto the counter where the boys are sat, jeno enters, also unaware of them, and slips two arms around your waist, pressing a soft kiss right under your ear before pulling back, taking one of the paper bags with him. he turns to set it on the counter but stops halfway when he sees mark and realizes what he had done in his presence, eyes wide.

mark was still uninterested in his cereal but the little show of affection he just witnessed suddenly made the now gray-ish milk seem infinitely more intriguing. he opts to stare at it instead, swirling his spoon around and trying to mull over his thoughts. his head was about to blow with all the new information. just seeing you for the first time in four months would’ve been enough to catch a sob in his throat but knowing you had moved on? that packed one hell of a punch.

you finished unpacking the contents of the first bag into the fridge and proceeded to get the other one, folding the bag along its creases, but were met with three boys staring at each other in silence. collecting your expression to show less concern and more surprise, you thought that maybe it was about time you confronted him, after all, you felt that you had moved on well enough. still, parts of you thought that it was too risky, that your heart would prove you wrong and show you that you really weren’t fully over him. but looking at the boy himself, for the first time in months, your heart calmed itself. maybe what it was seeking was closure. 

the corners of your mouth inadvertently edged upwards into a small smile as you place a hand on the counter, leaning into it. “hi, mark. it’s been awhile.” the boy wasn’t even looking at you, but rather at what you assumed used to be a bowl of cereal. he raised his head slowly, looking unsure, but locked his eyes with yours nonetheless. a small smile, not unlike yours, was plastered across his face as his voice came out small, “hey, y/n. it’s nice to see you again.” 

you gave him another light smile before taking the other bag in your hands to empty it out as well. in all honesty, you had no idea mark was going to be at the dorms today. and it’s not like you were actively avoiding him, it’s just that jeno and you opted to spend time at your place rather than the dorms, just for the privacy. you wondered why mark never thought of that when you were with him. maybe it just wasn’t important to him at the time.

shutting the fridge door with a firm push, you turned once again to be met with the three boys in silence. jaemin’s eyes were frantically looking back and forth from jeno and you to mark, seemingly taking on the role as spectator. in a sense, you felt that this may have been entirely inconsiderate on your part. the boys hadn’t said much to you regarding mark since the breakup but from what you gathered, they knew the basis of what had happened. jeno knew for sure, being the one to comfort you and bring you down from your hysterical state but it was odd to know that the rest of the boys were also aware of mark’s actions.

you felt bad for him, however incredulous that could sound. he was a kind boy, no doubt in that, and yes, he cheated on you but even then, you never questioned his love for you. in some heinous sense, it was genuine, albeit also twisted. perhaps he was exactly what you needed to learn that love wasn’t always just a rush of feelings; it wasn’t always the beating of your heart thrumming in your ears, and very rarely was it the nervous flush across cheeks paired with shy glances. love, more than anything, was trust and respect. it was long-withstanding patience, over greed and over self-indulgence. he was there to teach you that love was both the big picture and the little gestures and everything in between and that you had simply fallen for the little sliver of true love he had offered. mark would never be the love of your life but for once you were fine with the fact that he was your first.

turning on your heel, you exited the kitchen, head cleared and heart light because the hole in your heart no longer felt hallowed and empty. it was full now, healed with only a scar to remind you of the highs and lows of the boy that once held your heart in his hands followed by the boy that did the same now. mark’s feelings were beyond you, a figment of your past you didn’t bother to unearth. sauntering into jeno’s room, you set up the game console you brought over, with nothing on your mind other than jeno, jeno, and jeno.

✧ PRESENT

if mark swears that he loved you then, he isn’t sure how he could describe what he feels now. he knows it’s stupid that he doesn’t want to move on and how he’s let himself fall farther into the idea of you even as you slip farther and farther away from him. he is lovesick in every way that he isn’t allowed to be.

mark’s grip on the black leather pillow loosens as he tells the producer with a rushed tone that he doesn’t want this. he doesn’t want to be in nct dream anymore. he tells the producer that he feels it should be time to focus more on his new projects, like superm or future nct 127 activities. he doesn’t tell the producer that, more than the previously stated reasons, he doesn’t want to see you sneaking into jeno’s room after dinner at the dorms and he doesn’t want to sit in his room, alone with the sounds of your voice blooming through the thin walls and spilling beneath the cracks under his closed door. he doesn’t tell the producer or his manager or any of the higher ups at his company that he doesn’t want to keep up the facade of looking okay whenever you strike up small talk or ask him about how he’s doing. he doesn’t tell anyone, and barely even admits to himself, that he loves the way you still smile at him and how his heart speeds up ever so slightly whenever your eyes would meet. the least he can feel is ashamed of himself and the most is hatred and disgust; each time he hears your name in passing or sees your face for a split second he’s reminded of how little he feels as a whole in comparison to his feelings towards you, good or bad.

it’s later that night when mark returns to the dorms for one last time. he swipes makeup remover under his eyes, revealing the dark circles and the pimples that had sprouted from the new layers of makeup that were needed to cover his fatigue. mark runs his fingers through his disheveled hair and decides that showering is for tomorrow, that today, he would let himself fall apart one more time. 

he dips the edge of his bed, looking down at his hands to keep some sort of semblance. breathing ragged, he hopes that no one comes to interrupt the pain he has laid out for himself. he’s worn out from within and he prays for a day when he can feel okay without having to dissolve himself within his workload. he waits for that very day when he can fall asleep without the need of exhaustion. 

feeling around the duvet, his fingers clasp around his phone to check the time but is instead met with a notification that says: one year anniversary♡. his breath hitches, heart lodged in this throat.

tossing his phone back into the messy abyss of his bed, mark lays down on his back, lost in the vast emptiness of the ceiling, and asks himself for the nth time if it was all worth it. the petty lies that held so much more meaning than he’d let himself feel. the desire that clawed through all his righteous thoughts and dared to disrupt the pretty glow in your eyes. the pointless girls he used to chase his highs, the same highs that he would fall from in tears and sweat that drenched his soul, suffocating him yet drowning out his sorrows. he shuts his eyes, your hearty laughter ringing in his ears, over and over again, like a mantra he could never tear himself from. and for the nth time, mark admits that no, none of it was worth it. 

and so mark bathes in the silence of his dimly lit room, in remembrance of why he feels nothing and everything at the same time.

copyright © 2020 rouiyan all rights reserved.

✧ edited end note — hello you, yes you who just read this. this piece was my first published fic and it has such a deep hold on my heart. reading through a few months later, it makes me happy to see growth in my writing and growth in my blog. thank you for stopping by. wishing you lots of love, rouiyan.

[lovestrucked-again]

Sanguine III

Genre: Mafia AU Warnings: dark themes, blood, guns, creepy evil guy. Word Count: 3k

Summary: You’re a second year med student taken in by the house of NCT. It’s not uncommon to be the last to learn things within the house but when your safety is threatened, you’re forced to leave home with no option. But it only makes things worse.

A/N: my tags werent working and it really bothered me, sorry. Prev | next _____

The car ride to wherever you were going was very awkward, it was painfully clear that this group of people you were taken by were an extremely hostile group. The leader who previously had so much interest in you was now completely ignoring your presence.

You sit in the car, wedged between two members who you learnt went by the name of Jimin and V. You try to hold back your voice and the quiet sniffles but it’s a struggle. As you feel time drag out you can’t help but think you’re only getting further and further away from home; and you begin to sob uncontrollably.

A heavy sigh comes out from the man driving, “Can someone shut her up? I’m trying to drive.”

The two men at your sides only shrug at each other and you stifle your sobs as hard as you can, not wanting to anger them and endanger yourself more – but it’s a struggle.

Finally, the leader who is sitting in the passenger seat turns to look at you, his eyes a fury red “For fucks sake, princess can you please be quiet?”

You choke back the cry that’s about to leave your lips and pinch down on your thigh in an attempt to focus on the pain instead.

“V block her sight, we’re almost near.” The driver calls out, signalling to the man beside you. The member on your right begins to shuffle in his seat, searching in his pocket for something. He pulls out a line of fabric and leans over to tie it around your head. You hold your breath as your vision becomes blinded by darkness; fighting to stay still. He gives it a little tug around your head and you jerk at the tightness letting a quiet growl of annoyance and pain.

It’s only a matter of minutes before the car finally pulls to a stop. You turn your head around, clueless of what to do as you hear doors open and shut.

“Get out.” An unfamiliar voice tells you. You shuffle further away from him, refusing to move and he sighs, reaching in and pulling you by force – out the car with a heavy grunt. You stand behind him, your arms flailing for support as you step with caution and no vision. An arm grabs you by your wrist and drags you up to what you presume is a staircase.

“Slow down.” You yelp, trying to keep up with his pace.

“Stop being so fucking slow.” The guy grumbles

“Then give me my goddamn sight back.”

Finally, the guy leading you has enough and you bump into his figure, almost falling at the sudden impact. “Fucking hell.” He mutters as you hear him fishing through something.

Unknowingly to you, he reaches into his pant pocket pulling out a white material and a small bottle. Unscrewing the lid, he empties some of its contents onto the cloth.

“Why’d we stop?” you ask, your stomach turning at the unexpected cease of movement.

