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sscieloz · 18 days ago

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Our messy lives

band!aespa x groupie!reader

Synopsis: Aespa is now one of the most successful bands of the country. You refuse to let them go, but it’s time to move on with your life.

Warnings: lots of plot, lots of lore and a little bit of smut as alwaysss babies. band aespa. only a tiny bit of angst don’t worry it’s barely there. angsty ig.

Word count: 8.3k

Notes: I’m being very serious when i say i hated this. omg it’s so bad I might delete it and change everything.HOWEVER now I’ll eat the yummy dinner nana made me and chill under the covers. Then we’ll see.

pt.1 | pt.2 | pt.3 | pt.4

—

It was no surprise that Aespa’s success erupted quickly. After winning The Box’s contest, not only were the girls offered a contract with SM Music Ent.— the country’s #1 music company, but they’ve also been labeled as South Korea’s rising superstars. Their faces were all over stores, brands, and buildings. Fooling around after perfomances wasn’t even an option anymore, with the crowd that had started following their every step.

Aespa’s first album, Whiplash was a true hit; people loved the group’s authenticity, their enthusiastic lyrics, and self-produced songs. They embraced the girls’ journey and their desire to make music despite the outcome or the feedback. More than that: the public loved how brutally honest they were, whether it was in interviews, public appearances or through the melody that now echoed through every device in the country.

Two years and 2 albums went by, and the band’s success only grew. They won Rookie Group of the Year and have only been escalating ever since. Such success has made them cocky, as self-entitled as they were talented.

And talent was not something they lacked by any means.

“Excuse me, Aespa sunbaenim…” Karina, Minjeong, Aeri and Ningning all turn their heads at the same time to look at the tanned girl who stands awkwardly by the door. She bows extensively, with a bright smile adorning her face before adding. “I’m looking for Y/n? She told me to wait for her here.”

With kind, almond eyes and a little mole under her right eye, Saerom’s inviting nature is unmistakable. Although the girls are nearly sure they’d be able to recognize her without even looking at her, anyway.

They despise her.

“Y/n?” Minjeong is the first to ask, looking around with a frown. Her theatric movements are filled with mockery, but Saerom pays her no mind. If anything, she simply waits for her answer, as if the girls weren’t being anything but hostile to her. “Do you see her anywhere? News—”

“She went to the parking lot to take a private call.” Karina’s hand muffles Minjeong’s mouth, preventing the blonde from giving the poor girl a nasty response. “She told us to warn you about the change of plans. You should meet her there, instead.”

Saerom’s face lights up at the leader’s response, moving her arms around in awkward motions. Not having to deal with Minjeong is a relief— the blonde is so rude all the time, with her micro-aggressions hidden behind her bored expressions.

“I’ll wait for Y/n-ssi there, then.” Saerom bows to the girls, with a firm grip on the door handle. “Thank you for the message, sunbaenim.”

Ningning waits for Saerom to leave before clicking her tongue.

“Let’s hope it doesn’t rain, otherwise this poor girl will be sick.” She turns to Minjeong and to Karina, then, her tone patronizing even though she giggles. “You’re so mean, both of you.”

“I’m not mean!” Minjeong complains, caressing Giselle’s arms when the rapper hugs her from behind. “Those are private quarters. Y/n shouldn’t have sent her little plaything here.”

Ever since The Box, you and Saerom have developed a tight-knit friendship. The idol had reached out to you a few days after the festival, inviting you out for a walk in the park. You accepted the invite, thinking she’d ask for you to become her band’s fansite or something similar, but Saerom had surprised you— as always. The two of you ended up chatting for hours, and you found yourself sharing every single one of your life’s events to her: it was just so new and refreshing, to talk about yourself for once. Not mentioning Karina, Ningning, and Giselle felt strange somehow, but it was also freeing to be noticed, seen by someone like Saerom saw you. Her genuine interest left you in awe, and it rebuilt your self-esteem in ways you did not even know you needed.

Saerom understood you in more ways than one: despite your different lifestyles, you shared the same insecurities and uncertainties. Saerom, not knowing if her company would keep supporting their group or if she should just give up on the dream she worked so hard for, and yourself, who still felt lost and had no idea of what life would be like, once you were done with university.

The two of you were so different, yet so alike: you were lousy, stubborn, and defiant, while Saerom was the purest, kindest human being on earth. She inspired you to be a better person every day, and not once did she disregard your feelings or try to change your personality. If anything, the thing you loved the most was to hear her melodious laugh, whenever you made a mean, whacky comment without much further thinking. You were more than glad to have her in your life. She was an escape from your chaotic routine, someone you held close to your heart.

So it was only natural you’d answer her call, even if you were in the middle of the crowd, recording Aespa’s performance, long after her conversation with the girls.

“Hi, Y/n.” The voice on the other line sounded strained, but you’d recognize Saerom’s angelic tone regardless of the setbacks. “Are you going to take much longer to get here? It’s pouring, and I’ll have to go get ready for my group’s recording soon.”

She’s always considerate of your feelings even though you have no idea of what she’s talking about. It’s a miracle you’ve managed to understand her words alone, given your proximity to the stage. Winter’s vibrant bass solo isn’t of much help either, and you bend your body forward to protect your ears from the noise in hopes it’d help you focus more on Saerom.

Although you swear the music gets louder as soon as you take your eyes off the four girls on stage.

“Saerom unnie? What are you talking about?” You tap your right ear, but it does nothing to ease the energetic chorus of Kill it, Aespa’s latest single.

Giselle, Winter, Karina, and Ningning are currently performing their third song of their setlist, and you’ve managed to get pretty good recordings from the previous nights, so you allow yourself to redirect your focus to your friend, who awaits on the other side of the line.

“I’m waiting for you as we planned, remember? Karina sunbaenim told me you’d be in the parking lot, so I’m here. Are you at the show? It’s too noisy, I can barely hear you.” Poor Saerom is as lost as you, and the thought of her waiting for you under pouring rain is enough for your heart to shrink with unease.

“Right, of course. Can’t believe I forgot about that. I’m so sorry, Saesae. Give me 5 minutes and I’ll meet you there, ok? I’m on my way right now.”

“Sweet!”

You’re quick to collect your camera set up, hurrying to not let your friend wait any longer. The song’s nearly over anyway, but Aespa’s repertoire for the night would still linger for at least another hour— not that you minded. You were writhing with annoyance. It was hard to grasp that Karina, out of all of the girls, would act this childishly towards Saerom.

Sure, the girls have always been crystal clear regarding their feelings about the fellow idol, but you’d never imagine Karina would send your friend to wait for you alone, under pouring rain. That was typical of Minjeong— perhaps even something expected of Ning or Giselle, but you thought better of the band’s leader.

Now you had to miss nearly half of their performance, and it was all their fault.

Those girls kept testing out your nerves.

Four pairs of eyes attentively watch you make your way over the crowd. Their stares burn on your back, yet you refuse to give in. You don’t turn to get a hold of their expressions; you’ve been around long enough to know exactly how they react when something pisses them off.

Giselle, Karina, Ningning, and Minjeong don’t stare at themselves in confusion, as they normally would if something was off. They know where you’re going, and the implication was clear: you had chosen that little friend of yours over them.

Rejection was not something the girls from Aespa took lightly. You’d pay for that, both of you.

—

“Hey.” Saerom looks up to you, smiling brightly despite waiting for more than an hour.

Thankfully, she was wearing a thick jacket and sat on a bench, protected from the rain that refused to fade.

Occupying the seat next to her, you tell her sincerely, “Sorry to leave you waiting for so long.”

The umbrella you’ve gotten for her is placed on your feet, and you turn to face her completely. She looks comfortable, pretty as ever despite the weather and the shitty circumstances you had submitted her under. Saerom was a smart girl, and had probably already figured the girls told her a white lie to get rid of her presence quickly.

Despite that, your lips were sealed. You’d be caught dead before blaming Aeri, Minjeong, Karina, or Ningning, a fact they were blissfully aware. It’s why they were so confident on messing with Saerom, after all.

“They didn’t even tell you about me, did they?” Is all she asks, brushing off your apologies with a faint shrug.

Saerom brings her legs close to her chest, hugging her shoulders and staring at you attentively. A deep sigh leaves her chest after you shake your head. She thinks you’re too good for the girls. It’s an argument you’ve gone through lots of times, by now.

But you’re not. Saerom should have noticed that, by now. You’re just as rotten.

Tenderness clouds her mind, making her unable to notice any of your flaws.

It was no wonder there was only one other band the girls were friends with. Although Saerom was frequently picked on and scrutinized by the members simply for being your friend, the girls’ behavior didn’t change much when interacting with other idols. The industry was tough and demanding, of course, but they managed to fit right in.

You try to lighten up the subject, brushing Saerom’s black hair from her face. “Yeah, I’m really sorry for that. How can I make it up to you? You could sleep over, so we’ll catch up more.” Your words are sincere. Even though Fromis9’s schedule is much less demanding than Aespa’s, you’re still unable to see her as much as you wish to. The girls keep you busy 24/7, so full of tasks and demands you barely have enough time for other things. “I feel like it’s been ages since we’ve hung out.”

“It’s alright, Y/nnie.” Saerom holds you close, hugging you with a strength that reminds you once again of how strong she is, despite her small frame. “I just wanted to check in on you. How are you doing? You barely talk about yourself, and the girls make sure to have you all to themselves, as always.”

Bitterness drips from her last words, and you ignore rather easily. You love your friend, and you’re grateful to have her in your life, but she’ll always come second to Karina, Minjeong, Aeri, and Ningning. It’s the natural order of things.

Even if your relationship is a bit blurry, at the moment.

Opening up is still something hard for you, despite Saerom being nothing but a supportive, attentive friend.

“I’m okay, really.” The words come out of your mouth automatically, and you’re met with a knowing look from Saerom. “I swear! I am. The routine is kicking, of course, but I’m pushing through.”

It’s been harder to balance keeping up with the band and your studies at university, now that it was your last semester, but you were making it work. You’ve always managed to do both, somehow, so it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary.

Although you were starting to feel the exhaustion hit, now that promotion season was starting. Shootings were always done early, and you often had to stay up until late hours of the night completing the missing assignments and mandatory work your past self had pushed to be done when you were close to graduating.

Saerom knows better. She’s always been able to read you so easily. Leaning forward, she caresses your cheek with a tenderness you’ve only known through her soft, loving touches.

“I know you can handle it. You’re a tough girl.” She murmurs, so close you can’t focus on anything but her rosy lips, and the way they glisten from her signature lip gloss. “I just wish you’d tell me more of what’s going through your mind.”

Her hot breath is a warm welcome on the cold, rainy night, and you wonder if she’d taste like strawberries; her favorite fruit. Sweet Saerom, who takes such good care of you and lives her life in such a light, carefree way…

The loud ringing of your phone prevents you from finding it out. It startles both of you, and you jump in your seats. Even though you’re irritated for having the moment ruined, the two of you can’t help but laugh about how easy it is to scare Saerom.

A tired sigh leaves your chest as you show her Ningning’s name on the ID call. You deny the call, but her name shows up again within seconds, shining just as brightly as before. “It’s Ning, I—”

“… Have to go.” Saerom finishes your sentence, nodding with a bit of resentment. She gets up before you say anything else, standing out her hand so you’d do the same. “I know how impatient they are, so you shouldn’t piss them off. But you owe me one for making me wait, now. How about a date? This way we’ll have plenty of time to keep up with each other.”

She has her finger pointed out at you, but you know she’s only joking. Still, you wrap your arms around her small waist and nod, desperate to make it up to your friend.

“It’s settled, then. Text me the details?” You ask, voice muffled as you rest your face on the crook of her neck, safely protected from the cold by her thick hoodie.

“Sure, baby. We can meet up at that cafeteria you like, how about that?” Saerom suggests, running her long nails through your scalp in a soothing manner.

Silently reassuring you she wasn’t annoyed or irritated by their lack of time at the moment, as she knew you’d be upset about it later.

You don’t want to let her go, but Saerom also has a performance of her own to get ready for, and you’ve wasted too much of her time by leaving her waiting. Reluctantly, you let go of her as she nods, stepping aside so you’d walk together toward the entrance of the arena. She clings to your arm, and you wonder if she’s not uncomfortable with her skirt on such a freezing night.

It’s worth it: she looks like every bit of the princess she is, in her laid-back outfit.

“Bye, Y/n.” When the two of you reach your parting point, Saerom’s small hands cup your face just as she’d done before. Without rushing, she gives each of your cheeks a hot, longing kiss before turning away and hurrying to her group’s backstage room. “I’ll see you soon!”

“Bye, Saerom unnie!” You scream back, watching as she runs and laughs freely on the opposite end of the corridor.

Now, it was time to confront the four devilish women you were, unfortunately, so damn attracted to. With a sigh, you make your way to their room, knowing they’ll be waiting.

They’re always waiting for you, whether they admit it or not.

—

“Oh, so you do know your way back.” Minjeong’s voice is full of disappointment as you walk through the door, delicately making your way inside the room with hopes of going unnoticed. “What a shame.”

As if that has ever been a possibility.

“Where have you been, Y/n?” Ningning demands to know, looking down on you with her arms crossed in front of her chest.

Three other pairs of eyes are just as attentive to your answer, although they don’t stop changing and taking off their heavy makeup to actively do so. The girls are fuming— you’ve known them for long enough to gather said knowledge in the subtle way they spend too much time meticulously folding their clothes and walking around, all while making sure to send you hard, jugful stares.

“Where have I been?” You take a deep sigh, mirroring the maknae’s pose in hopes of calming yourself before answering. “I went to the parking lot to meet up with Saerom, because I’ve apparently told her to wait for me there.”

There’s something in Yizhuo’s tone: so sharp and patronizing, that ignites a livid fire inside your chest. She’s such a sob, acting as if you had done something so utterly wrong. Always so demanding.

The silence that follows your brief accusation is unnerving. You want to shake each of them, annoyed both for what they did to your friend, and because they made you miss their show by leaving earlier than expected.

Giselle sighs, taking off her brown extensions as she brushes you off. “No one other than the staff is allowed inside. We didn’t even kick her out, Y/n. Consider that a favor.”

Your mouth opens in shock upon hearing the bassist’s words. The worst part was that they meant every preposterous thing they say. With a frustrated sigh, you search for something to occupy your hands with so you won’t scratch the members’ eyes out from their faces like you certainly want to.

You turn your back to them, looking for something. For a distraction, anything to keep your mind off how much you wanted to make them pay for making Saerom upset.

After not finding anything in the mess they always make backstage, you turn around and shove your finger in Minjeong’s face. “You told Karina to say it, didn’t you? You lousy—”

The blonde girl opens a malicious smile, surprisingly calm and happy to have you on the verge of an anger meltdown. She shakes her head, gesturing to Karina instead.

“Oh no, Y/nnie.” Winter laughs, delighted by your nervousness. If she had to be honest, you did look hot like this: brows furrowed and muscles all tensed up. Minejong licks her lips, imagining how delicious it would be to drink from your cunt until you were sobbing, begging for a release that wouldn’t come anytime soon. “Karina unnie took care of it all by herself.”

Surely you’d forget about your little friend, by then.

Karina rolls her eyes when you finally approach her, muttering about how much of a drama queen both you and Minjeong are. She has her legs hanging comfortably on top of the desk and pays you no mind, too busy with watching something on her stupid phone.

“Did you?” You ask, not yet daring to grab her phone and throw it against the wall like you so desperately wanted to. Even if anger clouded your mind, you know Jimin wouldn’t let that slide. “The poor girl was out there freezing to death, Jimin. Why the fuck did you tell her—”

“You’re lacking.” Is all that she tells you, still not looking up. “You left in the middle of our show to go look for your little friend.”

Ningning comes out of the bathroom, attentive to the tension that hasn’t left the room ever since you arrived. “You’ve skipped so many events lately. And you’re barely taking any solo pics of any of us.” She points it out, earning a nod from Giselle.

“Recording us is one of the few things you’re able to do properly,” Minjeong adds, twisting her tongue. “And now your useless self isn’t even doing that anymore. God, you piss me off, Y/n.”

Saerom’s mention always brings out the worst of the girls, but Winter is the most affected by the fact that your attention is not solely on them anymore.

Giselle, Ningning, Karina, and Minejong are greedy, selfish, so damn full of themselves. But most importantly, they refuse to share. Especially when it came to you. It doesn’t matter how much you fight or argue, things worked simply: you were theirs just as much as they were yours.

And the Aespa girls didn’t allow outsiders to play with their possessions. No matter how foolishly you might think so, the implication is clear— in the end, you’d always answer to them.

“You have managers to handle your career.” You remind them, sighing deeply. “As well as other groupies to do all of your media work. I’m not paid to be your photographer or whatever. Actually!” Hitting your palms on the big table the girls were sitting around comfortably, you add. “I’m not being fucking paid at all. I’m under no obligation to indulge your demands.”

The last sentence seems to hurt the band’s maknae. Ningning presses a hand to her heart, terrified at the possibility of you not indulging their every will anymore.

“This fucking girl, Y/n. Saerom.” Yizuho’s pronounces her name as if it’s a plague. “S-She’s clouded your mind. What else has she told you? She’s such a fucking liar.”

“No, Ningie.” Minjeong corrects her friend, patting Ningning’s hair affectionately. Although her eyes are solely on you, as poisonous as the vicious smile lingering on her face. “Saerom is just a useless piece of sh—”

Minjeong has sharp reflexes. Before you even think of a reaction, Giselle’s grip prevents you from moving, somehow making you even angrier with her hot, minty breath on the back of her neck.

“She cares about me! Unlike you! You fuck ass selfish whores.” You scream, kicking and pushing yourself against Aeri to let you go. It’s useless, but at least her muscles tense up with the effort.

Karina frowns at the words you shout so vividly. At first, she didn’t think much of your friendship with the girl from that small group— what was its name again? Forms? Formis? It doesn’t matter. But then, you started to spend more time on your phone, which was something you never did whenever they were in your company. You missed a few of their rehearsals, and would sometimes show up late or leave earlier because of university, as you claimed.

Which was bullshit. You’ve never let anything come in the way of being with the band before, even when they were just four broke girls with nothing but their love for music. There was no justification for you to do so now.

Your new rebellious behavior certainly had to do with this girl, Saerom, and her bad influence. She’s certainly corrupting you, filling your pretty little head with sweet words and blunt lies.

Karina would end her before letting such a thing happen.

With a subtle touch, the leader signals to Giselle to let you go. The Japanese girl promptly does so: it’s been a few minutes, and your muscles were too fatigued to keep fighting her grip. Although her big hands stay locked on your hips, making sure you’re trapped in her lap.

Not that you mind.

“Saerom is a bad influence on you,” Karina says, after a few minutes of watching your chest’s rapid movements, as you try to gather your breaths. She’s pleased to notice you’re still wearing the golden necklace she gave you, with an A shining in bright gold. “You should stop seeing her altogether.”

An exasperated sigh leaves your lips, and you don’t even fight the urge to laugh at Karina’s demands. “Do you hear how insane you sound?” You only realize they’re all serious when no one joins you in the laughter. “Oh my fucking God. Saerom is the only sane person here! I won’t stop being friends with her just because you fucking want me to.”

“Brat,” Minjeong mutters, narrowing her eyes at you. You’re ready to start screaming once again, but Karina beats you to it.

The leader taps on the table rather impatiently, voice low and husky. “She has to go, Y/n. Minjeong’s right. Stop giving us such a headache and do as you’re told.”

It’s absolutely infuriating, how full of themselves the girls are. How can Karina, Minjeong, Giselle, and Ningning demand anything from you after so many years of blind dedication? You don’t owe them anything, yet they treat you like a rebellious child.

They’ve always driven you mad mad. Being in the girls’ presence meant you were always blushing and acting like an impulsive idiot with as much a subtle glance thrown at you. You’d do anything for it, without asking anything back. For them.

But as you stare at the four girls, the only thing you feel is an anger that settles deep inside your bones. It makes you want to flip the big table they’re sitting around and throw everything they own on the walls.

“I’ve sacrificed so many important events over the past years just to be by your fucking side,” You tell the four pairs of eyes that watch you, brushing your hands on your face. The night had been tiring, and your adrenaline hush was finally fading. “I had to reschedule my wisdom tooth removal three times to attend your shootings and music bank stages. I’ve missed family gatherings and birthdays to be with you. I’m fucking graduating next month, a semester later than expected. My parents are so fucking pissed because of that. Did any of you even know?” The silence is enough of an answer. Not that you even had to ask. “Of course you don’t. You don’t fucking care about anything but yourselves.”

You’ve abdicated so much just to pay Karina, Minjeong, Aeri, and Giselle your endless support. It doesn’t matter if they disagree with your current decisions, you’re under no obligation to follow their expectations nor do everything they wanted you to.

But it seems they’ve become forgetful of that.

“Let me go, Aeri.” You tell the girl, squirming on her lap. When her hands don’t move, you scream. “I said let me go!”

You’re angry at them. For being such possessive assholes. For taking so much while giving so little. For so many things you don’t even know how to express properly.

None of the four girls say anything as you leave. Not even after you brush past them and close the door with a loud noise.

They hate to be wrong, all of them. So they holdonto their pride for a little longer. Surely you’d come back for them soon. You couldn’t stand being apart for too long, they were sure of it.

—

Being bossy is one of your many traits. You’ve always been spoiled rotten: being the only girl born in three generations into a family who loves and supports you in all of your choices ensured you that, even if you were met with some resistance at first, it didn’t take much convincing for all of your wishes to be granted. You’d only have to battle your lashes and shed a few tears and it was yours, no matter how stupid it was.

It’s only natural you’d live up to your stubbornness.

Sure, you still attended the band’s events, recording and providing content as you’ve always done, but things were somehow different, now: it was as though there was a thick wall separating you. The warmth you shared with Karina, Minjeong, Giselle, and Ningning was long gone. You weren’t any different from their other staff, with the short, straightforward answers you’d give to their questions, and they despised it. They wanted your loud, fiery self back. Guilt was eating the girls alive.

So they silently decide that just this time, you’d win.

This time only.

The band’s schedule for the month was packed, but Giselle had managed to cancel a few events so you could finally talk. The Japanese girl isn’t as patient as Karina or adorable as Ningning, but knows you well enough to get your head in the right senses.

When Aeri opens the door to your favorite cafe— the one furthest from your main campus, although still on university grounds, the last thing she expects is for you to have company.

She should’ve thought better. Of course, you’d have that nugu failure of an idol up in your ass. It’s like the two of you are joined at the hip now, anyway.

Giselle’s entire body feels hot, and she’s absolutely fuming. No matter how many deep breaths she takes, nothing makes her less livid as she watches you lean onto Saerom’s touch, laughing so freely with shimmery eyes directed at that useless girl.

This cafe was something like a sanctuary to you. There was something peaceful in the lo-fi beats that echoed through the place, and you’ve lost count of the times you spent hours lost in thought, wondering about the customers' backstories and their orders. You were a regular, and Giselle recalls picking you up nearby a few times.

You look so at ease, eyes shining brightly as you laugh at something Saerom says, clinging onto the idol’s arm. The sight of you, so carefree and happy with someone that isn’t her, Karina, Minejong or Ning is enough for Giselle’s chest to tighten, hands closing onto fists. Her hatred for Fromis’ leader only grows. Hates how she makes you so at ease, how she takes up so much of your time.

Aespa has grown, now— in both popularity and influence. They’re famous and even though they aren’t yet rich, they have much more money than needed. Saerom’s nothing compared to them. Not as beautiful, not as talented, and certainly not as successful. She’s nothing more than a failure, a pathetic girl from a small company who doesn’t give a shit about her group.

So what did she do to have your uttermost attention? Why do you look at her with such adoration, such love? It’s nearly the same way you look at herself, Karina, Winter, and Ningning.

And that can’t happen. You’re theirs; their groupie, their first, most dedicated fan. They’ll be dammed before they have to share you with anyone else.

Saerom pales as soon as she spots Giselle’s confident steps, and she opens her mouth to warn you. The words die on her lips as the fellow idol beats her to it; Before they can even think, Giselle’s in front of you, bracing her arms in front of her chest with a displeased look.

“Look at who we have here.” She twists her mouth in disgust, eyes darting from you to Saerom, who retreats her arm from your chair and goes rigid. “The lovebirds. For someone who claims to be so busy, you sure have a lot of fucking free time for Saerom, don’t you think, Y/n?”

Unlike the poor idol, who trembles under Giselle’s snobbish gaze and seems ready to leave at any cue, you roll your eyes at the guitarist. She doesn’t intimidate you at all, not with the way her hands rest tightly on her hips and the little angry pout in her mouth.

Giselle’ attractive, even more so when she’s being an asshole. Still, her self-entitlement pisses you off more than anything. She thinks she can control you; who you hang out with, and what you do.

Ignoring her pettiness, you gesture to your laptop, to the small journal, and to your camera, all tangled on the table. “I’m studying. Saerom unnie came to help me choose a few clips for my final project.” You click your tongue, typing your password on your laptop so the screen lights up. It takes a few seconds, making it obvious it has been a while since you’ve turned the device on. “It’s due tomorrow, so… you’re kinda interrupting us, unnie. Mind coming back later? We can talk on Friday, after your MBC schedule.”

You do love to rile the girls up anyway, and Giselle falls into your traps quite easily. The only other person that beats her to it is Minjeong— the blonde nightmare.

Giselle’s fist hits the table, not aggressively enough for your stuff to fall but more than necessary to get the attention she wants, despite not you or Saerom attention’s wavering from the girl ever since she set foot in the cafe. She grabs you by the arm, then, still locking eyes with your best friend as you’re lifted from the table

“Me and Y/n are going to have a little talk, ok sunbaenim? We’ll take long, so I suggest you make your way back.” Giselle says, eyes turning darker, “Now.”

Saerom doesn’t need to be told twice. Without a word, your friend grabs her purse and stands up so quickly her chair clicks against the marble floor, sliding noisily. She hesitates, searching for any signs you need her to stay. Giselle’s intimidating, of course, but Saerom would defend you if you asked her to.

“See you later, Y/n.” Saerom murmurs, relaxing her brows after you nod, gesturing for her to go. She gives your shoulder a gentle squeeze, and you think she’s going to lean in and kiss you on the cheek. But Giselle’s grip on your arm is still strong, clinging onto you like you were going to run away at any second. Instead, Saerom nods to both you and Aeri. “Goodbye, Giselle sunbaenim. Have a great afternoon.”

Giselle doesn’t answer, watching as Saerom runs to the door like she’s been struck by lightning.

“You didn’t even let her breathe. Hey!” You complain, being ushered to the restroom as soon as the doorbell rings and the fellow idol is nowhere in sight. “Rude.”

A chuckle dies in your throat as soon as you’re shoved into one of the stalls rather roughly. Giselle’s hands are all over you, then: groping your breasts, your waist, your neck, and your face as she kisses you sloppily. Her fingers roam through your skin with perhaps too much pressure, so hungry and impatient.

Like her bandmates, Giselle only knows how to take. It’s one of the many things she excels on doing. Her touch is possessive and infuriating. Intoxicating.

Deliciously wrong.

“Do you think this is a fucking joke, Y/n?” She asks, gripping your jaw as she whispers into your ear. “Do you seriously think I won’t fuck up your little friend’s entire career if you piss me off with those little games of yours?”

“I’m not doing anything.” You squirm, trying to get out of her grip. The affirmation does nothing to ease her touches— she’s well aware you love playing dumb. “If you mess with Fromis’ image just because I’m friends with Saerom, Giselle, I swear I’ll post that fucking video of you—“

She silences you with another rough kiss, sick of hearing you being so protective of that pathetic girl. Her tongue forces her way onto your mouth, commanding you to open and surrender to all of her wishes.

As usual.

In a swift motion, Giselle turns you around, pressing your face against the cold walls. You feel her body heat behind you, skin nearly throbbing from how angry she is.

“Say her name one more time, Y/n and I fucking will.” She growls, gripping your wrists together so you’re unable to turn around and curse her out to her face. “Test me. Say it, now. It will be my pleasure. Our pleasure. To end her fucking career forever and have you as the one to blame.”

None of her threats are empty— you know she means it. Giselle’s only waiting for a cue, a reason to spread fake rumors and end Saerom’s career once and for all. The laughter that echoes inside the empty restroom is full of mockery, and you wish for nothing more but to turn around and land a punch to the guitarist’s face.

Only you can’t. Not with the way she’s pressing onto you, showing off her mornings spent at the gym. It’s maddening, how hot she is. Giselle’s low, husky breaths pant on the back of your shoulders, and you shudder involuntarily. There’s no way to help it: it’s been so long since she’s touched you like this. You’re both starved, desperate even if you’ll never admit it.

Although it’s easy to notice, from the way her heavy hands grope and twist every inch of skin she finds. You’re easily marked— the girls have always praised you for that. But their marks usually faded as easily as they were made.

Which doesn’t seem like the case, not when she’s biting your lips so harshly. Giselle doesn’t care if she hurts you. It’s what you deserve, after taunting them for so long.

“Fuck, Y/n…” She murmurs, squeezing your breast with her hand. The other one closes around your neck, depriving you of just enough air to make you dizzy. You roll your eyes, panting with pleasure. “You’re so pretty… I can’t wait to make you cry.”

Not at all subtle. Giselle’s message is clear: no one fucks you like I do. Like we do.

Her nails scratch your thighs, wandering dangerously close to your aching spot. You’re both ashamed and annoyed by how much her aggressiveness turns you on. Every word the Japanese girl utters from her mouth is true, you know so: her assertive, possessive traits would never fade, no matter how extreme you judged her actions, sometimes. It’s disgraceful to acknowledge that you want Giselle to ruin you, to make you cry and beg for her to take everything she wishes to and more.

Still, you’re not lost enough to step on your pride just yet.

“Get the fuck away from me!” You turn your face as Giselle pulls your head back and reaches for your lips, trying to push her away after being tugged and turned around like a doll. “Self-entitled bitch. I fucking ha—”

It’s much easier to rebel under her like this: with her taking you from behind, face is hidden by the stall’s poor lightning.

“So you’re not wet, then?” She interrupts your angry banter, smirking as her hands trail lower, unbuttoning your shorts without much care. Her touch, however, is surprisingly soft, thumbs tracing circles on the inside of your thighs. You gulp, trying your best to not let out a moan when she presses her knee against your cunt, pulsating and starved for attention. “You want me to go away, Y/n? It sure doesn’t look like it.”

Giselle’s fingers brush your clit through your panties, tracing circles over your hardened bud as if the two of you have all the time in the world. She laughs when you bite your lip so hard it trails a thin amount of blood, tasting the metallic taste as she drinks from you.

“You’re a j-jerk.”

It’s hard to concentrate when Giselle’s absolutely everywhere; she holds your shirt up, laughing to herself once she’s graced with your bare tits, no bra in sight. She pinches and twists your nipples until they’re red and overly sensible, teeth scratching against your neck before she sinks her teeth, sucking until she’s sure it’ll bruise properly.

Content with your hard time on staying collected, she hums. “Tell me more.”

For someone with such a dirty mouth, she sure knows how to work it. Giselle’s fingers tease your wet cunt, barely applying any pressure on your entrance before retreating completely, as she makes good use of your slick to circle your clit.

Her teasing is unexpected; you moan loudly at her touch, desperately pressing yourself onto Giselle so she’ll give you more.

A cocky smirk appears on her lips at your silent plead. For that, you’re rewarded with more pressure against your throbbing clit. Her strokes become quicker, and the knot in your stomach tightens.

“Will you ask for it? Like a good girl?” She asks quietly, pressing wet kisses against your throat.

Her tone is so innocent and caring, as if she’s not fucking you in a cafe’s restroom, clouding your mind with lust for all the wrong reasons.

You don’t give in, although your head falls back as you lean onto her frame, making it easier for Giselle to mark you as she pleases. “Fuck you.”

Giselle laughs. Her fingers leave your cunt, and she’s tapping your mouth before you can even complain about the absence of her touches. “Open.”

Instead of an eager response, the guitarist’s fingers are met with pouty lips, promptly sealed shut. She’s big on the patience game, but your previous encounter with Saerom has clearly affected her: Giselle’s pupils are blown, and her nails scratch every inch she’s able to reach— close to your breasts, on your lower lip, your shoulders, the inside of your thighs… her marks are everywhere. Claiming, owning you.

A reminder of who you belong to.

Giselle rolls her eyes at your resistance, tightening her grip on your neck. It doesn’t hurt, but it’s enough for your breaths to quicken, feeling lightweight once again. She fastens her strokes on your clit, pressing harsher once you don’t do as told.

“You’re so fucking stubborn. Open. Your. Damn. Mouth.” Both of her hands rest on your hips, with a steady grip that makes you whine in frustration.

There aren’t any coherent thoughts in your mind. The only thing you crave is her touch, and for her to not stop until the warmth that is building up on your lower abdomen explodes into a delicious wave of pleasure, like the orgasms she knows so well how to take from you.

“Aeri…” Your voice is barely a murmur, as you rest your forehead on the crook of her neck and plant small, wet kisses to the corner of her mouth, in attempts of coaxing her into giving in.

But you know she’s not going to until you obey. The way your clit pulsates under Giselle’s hand is both delicious and frustrating. It makes your skin boil, so agonizingly hot you open your mouth, swallowing your pride when she pushes 2 of her fingers down your throat.

“That’s it.” Giselle’s praise send a joint of pleasure straight to your cunt, humming in pleasure as you stare at her with big, teary eyes while sucking on her fingers. It burns on your pride, but lust has long clouded your thoughts. “It’s all for you, sweet girl. You just have to stop fighting it. Stop testing us.”

Damn her, for knowing your body so well.

Giselle’s hand leaves your mouth to slide her fingers inside your dripping cunt. You’d be embarrassed by the sounds her thrusts make, gushing so easily from how drenched you are, but you don’t have it inside to care about that anymore. It’s music to her ears. She’s even more cocky know that she’s sure you can’t resist her, despite being so cold and distant over the past weeks.

“Oh fuck, D-don’t stop.” You moan loudly, lost in the pleasure she’s granting you. Once again, you’re glad she’s taking you from behind; this way you don’t have to look at her face. It’s a great excuse, you tell yourself as she shoves her fingers inside your cunt so fast your vision is clouded by black dots.

Despite your inner thoughts, her smirk burns on your back, and she hums contently while pressing small, wet kisses on your back. “Why not? Are you going to cum?”

You don’t have enough strength to return her provocative banter, too lost in pleasure. Whimpering loudly, you nod, rocking against her hand so you’d get even more friction.

Giselle gets the message, curling her fingers deep in your walls as she watches you closely, hitting all of your sweetest spots. You let out another loud moan, lost in the pleasure she’s granting you.

“Do it, Y/n. Just let go.” She commands, watching you closely. “Cum whenever you want. Just like that, pretty. All over my hands, do it.”

You don’t expect her bossy tone to affect you this much, but it does. At the sound of her voice, you reach your peak, making a mess of the girl’s hand as you grab her hand to prevent her from stimulating you any further. Giselle keeps on fingering you, barely moving her fingers while she waits for you to come down from your high.

You take your time rinding down your orgasm, taking deep breaths as you feel tears cripple down your eyes. You’ll have to deal with Giselle the moment you’ve recovered completely, so you avoid it for as long as possible. The girls’ issue with Saerom has always annoyed you, along with the way they disregard your decisions.

Now that you’re ending a cycle in your life, with graduation just around the corner, you can’t help but acknowledge the fact that it’s time to focus on serious things, like focusing on your professional career instead of following the Aespa girls blindly like you’re used to. You have to set boundaries for yourself and move on.

Except you can’t, and it’s eating you alive.

Giselle locks you into place, preventing you from running like you so desperately want to. You adjust your clothes in silence, trying not to be extremely uncomfortable under her piercing stare. Somehow, you feel even more vulnerable than moments ago, when you were moaning and writhing under the girl’s touches.

They’ve always managed to do that to you— drive you crazy while trying to guess what was going on through their heads. Only you didn’t have the time or energy for that anymore.

And she’s so affectionate— they all are, ever since you met them. It wasn’t uncommon for Karina, Minjeong, Giselle or Ningning’s hands to be caught wandering through your spine, or for them to be ogling your tits whenever you were in the tightest crop tops just to be noticed in their shows.

They found you annoying, pushy even. But you don’t mind. Not as long as they keep seeking your touches and demanding your attention.

Then, there’s Giselle, whose mouth would always wander in places she wasn’t supposed to, be it with a brush of her lips on your ears as she claimed the music was too loud for you to hear her, or the knee that somehow was always pressing onto your cunt, whenever you sat on her lap during guitar lessons.

Possessive but soft. Suffocating, yet still caring and attentive. That’s how she was, how the four girls were. You hated how much they were made for you. How addicting their touches were, and how weak you are for them. It no good, and you shouldn’t, but you’d do anything to have them.

“You’re mistaken if you think we’re going to let you, Y/n. Not after all those years.” She tells you, with a serious face as she gives your waist a tight squeeze. “You’re bounded to us by now. So you can forget that Saerom girl. We’re bigger than her in the industry, and I fucking swear we’re going to ruin her and her group’s life for touching what’s ours. Do you understand?”

Her final words seem to snap you out of your high. You roll your eyes, pushing her out of the stall as you rush out of the restroom, gathering your stuff in record time. You fail to see the guitarist running after you as you leave the cozy café, which is a relief.

All you want at the moment is some peace.

Although it was rather clear that luck wasn’t on your side. While you were with Aeri, it had started pouring, the wind ricocheting droplets of water like small needles crippling on your skin. You curse your past self, who had dressed for a warm day, walking even faster when a loud honk prevents you from cursing any further.

You turn around to see Giselle’s Honda Type R following your steps. She’s watching you closely, with her windows rolled over and one hand on the wheel.

“Don’t be too stubborn,” Giselle tells you. Your teeth are clenched and you shiver under your clothes. Her attentive eyes follow your every move, well aware you’re cold; you’ve always been sensitive, after all.

It’s thundering, you don’t have an umbrella and most important— your many things, but stupid isn’t one of them. With a deep sigh, you open the passenger’s seat, sinking into the seat while refusing to pay her as much as a quick look.

The trip to your house is silent. None of you speak, even though Giselle clearly wants to. Her knuckles turn white from the amount of strength she places on the wheel, and it’s her turn to pout, shaking her head in disapproval. Truthfully, the girls know you’re right: they don’t own you. They’ve grown spoiled to having your full adoration for so long they forgot it was a privilege rather than a demand.

It’s something they reflected about, after you abandoned them backstage on their comeback show. About how little they actually knew about you, and how little effort they put into trying to.

Sure, you were aggressive, stubborn and undeniably irritating, but Karina, Giselle, Minjeong and Winter have always corresponded your actions with twice as much fire, no matter how much they complained. They craved it, craved you.

Despite the deadly silence, you arrive home rather quickly. Not a word was exchanged during the trip— Giselle wouldn’t dare apologize, and you’re nearly sure you’d run her over with that fancy car of hers if she tried to provoke you.

You close the Honda’s door so loudly the entire car roars. Still, you don’t mind. More than that: you don’t even pay her a glance, playing into her games a little too much. It’s a simple one: if you look, you lose.

And you never lose.

So she watches you go, wondering why the distance you’ve placed bothers her so much.

#s.writes #sol.writes #aespa angst #aespa smut #aespa imagines #aespa giselle smut #aespa giselle x reader #aeri uchinaga x reader #aeri uchinaga smut #kim minjeong x reader #karina x fem reader #karina x reader #ning yizhuo x reader #ningning x reader #band.au

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p0rkbun · 1 year ago

Text

APACHE TEARS┊❝Happy Birthday.❞ Chapter 01

─ Sam Carpenter x OC

Synopsis: Alexis forgets her birthday, but she didn't forget to visit her childhood best friend.

Content warnings: bad writing, slow burn, mention of being chased by a dog, original characters, not proofread, other than that there's nothing too serious.

Word count: 3.4k

Before Alexis left Woodsboro, she lived her childhood in the town that was known for its murders in the 90s. Something like that—you don’t expect to live an ordinary life, would you?

A very slim chance you would have a life with no mishaps in a town like that. Even though it has been eleven years since the last murders happened, some crimes occur every now and then. People doing drugs, accidents, assaults, attempted murder, and more. Despite these occurrences, Alexis had gone on with her life, trying to avoid anything that might make her life miserable, and she did. She was smart enough to avoid anything suspicious, including not answering calls from strangers, not going out late at night, having protection, and knowing when someone is planning to mug you.

It was common sense; even a half-brain would know this!

But Alexis wasn’t lucky. Her efforts were all in vain, because not even intuition could stop any misfortune sent to her. Not only did she never felt safe, but she never had any expectations for her own solace.

One day, she caught a blue butterfly around the playground when she was a young girl. The insect had beautiful blue wings—not something you’d see every day—along with its rapid wings that Alexis almost failed to keep up with. The young girl stared at the insect with interest and fascination, wanting to take it home. She didn't, since she knew keeping a butterfly would not last, so she released the creature.

It wasn’t long until a stray and horrifying dog plunged its canine teeth onto the butterfly, ripping its small wings in an instant. The wrecked beauty was nowhere to be seen, already evaporated and chewed by the rabid animal.

Alexis only stared in shock before she took off, frantically fleeing from the dog chasing the poor girl.

Before she knew it, the memories of her first sight of horror were nothing but a faint memory that left her story of how she has cynophobia. Thinking about it now, she thought about how easily a dog can rip a small creature to shreds, thus scaring another one. It was the same thing with humans.

You can easily take someone’s life; for what cause? For your own survival? Pleasure? Revenge? A relief for your buried anger erupting within yourself?

No matter the reasons, the act of killing someone was immoral and will always be something that’s kept with you until the day you breathe your last breath. Even after death.

Years went by in the blink of an eye. Alexis was no longer a little girl but a drowsy looking freshman in college in Modesto, California. She felt like going back to her dorm to sleep, feeling regret seeping in after she accepted the offer from a friend to hang out.

“Aw you already cut your hair? Lame, I already miss your long hair." The charming-looking boy gives Alexis a teasing grin. “You told me to do something new for myself, didn’t you?” Alexis replies with a sigh to Jesse.

Jesse was the first person she met when she moved to Modesto for her college, he was smiley and handsome-looking, and he knew how to dress neatly even for casual hangouts. Coincidentally, the boy was assigned as her roommate. If you met him, he’d be someone with a bit of an obnoxious exterior, but he’s not a bad guy. He’s pretty considerate, Alexis honestly had thoughts of him liking her because of how abnormally nice he is, the other part is him possibly being an asshole underneath that grin. Not the case; however, he's just... slow sometimes.