The guy turns around, gripping your wrists together and the smell hits you faster than you realise. You struggle against his hold trying to fight back but when you finally fly free, hands link around your arms, cuffing them behind your back.

“Got you.” The voice behind you laughs.  

“Let me go!” you scream, releasing the last bit of breath you have before you sink to the floor and lose consciousness.

***

“She’s awake.” You hear an unfamiliar voice says, the person stands at a distance from you, staring at your direction. He has sharp eyes and a set jaw; from where you were looking he seemed really tall as well, but you aren’t certain.

Your vision’s blurry as you sit up, falling in and out of consciousness for a good 20 minutes, until the faces and voices around you start to become clearer. You scan your surroundings lazily, aware of the soft bedsheets under your skin. The room was simply put together; a couple of dim lights, a bed, table, and a connected bathroom.

You’re unaware that there’s another man standing in your room as he’s covered by the shadows of the dim lighting. As you attempt to get out of the bed, he steps out from the doorway.

“There’s no point looking around, you’re not getting out unless told.” He sneers.

You close your eyes, trying to regulate your heavy breathing and the ringing voices that you could hear coming from different sides of the room.

“What should we do with her?” the guy closer to you hums to himself, the question rhetorical as he twirls a knife between his fingers.

“Stop scaring her Jungkook.” The voice from the door says, leaning against the frame.

“Why it’s not like RM’s keeping her alive for long anyway.”

You hear footsteps approaching and the two men inside straighten up a little, presenting themselves in a better manner. You look to your left and the door to the bathroom remains open. With little thought, you jump off the bed, darting straight to the entrance, but in two strides, Jungkook catches up with you.

“Where do you think your running off to?” he chuckles, turning you around to face him as he slams your back into the wall with a loud crash. You cry out in pain and drop to the floor.

RM’s voice is easily distinguishable, booming with authority as soon as he enters, “Careful with her.” Jungkook retreats back to his original spot beside the bed, letting RM approach you. “Get up” he tells you, offering his hand to you. You refuse, wrapping your hands around your legs and curling into a smaller ball as he clicks his tongue in annoyance. “I said get up” he warns, bringing his hand close to your face. Who does he think he is? Fucking leaders all think they can demand everything.

You respond by spitting into his palm and turn your head back into your legs.

The other two men in the room stifle back their laughs whilst RM chuckles, wiping his hand on your hair. “What a pain.” He mutters. He takes a step back, signalling the laughing men to come over and pull you up. You yelp when the rough arms tug your arms away from your knees and bring you standing upright. RM smiles, seeming satisfied with you now and he places himself just a few centremetres away from your face.

“Let’s try this again shall we?” he smirks at you disturbingly, sending chills down your pained back and bringing your hairs on your arms to rise. “Who are you to Taeyong?” he asks in a patronising tone, making you feel somewhat sick.

You don't answer him, choosing to look down at your shoes instead. They were still the slippers from the hotel room but now covered in a dirty mess; no longer white. You think back to your arguments with Lucas and his annoying snoring that had kept you up the entire night. If you had fell asleep then maybe you wouldn’t have noticed the ringing, you wouldn't have been bought into this. But would that mean, the boys would be dead? The guy pinches your chin between his thumb and index finger, pulling your head roughly towards his face. “I asked you a question dumb bitch.”

You swallow hard, thinking of something to lie and respond with but before you’re able to answer, someone beats you to it.

The driver from before enters the room, “She was taken in by NCT back in 2018, apparently her parents died in a car accident and they found her.”

“Car accident? Was it suspicious?”

“I’m not sure, I’ll look into it.”

“Thanks J-hope.”

Jungkook still holding tightly onto your arm grins to himself as he murmurs the words aloud, “And here I thought you were Taeyong’s girlfriend.”

The leader turns his attention back to you, tracing his fingers over your lips, “Who are you to him princess?” he coos, stroking the side of your face in a less than comforting way and staring straight at your eyes, squinting slightly. You answer back straight away, this time, not wanting to repeat the same mistake.

“I’m just someone they took pity on.” You mutter.

“Did your boyfriend teach you to lie as well?” he asks, edging his face closer to yours in attempt to intimidate you.

“He’s not my boyfriend and I’m telling the truth. I barely see or talk to Taeyong and it wasn't even him who found me. He doesn't care about me.” You wanted to sound brave, but your voice comes out with little confidence, just the squeaking noise that makes you look more pathetic as you struggle against the grip tightly around you. “Just let me go.”

“Sorry sweetie but that can’t happen.”

You heart was racing out of fear at the realisation that every single man in the room was staring at you. A few other unfamiliar faces who had joined in on the show without you noticing. You try to think logically, coming up with a plan that would ensure your survival for as long as you could last.

“If she means nothing to them… we can kill her, right?” Jungkook asks, a bit too excitedly.

“No, not yet.” The other member on your right mumbles

“Why are you always ruining my fun Jin.” Jungkook groans. “Oh okay how about torture her instead? She might even expose some secrets along the way.”

“No.”

RM starts walking towards the door of the room, leaving as he picks up a call on his phone. “You guys can keep an eye on her for now, I’ll be right back.” And with that, he walks out the room, slamming the door behind him.

***

Night comes fast. The two men from previously, Jin and Jungkook had stuck with you the entire time, watching you like a hawk as you sat still in bed, spacing out in your thoughts. They stayed silent and finally disappeared after staring for hours on end when you ducked under your covers and fell asleep.

When you wake up, you realise it’s only early in the morning, the clock on the wall indicating around 3am. There’s no one in your room and you decide it’s probably worth checking if your bedroom door was locked from the outside. You tiptoe over to the door, pushing down on the lever as softly as possible and it clicks open; the door creaking as it swings. You gasp softly as the corridor comes into view.

The corridors are long, hollow and dark once again being illuminated by only the moonlight coming through the far window. You don’t know where you’re going but you were going to have to guess your way as best as you can. It’s dead silent as you move and you assume everyone’s fast asleep, taking the opportunity to tip toe as fast as you can.

When you come to a corner you and turn swiftly, your heart skips a beat at the sound of sharpening knives.

“And where do you think you’re going?”

Your mind goes blank and your heart drops; you were so close. You back away, turning around and begin to run in the opposite direction where you came from, travelling down an unknown route. As you hear something clatter on the floor beside you, you sprint faster realising knives are being thrown at you.

“The further you run the worst it’ll be.” He shouts. You hear the back of your shirt being teared as the knife skims past you, nipping at your skin. Ignoring the pain, you take another turn and realise you’ve made it into what looks similar to the meeting room back at home. There’s a phone at the end of the table and you dart towards it after locking the door.

“Come out, come out wherever you are.” Jungkook sings out, twirling his knives in his hands as he approaches the door.

You stumble at the phone, quickly punching in the number you had been forced to memorise for situations like this. The line rings once, and you start biting at your nails, on the second ring you can hear the door handle jiggling, on the third ring – someone finally picks up.

“Hello?” the voice answers.

“Johnny?”

The voice comes out in a ramble, urgently asking a string of questions, “Y/N? Is that you? Where are you? Are you okay?”  

“I don't know where I am,” you cry, clutching onto the phone, “I think I’m at their house or something.”

“Are you okay?”

You slide down to the floor, choking down your sobs. “No, help me, I don't know what to do.”

Johnny can hear the broken down tears in your voice and it brings a great deal of pain to him being so far apart. But the only way he can help you now is to offer you instructions, “They won’t hurt you Y/N, just listen to them okay? Don’t anger them. We’re trying to find you now.”

You nod frantically, forgetting that he’s unable to see you, “I think there go-”

Your words are cut off as you hear the door creak open. Your heart pounds against your chest as you breathe heavily into the phone, watching Jungkook’s footsteps pace slowly around the entrance of the door. Your hand is covering your mouth to prevent yourself screaming and exposing yourself but it’s too late. Jungkook clicks his tongue, scraping the knife against the wall as he bends down into a squatting position. You watch as his chest comes into view, then his shoulders, then his mouth, and finally his eyes.  

“Found you.” ________

Back at home:

As soon as the door shuts, Taeyong rolls his head back, letting out a soft swear as his mind runs in a mess. He’s aware Mark is somewhere within the house, having noticed his movement earlier on when you were still there.

“I’m calling for the others.” Haechan informs Mark, pulling his phone out to call for everyone to group together. “Be careful going down, they might still be around.”

Mark and Johnny give a nod to each other before moving down the stairs, splitting up to search the area first.

“Left side’s clear”

“Right side clear.” Mark repeats, heading straight to Winwin. He holds his breath as he places a finger on the unconscious boy’s neck, checking for a pulse as everyone stands silently, waiting for his confirmation, “he’s alive.”

The members give a nod and relax visibly, everyone much less anxious than before.

“Sorry we’re late guys.” Johnny mutters, untying the bonds from Yuta first. Yuta pulls out the cloth in his mouth and spits it out.

“They fucking ambushed us.” He growls, turning to his side and freeing Jaehyun. Johnny works at the rope around Jeno’s hands.

“Why was Y/N here?” Jaehyun asks, groaning in pain as he sits against the wall, pressing into the wound at his side.

“Their leader called her here apparently. Threatened her with our lives.” Mark responds, being the one you told directly.

“Fucking bastard.”