“Yeah but I didn’t know you were gonna cut your hair!” He exclaimed, “Dude, everybody was literally telling you how long and pretty your hair looked, they’re gonna be devastated if they see you now.” Alexis glances at Jesse “I’m sure it’s not that serious. It’s a matter of time anyway. I don’t know why I kept my hair that long, I feel so much light now.”

“Really? Did having long hair feel heavy?” Jesse asks with genuine curiosity.

“Of course it does,” Alexis said, her face contorted with irritation. “Could you leave the questions later? Where are we even going?” Jesse lets out a sheepish chuckle at the girl’s response.

“Okay, alright! C’mon grumps” He held Alexis’ sleeve and led her to wherever their destination was.

She didn’t pay attention to where Jesse led her; in an instant, they were at a small shop. The sign was detailed in black, and the exterior was full white. They both stepped in and met with the sight of accessories and items. All of them are for school, studying, or just for looking nice via keychains, pins, desk lamps, and more.

“Woah, i didn’t know they had something like this here,” Alexis says with surprise. She looks back up to Jesse “Is this some kind of thing you’re doing to get a date with me?” Jesse snorts. “No way! I know you’re not into me.”

“Then what’s the occasion?”

"C'mon, Al, it’s your birthday!” Alexis blinks at him.

“....It is?” The younger girl thinks, and finally realization hits her. "Shit, I forgot...”

Jesse lets out a small laugh and nudges her arm “That’s kinda funny, how’d you forget your own birthday? Did you not celebrate a lot?” Before Alexis could answer him, Jesse drags her to a shelf and picks out a keychain of a cute looking brown bear. “Cute, right?”

She stares at the pin, rubbing the surface a bit as she inspects it. "Yeah," she mumbles, a wave of nostalgia washing over her. “Weird…I remember getting something like this on my birthday.” The taller boy hums. “A pin?” Alexis shakes her head lightly. "No, the bear.” Jesse stared at her with a perplexed look before he spoke, and his words made Alexis laugh. “You got a bear for your birthday?”

“No, it was a..." Her voice trails before she hums as she tries to recall what it was that reminded her of years ago.

"Actually, I’m not so sure.”

“Happy birthday!” A young girl exclaims with a small gift box in her hands. Ten-year-old Alexis accepts the gift by taking it in her hands. She lifts her head to look at her friend. “You remembered my birthday?” The girl nods and smiles.

Tara was Alexis’ friend, her first and best friend, and she still is as she grows older. She met Tara at the playground when they were about six or seven. Alexis was a year older than Tara, but that didn’t change their close relationship with one another. Tara was the only friend who wanted to talk to her and hang out with her almost every day.

“How could I forget?” She giggles; she holds Alexis’ hand while walking her back into the house. “You got me a bracelet a few months ago when it was my birthday; I wanted the both of us to match!” She beams with happiness when she sees Alexis’ small smile. “But that bracelet was pretty expensive; how’d you manage to buy the same one?” This causes the shorter girl to stammer a bit. "Well….I kinda begged Sam to buy it."

“Tara!”

“What?” Alexis sighs at her. This girl…

“Why’d you have to bother your sister?” She puts the bracelet on her wrist. The bracelet had small fake pearls on it, along with the green-colored string. Honestly, Alexis would consider it a scam since it was too expensive for its looks; it looked pretty, but it didn’t match the price. She only realized that after buying the thing. “It’s fine! Sam didn’t mind, i think... besides she likes you; she even bought you your favorite soy milk on the way home.” Tara says this and hands her friend a soy milk box.

Alexis looks at the box and feels a small burst of joy in her heart. She rarely gets to see Sam, her best friend’s older sister, but she always made her feel comfortable when they were together. She found the older girl cool and sweet; she was a little quiet and scary at times, but it felt nice knowing Sam didn’t mind her. Things have been different for the last year for some reason. She was more distant, but that wasn’t weird for Alexis; she knew people change and get busy sometimes.

Alexis sends Tara an appreciative look before speaking “Could you tell her thanks?”

Tara frowns at the girl. “Hey! You didn’t say ‘thank you’ to me!” She huffs.

“Thank you, you brat.” Alexis rolls her eyes and receives a pinch from Tara for her response. “Ouch stop!” She hisses and pinches Tara back, earning a squeal from the shorter girl. “Ow! I got you a gift and this is what you repay me?!” Alexis dodged Tara’s hand when she tried to pinch her again.

The two ran back to Alexis’ house while giggling and squealing; it wasn’t rare when Tara visited her house. She seems to like being there more than her own home, especially nowadays. Alexis always got her to watch movies or play together.

Alexis snaps out of her daydream and finds herself resting her head on the desk. Memories of her childhood lives fresh in her mind; the ones she could remember vividly were with her best friend. The only memories she wished she could have visited again, being a kid again at least. Everything used to feel so much lighter. Only now, Alexis didn’t wake up and rode her bike around the neighborhood without any worries. Everything was so different; she feels like it was yesterday when she was spending most of her time watching horror movies and hanging out with her best friend. Crazy huh? You never thought time would pass so fast.

The next thing you were a happy kid, not knowing much about the world, until you grew up feeling bitter about things. Sometimes you wish you were a dumb kid who doesn’t know any better again.

Tara sent you a message.

Tara ♥️: Happy birthday lexi

Tara ♥️: I wish I got you something :( I know you’re busy and stuff. You gonna come to visit?

Alexis smiles at the text.

Lex: Yeah I will dw

Lex: Now stop being sad, be ready tmr Im gonna visit my dad first before you

Tara ♥️: Im not first? Wowww i thought im your first in everything. Finally over your best friend huh

Lex: Cmon you know I love you, I just love my dad more

Tara ♥️: You’re an asshole come quick before i hate you forever

Lex: You won’t

On the other side of the screen, Tara's lips curled into a bright smile. After a few months, she finally got to see her best friend again. It hasn’t been long, but it felt like a while for Tara, and it made her anxious. Alexis knew Tara wouldn’t like this distance between them, especially after…

No, let’s not.

But Alexis didn’t have a choice nonetheless; her dad didn’t want her in that town, and deep inside, she agreed with him. She could have brought Tara with her, but she doesn’t really have the requirements currently. So they both settled, visiting Tara once or twice every few months until she could kidnap her and put her in her pocket to live with her in Modesto. Doing it in a friendly way, of course.

Before leaving, Alexis decides to take a trip to the convenience store to buy some things for her ride. Driving came to mind, but she brushed it off, thinking it was too much of a hassle, and decided to take the bus instead.

Upon arriving at the store and stepping in, her mind wonders as she browses through the shelves, picking up a drink and a small snack. She thinks about how Tara’s been doing without her for the past few months. Alexis had the tendency to worry about the younger girl, even if she had others with her back at Woodsboro. Her thought was cut short when another person came to mind.

“hm…I wonder where Sam is and how she’s doing now.” She mumbles to herself; eventually, she purchases her drink and snack before exiting the store to wait for the bus.

How long has it been since Alexis saw Sam? She doesn’t know; she forgot when the older girl disappeared so suddenly. How did she even feel? She doesn’t remember.

With each passing day, Alexis would sometimes wonder what Sam was doing. Probably living her life peacefully without any disquietude. Or not.

The sound of a text message makes her stop halfway to the bus station. Alexis pulls out her phone to see Jesse’s message pop up.

Hey sorry but I left something somewhere and I’m a bit busy right now to get it.

I know you’re going to visit your family today but could you get my headphones and hold on to them for a while until you get back? Its at the bowling alley, you know, the one next to the gas station. Thanks 😀

This little…

Whatever, only 15 minutes remain until the bus arrives. This wouldn’t be so bad; make it really quick.

Alexis jogs to the bowling alley and enters through the door while receiving a greeting from a tall girl at the desk. “Welcome to Cardinal Lanes; how may I help you?” As Alexis approaches the desk, she takes in the tall girl’s appearance for a moment.

She was tall and had her black hair with brown highlights tied into a bun. Her eyes were dark brown, and she had tan skin, along with a rather expressionless face when Alexis entered, but a small smile formed on her face to be appealing and polite.

"Hi, sorry, a friend of mine left something here. Headphones with light-green and grayish colors?” Alexis rushed, not wanting to miss the bus; her voice was breathless from running.

The tall girl nods. “Oh yeah sure, I think I know what you’re talking about. Wait for a moment, miss.” She disappears into the back room for a moment before coming back with Jesse’s headphones.

“Here–” Alexis cuts her off, “Thanks so much—sorry I’m in a rush." She takes the headphones from her and pauses to look up at the woman.

Alexis can’t help but feel sympathy for the stranger; she looked tired as if she’s been working all day every day. Yet she tried to put on an expression to look winsome for the place’s policy and pleasing customer service—something like that.

A rush of thoughts swirled in Alexis’ mind. Funny how she was in a rush, but for some reason she wanted to make this stranger’s day a bit better. This always happens; at the most critical moments, most times, Alexis has this thing of wanting to cheer a stranger up when she sees them down. She knew she needed to mind her own business about whatever miserable thing was going on with somebody unknown to her in their lives. But would you cheer up this tall, pretty, and downhearted-looking girl even if you’re in a rush?

Shit what the hell do I do? What am I doing? I don’t have any time for this. But she looks kinda sad. What the hell…okay stop staring at her like a weirdo.

The tall girl furrows her brows in confusion at Alexis, feeling a bit anxious and flustered at this random Asian girl staring in silence.

“Is there something wrong, Miss?” She asks while her dark brown eyes linger on Alexis.

Alexis blinks and averts her gaze for a split second. “Um yeah, sorry uh…” She stammers before swiftly pulling out a bear pin that she bought that morning and placing it firmly in the stranger’s hands. “Sorry uhm, here’s something of my gratitude for your service—thanks again, bye!” Before she could reply anything back, Alexis had already bolted out of the bowling alley.

The bowling alley attendant frowns at what just happened. She looks at the pin in her hands, her expression puzzled. Weird girl…. she thought. Unknown to Alexis, she probably made someone’s day a little better with her small act of kindness.

Upon arriving at Woodsboro, Alexis feels a sense of familiarity with the town. As much as she doesn’t like it, she misses some of the aspects of the place.

Throughout the ride, Alexis felt the need to jump out of the bus and into a ditch because of her awkwardness earlier. Being back at the place where she grew up took her mind off that for a while.

“Hey dad,” Alexis says to the phone with a bright smile, feeling excited to see her father again after months.

“Lexi? Honey, hey, how are you?” Dewey’s voice was heard through the phone, his soft tone making Alexis smile wider.

“I’m doing fine; I’m visiting you today.” Silence fell momentarily; this made Alexis a little nervous before Dewey spoke again.

“Honey…I told you not to come here.” He sighs through the phone, making Alexis feel a little guilty. “I know but I just wanted to see you." She responded as she walked along the sidewalk; it still brightened out as the sunlight hit Alexis’ face, causing her to squint. “I’m only visiting for a few days; I’m planning to stay at Tara’s house.”

“Oh Alexis… you know I don’t like that.”

“What’s wrong? I thought you like Tara?” Her response causes him to exhale deeply. "You have to understand that even though I like her and she’s nice for you, I find it difficult to get a good night's sleep knowing that you are here at someone else's house." Alexis lets out a small sigh as she listens to her father’s words.

“I’m not staying at ‘somone’s’ house,” “I know, I know." "Dad, c’mon...”

Dewey goes silent for a bit, waiting for what his daughter has to say. “Dad… I know a lot has happened here, and a lot has happened with you and me as well, but things aren’t like that anymore. It’s been ten years, and nothing strange has happened—no ghostfaces, no killers. I’m not blaming you for being paranoid, but I want to spend time with you without the thought of another murder happening.”

“I just wanted to see you. Don't you miss me, dad?” Alexis’ words hit Dewey like tree logs crushing a brittle shed. He lets out a sigh before chuckling a bit.

“You didn’t have to say that to your old man; of course I missed you.” He smiles on the other side of the phone before continuing, “Alright, I’ll let you stay, but you’ll leave first thing in the morning on your last day, and make sure to see me.”

Alexis hums. “I will. I’m going to go see you right now, later, Dad.”

“Stay safe, sweetheart.” With that, Alexis hung up and was about to continue walking until she was met with familiar black hair in her sight.

The girl stood in front of her with a grin—Alexis could recognise that smile everywhere. She didn’t expect her to be the first face she'd see once she stepped into this morbid town.

“Well, look who’s back in town.” She laughs, grinning wider, and steps closer to Alexis. “Haven’t seen you in a while; it’s nice seeing you again.” She said in a low tone, her voice sounded sweet.

Alexis gave Amber an acknowledging and surprised expression. She feels a tingly feeling in her stomach—not a good one. It’s a feeling similar to when someone you aren’t that fond of meets you on your way to your destination. Or when a teacher calls your name to ask a question about the lesson you learned but didn’t bother to remember, feeling like your heart stopped for a second. She feels dread for some unknown reason; she always has bad energy whenever she’s with Amber. It’s not because she’s sort of got this bad girl's agenda or that she has a violent way of expressing anger.

Amber is awfully nice to Alexis, and she doesn’t like that.

If somebody is nice to you, you wouldn’t be feeling a sense of dread. So, why?

It’s always been like this with them; Alexis always felt something was wrong with that girl, and it’s a little messed up to think that.

“What’s with that face?” Amber tilts her head, her eyes lingering on Alexis.

Alexis needed to make this quick before she vomits from anxiety.

— Note: thank you if you managed to read this whole ridiculous thing 🥹 You're probably wonder about Amber and Alexis, they have a complicated relationship which will be revealed more into the story. I'll have to make a new character biography for Alexis soon lol.

#sol.writes #sam carpenter #sam carpenter x reader #sam carpenter x oc #sam carpenter x original character #samantha carpenter x original character #scream oc #scream original character #scream #scream x original character #scream franchise #scream 5 #wlw #samantha carpenter

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leejungchans · 2 years ago

Text

seventeen’s reaction to the camera panning to them when their idol!s/o is on stage

༉‧₊˚✧ for my 1k event !

requested by anon : may i req svt reactions w/ idol s/o? you can decide on the scenario but cld i also add a detail that their relationship is public? thank you and congratulations once again!!!

a/n: hehe ty to the other anon who gave me the idea for the scenario <33 our braincells really clicked 🤝 i hope you both like this!!

word count | 1k

pairing | seventeen x gn!reader

genre | fluff, idol au

warning(s) / includes | none (please lmk if i missed anything!)

⋆͛♡⋆͛ seungcheol

gets so, so shy because he was literally caught in 4k with the biggest, goofiest smile on his face. look, it’s not his fault you decided to throw in a cute wink during your part. the second he realises he’s on the big screens, the fans start screaming and he turns bright red in .2 seconds, though the smile on his face is unwavering even as he covers his face. gets teased a lot by the guys after. (“look at coups acting all cute.”)

⋆͛♡⋆͛ jeonghan

totally unfazed. what, did you expect something else from yoon jeonghan? when they pan to him after your solo dance break, he simply makes eye contact with the camera and gives an approving nod with a grin on his face, which only makes the fans scream louder. he’s proud of you and he’s completely unapologetic with showing it.

⋆͛♡⋆͛ joshua

has his signature (⊙.⊙) look when he realises he got caught staring at the big screen after your part with literal heart eyes. you can't blame his inability to even hide his fondness when you’re the cause—you just look so captivating in your stage outfit and you’re absolutely killing the performance he knows you worked so hard for, who else is he supposed to look all smitten for? probably gives a goofy lil thumbs-up to the camera (because he doesn’t know how else to react) that you’ll definitely clown him for later when you scroll through twitter.

⋆͛♡⋆͛ jun

probably doesn’t even realise he was on the big screens the first time it happens because he’s so absorbed in your performance. only finds out when minghao, who was sitting next to him, told him about it. the cameramen definitely do it again though, and this time he notices just how smitten he looks as your group goes up on stage to receive an award. not that he’s complaining.

⋆͛♡⋆͛ soonyoung

another member who doesn’t get shy. like, at all. he’s jamming out to the rearranged version of your most recent release when they suddenly switch to put him on the big screens, while he’s still in the middle of nodding his head along to the music and excitedly mouthing to the lyrics. horanghaes when the fans start cheering because…well, he loves you. <3

⋆͛♡⋆͛ wonwoo

he’s observant, so he notices he’s being put on the big screen almost right away, but he pretends he doesn’t. he just prefers not to make a big deal out of it and take the attention away from your performance, so he keeps clapping along to the music until the camera eventually pans away. but once you look at the clip more closely after the show, you’d notice the rosy tint to his ears and the barely noticeable curl of his lips.

⋆͛♡⋆͛ jihoon

another member who’s blissfully unaware of the fact that he was put on the big screens. he’s always so focused on the music during other performances, but especially when it’s you up there. he’s so busy watching you on stage that he doesn’t even notice his face plastered on the huge screens. one of the guys tells him when it’s gone, and it’s then when it clicks why the fans had screamed so loudly. gets a little flustered for the next few minutes, but it’s in the past so he doesn’t linger on it too much.

⋆͛♡⋆͛ seokmin

he’ll always be your biggest supporter, so once the cameramen see him happily singing along to your group’s song like a true fan they immediately turn the camera around to film him. he gives the camera a huge smile and thumbs-up, though if it focuses on him a little too long he’d point back to the stage as a way to tell them to film your performance instead, because you’re always the main character in his eyes. you two end up trending everywhere for being couple goals.

⋆͛♡⋆͛ mingyu

uh-oh. the camera would catch him right when he’s biting down on his lower lip seductively because he’s just so blown away by how you look, not just in terms of your outfit but also from how you’re oozing with sheer confidence. goes from 100 to 0 the second he realises he’s been caught, and it definitely leads to him being mercilessly teased by his members. probably even earns a few laughs from his other idol friends, which makes him revert back into shy puppy mode and hide behind his members.

⋆͛♡⋆͛ minghao

he’s subtly mouthing along to your lines when the camera unexpectedly pans over to catch his reaction due to your recent dating news. his eyes widen a little and he freezes for a split second because he’s not sure how to deal with the sudden attention, especially when the audience starts screaming. but he recovers quickly and gives a little wave before the camera pans back to the stage, a soft blush on his cheeks as he devotes his full attention back to your performance.

⋆͛♡⋆͛ seungkwan

as one of the most supportive, outgoing idols in the industry, absolutely no one is surprised when he jumps up and claps happily when you win an award. all cameras are on you both as you walk past where seventeen are sitting on your way to the stage, capturing the huge smiles you send each other. they show his face on the big screen sometime during your speech, and everyone can tell how whipped he is from his starry eyes while he watches you like the proud boyfriend he is.

⋆͛♡⋆͛ vernon

:man_standing: personified. he’s just trying to vibe to your performance in peace, so when they unexpectedly project his face onto the big screens he’s so startled. still, he acknowledges the camera and gives an awkward little smile and ✌🏻 before turning back to the stage, hoping they will pan away from him soon enough. it’s cute, i promise, and you’d definitely find him really endearing once someone shows you the video.

⋆͛♡⋆͛ chan

he’s so absorbed in your performance that he doesn’t notice, especially not after your group’s dance break. one of the others nudges him when they see him appear on the screens, so he turns to face the camera and gives his signature :] smile. he’s a little perplexed from being put on the spot so suddenly, but he tries not to show it. gets more and more flustered the longer the camera lingers on him and probably bursts out laughing to brush off the embarrassment.

if you enjoyed my writing, please take a little time to reblog and give feedback to support it <3 interact with content creators please !

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leejungchans · 2 years ago

Text

seventeen as streamer boyfriends

༉‧₊˚✧ for my 1k event !

requested by anon : is streamer au on the table for the 1k event :0 if it is then can i request hcs of svt as ur streamer bf :3 if not then u can just ignore this / change it up , no worries !! thenkuu n congrats on the 1k :D

a/n: thank you so much for the well wishes and for requesting 💗 i hope you like this and i had a lot of fun writing this!!

word count | 1.6k

pairing | seventeen x gn!reader

genre | fluff, streamer au

note | i’m not a gamer by any means so there’s a lot of gaming terminology/games that idk, so most of the games mentioned here i looked up online 💔 also tyty to my lovely nny @joshuas @seungcy for helping me w some of these <3

warning(s) / includes | mild swearing, food mentions

⋆͛♡⋆͛ seungcheol

definitely a gamer. gets really, really competitive and probably lets a few muttered curses slip when he loses, before realising he’s streaming live and turns to the camera with an innocent smile, like “if you’re a child please pretend you never heard anything ☺️”. no one’s really complaining though because he’s attractive when he’s frustrated, especially whenever his jaw clenches and he rolls up his sleeves before starting over. his viewers always know when you’re around because he always has the most lovesick smile as he looks off-camera and mouths something to you, usually a “hi, baby” or asking if you want to come say hi to everyone. he’s literally soooo boyfie and his viewers always joke about wanting to steal him from you…that is, until you started appearing more in his streams and now they want to steal you, which makes him so pouty.

⋆͛♡⋆͛ jeonghan

mostly games during his streams and yells when he loses or dies unexpectedly, his viewers don’t really mind because his yells sound really cute. sometimes he’ll join public servers and when he comes across snobby, entitled kids he makes it a very personal mission to humble them. “hannie, did you just make another twelve-year-old rage quit?” “mm…maybe…” prefers to keep your identity private, but during some particularly stressful games he’ll ask for cuddles and his viewers can see him wrapping his arms around your torso, squishing his cheek against you with a pout on his face while he whines about how hard the game is. a menace (affectionate), will have asmr streams just so he can suddenly scream and scare the shit out of everyone, no one knows why they still fall for it.

⋆͛♡⋆͛ joshua

the softest, most wholesome streamer. everyone wants him and wants to be him. streams a wide variety of content from baking and cooking to jamming sessions where he plays his guitar and covers different songs. regardless, his streams always look really aesthetically pleasing, especially during his jamming sessions when he changes his colour-changing light to blue or purple for the ~vibes~. everyone loves his voice because it’s so dreamy and melodic, so despite him involving sunday morning in every. single. stream. no one tells him to stop. talks about you all the time and it’s just so painfully obvious how in love he is because everything reminds him of you. “i’m making ___ for dinner because it’s their favourite”, “i saw a really cute cat today and it looked so much like them”, “i wonder when they’ll be home, they’ve been gone for a while”. (it’s only been half an hour…)

⋆͛♡⋆͛ jun

another gamer! usually pretty quiet when he’s gaming except when he lets out loud groans or yells after losing, think jeonghan’s asmr from hell except in jun’s case the sudden sounds are unintentional 😭 when he gets especially heated he starts rambling or swearing in mandarin and it’s so fast that barely anyone can catch what he’s saying. takes a break from gaming by streaming more chill content, like answering his viewers’ questions while inviting you to take the most absurd buzzfeed quizzes with him like “which unpopular pizza topping matches your personality”. makes your stomach hurt from laughing every time because he gets oddly (yet endearingly) defensive about the results since they’re never accurate. (“what the fuck is ‘anchovy’ supposed to mean???”)

⋆͛♡⋆͛ soonyoung

tried to play the more intense games like league of legends, call of duty and five nights at freddy’s before realising they’re not really his thing, so now he streams himself playing animal crossing and it’s soooo wholesome. his house is tiger-themed from the wallpaper to the flooring to the decor, and his viewers are 120% supportive of his mission to collect all the tiger villagers for his island for max horangi power 🐯✊ sometimes you’ll play too and it’ll consist of at least ten minutes of you two chasing and whacking each other with your nets while giggling manically. he also started occasionally streaming him dancing or creating new choreographies and his duality always shocks those who are new to his channel.

⋆͛♡⋆͛ wonwoo

the Ultimate™ gamer bf, you can’t change my mind—he was made for this au. sometimes he’s so focused on the game that he forgets he’s streaming and all you hear is the sound of furious typing, but he makes up for it by looking cute in the cat-ear headphones that you got him. you didn’t expect him to wear them while streaming, but ever since you gifted him those headphones he has never gone back to his previous ones. he later bought you the same cat-ear headphones but in a different colour so you could match <3 gives really good advice when he’s chatting to his viewers in between games and they love how soft-spoken and wise he is.

⋆͛♡⋆͛ jihoon

most of his streams are him pulling all-nighters in his studio working on music, even if he’s not particularly chatty in those times he still really appreciates having his viewers’ company because it can sometimes get lonely being cooped up inside :( but ever since he started dating you, you make frequent appearances on his streams to chat with his viewers while holding his hand as he works <3 if he’s feeling cheeky he’ll tease his soon-to-be-released song (everyone went crazy over “shit, this is red too”). somehow became friends with soonyoung which treated his viewers to interesting autotuned raps about being a tiger……rawr.

⋆͛♡⋆͛ seokmin

has the voice of an angel, so he blesses us mortal folk by streaming his heavenly song covers. brings his friends (cough, joshua, cough) to sing duets with him whenever possible. the sweetest boy on the platform and does his best to respond to every live comment even though they whizz by so quickly </3 it’s impossible to feel sad when you’re watching his streams, every bit of him radiates positive energy. occasionally does more lifestyle-esque streams, usually of you two running errands together. one time you two rated all the dogs you came across on the street from 1-10. (spoiler: every dog got 11)

⋆͛♡⋆͛ mingyu

the malewife of the platform who games occasionally. his viewers think it’s both hilarious and adorable when a beefy, six-foot man curls up into a tiny ball while playing horror games. (playfully) flirts with his viewers and gives the camera seductive glances, but panics when it leads to a sudden influx of tips and begs people to stop giving him money 😭 constantly demands cuddles and kisses when he loses a game. his viewers love watching his cooking streams where he tests out new recipes because it’s really just him doing 90% of the work but still acting like you won masterchef for cutting one (1) onion. never gets annoyed when you sneak bites of food in between preparations, he thinks you’re cute <3

⋆͛♡⋆͛ minghao

think modern bob ross where he invites his viewers to grab a snack and relax as he paints whatever inspires him in the moment. everyone is begging for a closet tour at this point because he’s never worn a bad outfit from the day he started his channel. asmr not from hell: also does streams where he makes paint from scratch because the sounds of him grinding pigments or his palette knife gently scraping against the glass are very soothing. occasionally he’ll invite you to do cute couple challenges with him, like following a bob ross video but with audio only which always ends in a fit of contagious giggles during the moment of truth.

⋆͛♡⋆͛ seungkwan

such a sweet person :( is here to have a good time, so he’s pretty active and loves doing chatty streams where he plays trivia games with his viewers. keeps up with the gossip especially if you’re a long-time viewer, will absolutely ask you for updates on your pet goldfish stacy. did you buy her a bigger tank like you said you would last time? regularly streams with vernon where they play games like quiplash, questions their friendship and his life every time vernon comes up with a cursed answer. his viewers love whenever you join him while he’s watching true crime documentaries, there’s just something so endearing about you two stuffing your faces with snacks while complaining about how incompetent the authorities responsible for those unsolved cases were.

⋆͛♡⋆͛ vernon

unbothered king, here for the vibes. @/seungcy says he’s the type to play valorant and stare into the camera like 😳 when he wins. has really good taste in music and graphic tees, probably has tons of vinyl records lying in the back or hanging on the walls. makes seungkwan heavily question their friendship with his quiplash answers. started weekly movie watches because he’ll take any excuse to rewatch the shrek movies. the two of you are also on a mission to rank the barbie movies though you always get distracted by the songs and end up belting them at the top of your lungs. it’s okay, his viewers forget about your rankings too because you look so cute resting your head on his shoulder with his hand on your knee <3 (island princess has yet to be dethroned)

⋆͛♡⋆͛ chan

kinda sucks at games (affectionate) but he makes up for it with determination and perseverance, and his viewers let it slide because he’s cute. asks for game recommendations and regrets it every time because people won’t stop making him play the spooky ones. is terrified and flinches at the tiniest noises but will vehemently deny it. no one is allowed to bring up the time he screamed when you barged into the room asking him what type of pizza to order. also likes watching romance movies/shows while you’re wearing your matching hoodies and cuddling. if you see him crying at the sad parts just move along and don’t point it out <3 he’s cute ig.

a/n: writing this was fun!! tysm for reading and i hope you liked it!!

please reblog and/or give feedback if you enjoyed my writing ! support the creators and content you wish to continue seeing <3

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leejungchans · 3 years ago

Text

seventeen as new parents

༉‧₊˚✧ for my 1k event !

requested by @joshuas : i would also like to request hehe for a small parent au headcanon (maybe like when they first become parents </3) with svt </3

a/n: hihi shuawife <333 thank you for the req and i hope you’ll like this hehe 💓 requests open until june 1, see this post for more details/guidelines if interested <3

word count | 2k

pairing | seventeen x afab!reader

genre | fluff, parents au

warning(s) / includes | food mentions (please lmk if i missed anything!)

୨୧ seungcheol

he’d be so fascinated by your baby :(( they’re just so small and tiny and he’s so in love :(((

he knows he’s strong so he’d constantly be worried about doing something wrong, like accidentally holding your baby too tightly or in the wrong position, but you’re always there to reassure him

literally has the proudest dad smile no matter what your baby does. it doesn’t matter if it’s the bare minimum—they’re his child and he will be there to smother them in affection >:(

makes a spit bubble? proud dad. yawns for the first time? proud dad. grabs his hair and yanks? proud dad. takes their first step? proudest. dad. <33

so. many. cuddles. he’d never let go of your baby if he could

he’d love holding them close to his chest as they’re napping so he can quietly admire them, gently tracing a finger over their tiny features and smiling when they yawn

୨୧ jeonghan

jeonghan would not be afraid to make a fool out of himself just to get your baby to smile :(

coos a lot to your baby and playfully squishes their cheeks (see: that video of him and soonyoung with chan)

“peek-a-BOO!” “goochie goochie goo~”

definitely also does the airplane thing whenever he’s feeding them, makes mealtimes more fun <3

he has infinite patience, and even if your baby makes a huge mess he’s never annoyed

“oh, you’re a little troublemaker, aren’t you?”

“i wonder where they got that from, yoon jeonghan.”

he loves lifting your baby up in the air while calling them his little angel :(

jeonghan very much radiates calm excitement, really eager to spend time with them and at the same time always has the situation under control

he’s yoon jeonghan, what else do you expect <3

୨୧ joshua

serenades your baby all. the. time.

your baby grew up in the womb listening to sunday morning <3 they’ll probably be able to recite it word for word eventually

but as much as you love teasing him for his neverending sunday morning agenda, it helps lull your baby to sleep faster so who’s complaining?

gets one of those baby carriers that you strap across your chest so he can go around doing errands while having your baby close to him at the same time :’)

one of his hands is restocking your fridge with groceries and the other is giving your baby head rubs

dad jokes for days, like actually

“why can’t leopards hide? because they’re always spotted.” “joshua, i love you, but oh my god…”

the first time your baby wrapped their tiny fist around his finger, he looked over at you with the widest eyes and biggest smile

“darling, did you see that? they’re so tiny 🥺”

yes, he teared up a bit but can you blame him? he loves kids and loves the fact that he now has one with you even more <3

୨୧ jun

jun’s the fun dad <3

he’d love dressing up as/pretending to be different characters to make your baby laugh

sometimes his performances baffle your baby more than anything, but them staring at him with widened eyes is just as cute :(

whenever something unexpected happens, he’d panic a bit at first, but just as quickly regain his composure and try to find a solution because he wants you to rest as much as possible without being overwhelmed with a ton of questions </3

strikes a perfect balance between letting your baby roam and experience as many things as they can, and spending more tender, quiet moments with them

one moment he’s putting on a one-man puppet show for your baby, and the next they’re napping together on the couch with their chubby cheek squished against his chest <3

୨୧ soonyoung

please, he’s practically overflowing with excitement <3

the thought of you two expanding your family and having mini-me’s running around the house makes him so, so happy

let’s be honest—he definitely wants a ton of kids

two words: tiger. onesies.

you take a short nap and wake up to your baby tiger on your chest smiling at you

he’d be such a positive dad, always there to celebrate your baby’s little wins and to encourage them during an oopsies moment

there’s never a dull moment between these two because he’s always your child’s biggest fan

your baby’s destined to be a dance prodigy: the moment they can stand they’re already bouncing along to the song he’s playing

he spends all day teaching them how to horanghae so that one day they can do it together. sorry, i don’t make the rules <3

୨୧ wonwoo

oh, he’s prepared

of course there are no set rules to parenting, but he definitely knows what to expect

he’d read as many books as he can, so by the time your baby arrives he knows how to help and lessen your stress <3

while his excitement doesn’t always manifest externally, it doesn’t mean he isn’t giddy about welcoming a new addition to the family, because he most certainly is

often, you’ll walk in on a sight that makes you feel fuzzy and warm—your baby snuggled comfortably in his arms as he reads to them in his gentle, calming voice

when your baby starts learning how to grab stuff, they’ll constantly be trying to take his glasses off as he’s cradling them

in those moments, the laugh he lets out is genuine and clear, and he almost always lets them have it for a bit <3 (under his careful watch so they don’t hurt themselves)

୨୧ jihoon

he definitely worries a lot especially as your due date approaches, because he wants everything to be perfect for both you and your baby </3

sometimes his concerns can overwhelm him as he juggles work and being the best father to your child

but they melt away almost instantly whenever he sees you rocking your baby to sleep, whenever he looks into their round, curious eyes; immediately reminded of how lucky he is to have a family with you

when your baby is old enough, he’ll take them with him to his studio so you can have some me-time at home

he’s trying his best to stay focused, he swears, but he keeps getting distracted by how adorable your child looks as they stare at his equipment in wonder ☹️

“do you want to say something into the mic, sweetheart?” [unintelligible baby noises] “thank you, that was beautiful.”

proceeds to play the recording to anyone he crosses paths with

୨୧ seokmin

another member who’s practically vibrating with excitement

his happiness was already contagious even before you welcomed a baby, but after? you can feel it from the next room 🥺

truly rivalling your pregnancy glow with his new dad glow ✨ though he makes sure that everyone knows you’re the main character

100% lifts your baby up in the air like they’re simba, it’s cute and it makes them squeal with glee <3

gently tickles your baby a lot because he thinks the little giggles they let out are the most beautiful thing he’s heard

tries to cheer them up when they're crying by making silly faces :(

insists on singing your baby to sleep every night. sometimes you just like to observe from the doorway of the nursery so they can bond

he cradles your baby in his arms while singing softly, the slow rocking movements and his sweet voice lulling them to sleep within minutes ;-;

୨୧ mingyu

the golden retriever energy is through the roof :( he’s just so, so, so happy to be a dad

he has tons of nicknames for your baby: honey, sweetie, sprout, pumpkin… the list goes on

honestly, there isn’t a thing this man wouldn’t do for you and your baby—he built the crib, he painted the nursery, he packed your hospital bag, he learnt how to change their diapers…

as your baby gets older, your place will be completely baby-proofed

if your little angel will be anything like him (ie: inherit some of his clumsiness), he needs to make sure they don’t bump into sharp edges as they’re exploring 😞

another member who’s extra, extra careful whenever he’s holding his baby, because the last thing he’d want to do is hurt them :(

probably gets teary or cries every time your baby wraps a hand around his finger because they’re just!! so tiny!!!

୨୧ minghao

another member who likes being extremely prepared throughout the course of your pregnancy

he tries his best to stay calm through everything because he doesn’t want to add to your worries :(

even during the worst tantrums he never loses his patience with your baby, simply continuing to rock them in his arms with a gentle smile on his face

when they finally stop, he gives them a little kiss on the forehead to comfort them <3

your baby is better dressed than some people are 😌

he likes to buy cute outfits for them, it doesn’t matter if people point out that babies grow out of their clothes really quickly

bonus if he coordinates his (and your) outfits to theirs so you always look like the best-dressed family whenever you’re out in public together

he’d also like doing something artistic with your baby once they’re older, like letting them try finger painting or moulding stuff using clay

proudly displays their creations all around the house afterwards <3

୨୧ seungkwan

he documents every step of the way so you’ll have lots of photos and videos of your baby to look back on <3

on that note, he absolutely has a photo of you holding your baby as his lock screen

definitely really, really emotional about being new parents with you and swears up and down that he’s going to be the best dad

gives the best reactions to anything your baby does, the “you’re doing amazing, sweetie!” energy personified

sometimes he can be a tad overprotective over his baby, but all for good reason because he never wants anything bad to happen to them :(

he talks to them a lot even if they’re just a baby and can’t understand anything, it still doesn’t stop him from telling them about his day in a soft voice while rocking them to sleep, it’s his way of bonding with them ;-;

“the choreography was a little hard, but uncle chan’s helping me with it… oh, you’re getting sleepy, aren’t you? sweet dreams, little one”

୨୧ vernon

vernon’s the cool dad

in the beginning he might flail around and panic a bit with tasks like changing your baby’s diapers or trying to feed them, but he quickly gets the hang of it <3

eventually he’s completely unfazed and probably bopping his head along to some music while changing their diapers 😭

he’s just so, so endeared by your baby that everything they do makes him grin widely

lets your baby make small decisions for him for fun

“should i order noodles or a burger?” [baby noises] “noodles it is, you’re so right, sweetheart.”

once your baby is older, he’d love taking them on late-night bus rides, your baby tucked securely in his arms as they peer out the window

he points places out to them too <3 “that’s where uncle seungkwan and i go out to eat a lot” “that’s where i got you your cat plushie”

speaking of cats, definitely shows your baby a ton of cat videos :(

୨୧ chan

oh, chan…

he loves kids so he’d be so, so excited to be a dad :(

he’s a very animated storyteller, so whenever he tells your baby a story it always makes them giggle because of how energetic he is

probably calls your child “baby dinosaur” </3 liddol baby crongs </3

they’d have the cutest cheeks and he always squishes them

obviously your baby would show a passion for dancing since a very young age

he’s over the moon when he sees them bounce along to the song playing on tv, immediately showering them in hugs and kisses while proudly remarking to you they’re going to grow up to be an even better dancer than him 🥺

if you bring them along with you to visit him at practice? he’d be even more determined to give it his all because he wants to look cool in front of your baby ;-;

much like how he’s always the others’ biggest supporter, no one’s a bigger fan of your baby than him and he’s always showering them in praises :(

a/n: watched the clip of baby chan with his brother again, -12/10 would not recommend, extremely devastated rn 😞 also this is my first time writing headcanons so please go easy on me <3

if you enjoyed my writing, please take a little time to reblog and give feedback to support it <3 it tells content creators what you like and motivates them to keep creating for you <3

3K notes · View notes

leejungchans · 3 years ago

Text

prove it, you won’t : h.js

word count | 19k (I AM SO SORRY)

pairing | joshua hong (svt) x female reader

warning(s) / includes | mentions of needles and getting tattoos, hospitals and common sickness, past breakups, food, alcohol (but no drinking) ; swearing ; 1-2 biting jokes/innuendos ; uses of ‘darling’ and ‘princess’ as pet names

genre | fluff, angst, humour, tattoo artist au, slowburn (?), flirty shua which is a genre in and of itself

note | part 3 of the fallin’ flowers series; based on tattoo artist!shua from the secret language of flowers; can be read as a stand-alone ; appearances by some characters from the other parts ; please forgive any potential inaccuracies with joshua and reader’s jobs </3

summary: stumbling upon a new tattoo parlour shouldn’t lead to so many complications in your love life. that is, until you met joshua hong.

a/n: she’s finally here!!!!!! again i’m beyond sorry for the extremely long wait :( writing this was tough due to both personal and writing difficulties, but i’ve read every single comment on the previous two parts of this series and i hope you know that all your incredibly sweet words motivated me a lot 💗 thank you so much for your patience and i hope this is somewhat worth the wait!! feedback is highly, highly appreciated as it keeps me going <333 enjoy!!

Sometimes, you wish Joshua Hong wasn’t so good at his job.

People always warn against being rude to tattoo artists because they’re the people who dictate how good or bad a design looks on your body—a design that’s essentially permanent and apparently hurts more to get removed than it is to get inked. So perhaps they’re right, maybe you should be a little nicer to Joshua Hong.

But like the nuisance he is, he’s definitely aware of just how much power you’re putting in his hands, and he never fails to dangle that very fact in your face any chance he gets. If someone were to lock you two in a room together, you’d probably perish within the first five minutes from your blood pressure shooting through the roof.

“Why not just go to another artist if you dislike this Joshua guy so much?” Jihoon asks one day after you got your first tattoo done by him. His inquisitive eyes observe you through his wire frame glasses; you’re vaguely reminded of a bookish character that came straight out of a cartoon, and you know that whatever reason you’re about to give, it’d better be a good one unless you’d like to warrant his seemingly infinite wisdom.

A drawn-out sigh leaves you as you set your fork down on your plate with a heavy clatter. Your friend’s eyebrows raise subtly when you remove your jacket before shoving another forkful of pasta into his mouth, likely swallowing down a quip about not wanting to see you strip while he’s eating.

Conveniently, the shirt you’re wearing exposes the watercolour tattoos of flowers that decorate the expanse of your shoulders and décolletage, all of which came from the same artist.

All, but one; one that sticks out like a sore thumb.

That sole tattoo was done by none other than Joshua Hong, and you hate it almost as much as you hate him. Not because it looks horrible, but because it’s a stinging reminder that Joshua Hong is so good at his job that he makes everyone else’s work look like a child’s doodle. You hate it because you’d rather not think of the very reason why you now have no choice but to keep going back to Joshua.

You also hate that you can’t stop thinking about him, that he’s so perfect in every sense of the world. It’s almost a little hard to believe: how can someone be this good at everything and be blessed with that face at the same time?

Ever observant, Jihoon understands before you even have to explain, jaw dropping and mouth falling open into a small ‘o’ at the realisation. “One of these… is not quite like the others,” he meekly suggests.

You can only snort at the massive understatement. “Yeah… if he didn’t have the ability to make my other tattoos look like chicken scratch, trust me when I say that I wouldn’t keep going back to him. He probably has magic hands, or something,” you grumble bitterly, “like Midas’ touch but with tattooing people instead of turning stuff to gold.”

“For someone who claims to hate him, you sure do spend a lot of time thinking about his hands.”

“I’m going to aggressively poke you with this fork.” “Damn, do you speak to your kids like this too?”

The deathly glare you shoot in Jihoon’s direction does nothing to faze him, and he simply meets your heated—albeit half-hearted—stare with indifferent eyes and the barely noticeable upturn of his lips.

You noticed it, though. And you don’t like it one bit.

You remember the first time you met Joshua Hong.

“Hi, first time?” You blankly blink up at the person who just approached you: tall, lithe, silver hair parted down the centre. “You look a little nervous.”

Did you? The faintest onslaught of heat pricks at the skin of your neck, threatening to travel up to your face as you will yourself to push it down.

It takes you a brief moment to regain your words. “First time here, but not my first tattoo. I’m just having my consultation today, though.”