Mark moves over to help Taeyong as Yuta crouches beside Winwin, checking for other injuries and preparing to administer basic first aid. “Hey Jeno can you go get the first aid kit from the kitchen?”

Jeno nods, disappearing further into the house to look for supplies.

Haechan walks down the stairs, joining Yuta to look after the unconscious member, “They’re on their way.”

Once everyone’s finally free, Johnny glances over the mess of the ruined room. The members are all injured varying with severe bleeding to bruises and cuts on faces and body parts; and as well as that, you were missing. Johnny rakes a hand through his hair in frustration, the silent room eating at his nerves as everyone keeps themselves busy, “Taeyong I think you should explain to us what’s going on. What are they accusing you of?”

All eyes are trained on Taeyong as he tries to get back up on his feet, turning around to face the group.

“RM and I grew up together as kids,” he whispers out, only slightly audible, “he thinks I killed his younger brother and I’m guessing he’s here for revenge.”

“Did you?” Haechan asks.

“No. I was framed, but I don't know by who.”

“And taking Y/N is revenge?” Johnny confirms, his anger boiling.

“I’m assuming so.”

Johnny turns to the wall, keeping his breath steady as he attempts to calm himself. He was one of the members who had been on the minority side, arguing that you would be safer staying with the group rather than leaving the city, “Fucking hell.”

It’s quiet for the next 20 minutes or so as everyone tries to help each other out, grabbing bandages and all the medical supplies for Kun when he arrives. Just as Yuta and Jeno lock themselves around Winwin, the door opens and the members pile in.

Doyoung who happens to enter first stands struck in starlight, unsure what to say, “Wow you guys look...”

Jisung follows after, finishing his sentence, “Great.”

“Better than usual for sure.” Chenle pipes up.

“Bring Winwin downstairs, I’ll meet you there.” Kun informs the boys, heading straight to the infirmary with Renjun trailing hot behind him.

“Did you find anything?” Taeyong asks, directing his question to Doyoung.

“Jisung’s been trying to find the vehicle that left the house. We lost them at a turn.”

“They turned at a corner and the camera in that area seems to be switched off.” Jisung explains.

The leader falls back against the chair, clutching onto the burning pain, “Damn it.”

***

The members move swiftly throughout the day, allocating themselves to a task whether it was cleaning up, helping in the infirmary, or finding your location. A day had already passed since you were last seen.

While most people followed the orders well, Johnny seemed to struggle with concentrating on his task. He avoids Taeyong, knowing that he’d only lash out at the leader if he says a word. Instead, he chooses to sit on his balcony just outside his room and he leans into the comfort of his chair. He taps continuously on the table beside him as he stares at the moon, wondering if you’re okay, if you’re fighting back.

The sudden vibration in his back pocket brings him out of his trance. He digs for the phone, pulling it out and debating whether to answer the unknown number. He places the phone to his ear, sighing as he answers, “Hello?”

[cherryonigiri]

Hello! May I ask headcanons for Kiseki no Sedai? Their reaction to their girl being cool and sexually dancing (something like k-pop girl group cover dance, if you know it) with her dance team at a school festival (or something like that).

A/N: Since my character limit is five I chose to do hcs for Akashi, Aomine, Kise, Murasakibara and Midorima, hope that’s fine with you! I immediately thought of Loona’s dance cover of Cherry Bomb by NCT 127 (https://youtu.be/s7kxoMYg3l8) which is so BADASS (both the song and choreography) and Move by Taemin (inspired by Twice’s cover: https://youtu.be/QTfzryUBlO0). Reader is in a group that dances to both in one set! Also I’m assuming the reader is in the school’s dance club/group that decided to do a cover of a lit K-pop song for some kind of school festival!

Akashi Seijuro

Since he is president of the student council, he is backstage helping ensure the performances/festival runs smoothly

Has timings of each performance down to the second — and he knows exactly when you and your dance group is slated to perform

Since your dance group had to submit the songs + a short clip of your performance to the student council, Akashi already knows what songs you are going to perform

Was going to do some more research on what the choreography involved, but you begged him not to because you wanted to surprise him at the festival

Doesn’t stop him from listening to the songs and familiarizing himself with the melodies and lyrics - k-pop is something you are passionate about and he always want to learn more about his girlfriend

While you and your group are on deck and getting ready to go on stage (he knows there are still two more acts before you) he stands next to you

Maybe kisses your forehead I AM SO SOFT FOR FOREHEAD KISSES FIGHT ME

“I’d say good luck, but I don’t think you’ll need it darling” afjaofe;ja;feka

You’re Akashi fucking Seijuro’s girlfriend - he has high standards and probably would date someone who is equally as hardworking + high achieving as him 

Besides, outside of basketball he knows Rakuzan has an equally formidable dance program so the boy knows you are talented

Is so impressed when you start dancing to Cherry Bomb - the choreography is intense and requires so much synchronization as you switch between all the complex formations - he thinks you could teach the basketball team a thing or two about teamwork

You go HARD with the tutting at the end before you start doing edging your feet out until you’re almost doing the splits - Akashi respects how much strength and training went into performing the dance break + ending flawlessly

When the music changes to Move he is STARING at you - eyes are glued to your form as you perform

The moves are so sensual and he can see how you intensely look out into the audience - he can sense the sexual tension that fills the room 

At the same time is awed by how much control you have over your body - he can see how every movement is planned, from the position of your hands to the way you shift your weight between each dance move

As your hands glide along your body, he can’t help but get slightly turned on

Also glares at all the male members of the student body who are looking at you a little too intently

When you finish your set he calmly hands you a water bottle while smiling proudly

May ask you for a private encore later

Aomine Daiki

You mention the performance in passing, probably while you and Aomine are having lunch on the roof 

Despite his nonchalant response, Aomine remembers that you’re performing in the back of his mind - although he does get the occasional reminder from Momoi or teasing remark from Imayoshi 

Doesn’t really want to get too involved in the school festival - it’s far too rowdy and he thinks the idea his class came up with for the festival is a hassle (imagine if it was a butler cafe LMAO poor Aomine) 

Probably sneaks away from his shift managing his classroom’s booth or to find you and wish you luck (or uses you as an excuse to ditch his shift for a couple of minutes)

He knows you’re good at dance - he’s seen how many hours you spend rehearsing and how much you love dancing (and Kpop) 

Will sneak into the auditorium and probably stand in the middle of the crowd - probably doesn’t see the point of cramming in the crowded area right in front of the stage

Impatiently waits for you to come up on stage, he’s bored and is sick of the skits that other groups are putting on 

When it’s finally your turn he’s focusing intently on the stage. The instant you come out in a badass outfit with dark makeup and a black crop top he grins because you look AMAZING

The music starts and you launch into an intense sequence of tutting and formations shifts that has his eyes widening in surprise 

now he understands why you always felt the need to drill the choreography into your muscle memory, because remembering moves on top of switching spots with everyone else makes the performance that much more impressive

Proud of his badass girlfriend

When Move comes on he smirks - although you can’t see him, he watches you move your hips and trace the outline of your figure 

Can appreciate the sensual yet serious expression on your face that makes you look gorgeous, but definitely does not appreciate the dumbass boys in the audience who are drooling over your body 

After the performance he finds you and kisses you before wrapping his arm around your shoulders

Scowling at the now intimidated boys from before, he says “Gotta remind those idiots that you’re mine”

Will definitely invite you over to his place to spend the night for some “quality time” 

Kise Ryouta

Kise knows you’ll be performing a kpop dance at the school festival and is super excited

He probably helped style you and your team for each song - pulling out some leather jackets and ripped jeans for Cherry Bomb and picking out a diverse all black ensemble + accessories for your cover of Move

He hypes you up all day about the showcase: sends you good luck texts and gives you a hug before you have to go backstage + will keep you company when you do your make up before hand

Is not afraid to elbow his way through the audience so he can have a front row seat to your performance

Made the entire Kaijo basketball team come with him and instructs them to cheer loudly for your performance 

He’s pretty up to date with current music trends and listens to a fair amount k-pop himself so he’d probably recognize the songs you were dancing to + be somewhat familiar with the choreography

When you come on stage he’s already shouting “Go y/n-chii!!!” which makes you smile and you manage to make brief eye contact with him right before you get into your starting pose

It’s like a switch is flicked - you went from being his cute and smiley girlfriend to a serious BADASS - your expressions are so intense and serious Kise can’t help but be drawn in

When he hears the opening line of Cherry Bomb he’s thinking oh shit because damn that choreography is tough

From the tutting, to moving in sync with all the other members, to all the different formation changes - he knows this is a challenging piece to perform

Gave you his leather jacket (he probably got it from a modelling gig or something) to wear and seeing you dance in his jacket is just *chef’s kiss* stunning 

and it lets all the other annoying boys in the crowd know that you’re his because it has his jersey number embroidered on the back 

If people start shouting the fanchants he’ll join in because anything to support his amazing girlfriend

When you all change outfits and switch to move he is dying

He’s right in front of you and you are making very direct and SENSUAL eye contact with your boyfriend while you move your hips into another body roll

Kise smirks back and will pin you with an equally intense and lustful stare

When he sees you after the performance he immediately strides towards you and pulls you into a fierce kiss 

Spends the rest of the festival with his arm around you, bragging about his amazing girlfriend to anyone who will listen, then he’ll take you home and ;) 