The gentle smile playing on the stranger’s lips stretches wider. “Ah. Well, welcome to 24H Parlour. I’m Minghao.”

“Thanks, I’m Y/N.”

He hums in acknowledgement. “I think I saw your name on the appointment sheet.”

“You work here, then?”

Minghao responds with a small incline of his head and sheepishly scratches at the back of his neck. “Yeah… set to take over in a few years too.”

“That’s amazing! I’m sure everything will work out great for you.”

“Thank you, it means a lot to hear that.” His eyes drift from your face to something—or someone—over your shoulder before finding yours again. “You ready?” he asks, gaze soft and smile encouraging.

You nod, initial apprehension mellowing at Minghao’s gentle demeanour; he seems like someone you wouldn’t mind being around, more importantly a tattooist who knows what he’s doing if his portfolio on their website is anything to go by. Having been in quite a few consultation sessions, some disastrous and dissuading you from revisiting the parlour altogether, you can already tell this one with Minghao will be anything but that.

Still, you’re just a little nervous. New place, new people, why wouldn’t you be?

The leather surface of the couch in the waiting area clings to the skin of your thighs as you get up. So maybe you shouldn’t have worn shorts. “Sure, where should we go?”

Pink colours Minghao’s cheekbones and the tips of his ears as he apologetically explains, “Ah… I won’t be your tattooist,” he reveals apologetically upon seeing the way your brows furrow in confusion. “My coworker is—he’s much better equipped than I am at the style you mentioned wanting to get in your last call. Don’t worry,” he rushes to reassure you, and you hope it isn’t because you did a job at veiling your disappointment, “you’re in very good hands. I promise. Oh! Shua, over here!”

‘Shua’ has a nice side profile, you note when your head cranes in his direction; he’s currently speaking to a girl who you presume is his last client from the new covering just below her collarbone. He turns away from the girl briefly at Minghao’s call of his name to offer an acknowledging nod, and that split second is more than enough for you to conclude that his front profile is somehow even more attractive than his side; it has you wondering if 24H Parlour (a rather misleading name, because you’re certain that they’re definitely not a McDonald’s, not that anyone needs your input) just so happens to only hire attractive people—everyone you’ve come across so far, their receptionist included, looks like they stepped right off a runway.

You watch his lips move soundlessly as he speaks to the girl, whose face is tinted a pretty shade of pink that reminds you of a blushing rose. Moisture starts to collect on your palms and between your fingers the moment ‘Shua’ waves the girl, who looks a little too disappointed to leave, goodbye before making his way over to you and Minghao. You avert your gaze so that you don’t actually start drooling, but the tattoos that extend from his biceps to the elegant column of his neck are still at the forefront of your mind.

“‘Sup,” he says casually, hands tucked into the pocket of his jeans. You wonder if the Jackson Pollock-esque paint splatters were part of the original design or if they were his own work. (Neither, you’d come to learn much later. They’re Minghao’s.) “Who’s the cutie?”

Heat assaults your cheeks, leaving them hot to the touch as you take sudden interest in the shiny black tiles of the floor.

“This is Y/N,” Minghao supplies, halfheartedly rolling his eyes, “she has the consultation with you.”

The dark-haired man turns back to you with curved eyes. “I’m Joshua. Everyone calls me Josh, though, but you can call me yours too.” Mortified at the wink he sends in your direction, you choose to stare helplessly at Minghao instead, fingers fiddling with the hem of your shirt.

Minghao sighs. “Do you ever get sick of using that line?”

So, he says it to everyone.

The corners of Joshua’s lips quirk up impishly. “No, not really. Why? Jealous?”

“You wish,” Minghao fires back. He appears to be imitating someone else judging by the exaggerated switch in his intonation, and the two tattooists share a brief fit of giggles over an inside joke you’re obviously not a part of.

The silver-haired man sobers up quickly. “Anyways, I won’t take up too much of your time. You can trust Joshua, Y/N. I’m confident he’ll be able to bring your vision to life.”

A tight-lipped smile stretches across your lips.

“You sure can,” Joshua confirms, facing you. You don’t know if you believe him just yet. “Shall we, darling?”

All the thoughts that previously occupied your mind are now replaced by static, a hissing noise that rings in your ears incessantly as you try to get a grip on reality.

What did he just call you?

A rush of scorching heat rises up along your neck. “Y-Yeah… o-okay,” is all you manage to stammer out before your tattooist gestures for you to follow him down a short hall towards a room in the back. You glance over your shoulder uneasily to look back at Minghao, who sends you a reassuring smile and thumbs-up. His gaze is torn away from you, however, when the receptionist calls him away, leaving you to your own devices.

Heart still pounding, you turn to face the front just in time to narrowly avoid crashing into Joshua’s broad back when he abruptly stops to unlock the door to his studio. You cringe at your clumsiness, your heart rate rising to an uncomfortable pace yet again at how embarrassing it would’ve been if you did bump into him.

He cranes his neck to look at you, eyes twinkling with mirth when he asks, “You okay there, darling?”

Mortified, you nod dumbly, not missing the light chuckle he lets out as he swings the door open and steps to the side, “After you.”

This is off to a great start.

•••

You blame your fumbling from the first meeting on nerves. Though, you can’t say the second one went any better.

You hover at the entrance of the room awkwardly. Joshua has his back turned to you as he slips on a pair of gloves, the contours of the muscles thinly-veiled by the white T-shirt he dons.

You spaced out. You were absolutely not ogling him.

He turns around and finds you still standing by the open door, the beginnings of an amused smile creeping onto his face when you hastily avert your gaze and pretend to look at the vinyl records he has displayed on the wall.

“Well?” he prompts. His hand finds the tattoo bed and pats it twice, signaling you to sit. “Hop on, darling. How else will I give you your tattoo?”

Lips pressed firmly together, you oblige wordlessly. You sit on the bed and swing your legs onto the smooth leather before lying down on your back, hands clasped firmly over your stomach as you squint up at the overhead lights.

His voice rings clear in the silence. “You’re very tense for someone who’s already gotten tattoos before.”

“I’m not.”

“Don’t worry, darling, I don’t bite. Unless you want me to.”

“No, thanks,” you retort huffily, “I’m good.”

Joshua shrugs. “Your loss. Shall we get started, then?”

He’s thorough, having prepared stencils of your to-be tattoo in seemingly every size possible in your desired range. It almost makes it more difficult for you to pick one, but you’re more appreciative of the options he provided you with than anything.

“Any special meaning for the orchids?” he asks as he applies the stencil—a thin orchid branch running parallel just under your right collarbone—and you nearly miss his question because you’re trying so hard to focus on anything but how his fingers rest on your sensitive skin.

“Oh… no, I don’t suppose there is? Other than that I think they look pretty. Why? Is there a meaning to them?”

“I’m sure there is, but I wouldn’t know,” Joshua replies with a cheeky smile. “But one of my coworkers is dating a florist, so I hear them talk about flower meanings a lot. His shop is just a few doors down, actually, you should check it out if you like flowers.”

“Sure…”

Your voice is strained, a little forced. Perhaps you don’t like flowers? Joshua frowns, but then you practically have a botanical book’s worth of them on your body. Maybe you had an ex who was a florist. He shrugs off the itching thought, deciding it probably isn’t a topic to bring up with a client he barely knows.

He gestures to the full-length mirror propped up against the dark grey wall. “You can check now and see if you like the placement,” he instructs. “If everything’s good, we can get started.”

You nod and approach the mirror, making exaggerated movements with your right arm to test whether the soon-to-be tattoo would warp too much with your daily motions.

Satisfied with the result, you turn back to Joshua with a smile, already giddy with adding to your collection. “I like it, everything looks good.”

“Good, good, I’m happy to hear that.” His smile is genuine, one of someone who truly has a love for their craft, so while you’re still a little apprehensive about Joshua Hong, you can always respect passion and dedication.

“I also have lollipops for people who need them,” Joshua continues, snapping you out of your reverie, “you want one? They’re strawberry. You’ll probably like them.”

You do like strawberries. There’s a fluttery feeling that erupts in your stomach—

“I’d offer you my arm, but I kinda have to work, so...”

—never mind.

“Sorry, just kidding,” he says upon noticing the exasperated look that now stains your features, gloved hands raised in mock surrender. “Trying to loosen up the mood a ‘lil, y,know? You still look a little nervous.”

“I’m not nervous,” you mutter as you sulkily settle back onto the cushioned bench, oblivious to the fond curling of his lips.

The whole process went by smoothly, much to your surprise, but you suppose at the end of the day he was still a professional. You even snuck a glance at him at one point, only to regret the decision almost immediately from how attractive you found him—well, more than you already did, but that’s besides the point—when he was in a serious mood.

Something about the way his gaze hardened and his brows furrowed from concentration has you wondering if your previous impression of him was a little too harsh. If being a little flirtier here and there helps him establish a steady client base, who are you to judge? Part of the hustle, isn’t it?

After all, he’s just your tattooist, someone you cross paths with once every month or two at most. Absolutely nothing could go wrong with this.

You’re determined to keep it that way.

No one was more surprised than you were when you started regularly going back to 24H Parlour—more specifically, Joshua Hong—for tattoo appointments, but you figured the end result was worth sitting through an hour or two of his flirting. In all honesty, he’s not that bad when he isn’t using every cheesy pickup line under the sun on you.

“…don’t put sunscreen on it until it’s fully healed, don’t wear anything that’s too tight, only use fragrance-free and alcohol-free moisturiser on it—”

“I know, Joshua,” you laugh, “it’s not like—oh, I don’t know—I’ve been coming here for months and getting tattoos for the past few years or anything.”

He half-heartedly rolls his eyes at your teasing. “Just following protocol, darling. Wouldn’t want you suing me for negligence.”

“I’d never do that.”

“Of course you won’t,” he agrees, “you love me.”

“A bit of a stretch right there.”

There’s a prickly sensation to your cheeks when he winks at you. “You’ll come around, Y/N.” He’s really far too attractive for his own good, him being completely self-aware only makes it worse. For your heart, at least, not that he has to know. “Why else would you keep coming back?”

The sarcasm that drips from your voice is so palpable it might as well create a puddle on the ground. “Hm, it’s definitely because you’re irresistible and not because you’re good at what you do.”

“See? You get it.”

“Oh my God,” you mutter to yourself in disbelief as you stretch out your limbs and adjust your top, unaware of Joshua’s eyes trailing over its elaborate beading. “Night out?”

You let out a confused hum until you look down at your shirt, realising why he’s come to such a conclusion. “Oh, yeah.”

“Boyfriend?”

“Nah, don’t have one,” you dismiss, “just some friends.” You decide to turn the tide on him. “Why? Are you seeing someone?”

“Is this your way of asking me out, darling?” he asks, looking over his shoulder with a teasing grin. “I didn’t know you liked me this much.”

“You wish, Hong.”

He shrugs before opening the door to his studio, prompting you to hop off the tattoo bed and grab your purse from the spare chair. “If you must know, not at the moment.”

You hum in response because you don’t quite know what else to say. You also don’t know why relief bubbles within you at the new revelation because last time you checked—you definitely don’t like Joshua Hong like that, he’s a friend at most, and you really, really couldn’t care less about if he’s seeing someone or not.

“Hey, this is gonna sound weird,” he blurts out as the two of you draw closer to the waiting area, and you crane your neck to throw him a confused glance, “but do you… wanna get coffee sometime?”

“Who’s asking who out now?”

“Okay, okay, no need to sound so smug,” Joshua grumbles, still walking you out to the front, “I just thought it’d be cool to get to know you as a friend.”

You find yourself stuck at a crossroad. His suggestion is tempting, yet there’s a little voice at the back of your head that’s just itching to ask—so you do. “Does this happen with all your clients, Joshua Hong?”

“No,” he says, simple but straight to the point, “you don’t have to say yes if you don’t want to, of course. It’s no biggie.”

“Okay, but on one condition.”

“Shoot.”

“I pick the location.”

He looks at you weirdly with a “that’s it?” face. “Sure,” he agrees easily, “was gonna let you pick anyways.”

“O-Okay, then… sure. Why not?” You wear a mask of nonchalance, but there’s a fluttery feeling in your stomach that just won’t go away. Such a nuisance, you want nothing more than a net to contain the flock of butterflies that had erupted in your body.

“It’s a date then, darling,” Joshua beams. “Text me later.”

God, what have you gotten yourself into?

•••

You ended up choosing your favourite café, tucked away from the hustle and bustle of the main streets, located in a quaint alleyway with an uneven cobblestone path and slight incline. The interior is just as homely as the outside, rustic decor that reminds you of a little cottage in the woods while the smell of freshly-baked pastries wafts around you like an intoxicating perfume.

You and Joshua pick a table near the windows at the front. Your chair is a little wobbly and the table is barely big enough for your food and drinks, but the sunlight streaming through the glass offers a nice view of the quaint street outside and some much needed warmth on this chilly day.

“So…” you begin, a little awkwardly, stirring the ice cubes around your glass with your paper straw, “what do you do when you’re not injecting ink into people’s skin?”

Joshua makes a face at you. He’s in the middle of cutting up his waffles into bite-sized pieces, the action causing his biceps to strain against the sleeves of his T-shirt. The sight before you is quite amusing, yet weirdly endearing—buff, tattooed Joshua Hong with his “hot bad boy” (his words, not yours) eyebrow piercing daintily cutting up strawberry waffles dusted in a pound of powdered sugar and honey.

“It makes me sound like a criminal when you phrase it like that,” he says before popping a strawberry slice into his mouth, “and we both know I’m too sexy for jail.”

He’s not entirely wrong, but he doesn’t need to know that. “I asked a genuine question!”

“I was about to get to it!” he complains, pouting like a five-year-old. “I kinda just like to stay at home, to be honest. I make a lot of beaded bracelets… and I kinda wanna try knitting but I don’t know if I have time for that.”

You blink. Okay, so maybe not the response you expected from him. With the way he acts around you, you thought he’d say something totally obnoxious like posing in front of a mirror until his reflection winks back at him, not something as wholesome as making bracelets. You try to conjure up the image in your head: Joshua in his probably dark and grungy apartment, sitting crossed-legged on the ground threading cute little beads through string, his tongue poking out from between his lips from concentration which makes him look more attractive than it should.

“You look so surprised,” he observes, “don’t believe me?”

“Well… I guess it’s just a little hard to picture, but it’s a cute hobby. What do you do with them afterwards?”

“Wear them? Give them to people? I’m not a crow, I don’t just hoard a mountain of shiny things,” he chuckles, “and it makes me happy when I see my family and friends wear them, it’s like they’re taking a little piece of me with them so they know I’m always there.”

God, that’s so fucking adorable of him. It makes your stomach churn.

“What about you, princess? What do you do outside work?”

You take a sip of your latte. “Uh… read? Meet up with friends? I don’t know, life keeps me pretty busy so I don’t really do much.”

“Well, we gotta change that, darling. All work and no play? That can’t be good for you.”

Maybe it’s just the coffee, because you refuse to accept the fact that him calling you darling has your heart skipping a beat. Just a little.

“Excuse me, ‘we’?” you ask sceptically, the faintest traces of a smile lingering on your lips as your mind races to decipher what he could possibly mean by that.

“Yeah, we,” Joshua repeats casually, spearing a piece of waffle with his fork, “friends don’t let friends rot in boredom alone.”

You gasp, scandalised. “I don’t rot in boredom! My life is very interesting, I’ll have you know!” His playful jab almost has the fact that he just called you his friend flying over your head. Almost.

“Yet you’re here having coffee and waffles with me,” he points out, tone laced with a teasing lilt, “I thought you couldn’t stand me, Y/N.”

“You’re the one who asked me out! And—ugh, I can't believe I’m saying this—but I guess you’re pretty cool when you want to be.”

You shrug like your confession holds barely any significance to you, yet your heart hammers just a little stronger against your rib cage at the idea that perhaps your relationship can move beyond mere acquaintances. You’ve learnt more about him today than you have in the past several sessions, and suddenly being friends with Joshua Hong seems more tolerable than you ever thought possible.

“‘Pretty cool’?” Joshua echoes, an evidently pleased grin stretching all the way to the edges of his rounded cheeks. “Careful now, if I didn’t know better I’d think you’re starting to fall in love with me.”

“Please don’t make me take it back.”

“Fair, guess I shouldn’t push my luck,” he agrees. He leans in just a little immediately after, voice low as he tells you, “And for the record, I think you’re pretty cool too, Y/N.”

Curse his stupid doe-like eyes and the way they catch the brilliant afternoon sun, the way they crinkle into crescents and drip with honey as though his happiness cannot be contained any longer.

He reminds you of a sweet poison, one that infiltrates your system when you least expect it and rears its stupidly pretty head only when you’re already too far gone, too charmed to search for an antidote.

But weirdly, you think you don’t mind getting used to this.

Your stomach does a little flip as the familiar neon sign of the parlour draws closer to you with each step you take down the street. Unlike all the times before, you’re not here for a tattoo this time. However, another part of you is also giddy with anticipation, as frankly it has been a while since you’ve gone anywhere fun in your off-time from work.

Over the past three weeks, you and a certain black-haired tattooist have met up for coffee on several more occasions, your conflicting schedules preventing you two from planning anything longer than leisurely, hour-long chit-chats at cafés around town. At one point he even joked about starting a café review Instagram page with you.

“Let me know when you have more time from work, princess.” “Be prepared to wait a lot, then.” “I guess I’ll make an exception for you, you busy bee.”

The bell above the door signals your arrival, prompting Minghao to look up from his seat at the front desk. His eyes widen, brows pinching together as he immediately grabs the appointment binder to hastily flip through its pages. “Y/N? Did you make an appointment for today? Oh God, I didn’t forget to put you down, did I? Because Shua said he’s clocking out at 7—”

“No, I didn’t,” you reassure, gently cutting off his panicked rambling and smiling when his shoulders visibly sag from relief. “Although… I am here for him.”

The newly-added blue streaks in Minghao’s silvery hair shine a brilliant sapphire when he leans back in his chair. “What did he do this time that made you come all the way here without an appointment?”

You fiddle with the ends of your hair, pointedly avoiding his inquisitive stare. “Um… he said he’s taking me somewhere?”

“He’s—huh?”

“Yeah, he said wanted to take me somewhere fun. The new carnival on the outskirts of town, I think.”

Minghao blinks like he’s still trying to make sense of everything. Britney Spears is singing Till the World Ends and he’s this close to running home and packing his apocalypse bag because sure—you weren’t exactly mortal enemies with Joshua, but he wouldn’t say you were fond of him either. And now you’re going on dates together? Since when?

“Are you feeling okay, Y/N?” He springs up from his seat to press the back of his hand to your forehead. “Are you being held hostage by him? Is this a hidden camera prank show? Because ha-ha, nice try.”

“Yes, no, and no,” you answer with a practised roll of your eyes. “We’re… friends now?”

He draws away with a coy smile. “Is that why you coordinated outfits?”

“We what now?”

Speaking of the devil, a familiar honeyed voice croons, “Well, well, well, look who decided to be a copycat.”

You peer over Minghao’s shoulder to find Joshua sauntering up to you as a boy about his age, presumably his last client for the day, makes a beeline to the front desk. Minghao excuses himself with a knowing glint in his eyes and steps behind the counter to help the boy.

You glare heatedly at the tattooed man standing before you, amused eyes watching your face carefully for your reaction. “I’m not the copycat here, Hong. I’ve literally never seen you wear cardigans before, like ever. Seems like you’re the one copying me.”

“Must not be paying enough attention to me then,” he smirks, looking down at his cream cardigan. It’s horrifically similar to the one you’re wearing right now, and will no doubt mislead any outsider into thinking you planned it on purpose. You refuse to be perceived as wearing matching couple outfits with Joshua Hong.

“I don’t care, go change!”

He cocks a brow at you. “Into what, darling? The forecast says it’s gonna be chilly tonight, do you want me to freeze?” He dramatically places a hand over his heart in mock hurt, a wounded expression etching itself across his features.

You’re about to fire off another retort when the client Joshua walked out with approaches you. “Thanks again for helping me out, your sketch looked so good already!” he says excitedly.

“No worries, Chan,” Joshua says. You don’t know why, but your nose starts itching. You sniff as quietly as possible, not wanting to disrupt their conversation. “And don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me. I'll text you the final version soon, okay?”

The boy—Chan—nods enthusiastically, fluffy hair bouncing with the movement. “Okay, see you around!”

The violent sneeze comes just as the door closes behind Chan, prompting Joshua to frown in concern. “Woah, are you okay? Are you sick?”

“No, no, it’s probably just a tickle. I’m fine,” you reassure. “Was that your friend?”

“Ah, yeah! Remember my coworker that I told you about? The one dating the florist? That’s him. They’re out of town next week and he wanted to surprise them with a small tattoo of their favourite flower.”

“That’s really sweet.”

“Yeah… they’re really cute.” His eyes are soft as he looks down the direction Chan went in. He allows something akin to longing to linger on his features for several moments before it’s gone, replaced by his signature grin as he turns back to you. “Anyways, let’s go.”

•••

“I knew you should’ve ditched the cardigan,” you grumble, watching Joshua gently toss the folded outerwear onto the backseat, leaving him in only his fitted black T-shirt. “You didn’t even wear it most of the night.”

“I like to be prepared,” Joshua refutes smoothly as he backs his car out of the parking space. With him occupied with looking into the rear-view mirror, it presents you with an opportunity to observe the way his forearms flex when he spins the steering wheel, or how his slender fingers elegantly wrap around it and tap along to an imaginary rhythm.