May take advantage of perfect copy and learn a duet/routine with you sometime in the future

Midorima Shintaro

MY CARROT BOI — I swear I am taking this seriously

Midorima probably doesn’t listen to too much kpop - he prefers being able to enjoy the lyrics of a song and listening to Japanese music means he won’t have to look up lyric translations

Maybe has heard some Japanese versions of kpop songs on the radio, but is overall unfamiliar with the genre (context: Since Japan has such a huge market for K-pop, it’s not uncommon for groups to release Japanese albums where they sing the the in Japanese) 

When you first mention that your club is going to be performing at the school festival, he probably pictures some cutesy, bubblegum pop girl group song 

Is putting this into his calendar and making sure he sets reminders because he is NOT about to miss his girlfriend’s performance

Secretly happy because you are putting in extra practice for the rehearsal which means you stay late at school. Since basketball practice always runs late he’s glad he now has the chance to walk you home

Day of: checks your Oha-Asa horoscope and makes sure that you have your lucky item - he will buy it himself if necessary 

Knows you worked super hard on this performance so he knows you’re going to be fine

This tsundere carrot shyly wishes you good luck before you head backstage: “Good luck y/n, not that you’ll need it! Nanodayo…” with a slight blush on his cheeks 

Makes his way back to the audience - he made Takao save him a spot

Somehow Takao got his hands on a setlist/hear rumors and figured out what you were performing and is secretly filming Midorima’s reaction because your boyfriend is about to COMBUST

Cherry Bomb comes up and Midorima immediately realizes this is NOT the cute girl group dance he was envisioning

Is probably watching your performance intently - he never realized that your choreography would be this intense and physical 

Probably not as blushy during this one, just entranced and absorbed into your performance (will refuse to admit that he stared at you the entire time, even though Takao teases him about it later)

But when you transition to the cover of Move, oh gosh, this boy goes from stony faced to bright red tomato

Is 100% blushing and gaping at you while you perform the sensual routine, especially when your hands move across your body and you purposefully make eye contact with him

Realizing holy shit my girlfriend is so sexy holy shit you thought he was staring at you during Cherry Bomb his eyes are glued to your figure during Move

Probably rushes up to you awkwardly and gives you a surprise hug before whispering “Give me a little warning next time y/n.” 

You giggle a bit, not mentioning the routine you’re learning on your own (Dally by Hyolyn: https://youtu.be/b75eENj0WCQ) surprise him with it in the future hehehehehehe)

Murasakibara Atsuhi

Murasakibara is hanging out in your dorm room when you mention that you have an upcoming performance

“Ohh y/n-chan that sounds fun”

Lowkey pouty baby because he wanted to laze around during the festival and just spend the day trying all the food with you

Now he won’t have his girlfriend to keep him company for the whole day 

When you ask him if he’s going to come and watch, he’ll agree, because it’s at the school and it isn’t too much of a hassle and he knows you put in a lot of practice so he wants to support

Tatsuya probably still has to remind him about the performance on the day of

On the morning of your performance you wake up to find a bag of your favorite snacks and candies hanging on your doorknob

Murasakibara probably went to the nearby convenience store and bought you a bunch of “good luck” snacks to surprise you

Tatsuya and him walk into the auditorium, is kind of disappointed to see that it’s already packed so he has to settle for a seat farther away than what he liked

Thankfully he’s tall AF so he still gets a clear view of the stage 

Snacks through the other performances/skits and gets pretty bored, he’s here to see you and you only

Finally, they announce your club - Murasakibara immediately perks up with interest

Your group has a badass entrance before you start performing Cherry Bomb

You decided to temporarily dye your hair red for the performance and Murasakibara is surprised when you whip off the hat you were wearing to reveal bright cherry tinted hair

He’s watched you practice the moves several time and knows you struggled to master some of them - super proud when he sees you slay those hard bits of choreography on stage

Move comes on the speaker and he immediately can sense that this is definitely a very sensual dance

Like damn, watching you move your hips to the beat and confidently gazing into the crowd, he is very turned on definitely wants an encore from you in private

When you hit the last pose and the lights dim he is IMMEDIATELY walking out of the auditorium to find you 

Sees that you’re surrounded by some newly acquired fanboys and casually steps in behind you to wrap an arm around your waist

Towers over the guys surrounding at you, a scowl from him scares them off

You giggle at his antics because he’s cute when he’s jealous: “You don’t need to be that mean to them Atsushi” 

“Y/n-chaaaan, can we go get food now?” - probably buys you all the snacks you want because he is proud 

Also suggests that you dye your hair to match his purple locks just because

[rosenpacht]

(jaehyun’s) ESTP as a person😘 pt. 3

DISCLAIMER: This post is in no way trying to describe how Jaehyun is  in  real life, or to tell what his likes and dislikes are. This post indicates on ESTP’s traits, how they think, what they like and  what   they don’t like, what they usually do in general. Although, I might try to  make insinuations here and there, but that’s just it, an insinuation.

Click here to read pt. 1

Click here to read pt. 2

Click here to read my analysis on Jaehyun’s MBTI

Hey, y’all!!! I’m backkkk. As I said in the last post, I’ll be writing about ESTP’s love language. There are a few references on this, and some are different than the others, so I’m just gonna try to pick the ones that probably suit us the most. Without further ado.....

ESTP LOVE LANGUAGE

So, in general there are five love languages:

Acts of Service

Gifts

Words of Affirmation

Quality Time

Physical Touch

I found a couple of sources that state the ESTPs love sign, and there were different versions of it. But I feel like this one is the one that is closest to what I feel ESTP is like

(source: thoughtcatalog.com)

Now, I’m gonna try to explain one by one and try to rank it based on which one I think we would most likely do to the ones that we care.

QUALITY TIME

ESTP, being the ever so present type, we love to do things in action. That being said, spending time with our significant others is always a number one for us. ESTP will take you out to do things with us, it could be as simple as a walk together in a park, or even travelling together. We love to share life experiences with our partner, because we want them to feel the excitement that we feel when we do something. I feel like long distance relationship would be hard for us? I’ve never been in one actually, but I feel like we would always have the need to see each other, or else we would be occupied with the side of the world that we’re currently in, and in turn start to forget about the other side of the world? Because we’re very present, and it’s kinda hard for us to dwell on things that’s not in front of our eyes. Anyways, that’s just my analysis though. Let me know if you’re an ESTP and you’ve been in a long distance relationship.

So, if an ESTP is constantly bugging you to go somewhere with them, just know that you mean something to them. Trust me, we don’t like wasting our time with people we don’t want to hang out with, we’d rather stay home and do something else altogether (lol).

I’d like to share one of my kinda funny experience. So I was interested in this INTJ guy one time. At that time, I was already into MBTI but I was still learning a few things and I absolutely didn’t know what INTJs were like. Turns out, they’re like probably one of the most introverted types. Whereas me, I was like 95% extroverted. So, my kind of date was like going to the movies, shopping at the mall, etc. And I was the one who was always initiating it, like, hey, let’s go out tomorrow. And by the end of the day, I was like, what are you doing tomorrow? Are you free? Let’s catch this movie. And by the SECOND date, he was like, “Don’t you ever get tired? I’m actually tired from just keeping up with you.” HE LITTERALLY SAID THAT. And he literally got sick the next day. I’m not saying that he got sick becasue of me... BUt... maybe, tho? This is like soooooo funny once I read about INTJs, becasue they’re almost like the polar opposite of ESTP. SHOUT OUT TO INTJs OUT THERE! Y’all are intellectuals! (That dude is like a genius and a psychic I swear)

PHYSICAL TOUCH

Contrary to the chart above, I feel like this type comes second to quality time. Touching, for me at least, kinda shows affections. It doesn’t necessarily have to be sexual, just a simple pinching your cheeks, or caressing your hand casually. Those simple things, coming from us, shows that you mean something to us. We are not good with words (again, because FE is our third function), so we refer to touches to convey our feelings.

Sometimes, though, it also means that we enjoy being around you. Like an affirmation that ‘oh, you’re here with me, and I love it’. Even in a platonic relationship, we like to touch. Like a friendly slap on the arm, or like hugs or cuddles. I am widely known for being touchy with my close guy friends. At first, I thought nothing of it, because I just love kidding around with them and would sometimes like poke here and there, and would hug or cuddle out of nowhere. UNTIL, one day I found out that their girlfriends actually despised me because they thought I was flirty and being... cheap(?). Anyways, I just laughed it off because, come on, that’s just who I am, it’s not like I sleep around with their boyfriends or something.

ACTS OF SERVICE

We don’t do things for people just for the sake of it, or to please other people. If anything, we hate being told what to do. ESTPs are free spirited people, and we don’t like being obligated to do something. And we’re very efficient and practical people. So we don’t do a lot of things for other people.

Don’t get me wrong, though, we’re not ignorant. We just always have to have this reasoning behind everything that we do. Like, why would I go through so much effort just to do this to this person. I mean, they would probably still survive without even my help. But, of course, if you ask for our help, we WILL help you. We’re just not gonna help you out of the blue. You gotta ask for it.

BUT when it comes to someone we truly care, we will know if you need our help. We will spot where you lack on something, or where you’re having a hard time, why you’re going through it. And we will have this feeling inside us like we want to help you overcome your hardships. Because, even though it’s our third function, the EXTROVERTED FEELING function of us is still there, lingering in the back of our mind. And I guess it’s being triggered when we see someone we love or care is in a hard time.

So, when an ESTP is suddenly giving you help without you even asking it, it means that they care about you, and that they’re thinking about you.

Now, in Jaehyun’s instance, I can see why people mistook him for an ENFJ (I finally see some light in this matter). In some cases, the members say that Jaehyun helped them get through things, like I believe Jungwoo said something about this? And someone in the Dream too said that Jaehyun was a reliable hyung. And it’s actually very visible with Winwin. Like, we can all see, at the beginning period of Winwin joining NCT, Jaehyun always put him under his wing. You can see it in NCT LIFE where they had a cooking competition, and the one where they went to Paju(?), like he was always helping him, and keeping him company, more so than the other members. I think it’s because he was finally having a friend (same aged friend)? Like he realizes that Winwin is having a hard time, and it’s his friend, so he wants him to do better. This thing is mentioned by other members because it’s probably memorable to them, but I feel like it’s actually not something that Jaehyun would do out of nilly-willy. He does that because he cares about those members alot. And that’s why people mistook him as an ENFJ (which is an FE dominant).

GIFTS

This one is related to my last post.

I feel like ESTPs don’t like doing things that aren’t practical(?), because we’re very practical. So, putting efforts into something that we don’t think is worth it, or is getting us to what we want to achieve, is a waste of our time. That’s why, I’d like to think that ESTPs are very efficient. So, to us, buying things for other people just for the sake of it is inefficient.

For example, if you read my last post about the graduation, while my other friend will buy tons of gifts for her friends out of.... I don’t know, obligations perhaps? Or just simply for the sake of being kind? Us ESTPs, we’re gonna have this thought inside our head like, why should I buy them gifts? I mean, yes, we’re friends, but we barely talk to each other. If I buy them gift, then does that mean I have to buy others gifts too? That’s too inconvenient.

So when we do buy something for other people, it means that we’re thinking of them. That they’re in the back of our mind. It’s not necessarily in a romantic way. For instance, I am somehow known for being insensitive becasue I barely even gifted my friends on their birthday. And one day, I was doing internship at this hospital, and it was on a huge religious holiday where we would usually spend time at home with our family, but we were here at this hospital tending to emergency patients. At that time, my friend, who was an ISFJ btw, the most big soft hearted person I’ve ever known, she was soooo sad that she was stuck at the hospital and she cried, saying like ‘i should be at home at this time with my family’. And I understood where she came from, and I actually felt her sadness. And to add to that, when we ordered some Mcdonalds and she ordered a mcflurry, we couldn’t eat it immediately because the emergency room was packed with patients, and the ice cream ended up turning into milk and she never ate it. That kinda added to her sadness, in my head. So what did I do? I actually went to the convenience store and I bought her an Oreo ice cream. And she was SHOOKETH that she tweeted it. Because never in her life had she’d seen me buying something for anyone. Lol. Anyways, that’s just an example to give you guys some image of how ESTPs feel.

And I feel like, if you receive this treatment, if you’re at this stage, it’s like you are legit in our inner circle. In our heart. No doubt. And this doesn’t come often, mind you. Like the chance of it happening is only 15%. Lol.

WORDS OF AFFIRMATION

Now this, is definitely the last. This is, to me at least, is the hardest thing to do ever. I don’t know if it’s because of our FE tertiary function? Or is it just the way I was raised in? I don’t know.....

But I do know that ESTPs feel uncomfortable in emotional situations. We avoid it. It’s not that we’re heartless, we just feel awkward. Like we don’t know what to say. Don’t know how to convey things in words. This is actually one of the reasons why I like writing, because it’s easier than to have to say it out loud.

Like, when one of my family member passed, I never spoke a word about it, not even to my mom. But I actually wrote a blog about it, like a really long one.

Some even say that ESTPs hate emotional confrontation. And it’s mainly because of our FE tertiary function. We feel awkward having to deal with situations using this function. We can go through it, but we just prefer not to, you know? But a debate? It’s a whole different story. I’ll talk about this particular trait in the next post. It kinda explains why ESTPs have a strong personality.

Anyways, back to the love language. So, yeah, it’s hard for us to say like ‘I love you’, or like ‘you’re so amazing’, or ‘I really admire your blabla’. I feel like it’s too... I don’t know... cringy? And it’s like, again, we have to put so much effort in order to be brave enough to say those words to the people that we cherish. And when we DO say it, it means that you’re important enough for us to put effort in being brave and say it.

But, don’t get too excited already. We usually don’t really say it directly in your face. lol. For me, I’ve actually conveyed my feelings to a dear friend, like how I was so proud of her etc., through a twitter and instagram post. hehe. I don’t know, I just can’t find the need to say it in her face, like it’s too cheesy. But a post is I feel like even more special becasue other people get to see it? I don’t know.

I’m rating this the last becasue the probability of it happening is like probably only 5%? So if an ESTP is making a post or saying words of affirmation to you, you are THAT special to them.

FINAL RANK

Now, as a final, here’s my personal rank

QUALITY TIME 30%

PHYSICAL TOUCH 25%

ACTS OF SERVICE 25%

GIFTS 15%

WORDS OF AFFIRMATION 5%

SO, THAT’S OUR LOVE LANGUAGE. Mind you, I’m not an expert on this, so this is like my unreliable analysis, and very very based on my personal experience. Lol. I still have a few things to say though, so, probs 1 or 2 more post?

Do you guys want me to do other member’s personality analysis? I know Haechan’s an ENFP, and I have a couple of ENFP friends. Hmmm, I’m currently trying to guess Johnny’s MBTI, becasue I see some similarity between him and my ENTJ friend. And the way that he vibe with Jaehyun is similar with me and my friend. I’m not sure though. I’m also interested in Doyoung’s. And Yuta’s actully. I read that Doyoung actually mentioned his MBTI on Vlive? But I forgot what it was. And I’ve been trying to find it becasue I kinda want to do an anlysis on him, but couldn’t.

What do you guys think? Do you want me to do an anlysis on other member? Lemme know!! Cheers!

  To be continued...

[yumark-ism]

I have been a kpop fan since 2015 and I have never been into shipping idols because for me they were obviously friends (I don’t criticize the people who do it is just my opinion) then in 2019 I got bored of it and I was on “hiatus” until 2021 when I started watching mafia games from several different kpop groups. I came across nct and I liked their humor so I started watching their content (I used to listen to their music without really knowing them before) and just like you I was shocked at yumark dynamic and I really thought it was how two people react when they have feeling for each other. I was a little taken aback and that's how I started to watch their dynamic. When I was an army I didn't understand ships because even idols like taehyung from BTS had responded to a taekook shipper fan (taehyung + jungkook) to get out of her imagination (no hate to shippers or taekook shippers) so I didn't really understand why people continue to ship idols romantically when idols themselves explicitly say it's not true. But now I understand ships/shipping a little better, although it's not really my thing. Yumark though really made me think that it was possible to be true ?

it’s actually quite uncommon for idols to deny a ship, especially in such an aggressive way. and given bts is the most popular kpop group right now i would even question whether taehyung actually meant it like that. but i don’t know much about them or his character to comment on it.

anyway, thank you for sharing anon. if something in yumark made you question them coming from a background of never being interested in ships, then there is clearly something different about them. it’s for you to figure it out.

although, if you are new to my blog, i do navigate and discuss from the basis that they have romantic feelings for each other and have gotten into a relationship recently.

[i-stan-nct-and-satan]

Not Broken (Jaehyun Mafia AU pt 9)

Not Broken Masterlist 

Jaehyun X Reader

"You don't believe her, do you, boss?" Doyoung asked as soon as the door to the basement was closed.

Jaehyun ignored his underling's inquiry as he walked through the kitchen and into the dining room.

Taeyong was sitting at the table. He had been waiting for them, or more like on standby in case anything happened.

"Call everyone down," Jaehyun ordered his second in command.  

"We're having another meeting."

💚🖤💚🖤💚🖤💚🖤💚🖤💚🖤💚🖤💚🖤

After the meeting had been called and everyone was gathered around the dining room table, Jaehyun motioned for Yuta to go over what had happened during the interrogation.

Yuta explained the events in chronological order, making sure not to leave out any details except for those regarding his boss's small outburst. He quoted Y/N's answers almost word for word.

Everybody at the table listened intently to Yuta, not wanting to miss anything.

When Yuta came close to telling his colleagues about the bizarre claim their prisoner made, he looked to his boss as if he were unsure if it was okay to tell them. Jaehyun merely nodded, giving him the go ahead to continue on with his retelling of the previous events.

"She was freaking out and suddenly she claimed that she killed Lucas," Yuta announced.

Everyone in the room except Jaehyun, Doyoung, and Winwin gasped. Many of them started asking questions. For a brief few seconds, everything seemed chaotic. The men kept talking over each other, directing their questions towards their boss, towards each other or even towards themselves. Anyone who would have entered the room at that moment would have surely felt the need to back away from the disorder.

"Shut up!" Jaehyun bellowed, causing all of his men to go silent.

Jaehyun looked back towards Yuta.

"Is there anything else you would like to add?"