There’s a tattoo on the ring finger of his right hand. Immediately, you find yourself drawn to the thorny stem coiling up the digit, almost like a snake or vines encircling an ancient pillar. At the end of it lies a wilted rose losing its petals.

You decide to respond before you lose yourself entirely in the potential sentiments behind the melancholic tattoo. “One of the vendors thought we were a couple.”

Your voice is impassive, but your cheeks betray you—growing warm at the memory of the smiling woman commenting on how lovely you two looked together as she handed you the bunny plushie.

And sure, Joshua may have won it for you, but it was purely due to your luck running out by the time you got to the last few game stalls. Your objections fell on deaf ears when it came to naming the bunny, and you finally begrudgingly agreed to Joshua Jr. because it was the lesser of many, many evils.

The man spares you a glance before turning back to the road. He goes quiet for several beats, letting the music playing from his speakers fill the emptiness until he speaks, casually and seemingly uncaring.

“Is it really so bad to be mistaken as my girlfriend?”

Your heart plummets like it’s doing a free fall, and if it weren’t for the lazy smile gracing his features, you would’ve thought you genuinely upset him. You relax a little, willing the jackhammering of your heart to fall back into a steady rhythm. And though the upturn of his lips should’ve been enough reason for you to swallow down that tiny pebble of guilt, it doesn’t go away. It remains lodged in your throat while your fingers drum on your thigh nervously.

“W-Well… I never said it was a bad thing,” you stammer out, fingertips pulsing along to the same beat as your heart while you continue, “you’re a nice guy, and… I had fun today.”

Your words hang heavy in the air. You’re almost too scared to see his reaction, so you choose to look out the window instead. A red sports car zooms past you, the sound of its engine revving obnoxiously disrupts the tranquil silence of night.

“I had fun too,” Joshua finally says softly, eyes gleaming softly from the glow of the street lights outside. “You know, I really did mean it when I said I wanted to get to know you better, Y/N. I like being around you.”

You tear your gaze away from the window, admiring the soft, dark waves of his hair and the gentle slope of his nose. You’d be lying if you said you’ve never thought about being in a relationship with Joshua Hong, especially as you started spending time as friends rather than in a professional setting. And sometimes you think what it’d feel like to hold his hand, to have his pretty pink lips pressed against your skin, to hear him call you “darling” and genuinely mean it.

Perhaps a month ago you’d chide yourself for having those thoughts about him, but as you sit in his car with his lo-fi playlist humming in the background, the street light’s golden luminescence dancing across his features, Joshua Jr. sitting atop his folded cardigan in the backseat… you don’t think you mind anymore.

If this is a dream, you’re not sure if you want to wake up from it. Because right now, everything feels perfect.

Disappointment is a powerful feeling in all the worst ways imaginable, eating away at you until bitterness stings your tongue. It hurts.

It hurts that perfection is temporary, perhaps it doesn’t exist at all. Ah, the irony of falling for a tattoo artist; someone who creates permanent designs that don’t stay perfect forever either. You think about the flowers dusted across your collarbones, and how there will come a day when the colours fade and the intricate line work bleeds into the crevices of your skin, reducing everything into a mere shadow of its former glory.

“So, whatcha doing this weekend, darling?” Joshua asks as he bandages up your new tattoo, a dainty sprig of lavender near where your left shoulder and arm meet.

“Work.”

“You say that every time!”

“Because it’s true!”

He shakes his head, platinum blonde hair bouncing along with the movement. You wonder when and why he got it dyed, it was still black when you bumped into him while running errands last week. “What kinda job makes you go in on a Saturday?”

A distant voice at the back of his head pipes up about how odd it is that he still doesn’t know what you do for a living, but he ignores it. He’s come to understand you’re a private person and if you wanted him to know you would’ve mentioned it, so he doesn’t push it.

“Mine does sometimes,” you answer simply, “besides, don’t you work on Saturdays as well?”

“Only for clients I like if they can’t make it on weekdays.”

“Oh… that’s… really nice of you.” Your eyes subconsciously follow his graceful movement of prying the rubbery material off his lithe fingers.

“Don’t worry, darling,” he coos as he sets the gloves off to the side, “you’re already on that list of clients.”

He flashes you a warm grin, one you find yourself returning as your cheeks grow warm, and it lingers on your face even while he’s doing the final checkups before declaring you’re good to go. It’s funny, and perhaps a little embarrassing, to think how you used to scramble off his tattoo bed the second he’s done and now you’re almost a little too disappointed about having to leave. You refused to admit it to Jihoon when he grilled you on your liking towards him just a few days ago, but perhaps your heart really has grown fond of Joshua Hong.

He walks you out to the front as usual, and you exchange a confused glance when the receptionist makes a face upon your arrival.

“What’s with the long face, Dahee?”

The receptionist glares at Joshua half-heartedly. “Ask the girl you’ve been seeing,” she huffs, “Julia, Julie, whatever her name is. I can’t keep track anymore.”

Can’t keep track? You frown.

“Huh? Why? What happened?”

Dahee purses her red lips into a thin line, eyes flitting over to where you’re standing. “She came in here just ten minutes ago… making a huge ruckus and saying she absolutely had to talk to you because apparently you blocked her.”

You stay silent. It’s not that you wanted to eavesdrop, but you still have to get your final receipt and it’s also not like Joshua’s putting any particular effort into keeping this conversation from you.

His confusion feels genuine. “I broke up with her weeks ago and then blocked her because she was fine with ending things. I’d never just ghost someone, you know that!”

“I know, I know,” Dahee sighs sympathetically. “I believe you, that’s why I insisted you weren’t here and told her to leave before I called security.”

“Thank you, really,” Joshua mutters, absentmindedly playing with the business card holder. “I… I guess I’ll set things straight with her again later. Thanks again, I owe you big time.” He finally realises you’re still hovering awkwardly by the reception counter, and manages a faint smile. “I’m gonna go get ready for the next appointment,” he says. “Bye, Y/N. Have a good rest of the day.”

“You too,” you respond, though you’re not sure just how much nicer his day can get after this new information. Your mind reels from everything you just heard,

Dahee clears her throat softly, and it’s then when you realise that you’ve been staring at the empty space Joshua had previously occupied for far longer than necessary. Your cheeks burn as you turn back to her with a sheepish smile.

“Sorry for the long wait,” she says, casually flipping through her binder to find your record like the two of them were just talking about something as insignificant as the weather outside. She looks up at you with an indifferent smile as she hands you the receipt, but it falls almost instantly when she meets your bewildered, almost frazzled, gaze.

She holds your stare for a moment, searching your eyes for any sign of hurt or confusion. You think she must’ve found it when she sighs quietly, checking the waiting area to make sure it’s empty before turning back to you. Your hands tremble slightly as you take the tiny slip of paper.

“Look, Shua’s not an asshole,” Dahee finally says, now avoiding eye contact with you. “He just—he’s just not looking for anything serious, hasn’t been even before I started working here. He’s transparent about it, but… I don’t know… some people get so upset about it that they come in here all the time trying to find him.”

You nod along, not completely sure why she suddenly decided to divulge all this to you. A part of you also wonders if this is a common occurrence, especially if she just mentioned not being able to keep track of his partners and appears to feel the need to defend him.

Before you can respond, her expression reverts back into a neutral state, a stark and somehow painful contrast to the storm of emotions that begins brewing within you. “As always, give us a call if you need anything. See you next time!”

The walk down the street to your car is heavy, and when you get inside you have to take a few moments to compose yourself, running a harsh palm down your face as you process everything that just happened. It really was too good to be true after all, and you are a fool for thinking Joshua Hong would ever want something serious with you.

Your mind drifts to the coffee dates, his tattooed fingers resting on his fork and knife as he cuts up his strawberry pancakes with his tongue peeking from between his lips, the powdered sugar clinging to the soft skin that tempts you to brush it off with your thumb; to the carnival date and the almost-matching cardigans, the triumphant giggle when he won you that stupid plushie, the beam that lights up his entire face as he proudly presents it to you…

You think about the lingering touches that seem to brand your skin, the look in his eyes as you ramble about God-knows-what, the fond smile that creeps onto his face when he thinks you aren’t looking, and they make you wonder if the mirage is truly that fragile, an iridescent bubble that bursts into obscurity with the touch of a fingertip. It’s sooner or later when you have to wake up from a dream, no matter how long you want it to last.

And it is that cloud of dubiety that has your mind blanking at the little row of text sent to you just as you’re about to call it a day and burrow underneath your covers.

Joshua Hong [00:04] i’m really sorry you had to overhear all that earlier, everything’s settled now

Joshua Hong [00:08] you’re probably asleep, sorry if i’m bothering you

Joshua Hong [00:09] good night

You let the screen go dark, and the muffled thump that results from your phone hitting the crumpled sheets only makes you feel emptier as your eyes flutter shut, images of tattoo sleeves and beaded bracelets dancing behind your eyelids.

“—Mimi’s making a full recovery soon.”

Jihoon smiles. The past few weeks have been especially stressful on you after a patient you’re tending to unexpectedly fell ill again, and to say he’s happy that a part of your life is starting to look up, evident from the hopeful twinkle in your eyes, would be an understatement.

“She’s the one who gave you that drawing of her cat, right? Mr. Sprinkles?”

“Yeah, that’s her.” Your shoulders sag into a more relaxed position from the relieved exhale you let out. “She’s really excited to finally be able to see him soon.”

He nods, grabbing an empty cart as you step into the well-lit entrance of the supermarket a ten-minute drive away from your apartment. A man of few words, his way of showing love and care is picking you up after work every Friday night to take you grocery shopping so you won’t be tempted to order either overpriced healthy meals or processed garbage. Given your job, it’s ironic that he’s the one maintaining your decent eating habits.

“That’s really good to hear. What about Joshua? How’s he doing?”

His question has you freezing on the spot, and Jihoon just barely manages to stop the shopping cart from crashing into your back.

It’s here again—the vivid picture of those shiny, doe-like eyes that curve into crescents whenever in the presence of a sweet smile, the teasing grazes and careless glances, the words of endearment that roll off his tongue ever so smoothly as though they held no special meaning to him.

A few weeks ago, you would’ve let the butterflies roam freely. Now, you only feel sick to the stomach.

Just how many people has he looked at, talked to, touched like that?

“Y/N?”

Your stinging eyes meet Jihoon’s; dark, swirling pools of concern. “Are you okay?”

Wordlessly, you step to the side to allow him room for passing through the metal gates. “What happened? He didn’t hurt you, did he?” he inquires again softly. Considerate as ever, he sets a slow pace when walking alongside you, and you glumly note that unlike last time the wheels of the cart actually work somewhat smoothly.

“I don’t think so…” Your hesitancy barely provides him with any semblance of comfort, you can tell by the severe furrowing of his brows. “It—it’s a long story.”

“We have time.”

So you tell him about that day in the parlour, Joshua’s conversation with Dahee, then yours. Jihoon listens intently the entire time, while simultaneously plucking your usual groceries off the shelves and neatly arranging them in the cart. He’s silent for a few moments after you finish ranting, thoroughly processing the information you’ve laid on him.

“I think it wouldn’t hurt to give him the benefit of the doubt,” he finally reasons. There’s a soft thud followed by a brief rattling noise when you glumly toss a bag of chips into the cart. Your feet drag along the tiled floors, rubber soles of your sneakers creating an obnoxious, squeaky sound as he continues, “He seems to like you a lot, and the receptionist could be telling the truth. Don’t judge him so quickly.”

“I’m not judging him, Jihoon,” you sigh, tiredly eyeing the vast selection of cup noodles to your left. “He can do whatever he wants, date around and play around with whoever, I’m just saying I’m not getting my hopes up anymore.”

“It could be different this time, though… you never know…” But even he sounds unsure.

You can’t help the disbelieving chuckle that pushes past your lips, followed by a murmured “excuse me” as you squeeze past a young couple. Going grocery shopping together, how wholesome, how domestic, how utterly disgusting given the messy current state of your mind. “What is this, a romcom?” you ask no one in particular. “One person isn’t just going to suddenly make him want a serious relationship.”

The rattling sounds of rusted wheels rolling on linoleum come to a halt, and you look over your shoulder to find Jihoon adding a pack of wheat noodles to the small mountain of groceries. His eyes, almost entirely hidden away behind his glasses and freshly-washed hair, however, are still trained on you.

“Have you tried talking to him about this?” he suggests hesitantly. “If he really likes you… I don’t know, Y/N… he might prove to you that he’s willing to try.” Since when was Lee Jihoon the hopeless romantic out of you two? He shrugs at the funny look you give him.

You shake your head with another sigh as you continue on your way, aimlessly making a right turn while resisting the urge to succumb to the temptation of the iconic red packaging of Shin Ramyun. You really don’t need a third purchase of their 5-pack within this month.

So instead you make a beeline to the dairy aisle to peruse their yoghurt selection, trusting that Jihoon will eventually join you. The frosty air blasting from the refrigerated aisle hits you like a blizzard, the thin scrubs you’re wearing hardly provide enough warmth from the cold that quickly starts settling into your bones. Shivering a little, you zip up your jacket and stash your hands into the pockets.

Your foot hits something, causing you to look down confusedly at the small jar of peanut butter that had rolled over from an unknown source.

With a soft grunt, you bend over to pick it up, looking up just in time to hear someone say, “I’m so sorry, that’s mine.”

Joshua Hong. Unfortunately, you’d now recognise that gratingly melodic voice anywhere.

“Y/N? Wh—”

“Here,” you say coldly, shoving the jar into his hands before brushing past him without a single glance. If you’re lucky, he’ll take the hint and go on his merry way.

“Wait!”

You don’t. Your footsteps quicken and all you want is to go far, far away to a place where there’s no Joshua Hong, maybe then you can convince yourself that you’ve truly gotten over him, that you haven’t irrevocably fallen for him.

He catches up to you with ease, slipping into the space in front of you to halt your hasty escape. He thinks his heart stopped beating for a few seconds at the sheet of ice that freezes over your irises, your stare so devoid of its usual warmth and friendliness that it doesn’t feel like he’s talking to you.

“What’s going on?” he breathes out. “You stopped responding to my texts for like, weeks. I’m worried.”

“Work kept me busy.”

“It’s because of that day at the parlour, right? When you overheard Dahee and I talking—”

“Overheard?” you interrupt incredulously. “You weren’t exactly trying to keep it down or wait until after I left to have that conversation.” He bites his lip, guilt flashing across his face. “I know. I—I was so surprised when she told me that I wasn’t thinking properly. I’m sorry, it was really unprofessional of me to do that in front of you.”

“It’s not that! All professionalism between us flew out the window even before you took me on that stupid date to the carnival!”

“Stupid…” Joshua repeats in a low, shocked manner. Genuine hurt wounds his features, but you’re simply too blinded by your pent-up frustration that you don’t pay any mind to it.

“How long would it have lasted?” you continue, the familiar sting of salty tears in your eyes. “How many more of those dates until you decide to break it off like it meant nothing to you?”

“What? Y/N, let’s talk this out, I can explain—”

“—Forget it, Joshua. Just forget I said anything,” you spit, words laced with pure venom. He doesn’t stop you when you briskly brush past him, arms hanging limply by his sides as your footsteps retreat into the distance.

You find Jihoon after a few minutes of aimless wandering at the bakery section, deciding between a loaf of sourdough and a baguette. Still burning with a combination of anger and dejection, you snatch both out of his hands, avoiding his bewildered gaze as you roughly toss the sourdough on top of the pre-packed salad greens.

“Are you… okay?” Jihoon asks tentatively, watching with mild concern as you aggressively shove the baguette back into its original place on the shelf. “What happened?”

“I’ll tell you in the car. Let’s just go first.” You don’t wait for his response, already taking the cart from him and striding to where the cashiers are, eager to leave before Joshua decides to change his mind and goes after you.

“H-Hey! Wait for me!”

•••

Jihoon thinks you’re being a little paranoid when you start glancing over your shoulders almost everywhere you go when you aren’t at work, all because you don’t want to run into Joshua again.

He calls it excessive, you call it being cautious.

A small part of you is glad he stopped texting you after that evening in the supermarket, the guilt of essentially ghosting him beginning to eat you alive and threatening to consume your entire being. Yet, another part of you remains unsettled, antsy. Is it because he’s already found someone else, a new object of his affections?

The thought makes your heart sink to the deepest pits of your stomach, and despite all your attempts at convincing yourself not to care—he’s not your boyfriend, why should you?—it still comes back and haunts you every now and then. Perhaps that really was all you were to him, a fleeting phase that fizzles out as quickly as it blossomed.

An exhausted huff passes through your lips. Now’s not the time to think about Joshua Hong, especially as you’re currently hauling a tower of parcels out the post office.

“Don’t fall, don’t fall, don’t fall,” you chant quietly, glancing up uneasily at the one sitting at the very top as it wobbles. Suddenly called in to work earlier today, you weren’t home when the mailman dropped by with the parcels, thus having to pick them up yourself. And being both stubborn and tired from work, you’d rather play a mini game of Tetris than make multiple trips between the post office and your car.

A man comes barrelling in your direction, and in your haste to dodge him you twist your body a little too forcefully, sending the smallest packages at the top crashing down on you. Your eyes flutter shut with dread as your lips twist unpleasantly, the muffled sounds of objects jostling and cardboard hitting asphalt reaching your ears just seconds later.

Not even a ‘sorry’, people these days, you think as you crouch to place the heavier boxes onto the ground, the weight of several stares piercing through your body while you scramble to collect the fallen parcels. Embarrassment burns you inside out, the tips of your ears are searing and you’re starting to feel lightheaded.

A hand enters your field of vision, thrusting the last box towards you. You reach out to grab it as your lips part, ready to thank the stranger for their help when your eyes land on something that causes the words to die in your throat.

A wilting rose hanging from a barbed vine.

“Joshua,” you blurt out. The name feels foreign on your tongue. How long has it been? God, it must have been weeks. Why do you miss him? He hurt you.

You miss him.

“Y/N.” The surprise in his voice is thinly veiled, as though he wasn't expecting you to acknowledge his existence.

With the looming tower reconstructed, you wrap your arms around the bottom-most box, mentally preparing yourself to haul everything back to your car with hopefully no public humiliation this time.

Joshua beats you to it, taking a good two-thirds off with seemingly no effort.

“I can—”

“I watched you struggle from a distance,” he says quietly. “Please, Y/N, let me help you just this once.”

You relent, wanting to get this over with. “I wouldn’t have dropped them if that guy actually watched where he was going,” you grumble, closing your fingers tighter around the edge of the box. “But… thank you.”

“It’s no problem. Just doing what anyone else would.” Joshua shows no sign of exertion, you’ve noticed. He looks at ease, like your boxes are full of nothing more but feathers.

You hate him. Why is he still being so nice to you? Does he not remember how you essentially blew up at him in the dairy aisle? You can barely walk through the entirety of its length without cringing at your behaviour from those weeks ago, yet here he is helping you when he well could’ve feigned oblivion and gone on his merry way. You remember learning about osmium in class years ago: it’s said to be one of the densest, heaviest substances on Earth, but you think you’ve found a heavier one.

Guilt.

The short walk back to your car is silent save for the sound of your feet hitting the pavement, your footfalls subconsciously syncing up like some twisted symphony. You open the trunk for him, watching with the same lump in your throat as he gingerly places down your parcels and arranges them in a way that ensures a safe trip back to your place.

It feels remiss not to say anything.

“Joshua,” you begin tentatively; you almost wish he wouldn't meet your eyes. It’s so much easier to hate him if he was angry at you, hated you back the same way. But his eyes show no trace of resentment as he gazes at you with the same gentleness as he did before things fell apart.

Your bitterness is misplaced, you know that. You’ve come to such a realisation over the past few weeks; it’s always at the forefront of your mind when the nights get a little too quiet, you just didn’t want to admit it to anyone. Including yourself.

You don’t hate Joshua Hong. You hate that you like him more than you should, that you would’ve let yourself fall unreservedly if you knew he felt as strongly for you as you did for him. Maybe it’s the universe that you want to curse at, for allowing you to cross paths with someone as perfect and unattainable as Joshua Hong. It’s always been easier to direct negative feelings towards a person than a seemingly intangible entity.

“I’m sorry for what happened that day,” you continue, “I was upset and acted rashly, and that wasn’t fair to you. So again… I’m really sorry.”

He shakes his head, and your eyes drift to how his blonde hair falls over his eyes messily. His roots must be at least an inch long by now; you’d ponder why he, someone who’s unsurprisingly perfectionistic given the nature of his job, hasn’t gotten them retouched yet, but you feel like you already know the answer to that.

“It’s okay, Y/N. I thought about it a lot, and I understand why you reacted the way you did. I would’ve too if I were you,” he chuckles mirthlessly. “I’d be really mad too if I thought someone was leading me on.”

Your bottom lip hurts from your gnawing. “Were you, then?”

“No, I can promise you that.”

You nod, not really knowing what else to say. You don’t exactly disbelieve him, but words are ultimately just that: words, empty vessels that lose their meaning without something substantive to back them up.

“Do you still hate me?” His voice cracks a little at the end of his question, betraying his anxiousness despite the calm front he’s put up.

“It’s not you I hate.” Mentally, you’re kicking yourself in the shin. Should’ve just said ‘no’ and left it at that, you think bitterly, already bracing yourself for the inevitable follow-up question.

“Then what is it?”

“I hate that…” You can’t do it. You can’t. You feel so stupid. “Never mind. Just—I don’t hate you.” Joshua’s hand wraps around your arm before you can brush past him, fingers securely, but not painfully, pressing into your skin. You exhale shakily as he blocks your path with his body, and you know this time there’s no running away. You’re an adult, for God’s sake, it’s about time you sort out your problems like one.

His intense gaze bores into your wary eyes when you raise your chin to face him once more. “Tell me, please?”

“Fate, I guess,” you say softly after a few moments of hesitation.

His eyebrows furrow, and you let out a dry chuckle upon realising how silly you sounded. “I know, I know, it’s stupid, but… I’m frustrated, you could say, because we obviously have some kind of chemistry and if we’re just gonna be honest with each other today—I like you more than just a friend, okay?”

Joshua’s eyes widen at your confession, completely shell-shocked as you continue, “And I have to tell myself not to act on these feelings because I know we want different things in life right now. It—it hurts pretending I don’t want to be with you, but I know I can’t because it’ll only end badly.”

“Says who?” Joshua asks, voice doused in desperation, something so uncharacteristic of him that the aching pit in your gut only seems to grow heavier and heavier. “I like you, Y/N, and I really do think this can work out. We won’t know if we don’t try.”

The hurt that etches across his face when you shake your head makes him look like a wounded puppy. It’s a sight you never want to see nor want to be the cause of, but you know this is for the best—and maybe after a while you’d still have a chance of salvaging your friendship.

“It won’t work out, and it’d be stupid of us to head into a relationship when we know we don’t want the same thing—”

“You keep saying that and I still have no idea what you’re referring to. What is it that you think I want?” he demands.

“Dahee told me, Joshua,” you sigh, not oblivious to the way his face falls. “She says you aren’t looking for anything serious, which is completely fine, of course. But it’ll only cause more friction in the long run and hurt us both if we become a thing, and I’d rather stay friends with you than have us end on horrible terms.”

Warmth radiates from his palms as he takes your hands in his. “What are you looking for, then? Tell me, maybe I’ll—I’ll be able to reciprocate! Let me prove it to you, please…”

Your heart cracks when you gently pry your hands out of his hold. You can almost hear the chipped pieces falling onto the pavement in soft clinks, sprawled out for the world—for Joshua—to see.

“It doesn’t matter,” you croak out, “it doesn’t matter because this just won’t work out. So don’t prove it, Joshua, because you won’t… and neither do I want you to. I’d never ask that of someone.”

The evening breeze kissing your skin brings an icy sensation as wet trails seep to the edge of your jaw. You wipe the tears away with the sleeve of your sweater; you’ve already abandoned all your dignity by laying your heart bare and confessing to Joshua, crying in front of him is the least of your worries.

He doesn’t say anything as you shut the trunk. Maybe he’s finally realising this is a lost cause. It’s for the best, you tell yourself, and you’ll repeat it in your head over and over again, for as long as it takes to get over Joshua Hong.

“I really do hope we can be friends again… maybe after some time,” you tell him quietly. “Thanks again for today, and I’m sorry. Really.”

The look in his eyes is indecipherable. He opens his mouth to speak, but ultimately decides against it and merely shakes his head. You wonder what it means: a sign of disappointment? Anger? Or is he telling you not to be sorry?

The last one can’t be right, not when he turns and walks away from you, his retreating figure a melancholic, lonely sight.

•••

“I thought I saw you walk in here.”

If anyone asked, Xu Minghao ambushed you.

“And I have to talk to you,” he declares, seemingly materialising next to you out of thin air in the coffee shop just across the street from his parlour—a poor choice considering your plan to avoid Joshua until everything blows over, but you were running errands in the area and needed a pick-me-up.

You look down at the hand wrapped around your wrist. “Can I at least get my coffee first?”

He rolls his eyes at you, though you can tell he’s not genuinely upset. “Yeah, yeah, of course. But hurry.”

“Like I have control over how fast they make their orders,” you mumble, shying away from the playful punch Minghao tries to land on your arm. “What did you want to talk about?”

“I think you know.”

His eyes are gentle, sympathetic when you turn to face him. Absent-mindedly, you toy with the receipt in your hands. “How much did he tell you?” you ask quietly.

“Just enough for me to know what’s going on,” he replies, voice lowered to match yours. “Before you get mad at him for telling me—” you weren’t going to, but you’re glad there’s an explanation for it—“I was the one who told him to talk to me. When one of my colleagues’ been a total mess at work, I have the responsibility to check on them.”

Your throat goes dry and suddenly you've lost all ability to speak. The thought of Joshua—perfect, perfect Joshua Hong—being miserable because of you is like someone dealing a blow to your gut and knocking the wind out of you.

“3012!”

Shooting Minghao an apologetic look, you leave his side briefly to get your coffee. The barista at the counter snatches your receipt and offers you nothing more than a paper straw and an acknowledging nod before going back to calling out orders.

“Please?” he says when you return, “I just want to know what’s going on.”

“Okay.”

Minghao takes you back to his private studio at the parlour with the promise that Joshua took a few days off, hence guaranteeing his absence completely. A small part of you expects a trap like the ones in movies, where it’d turn out to be a big fat lie with Joshua standing in the middle of the room while Minghao runs out and locks you both in, refusing to let you out until you’ve made up.

True to his word, however, the waiting room remains Joshua-less on this Thursday afternoon. The few customers waiting on the couches glance up at you and Minghao as the bell above the door chimes with your arrival, but return their attention to their phones just as quickly. Dahee’s on the phone with someone, but flashes a smile at you in greeting.

Minghao’s studio is located in a separate hallway from the others’, but you can’t help yourself from looking down that particular hallway you’ve been strangely missing. Joshua’s door is closed, not a rare occurrence, but it feels different this time because you know there’s no one behind that door. The humming of the tattoo gun isn’t coming from his room but someone else’s, and unlike your previous visits to the parlour, there will be no Joshua Hong walking out into the waiting area to greet you with a cheeky smile and an affectionate darling.

You feel horrible, or rather, a horrible person. Horrible, horrible, horrible, it rings in your head like a mantra.

Minghao’s studio is tasteful, a bit more spacious than Joshua’s, awash in light monochromes with just the right amount of accent colours from the paintings that decorate his walls. He pats one of the armchairs, the gesture terribly familiar, as he settles into the other. You don’t meet his eyes at first, toying his fuzzy carpet with the tip of your sneaker-clad foot.

“Fill in the gaps for me,” he says softly after a few minutes of silence. The gentleness in his eyes is a much appreciated reassurance that you won’t be harshly judged, and perhaps that is what’s convincing you.

“What happened between you and Shua?”

Joshua has some thinking to do.

“Shua? What are you doing here? I thought you’re taking today off!”

“You look so unhappy to see me, Dahee,” Joshua teases, “can’t I show up to my own workplace?”

“O-Of course you can! I was just surprised to see you, that’s all. Especially after Hao made it very clear that you needed a break.”

He shrugs. “Well, I’m feeling better now, so I figured I’d come back and do some prep work, clean up a bit, y’know? My stuff probably collected some dust while I was gone. Plus, I need to talk to Hao about something.”

“No! You can’t!”

He freezes, eyebrows raising in surprise at Dahee’s unexpected reaction. Her eyes are blown wide with alarm. “I… I can’t?”

She clears her throat sheepishly. “Uh, it’s just that… he’s a bit busy right now in his studio! Why don’t you… go grab a coffee and come back later?”

Joshua laughs awkwardly at the suggestion, wholly confused by her weird behaviour. “It’s fine, I’ll just wait here or in my room. Does he have a girl in there right now, or something?” he jokes.

“Yes!” Dahee blurts before clamping a hand over her mouth. “Well, not like that! No, he doesn’t—I’m gonna stop talking. Forget I said anything.”

“That’s only making me more curious!” His hands find purchase on the marble counter as he looms over her sitting figure. “What’s going on and why are you acting so weirdly?”

Dahee runs a hand through her bubblegum pink tresses, manicured nails the same hue of wine red as her lips. “You didn’t hear it from me, okay? It’s Y/N, the girl you’re into?”

Joshua chuckles nervously, his gaze shifting nervously under her deadpan stare. “W-Who said anything about me being into her? Wait! You mean they’re—” His heart stops before dropping to his stomach like that one ride at the amusement park he’s too scared to try. Would Minghao really be so cruel as to make a move on you when he knows what happened?

“You’re not subtle at all, it’s written all over your face whenever she comes in,” Dahee responds matter-of-factly as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Now, I don’t know what happened exactly between you two, but literally everyone here saw a shift in your mood when she stopped coming.”

Her lips curve into a satisfied smirk when he guiltily tips his chin down like a puppy who got caught tearing up pillows. “And before you freak out—they’re just talking in Hao’s room, nothing like whatever you just thought of—oh my God, please don’t eavesdrop!” She’s too late, he’s already halfway across the room. “What if you get caught?”

“I won’t!” Joshua hisses, still inching closer to the hallway that leads to Minghao’s studio. “They won’t even know I’m here!”

Dahee shakes her head. “If Hao asks: I saw nothing,” she relents. “This is all a figment of my imagination and in reality you’re still at home and definitely not here.” She swivels back around in her chair with an exasperated sigh, picking up her phone so she can no doubt return to her ceaseless scrolling through cat pics on Instagram.

She can deny it all she wants to protect her reputation as the “baddest bitch on the block”—a self-proclaimed title, but he agrees—because everyone and their mother have caught her silently squealing at her phone, feet kicking under the desk, to the point where their cat-owning regulars now bring in new photos for her to coo over.

Grateful for her unorthodox method of showing support, Joshua makes the final few steps down the hallway until he reaches the hardwood door. He’s suddenly thankful for the storage closet just across Minghao’s studio, which will serve as his hiding place should he need a hasty retreat.

Hesitantly, he presses his ear to the door not knowing what to expect. Cursing? Yelling? Crying? None of those options sound very good. He wills his pounding heart to settle and decides to focus on listening—okay, eavesdropping—for the time being.

“—what to do.” That’s you inside alright, he’d recognise your voice anywhere. The sound of your voice makes his heart ache with familiarity, like seeing an old friend who you’ve lost contact with, who now feels more like a stranger than someone you’ve once had a connection with. God, it feels like eons ago since he last spoke to you; he misses your laugh, your jests, your smile.

He misses you.

“I feel so horrible for ending things like that with him,” you continue, and it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out who ‘him’ is referring to. “But I want to save us the heartbreak, because I know I’m not what he wants.”

Wrong. For someone who is so bright, so smart, so witty, you cannot be any more incorrect.

“You don’t know that,” Minghao reasons softly. “Things change, people change, the things they want change.”

Disbelief colours your voice, “Over someone they’ve only known for months?”

“You don’t have to be anything or put a label on it, Y/N. Whether it takes weeks or months for you two to figure out whether you’re right for each other, I don’t think Shua would mind at all. He’s a patient man.”

“Is he?”

“I understand your reservations, I really do, and they’re valid. T-There… there are reasons why he never sought serious relationships in recent years, but they’re not my stories to tell,” Minghao says slowly, choosing his words carefully. “All I’m saying is… yes, maybe he doesn’t understand you well enough the same way you may feel you barely know anything about him, but isn’t that more of a reason to keep trying so you’ll get an answer?”

“I-I guess…” you stammer, “I just… I don’t want him to feel obligated to me, if that makes sense.” Joshua lets out the breath he didn��t realise he’d been holding, for even the sturdy door that separates you is not enough to filter out the defeated strain in your voice. “He’s free-spirited, and I’m in a place in my life where I want a little more stability. I don’t want him to… feel trapped, or not be able to be himself just because he wants to be with me.”

“I don’t think he feels that way,” Minghao says, “he genuinely likes you a lot. It’s unfair to both of you to make assumptions on how he feels, which is why I really do think you should talk to him whenever you’re ready instead of letting these thoughts stew alone in your head.”

“Yeah, you’re right… thanks for this, Hao. I appreciate it, really.”

“It’s nothing, just doing what any friend would do,” he reassures, “it sucks seeing you two on such terrible terms when you were such good friends before, especially when it can be talked out.”

“I’ll keep you updated, though I’m sure Joshua probably will too,” you add. The tinge of amusement in your delivery eases the tension that settled all around Minghao’s office like a dense fog. Even in such an unideal predicament, he still can’t get enough of the way his name rolls off your tongue.

He hears Minghao speak again over some shuffling in the room. “Oh, that’s right: you still have somewhere to be. You should’ve told me, I wouldn’t have held you up for so long!”

“Nah, I needed that talk,” you say, “and I won’t be late because it’s just the bakery a few blocks away, don’t worry.”

Minghao hums in thought. “Ode Bakery?”

“That’s the one.”

“Special occasion?”

“Mhm, I promised my kids I’d bring them fruit tarts today.”

Joshua backs away from Minghao’s door until he’s firmly pressed against the one of the storage closet. His heart, which had just begun to calm down a little, violently hammers against his rib cage yet again, heartbeat thundering in his ears.

Kids. You have kids.

The sound of approaching footsteps snaps Joshua out of his frozen state. His hand scrambles for the doorknob, shutting himself into the small space just seconds before he hears Minghao’s door fly open followed by you bidding him goodbye. Little did either of you know, the topic of your conversation is a mere few feet away, realisation raining down on him like a ton of bricks.

Suddenly, everything makes sense. Why you always seemed to be busy, or rarely talked about your personal life, or emphasised wanting stability in life and were so certain he wouldn’t want the same yet—it was because you’re a mom. With kids. Plural. Tiny versions of you.

The last thought makes him smile despite his mind still reeling from the revelation. If your kids were anything like you, he’s certain they’re angels.

Joshua rolls over in his bed, facing the nightstand where his digital clock sits. The glowing numbers tell him it’s far past his usual bedtime, but he can’t seem to fall asleep. He wonders if he’s thinking too much about all this, but just as quickly reassures himself it’s the right thing to do: this is a huge deal, and the last thing you need is him taking rash steps in what’s left of your relationship without careful consideration.

When his eyes finally droop shut, he dreams of chubby cheeks and wide, curious eyes.

•••

Your conversation with Minghao weighs heavy on your mind every day whenever you allow yourself to indulge in thoughts about your personal life. He advised talking to Joshua once you’re ready, but the bravado you muster up through what feels like hours of pep talk all but goes out the window every time you pull up his contact. Some days when you’re feeling particularly pessimistic, you wonder if you’ll ever be able to actually do it or if you’d eventually resort to moving away to a new city, changing your identity and leaving your past behind.

Tempting as it is, you really can’t afford to uproot your entire life like that, nor do you think you want to anyways.

Though, it appears as though you wouldn’t have to worry about being the first to reach out anymore, because almost one month after that afternoon in Minghao’s studio, when you’ve finally had the time to check your phone after a gruelling shift, you realise he’s already beaten you to it.

Joshua Hong [23:47] Y/N, hi

Joshua Hong [23:47] can we talk?

Joshua Hong [23:47] when you feel ready, let me know okay?

Your response comes immediately.

•••

The first time you brought him to the café, your heart was pounding from the ambiguity, unsure why Joshua Hong of all people would want to ask you out for coffee. Today, you’re back with the same jittery feeling that quakes every cell in your body and makes your stomach do flip-flops.

Sweat collects in your palms as you wrap a hand around the door handle and push it open, already spying Joshua sitting in the far corner of the quaint café. You sneak a glance at the table by the window you and Joshua occupied all those months ago, finding a young couple seemingly in their early twenties settled into the cushioned chairs.

You squeeze past a server on your way to the table, a mumbled ‘excuse me’ falling from your lips, hardly audible from how your throat seems to have closed up from nerves.

Joshua looks up from his phone as you draw closer, offering a weak smile as you slide into the empty chair across from him. “Hi.”

“Hi,” you say back awkwardly, busying yourself with taking off your crossbody purse. It sits in your lap, your arms coming around to hug it against your torso for some semblance of comfort.

“I, um… I just ordered the same things we did last time. I hope that’s okay with you.”

“Oh, yeah, yeah. Of course.” Frankly, you don’t remember what you ordered that day; it’s the least of your worries with everything that has happened since. You do, however, remember his plate of strawberry waffles that was topped with more powdered sugar than days’ worth of the recommended daily sugar intake.

You cease your fidgeting in favour of scanning your surroundings. While you like to think of yourself as a regular of the café, you don’t think you’ve ever sat in the far corner before. Why would you when there are far better seats, like the aforementioned window seats that get plenty of sunlight, or the sofa seats with the fluffy pillows? But for the dreaded conversation you’ll be having, this little corner where no one else other than the staff passes by allows for the most privacy.

Your eyes finally land on Joshua, a jolt of lightning shooting down your spine when you find him already looking back at you, simply observing. You both chuckle uncomfortably.

“Thanks for seeing me, by the way,” he’s the first to make conversation again, something you’re deeply grateful for, “I really appreciate it.”

You shake your head. The guilt that’s been haunting you for months rears its ugly head again, creeping up your throat like bile. Admittedly, you’ve been extremely stubborn, he has every right to be annoyed with you and yet he’s treating you with the same kindness as he’d always shown.

“No, thank you for… actually trying to amend things,” you admit. Nerves sink their fangs into your skin, and you begin playing with your fork for a distraction as you continue, “I’m sorry for ignoring you for ages.”

“It’s okay, you needed space and time to think. I understand.”

The server approaches your table with a smile and places your orders before you. Strawberry waffles and Iced Americano for Joshua, iced oat milk latte and—oh yeah, you did get the chocolate-banana crepes last time.

“Enjoy,” the server chirps before turning on her heel and striding off to another table.

The air around you is still heavy, discomfort still emanating from both of you in strong waves as you pick up your forks. It feels wrong to be in such a happy, cosy place just to eat in silence, avoiding meeting Joshua’s eyes like your life depended on it while he did the same as if you’re strangers who were forced to share a table. You begin doubting the success rate of this meeting; judging by how things are looking at the moment, the air wouldn’t be cleared until one of you spoke.

You desperately rack your brain for a conversation topic, anything to get the ball rolling so you don’t throw up from the silence that tightens the knots in your stomach. It hits you out of nowhere as you peer up at him through your lashes when he’s not paying attention—his hair isn’t blonde anymore!

You decide to start there.

“So…” you begin slowly, eyes still trained on the ashy brown colour Joshua now sports, “you dyed your hair again.”

The harsh clang of cutlery against porcelain reaches your ears as Joshua drops his fork and knife on his plate of half-eaten waffles.

“I’m sorry!” he says, “I—I didn’t mean to eavesdrop!”

You blink at him, wholly confused. “What? What do you mean?”

“I overheard you and Hao talking! I stopped by the parlour and happened to hear you two and—I just couldn’t not listen!” Your eyes widen, heart pumping erratically in your chest as shame unpleasantly twists his features. “It was a really awful thing to do but I was so scared you wouldn’t talk to me again, so I thought if I knew what you were thinking I’d be able to understand your frustrations better!”

He pauses his frantic rambling in exchange for several deep breaths, and you watch with an earth-shattering combination of shock and horror as his shoulders rise and fall with his exhales. Only one question is thrumming at your skull: how much had he heard?

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking the past month after hearing you and Hao talk,” Joshua continues to fill the silence that had once again settled over your table, this time in a calmer, lower tone. “I’ve been thinking about my priorities and where I want to see myself in the long run. I know to you I might look like someone who doesn’t take relationships seriously, or isn’t ready to settle down with a family or anything, but I never once saw you as a fling because you… you mean more to me than that, a lot more.”

Your heart jerks at his words, each one completely saturated with sincerity. “Really?” you ask, voice hushed and wobbly.

Joshua’s nod is resolute. “I thought it all through now, and I’m being a hundred percent serious when I tell you that I’m ready to start a serious relationship again, and that it’s what I genuinely want to try and have. So that… one day…” He hesitates, the rest of his sentence crawling into drawn out syllables. You take the chance to stuff another bite into your mouth to physically stop yourself from interrupting or pressuring him.

It takes a short while until he’s able to finish. “So one day… I can be a good father figure for your kids.”

You’re still chewing when he speaks and immediately start choking on your crepes.

“Y/N! Are you okay?”

Joshua watches in alarm as you repeatedly pat yourself on the chest to stop the heaving. His fumbling hands pass you a tissue while you let out the last of your wheezy gasps, finally able to swallow down your food.

“Yeah, yeah, all good,” you manage, grabbing your glass to take a sip of water. “Sorry, the last part just really startled me because—”

“I know,” Joshua says guiltily, head hanging down with shame, “it’s personal and it was none of my business. I really, really shouldn’t have eavesdropped. I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

“It’s not that at all.” You bite down on the inside of your cheek as you contemplate on how you should break the news to him, that this was all a huge misunderstanding you didn’t even know you had caused. “I don’t have kids.”

His body tenses up, his stare perplexed as he gapes at you. “B-But… I heard you!” he stutters. “You were telling Hao about how you promised to bring them cakes, or tarts, or something like that! You said ‘my kids’.”

Realisation goes off in your head like lightbulbs and now this all makes sense. To say you feel bad for the man would be a massive understatement. “Joshua… I’m a nurse,” you reveal in a quiet murmur, burying your face in your hands to shield yourself from his reaction. “I work in paediatrics, specifically. Sometimes I call my patients my ‘kids’ because of the close relationship we have.”

“Oh my God,” he mutters, your words slowly processing in his brain, “I’m—I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed…”

You lift your head and offer a sheepish smile. “It’s okay, I get why you came to that conclusion now. I’m sorry for misleading you, even if it was unknowingly… and I’m sorry for all the other stuff as well.”