Yuta nodded before continuing.

"I know that it seems like she was just saying that as a last-ditch effort to throw us off, but it felt different from that. It was like she was confessing it, not arguing it. She kept saying that she was sorry. Doyoung and I have done hundreds of interrogations over the years and it isn't uncommon for hostages to admit their actions when they know they're about to die."

"It's like a soldier's last confession," Doyoung added.

"Exactly. Not only that, but she seemed genuinely confused whenever we mentioned anything directly involving IU. It was like she thought we were interrogating her for something else entirely," Yuta finished.

Everyone at the table looked towards Jaehyun. His silent facade was as unreadable as ever.

Taeyong was the only one brave enough to speak after having previously been told to shut up only a few moments ago.

"What are your thoughts, boss?"

Jaehyun glanced at the red-haired. He seemed caught off guard by the question, but not because of its content. It was like Jaehyun had forgotten that there were other people in the room with him.

"We need more information before we can discuss the possibility that anything she's claiming is true. I haven't been able to come up with any ways that our interrogations methods up to this point could have guaranteed that she knew what we were interrogating her for. Of course, this is a normal interrogation tactic that allows the interrogators to trick the person into giving out details they might not have thought were important, but I'm not sure what to think," he spoke as though he were organizing his own thoughts.

"What are your orders, sir?" Johnny asked, having gained the confidence to speak since Taeyong wasn't scowled for his own vocalizations.

"Since Y/N is unlikely to feel comfortable around either one of us three, I want you and Winwin to get more information out of her,"

"Me and Winwin?" Johnny questioned.  

"Not to disrespect your orders, sir, but Winwin and I have no experience with interrogations."

"You won't be interrogating her. You'll be talking to her," Jaehyun explained.

Winwin remained unfazed, but Johnny's face continued to contort further and further into one of confusion.

"Since Winwin was the one to patch her up, I assume that she has some feeling of comfort associated with him."

"She'd be the only one," Mark scoffed under his breath, only to be harshly punched in each arm by both Yuta and Taeil.

"And you seem to get along with women for whatever reason, so I figure that you two are the most well suited for this assignment," the mafia boss concluded.

"I get along with women too. Shouldn't I join too?" Mark interjected, earning yet another punch from Yuta.

"Shut up," Yuta hissed at him.

"What do you want us to find out?" Winwin inquired, finally acknowledging his boss's orders.

"I want you to find out as much as you can about what happened between her and Lucas and I want you to record it so that we can find out if her story has any inconsistent. Do whatever you have to do to make her comfortable. As for the rest of you, I want you all to stay close. Don't expect this to be the last meeting we have today."

"Yes, sir."

🖤💚🖤💚🖤💚💚💚🖤🖤🖤💚🖤💚🖤💚

After Johnny and Winwin had left the room to get supplies for their mission and the others had wandered off, only Jaehyun and Taeyong remained seated at the table.

"Did we fuck up?" Taeyong asked.

"I don't know what you're implying, but I don't care about such an insignificant casualty."

"Jae, we usually don't involve civilians."

"She isn't a civilian. She's a part of this now."

"But even if she wasn't a part of IU's death, how is she supposed to go back to her life after this? We weren't exactly subtle about taking her."

"That isn't my concern. My concern, and what your concern should be, is killing each and every one of those bastards involved in the death of my sister, no matter what they have between their legs."

"Jae," Taeyong started.

"What?!" Jaehyun slammed his fist the table.  

"Fucking what, Tae?!"

Taeyong kept his gaze on Jaehyun, not letting himself become intimidated by his friend.

"I know that this is what we do, and that we need to carry out our retaliation in order to uphold our gang's image, but that's not going to bring your sister back and you know that."

Before his boss could retort, Taeyong kept going.

"You're hoping she was involved, aren't you?"  

Taeyong uttered the question more like a comment than a genuine inquiry

"What?"

"You want Y/N to be involved in IU's death, don't you?"

"Of course not. I wouldn't have ordered Johnny and Winwin to talk to her if I did," Jaehyun defended.

"You're not letting your feelings get in the way of handling the situation professionally and that's good, but-"

"But, what?" Jaehyun barked.

"I'm worried that you want her to be involved so that you can misdirect your anger on one of Lucas' henchman instead of the actual person behind it. Remember, Lucas is the enemy... that is... if he's alive."

Taeyong noticed as Jaehyun's fists began to tighten.

"I'm just trying to figure out when you started looking for the bad in people instead of the good. That's what used to separate you and IU from your father."

"And look where that got her."

"But look at where it got you, Jae. NCT 127 has grown so much since you've taken over. We've become stronger and it's because of you. Remember when your father told you that Mark would never amount to anything? Yet as soon as he died, you sent Mark over to train with the Dreamies and now you’re training him to eventually take over as the Dreamies' leader."

"He's still a blubbering buffoon," the pink-haired man countered.

"But he's grown so much from when he first joined NCT. You were the only one who saw his potential. Even I thought you were crazy to put any effort into taking him on as a member of NCT 127."

Jaehyun sighed, his anger morphing into exhaustion.

"I'm also concerned about if it would be better or worse if Lucas were alive," Taeyong mumbled under his breath.

Achoo!

Taeyong and Jaehyun looked at each other. Neither one of them had sneezed.

They turned towards the source of the noise, the curtains.

"I really need to start checking behind curtains before meetings," Jaehyun cursed at hmself.

"Jisung, Chenle, come out. Now," Jaehyun demanded.

The two boys sheepishly came out from behind the curtains.

"I'm not going to waste anymore of my breath disciplining you two today, now where is Jaemin?"

"He's a little tied up right now," Chenle answered pressing index his fingers together.

Jaehyun let out a deep sigh. He was not in the mood to deal with his kid brothers, not right now.

"You better not mean that literally," he warned the two.

"Uh... umm," the boys stuttered.

Now, it was Taeyong's turn to sigh.

"I'll take them to go find and possibly untie Jaemin," Taeyong offered.

"Thank you," Jaehyun replied as he waved for them to leave already.

Once they were out of sight, Jaehyun collapsed into his chair.

He had also wondered if it would be better for Lucas to be dead or not. On one hand, the man who murdered his sister would be gone, but on the other hand, if his murder wasn't caused by Nct 127, then it would reflect poorly on the gang itself, yet that wasn't what concerned Jaehyun.

I can't believe that I am actually hoping that Lucas is still alive. Jaehyun thought to himself.

But I just can't stand the idea that the man responsible for Ji-eun's death, won't die by my own hands, that I won't be able to watch him as the life slowly and painfully leaves his body.  

🖤💚🖤🔗🖤💚🖤🔗🖤🔗🖤💚🖤🔗🖤💚

The tears had stopped, or more like ran out. After an hour of sobbing, I had finally burnt through the little energy that I had left. I couldn't even muster up the energy to think about how I was still alive after having come so close to my demise. Wondering about the meaning behind Jaehyun's sudden exit would only lead to a spark of hope that would surely end up in a greater despair than I was already in. I had come to terms with the fact that I wouldn't survive Jaehyun's wrath, whether it would come today or tomorrow. Considering any possibility that I still had a chance was only being cruel to myself. All that was left to do was to stare at the walls and wait for everything to finally end.

This is where my mind was at. I had given up completely, so when I heard the door to the basement open, I couldn't put in the effort to look towards its source, to see who was surely here to put a bullet in my head.

"Hey there, sweetheart."  

I recognized the voice. It was Johnny’s.

Sweetheart? What does he think he's trying to do? Comfort me? If he was sent down here to finish me off, then why couldn't he just get it over with?

My eyes didn't waver from where they were currently fixed on the wall.

"We brought you something," Johnny continued.

Finding myself intrigued by the mention of "we,"I turned my head to face the two men. Winwin was coming towards me, Johnny walking beside him.

The two men were carrying bundles of blankets along with a variety of other items that I couldn't make out due to my swollen eyes.

Oh God. They're going to wrap the blankets over my dead body.

"How are you holding up?" Winwin asked.

Despite my preference of Winwin over the others, I still recognized that Winwin was a part of NCT, the group that had put me into this sorry state in the first place, so I stayed silent.

"Sorry. That was stupid question, wasn't it?" Winwin commented.

He turned to Johnny and grabbed something from him. It was a water bottle like the one that Yuta had earlier.

Winwin brought the bottle to my lips and tilted it slowly, allowing me to take sips at my own pace.

"That's it. ***** and slowly. Good." Winwin encouraged, his thick accent never failing to confuse me.

Despite my exhausted state of mind, I could tell that they weren't planning on killing me. I mean, why would they put in the effort to make sure that I was a well hydrated corpse? Yet for some reason, I wondered if the delayment of my death was something to be relieved about or if I just wanted to get it over with.

"Okay so here's what we're gonna do. We're gonna get you out of these chains and into some new clothes. Then we are ******. Understand?"

I simply glanced at Johnny, who quickly got the hint that I needed some translation.

"We're going to unbind you, give you new clothes, check your vitals, treat your wounds, and ask a few more questions, okay?"

I nodded slowly. I didn't know what any of this meant, but my mind was too far gone to fully dissect the meaning of their words.

Is there actually a chance that I’ll get out of here alive?

I kept still as Johnny and Winwin proceeded to free me from my binds. When they finished, I remained seated, not wanting to anger either of them by moving without their direct instruction.

They stared at me for a brief second before Winwin asked if I needed help getting up.

I slowly made an attempt to stand up only to wobble briefly before stumbling into Johnny's arms.

Normally, I imagine that I would had started blushing madly from the hold that Johnny had on me, but I was unable to care about how close our faces were. I was too dizzy to feel flustered. Black dots filling my vision.

He slowly lowered me onto the ground, the black dots finally starting to clear from my sight, but I was still in too much of an exhaustive state to take notice of what was going on.

Winwin mouthed words to me, but I was unable to decipher them.

After realizing that I was not going to answer, Winwin started to undress me.

I couldn't fight back, not that it mattered. It wasn't like I thought he was trying to take advantage of me.

Once I was dressed in a pair of velvety soft pajama pants and a new oversized sweater, this one neon green, Winwin returned the water bottle to my mouth.

"You must need the restroom," Winwin commented.

I hadn't noticed since my mind was preoccupied with so much these last 36 hours, but my bladder felt like it was about to burst despite my extremely limited water intake.

"There’s a bathroom in the corner, but I don't think that you'll be able to manage going on your own."

Winwin could see the panic in my eyes.

"Would you like me or Johnny to help you?"

Remembering that Both of the men had already seen me close to naked, I quickly gave in.

I managed to muster out the words, "You, please,"

Winwin's expression remained unchanged as he hoisted me up to my feet, supporting me while we walked towards the small powder room.

Winwin helped me to sit on the toilet, before immediately turning to look away. It felt like an eternity had passed before I finished. Winwin helped me up. Leaning on him for stability, I washed my hands. After drying them on a nearby washcloth, Winwin guided me back towards Johnny.

Winwin pulled out his first aid kit and started tending to my wounds from the previous day along with whatever new ones he found. Johnny simply watched as Winwin checked my vitals. Neither of them said more than a few words at a time. Most of their chatter consisted of Winwin explaining what he was doing and reporting my vitals to Johnny.

Once Winwin started packing up his first aid kit, Johnny went over to where he had placed the stuff they had brought in with them.

"Hungry?" Johnny inquired as he handed me a sandwich wrapped in Saran wrap.

I was starving.

As I unwrapped the sandwich, Johnny wrapped a blanket around my shoulders.

I was so desperate for food that I didn't realize that the sandwich was turkey until I had already scarfed half of it down.

Johnny promptly offered me another sandwich, which I accepted without thought.

They both watched as I inhaled the second sandwich at the same speed as I had done with the first. I must have looked like a starved animal enjoying its first taste of food after a long winter of hibernation.

Johnny leaned down so that he was sitting almost directly in front of me, still allowing Winwin enough space on the floor so that he could also sit down to face me.

"Okay, now I know that you've been through a lot," Johnny started.

"But ************** a little more from you," Winwin interjected.

"You can take as much time as you need. We know that your body is under a lot of stress right now, but we need you to tell us the truth. The whole truth."

"Your only hope of making things better for you is ******* much detail as you can. Lying will only ******** more pain than you've already experienced."

"The boss thinks that we.... might have jumped to conclusions about your relationship with Lucas, which is why we need you to clear up a few things. Do you understand?"

Your eyes switched between the two men as each of them continued each other's explanations.

You nodded in response.

"Good!" Johnny exclaimed as he took a black box out of his pocket. He pressed a button on the device revealing to you that it was an old fashion tape recorder.

"Let's start with the first time you met Lucas," Johnny instructed.

🖤💚🖤🔗🖤💚🖤🔗🖤🔗🖤💚🖤🔗🖤💚

I had told them everything I could remember, sparing no details out of fear that any forgotten tidbits would result in the most dire of consequences. I was terrified of how they would react to my retelling of the events that night, but I figured that following their orders was my best chance of preventing any further mutilation. If I was going to be killed, I didn’t want to give them any more reasons to make my death a painful one.

At first, speaking was difficult, but once the turkey sandwiches caused my blood sugar levels to stabilize, it got easier. I started my story by telling them about how I was in such a desperate state that night that I resorted to pick pocketing drunks in order to find cash for food. I told them about my failed attempt to steal from Lucas and about how he didn’t turn me in after catching me. I explained how he bought me food and then offered me a place to spend the night, a chance to shower, and a fresh change of clothes.

Johnny and Winwin listened intently, only interrupting to specify small details or to ask me to go into more detail.

When I told them about the drinks, I chose to leave out the details about the drugging until I got to the part where I found out about it myself. I noticed how their eyes widened in interest as I finally got to the... climax of the story. When I recollected the moment when I first encountered the dead body, I went into precise detail about what style of dress she was wearing, the signs of obvious mutilation, and the features of her face that were still recognizable. Johnny had leaned over to whisper something incomprehensible into Winwin’s ear. Winwin nodded in response.

The only event that I wasn’t completely honest about was the actual act itself. I told them what happened, but I didn’t tell them about Lucas’ speech about how worthless I was or about how I lost control. Instead I told them that I only grabbed the baijiu bottle as a last attempt to save myself and that I only hit him with it until he ceased his attack. I told them that I hadn’t meant to kill him, that it just happened.

I thought that I had ran out of tears, but I was mistaken. Tears began to make their way down my face as I told the two men about the single worst night of my life, at least it was up until last night.

I was surprised when Johnny offered me his handkerchief. Neither one of them seemed angry or upset. Instead, they seemed genuinely concerned about my wellbeing. They were probably the most sympathetic looks that I had received since arriving at that hell hole.

When I finally finished going over the last of the events from that night, Winwin asked if there was anything else I wanted to add.

I shook my head.

“No.”

Johnny stopped the tape recorder with the press of a button and stood up off of the floor.

“You did great, Y/N,” Winwin assured me in his most comforting voice as he too stood up.

“Now I’m sure the boss wouldn’t like hearing me ask this, but is there anything else we can get you before we turn this in?”

I didn’t know what to ask for.

Sensing my hesitance, Johnny spoke up again.

“Once we hand this over to the boss, I honestly don’t know what will happen next. You might not get this offer again.”

Realizing that this was my last chance, I made my request.

“Is there any chance that I could perhaps take a shower?”

Winwin turned his face towards Johnny’s. No words were exchanged, but I could tell that they were debating the “grantability" of my request.

Johnny turned back to look down at me.

“I don’t see why not,” he answered.

💚💚💚🖤🖤🖤

“A shower?” Jaehyun questioned.

He and Taeyong were sitting at the dining room table when Johnny entered the room.

“Yes sir. I asked if she needed anything right after we finished taping her story. I think that it is in our best interest to keep her feeling comfortable in case we need to ask her any more details,” Johnny explained.

“Well it isn’t too unusual of a request after being tied up in a room for two days,” Taeyong added.

“About the tape, what do you think?” Jaehyun leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs.

“Uh. I think it’ll be better if the tape speaks for itself,”

Jaehyun’s gaze remained fixed on Johnny for a a few seconds before he spoke up.

“Sure. Take her to the shower in the east wing. The one near IU’s old room. It doesn’t have any windows and the vent has been sealed off. Plus, it’s in the east wing where you won’t run into any of the other members.”

“Yes sir.”

“Oh, and one of you will need to be with her the entire time to make sure she doesn’t get up to anything. We still don’t know if she is connected to Lucas or not and I’m sure that he would have enough sense to teach his lackeys a few escape methods. Actually, make Winwin do it. He isn’t as emotionally inclined as you are, and we’ll want to hear your thoughts on her story.”

“Yes sir.”

“You may go now.”

Shortly after Johnny left the room, Jaehyun turned to Taeyong who already knew what his boss’s next orders would be.

“I guess we should rally everyone up.”

💚💚💚🖤🖤🖤

Johnny poked his head in the doorway. He didn’t say anything, he merely gave us a thumbs up and jerked his head slightly towards the side indicating for us to follow.

Having regained my strength, I was able to walk without any assistance. The stairs were hard at first, but my legs quickly adapted to the task I had so easily done all my life. The journey to the bathroom felt exactly like that, a journey. The long hallways and winding staircases that I had witnessed at Lucas’ estate seemed like a walk through the driveway when compared to this labyrinth like manor and it was only the east wing according to Johnny.

“We tend to stay within the north wing,” Johnny explained, filling the silence as we traveled the never-ending halls.

“We don’t really come here since...” His voice trailed off.

Despite my curiosity, I chose not to inquire about Johnny’s sudden quietness. Making myself a nuisance would only bring more difficulties.

I was still so confused. For the last two days, no one had really given me any substantive explanation for what was going on or why. I only received demands or punishment.

“Here we are,” Winwin, who had been leading the way, stopped in front of a soft lavender painted door.

I looked up at the two men as if to ask permission to act.

“I’m going to head back to show everyone the tape. Winwin, you know what to do.”

Winwin gave Johnny a nod.

“I’ll see you soon, Y/N, hopefully under better circumstances.”

Realizing that I wasn’t going to respond, Johnny flashed a small smile before disappearing around a corner.

“You could have thanked him, you know. I wouldn’t ***** that much effort to grant a hostage’s request,” Winwin muttered under his breath.

“Thanked him?” I could feel the anger bubbling inside me.

I was getting too brave and I knew it, yet I didn’t stop myself.

“Thank him for what? For showing me basic human decency after you guys kidnapped me, tied me up, starved me, and beat me?” If I was any louder it would have been considered shouting.

Winwin’s lips shifted into a smirk catching me off guard and shutting me up.

He continued to stare at me with a sort of amusement.

“What?” I demanded.

“I’m just curious as to how a man who’s had countless assassination attempts against him fail, could have been accidentally killed by someone like you,” Winwin enunciated clearly, allowing me to fully understand the meaning of his words.

“Are you saying you don’t believe me?”

“No, I believe you. I don’t think the others will, but I believe you.”

“What makes you different?”

I hadn’t realized how intensely Winwin had been staring at me until now. I broke eye contact, letting out a small cough to ease the suffocating energy that filled the hallway.

“I mean what makes you believe me?”

Winwin who was still staring at me, suddenly avoided me gaze as he shrugged.

“Are you going to shower or not?”

That was a strange reaction. 

“Yeah,” I mumbled softly.

Winwin opened the door, but it led to a bedroom instead of a bathroom. I walked through the door as he held it open for me.

It was a woman’s room, or at least it appeared that it was. The décor was feminine yet mature, so it didn’t feel like a little girl’s room, but it was still trendy, signifying that whoever occupied this space was roughly around the same age as me. Our commonalities seemed to stop there. Besides the fact that I could never even dream of having a room this expensive looking, this room belonged to someone tidy. Everything was organized, the bed was made, the floor was absent of any unnecessary litter. The room almost gave off a ‘non-lived in’ feeling, like it hadn’t been used in a long time, which made sense since Johnny mentioned that the people rarely ever went into the east wing anymore.

“The bathroom is over here,” Winwin announced, pulling me from my thoughts.

I entered the bathroom and became immediately uncomfortable when Winwin followed.

“Wait. What are-”

“You didn’t think that the boss ****** let you take a shower ***** by yourself, did you?”

I was stunned by his words. I couldn’t have heard him right.

“I can’t turn around either, ****** makeshift weapon while I look away.”

Despite knowing very well that this man had already seen you in next to no clothing and not to mention. seen you urinating, you had to draw the line here.

“I’m not going to shower with you,” you asserted.

Winwin scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“I’m not going to get in the shower WITH you, dumb ass,” he barked.

“I’m just***** in this bathroom while you shower.”

I could see my cheeks turning red in the mirror’s reflection. I was embarrassed that I had jumped to such a lewd conclusion.

“You can take off your clothes behind the shower curtain if that makes you feel more comfortable. **** hand your ***** to me after you take them off,” he continued.

I continued to stare at him, feeling awkward.

Winwin let out a small sigh that sounded like it was more out of frustration than annoyance.

“Look, if ****** feel better, I’m not into women.”

“You’re gay?”

I didn’t know why I was suddenly so interested in the sexuality of one of my captors.

“I’m not exactly into guys either. It doesn’t matter. Are you going to shower or not?”

Instead of further probing him, I swiftly stepped into the shower, pulling the curtain closed behind me.

[mashihosoftboi]

Joining Stray Kids and Meeting Chan

June 2017

               Mashiho was dancing, which wasn’t uncommon for the Japanese boy, in one of the practice rooms in the JYP building. Of course, he was surrounded by many other trainees while they waited for their choreography teacher to come in and show them a new dance they had to memorize before the monthly evaluation coming up, but he was good at pretending he was alone. He got so focused sometimes that he wouldn’t even notice if anyone new walked in or cut off his music.

Luckily that didn’t happen this time when the teacher came in because the first thing he did when he walked through the door was look around the room until his eyes settled on Mashiho and started walking towards him with a weird look on his face. Mashiho’s eyes got wide and out of instinct backed up a bit, not sure why his teacher looked like he was about to combust from…. joy?

Yep. That was a smile.

               Wait, was he being finally being kicked out? Did the company finally realize that after 4 years, he wasn’t worth all the trouble, that he hadn’t improved as much as they had wanted? Was the choreographer THAT happy that he was leaving? Mashiho thought they had a pretty decent relationship but maybe he wasn’t as nice as he thought it was towards his teachers here.

               “Mashiho-ssi! JYP would like to talk to you about debuting!” Oh wow, that was not what he thought was going to come out of his mouth.

               “Uh, really? Right now?” Mashiho was shocked. And a little uncomfortable with the public declaration. The other trainees had taken to staring, some with jealousy, at him. He was never really close with any of them so he didn’t expect anyone to start crying tears of joy for him, but he hoped they would be nice enough to say congratulations or even smile at him. At least his teacher seemed happy for him.

“Yes, right now. You are dismissed from practice” And with that he grabbed his practice bag, water bottle, phone and left the room, feeling the trainees’ eyes linger on him as he closed the door.

 Coming up to the door with the big Park Jin-Young on it, Mashiho heard some mumbling. He gave three hesitant knocks and took a step back. A few seconds later, there was a loud ‘Come in’ and a phone being hung up. He entered slowly without having opened the door the whole way, looked around the office before his eyes landed on JYP himself and he quickly bowed, just missing hitting his head on the door handle that was in front of him.  JYP chuckled, semi-bowed back and gestured for Mashiho to sit in one of the chairs in front of his desk. He set his bag down by the chair and sat down.

“Mashiho-ssi, I’m just going to get straight to the point. Do you know Bang Chan-ssi?”

“Not personally, no” He had seen him around, heard great things about him and knew he was close friends with many of the seonbaenims in and out of the company. He was also very social with other trainees which was not Mashiho’s strong point, so he usually stayed away, hid on the side, as he did with everyone else in the company, trainee or otherwise.

JYP didn’t seem to care what his response was. He seemed eager to get his point across. “Well, I assume you know that I’m going to let him choose and debut a group soon, right?” He had definitely heard that fact. It was all everyone was talking about. Some trainees, with whom Chan had never spoken to, speculated that they would be the next member added to what would be JYP’s first male Korean pop group since 2014. Everyone thought they were intitled to debut and when they found out that a certain trainee had been added, they started speaking badly about them.

“Yes, sir”

He should have expected what came out of JYP’s mouth next and yet it shook him to his core.

“My point is that Chan and I have discussed, and I want you to join his group”

Mashiho felt his mouth fall open but he couldn’t bring himself to close it.

“Anyways, he will be here any minute to help you out since you will be moving into a new dorm with the other trainees he picked out” Just as he finished his words, there was a loud knock at the door.

“That would be him” JYP got up, walked towards the door and motioned for him to do the same. He opened it to reveal a visibly happy Bang Chan standing on the other side. He quickly dismissed them and was quick to close the door in their faces.

Mashiho was quick to bow and mutter a ‘hello seonbaenim’, too anxious to look anywhere but at his shoes. Chan just smiled, bowed back with his own greeting, and proceeded to grab his hand and lead him down the hallway. He let himself be pulled and just stared at their connected hands. They weren’t tangled, more just hooked together like the hook latch on his, now previous, dorm’s front door.

He wasn’t uncomfortable with the hand holding, he even felt comforted but was unfamiliar with the feeling since it had been years since someone had held it at all. He couldn’t even remember a time where someone had ever held his hand with anything but malicious and hateful intentions.

Once stopped at the elevator, Chan pressed the down arrow and waited. Mashiho finally looked up from where their hands were still attached and cleared his throat.

“Where are we going, seonbaenim?” He saw Chan’s eyes go wide for a brief second before he giggled. Why was he so happy today?

“Oh! I am so sorry. I totally just kidnapped you!” he laughed briefly. “I’m taking you to your old dorm so we can get all your stuff, so that you can move in with us today.” His eyes lit up. “Also, just call me ‘Hyung’ please. We are going to debut together after all!”

“Okay, hyung. Who is ‘we’ anyways?” He had forgot how many of the trainees had already been chosen for this new group, he just knew it was more than a couple of them. The elevator doors opened, and they stepped inside, Chan pressing the ‘Lobby” button.

“Currently, It’s just me, Han Jisung, Seo Changbin, Yang Jeongin, Kim Woojin and Hwang Hyunjin. Do you know any of them?” They were already 6, 7 with him. This was going to be a big group if he wasn’t done recruiting.

He knew of Jisung and Changbin; they were in a rap group with Chan, popular with the female, and surprisingly some of the male trainees. He had heard of Kim Woojin, a great singer and former SM Entertainment trainee who had almost debuted with the K-pop group NCT, who had debuted almost a year ago. Maybe he had heard some of the female trainees talk about how handsome he was while passing them in the company hallways? He had no clue who this Yang Jeongin was but to be fair, he didn’t know any of them, not even Chan.

Since joining JYP Ent. In 2013, Mashiho had made approximately zero friends and that was not an exaggeration. No one wanted to be friends with a short kid from japan who was generally quiet and liked to dance alone. Though, he was partly to blame for his lack of friends since he didn’t try to approach people and kept a blank face whenever he wasn’t dancing. He just wasn’t very open and didn’t see the need to play nice when he probably was never going to be friends with these people or speak to them again.

 “Uhm, not really. I’ve heard of most of them, I think, but I haven’t spoken to them”

“It’s okay! They are very welcoming, so I’m sure they will be nice” He didn’t seem too sure about that last part. Mashiho would just have to wait and find out.