A light chuckle emits from Joshua. He cards a hand through his hair, the soft tufts passing through his fingers as he shakes his head in disbelief. “God, I can’t believe I thought—never mind. But… whether you have kids or not, everything I said a while ago is still true, I hope you know that.”

“Thank you, I… appreciate it, a lot,” you say, this time locking eyes with him before continuing, “and thank you again for reaching out, I think talking to you again will help a lot with me sorting out my own feelings. Can we… can we start over?” Your gaze, while still hesitant, glazes over with hope, “retry being friends again?”

“Of course,” he agrees immediately, a relieved smile blooming across his face. “I missed talking to you.”

“Me too,” you bravely admit, your smile uncontrollably stretching wider at the thought that things might go back to normal soon, just the way they were. “I missed having you as a friend.”

Joshua raises his glass, half empty with condensation trickling down the sides and dripping off the bottom. “Let’s cheers to that. To new beginnings.”

You can’t help but laugh, though you do as he does as raise your own glass. “With coffee?”

He hums, “Feels more fitting for us than alcohol anyways.”

Secretly, you agree, and your glasses meet in a soft clink.

It’s times like these when Joshua realises that perhaps he didn’t know you as well as he’d thought.

Are you the type to like tomatoes in your sandwiches? Onions? Pickles?

The sandwich shop employee eyes him weirdly when he changes his mind for what felt like the umpteenth time, her gloved hand slowly retracting from the pickles bin. He’s lucky it’s late and there’s no one behind him in line, or he probably would’ve been ushered out ages ago.

He hopes you like tomatoes.

With the sandwich and canned coffee sitting in the passenger’s seat, hilariously strapped into the seatbelt, he takes off for the hospital you work at while vibrant pinks and oranges bleed together over the horizon. He was supposed to pick you up to take you out for dinner, but you apologetically texted him a few hours ago about taking a rain check as your workload for the day proved to be more than expected.

He realises he doesn’t have a plan when he pulls up to the hospital, and after deciding it probably wasn’t the best idea to call you during your shift, he nervously shuffles over to the receptionist in the lobby.

The older woman looks up with a warm smile. “Hi, what can we help you with? Are you a visitor?”

“No—well, kinda, I guess,” he stumbles, “is there a way I can drop o—”

“Joshua?”

He whips around to find you standing a few feet away from him, eyes blown wide in surprise. You’re makeup-free and in your scrubs, so unlike anything he’s seen you in, but as cheesy as it is he still thinks you’re the most beautiful person he’s met.

A small group of children in hospital pyjamas form a circle around you, each of them peering at him with round, curious eyes as they take in every detail of the unfamiliar man standing in the middle of the lobby.

The receptionist wears the same kind smile as she asks, “Back from the gardens?”

“Yeah, about to take these guys up for dinner,” you reply, grinning down at the kids before turning back to Joshua, “what are you doing here?”

He holds up the sandwich and coffee. “Thought you probably wouldn’t have time to get food, so I came to bring you these.”

Your smile turns shy. He doesn’t tell you, but it illuminates the whole lobby like you’re the sun and the rest of them are the planets orbiting it. “O-Oh… thank you, really. That’s so sweet of you. I have a break in, like, fifteen minutes, so I’ll be right back, okay?”

He opens his mouth to answer, though his attention is quickly stolen away by one of the kids tugging at your pants.

“Nurse Y/N, who is he?” the boy asks, looking back and forth between you and Joshua.

“He’s my—”

One of the girls mischievously grins up at you like the Cheshire Cat, her eyes twinkling as she chimes, “Is he your boyfriend?”

Her comment sets off a chain reaction, and the rest of the children immediately break out into a chorus of ooh’s and “Nurse Y/N has a boyfriend!” In the blink of an eye, Joshua finds himself flocked by the kids in every direction imaginable as they depart from your side to his. The questions come pouring in right after.

“How long have you been dating Nurse Y/N?”

“Why do you have so many drawings on your neck and hands?”

“What does this one mean?”

“Does she bring you cakes too?”

“Have you kissed before?” This stirs up a symphony of gleeful squeals and feigned gagging noises, causing a scarlet fire to twist up his neck and all the way to his ears. Joshua glances at you through his lashes, the bashful, somewhat dumbfounded expression lingering on your features tells him that the feeling is mutual.

An amused grin tugs at his lips. Cute.

“I like your bracelets, Mister,” he hears one girl marvel quietly amidst the chaos. She runs a tiny finger along the beaded jewellery around his wrist, a sight that has his heart melting in a pile of mush on the shiny tiles.

“I’ll make you one,” he promises gently, unable to contain his fondness when her head bobs excitedly, cheeks round from the hopeful beam that lights up her face.

You clap your hands together to get the kids’ attention. “Okay, okay. Time for dinner, guys!” When they seem reluctant to leave, you try again with a singsong lilt to your voice, “We have pudding tonight.” Despite the numerous disappointed pouts you receive, this does the trick. One by one, they peel away from Joshua’s side, saying their goodbyes before letting you usher them towards the elevators, still chattering amongst themselves and peeking out at him from behind your legs.

“Sorry!” you call out to him, “I’ll be back in a sec!”

Joshua shakes his head in reassurance and tells you he’ll be waiting. A chuckle rumbles from his chest when one of the girls—long, shiny hair gathered into a ponytail and adorned with a sparkly scrunchie—waves goodbye.

“Bye, Nurse Y/N’s boyfriend!”

You shush her shyly before saying something he can’t hear, your footsteps hurrying as she continues giggling behind her tiny hand.

•••

It’s over half an hour later when you finally get a moment’s reprieve from work. Joshua looks up with a smile as you jog up to him in hurried footsteps.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry to keep you waiting for so long,” you say breathlessly, holding onto the couch’s armrest for support as you steady your breathing. “I was about to come down when I got pulled away and—”

“It’s okay, your work is important and I’m not in a rush anyways,” he interrupts gently, showing no sign of annoyance at all before patting the empty space next to him. “C’mon, sit.”

“Still, I made you wait way longer than I said I’d take—” Your sentence cuts off abruptly, the guilty look on your face replaced by one of thinly-veiled excitement when he passes you the sandwich. The sight of food has your stomach rumbling, a reminder of how hungry you’ve been from not being able to eat much all day due to work. Eyeing the loaf with the most interest he’s ever seen someone have towards a regular turkey sandwich, you unwrap it and take a huge bite, completely oblivious to the endearment dripping from Joshua’s gaze as he watches you eat.

Finally, you catch him staring, blood surging to your face while you meekly explain, “Sorry, I haven’t had a full meal since this morning.”

“It’s really okay,” he says with a good-natured laugh, “you don’t have to apologise.”

“Thank you, by the way. You totally didn’t have to do this.”

Joshua shrugs, indicating it’s no big deal to him. “I wanted to. I figured if you were working longer it probably meant you wouldn’t have enough time to get food, let alone eat.”

“I probably wouldn’t,” you agree, “you’re a saviour.”

“Well, friends don’t let friends go hungry.”

There’s a wry smile playing on your lips as you recall a similar sentence he once said. “Like how friends don’t let friends rot in boredom?”

Surprise flickers across his features, his eyes soften and he gazes at you tenderly. “You remembered.”

“I remember a lot of things, Joshua.”

Neither of you say much after that, especially after his insistence that you finish as much as you can of your sandwich before going back to work, and you allow comfortable silence to fill the space between you both. He only speaks again several minutes later while you’re folding the other half back into the parchment paper, your break drawing to a close.

“What time do you get off work?”

“2 a.m. if nothing comes up.”

“I’ll pick you up.”

“What? No! You should get some sleep! You’ve done enough for me.”

He cocks a brow at you. “How will you get home at that hour then?”

You falter, cursing your decision of not driving to work today as you normally do when you have late shifts. Though in all fairness, it was only because you didn’t expect your dinner plans with Joshua to fall through.

“I—I don’t know… call a taxi, maybe, or see if one of my coworkers can give me a ride.”

“Y/N, I’ll rest easier knowing you have a safe way home. I’m a night owl and I don’t have work tomorrow anyways.”

“If you’re sure…”

“I am.” A warm, fuzzy feeling surges through your veins at his reassuring smile. “I’ll see you at two then, okay?”

•••

“Thanks for picking me up,” you murmur as you slide into the passenger seat. The interior of his car still looks the same since the last time you were in it; you recognise the deer figurine sitting on the dashboard, the small diffuser next to it that emits faint notes of jasmine, the kimchi stew stain on the carpet beneath your feet which refused to come out no matter how many times he claimed to have cleaned it.

“You’re very welcome, miss,” Joshua replies with a cheeky grin, his corny impression of a personal chauffeur earning a roll of your eyes . You can tell he went home from his change of clothes, having swapped his white T-shirt and jeans for a pair of matching sweats.

You hate that even at two in the morning, Joshua Hong still looks perfect.

“How was work?” he asks after you’ve had some time to settle in. The streets are desolate for the most part with only the lone pedestrian or car appearing every once in a while, awash in the pale glow of the crescent moon hanging above.

“Good,” you hum, “tiring, but good.”

“It really should have clicked in me sooner that you’re a nurse.” Joshua shakes his head, a gesture aimed at himself rather than you. “All the signs just flew over my head for some reason, I was so embarrassed that day in the café.”

Perhaps you’re a little loopy from exhaustion, but you’re unable to suppress the fit of giggles that bubble out of you at the memory. Joshua pouts at you as you double over in laughter, “Don’t tease me! I really had no idea!”

“It’s fine,” you say upon composing yourself, “I just found it funny. In hindsight, I totally should’ve told you ages ago to save you the embarrassment, but I guess it never came up. And it’s not like it’s anything to brag about.”

“Are you kidding? You help people get better, that’s so cool. Seeing you interact with those kids back there only proved me right—you’re genuinely one of the most amazing people I know.”

“Stop it, I’m not,” you deflect, cheeks burning from his praise despite the cool night breeze blowing through the rolled-down window, “you’re gonna inflate my ego.”

“Good, you’re too humble,” Joshua teases, eyes trained on the road ahead. “By the way, I have something for you in the backseat. It’s in the Luna pouch.”

“I didn’t know you watched Sailor Moon.” Curious, you reach into the backseat for the drawstring pouch, holding it to the light coming from the streetlamps outside as you peer inside. “Bracelets?”

He hums in acknowledgment. “One of the girls said mine were pretty earlier, so while I was waiting to pick you up I just decided to make a bunch. I don’t know how many kids you’re in charge of, but hopefully there’s enough so they can each get one.”

Your eyes sting with salty tears and you have to bite down on your tongue so you don’t dissolve into a bawling mess right beside him. As if waiting hours just to pick you up from a graveyard shift wasn’t enough, he even made your patients bracelets in various designs and colours. You tilt your head back against the cushioned headrest while blinking back the moisture that’s gathered in your eyes, your shoulders falling and rising as you keep the volume of your heavy breathing to a minimum. Only one thought swims in your mind, ringing clearer than it ever has in the past few weeks: you don’t deserve Joshua Hong.

He notes your worrying silence and sneaks a glance at you. Though the inky night casts shadows over your face for the most part, he still manages to catch the glaze in your eyes.

“Oh, Y/N, why—”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” you croak out, “I’m just… really touched. Just give me a moment and I’ll be okay.”

“If you say so,” he smiles at you softly, “please don’t feel indebted to me or anything, I thought it was a nice thing to do since no one likes being in a hospital.”

“Please stop talking before I actually start crying,” you whimper as you lay your arm over your eyes, the wobble in your voice signalling that your words hold no real malice.

You really, really don’t deserve Joshua Hong.

•••

“It’s because of that day at the parlour, right? When you overheard Dahee and I talking—”

“Overheard? You weren’t exactly trying to keep it down or wait until after I left to have that conversation.”

Joshua bites his lip, guilt etched across his face. “I know. I—I was so surprised when she told me that I wasn’t thinking properly. I’m sorry, it was really unprofessional of me to do that in front of you.”

“It’s not that! All professionalism between us flew out the window even before you took me on that stupid date to the carnival!”

“Stupid…” Joshua repeats in a low, shocked manner. Genuine hurt wounds his features. “Was that really all it was to you? A stupid date?”

You don’t answer.

“Y/N? It was, then?”

Why can’t you speak?

“Y/N?”

“Y/N? We’re here. Y/N?”

Your eyes snap open, a harsh gasp tearing from your throat as your body simultaneously lurches into a more upright sitting position. It takes a few seconds of disoriented blinking for the surrounding environment to register in your foggy mind, the scent of jasmine, the darkness outside, your looming apartment building. You’re in Joshua’s car, likely having fallen asleep sometime during the rest of the car ride.

Joshua frowns, visibly concerned. “Are you okay? Was it a bad dream?”

“It wasn’t stupid,” you blurt out. “It wasn’t stupid to me. I don’t know why I said that, I was angry and I didn’t mean it—”

“Slow down. Take deep breaths, okay?” he consoles, his voice a soft coo. “What do you mean?”

“That day at the supermarket… I said our carnival date was stupid,” recognition flickers across his face briefly as you continue, “I didn’t mean it. I said it in a fit of anger because at the time I still thought you were stringing me along so I felt like an idiot for thinking it meant something, and now I regret saying it so, so much. It wasn’t stupid to me, Joshua, none of it was.”

His eyes flutter shut, pretty pink lips stretching into a serene smile as he shakes his head. “I know.”

“Y-You know?”

“Well, it was just an inkling at first, but when we talked outside the post office and you confessed that you liked me back… it kinda confirmed to me that you didn’t mean what you said about the date.” His lips purse to the side as he considers his next words. “And even when we were at the carnival, I had a tiny suspicion you returned those feelings.”

“How?” you dare ask, heart jack-hammering against your chest, eardrums ringing with the rush of blood, stomach flipping upside down, nails digging into your clothed thighs.

Joshua lays a gentle hand over yours.

“Because… you look at me the same way I look at you.”

Chan’s looking over some bills when Joshua bursts into his shop like a whirlwind.

“Hey!” he greets brightly, either oblivious or ignorant to Joshua’s visibly frazzled state, “are you looking for—”

He jumps when the tattooist slams his palms against the counter with a wild look in his eyes.

“What flowers do you get for someone who’s sick and can I have the prettiest ones you have?”

•••

When you called Joshua earlier to cancel your appointment later that evening due to a horrible cold, you certainly hadn’t expected a text message from him saying he’s on his way. Yet here he is, ringing your doorbell repeatedly as you tiredly shuffle out of your bedroom with your blanket wrapped around your shivering body. You didn’t even have the energy to make yourself look presentable, wearing a baggy set of pyjamas, fluffy mismatched socks, and your hair looking like a complete and utter mess from spending the majority of the day rolling in bed.

You quietly groan aloud into the empty space of your living room. “I heard you the first time,” you mumble to no one in particular, a clammy hand wrapping around the doorknob before slowly pulling the door open.

“I brought stuff to make soup,” is the first thing Joshua says, “but I didn’t know what soup you like best so I pretty much got one of every kind they had at the store—”

“Shua, I appreciate you for doing this, really,” you rasp out, your voice so rough it sounds as though someone grated it with sandpaper, “but please don’t talk so fast, it’s making my head spin.”

Your bleary eyes land on the object in his hands before widening in horror. With the burst of energy you’ve suddenly gained, you leap back until you’re several feet away while almost tripping on the blanket ends that trail behind you.

Joshua, who’s still standing at your front door with the most bewildered expression you’ve ever seen on a person, stares as you bring the blanket across the lower half of your face in a makeshift mask. Perhaps he’s thinking you’ve gone mad with sickness.

“Y-Y/N?”

“I’m so sorry, Shua… there’s something else I’ve never told you before—I’m maybe, kinda, just a teeny bit… allergic to pollen?”

Your confession, muffled through the fabric, has Joshua looking down at the bouquet with what can only be described as pure alarm as dread tumbles down on him like a ton of bricks.

“You’re—you’re what?”

“I know, I know! I’m sorry!” you wail, pressed against your couch like a cornered puppy, “I literally feel so bad that this is happening again!”

“No! Don’t be sorry! I’m sorry! You always get flowers tattooed so I thought—oh my God.”

“I do like flowers,” you sniff before continuing, “it’s like people being allergic to dogs and cats but still loving them. That’s me, but with flowers. I can’t be near them, so I get them tattooed on me.”

Joshua runs a rough hand through his hair, looking up at you and back down at the flowers in his other hand. “What do I do with these?” he asks, sounding just as despaired as you did.

You scurry into the kitchen, yanking open the cabinet that holds spare plastic bags before fishing out one that will fit the bouquet. “Put them in here,” you say guiltily as you slide the neatly-folded bag towards him, “I’d hate to see them go to waste because they’re lovely. My neighbour—he lives a few doors down at 808, his name is Seungcheol—he’s taking floral arrangement classes, I think. He’d like them, if you don’t mind giving them to him instead. It’s 808, don’t accidentally go to 809 because the old lady who lives there will yell at you for trespassing.”

“Okay, good plan, 808, got it,” Joshua confirms, feeling a little more relieved now. While he’s a little bummed the flowers won’t be going to you after all—for a perfectly valid reason—he’s glad they’re at least not landing buds-first into a trash can.

“Make yourself at home,” you call out, looking like the most non-threatening ghost in your bundled-up state as you take tiny steps backwards. “I’ll just be in my room. Feel free to come in whenever, but without the very-beautiful-and-I’m-so-sorry-I-can’t-take-them flowers!”

You’re buried beneath the covers, only visible from the eyes and up, when Joshua enters your bedroom ten minutes later. He smiles sympathetically at the world’s saddest lump before gently shutting the door behind him and making a beeline over to you. He pulls out the cushioned stool from under your vanity, situating it near the foot of your bed so he can sit.

He adjusts the wrinkled corners of your covers. “How’re you feeling?”

“Like shit,” you croak, “I, like, never get sick—”

“—Mhm.”

“But when I do, I get really, really sick, y’know?”

“Yeah, I get what you mean. Have you taken your medicine yet?”

You stare up at the ceiling, he can practically see the gears turning in your head as you jog your memory. “Like two hours ago, so… I need to take it again in another two.”

“Okay, I’ll start the soup soon, then.”

“Don’t you have—sniff—more appointments?”

Joshua shakes his head, the gentle smile on his face unwavering. “You were my last one for the day, I was gonna see if you wanted to get dinner after.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” he parrots back playfully, earning a hoarse chuckle from you. “You should try getting some sleep, I’ll wake you up when the soup’s ready.”

You shake your head. “I’m sleepy, but I can’t fall asleep at the same time. Am I making any sense right now?”

“Not really, but it’s okay,” Joshua laughs, “what do you normally do when you can’t sleep?”

“I don’t know, I usually knock right out because I’m so tired from work.” You let out a low, contemplating hum. “Can we keep talking?” you finally ask, voice small and hopeful like a child’s. “Your voice is pretty, feels like it could lull me back to sleep. Has anyone told you you should be a singer?”

He blushes at your praise, but brushes it off with another laugh. You must be really sick. “Sometimes, I guess. What do you wanna talk about?”

“Hm… anything. Ooh—I know! Tell me what your tattoos mean.”

Joshua looks down at the exposed skin of arms in amusement before back at you with a twinkle in his eyes. “Where would we even start, darling? I don’t think there’s an area on my arms that isn’t already inked.”

Your head clumsily jerks from left to right on your pillow as your hand reaches out from under the covers. “There’s always one I’ve been intrigued by.”

“Yeah?” he watches you expectantly. “Which one?”

“The one on your right hand, the ring finger. I saw it when you were driving before. The rose and thorns.”

Your hazy vision doesn’t allow you to catch the abrupt downturn of the corners of his lips, his gaze becomes pensive as he traces the tattoo you identified with his thumb.

“You sure you wanna know?” he asks softly.

You nod. “Tell me, if you wanna.”

Sighing heavily, Joshua gets comfortable on your stool to buy himself some time, racking his brains for where in the story he wants to start.

“You know how Dahee said I’ve never had a serious relationship in a few years?”

“Yeah.”

“Well… I had one… before that all began.” Your eyes widen comically, bringing a small smile to his face. “We were high school sweethearts, you could say. Everyone was so sure we were each other’s person, even my parents thought I was going to marry her. It—it was the best five years of my life.” You stay silent as he continues, and even in your sick-ridden condition you can tell this is a painful memory for him.

“I was just starting out at the parlour when she broke up with me and told me she didn’t love me anymore, and—God, I was a total mess after that because I loved her so much,” a humourless chuckle whistles between his lips, “it was such a rough patch in my life, I felt like I lost the love of my life. Hao was one of the people who helped me through that, and after I thought I got over it all I started having casual relationships and breaking them off before either one of us got too committed.”

Sometime during his retelling your hands have found each other’s. Much like how he rested his hand over yours in his car a week ago, this time it’s your turn to provide some comfort. You’re certain your skin feels uncomfortably clammy, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He’s warm.

“Deep down, I knew it wasn’t healthy, but I thought if I stopped having serious relationships then I’d never be in that degree of pain again if things did go south.”

He tears his glossy eyes away from your face to glance down at the tattoo with a bittersweet smile. “I got this when I was really bitter about everything. I somehow convinced myself I wouldn’t be able to find love again, so I decided to tattoo a ring on my ring finger, hence the wilted rose and the thorn to remind myself of the hurt I felt. I almost went through with it according to my original plan, but right before Minghao started I had a change of mind, a sudden epiphany.”

Your hoarse whisper barely cuts through the heavy silence in the room. “What was it?”

“I asked him to move it from my left hand to my right.” Realisation dawns on you moments later, and it must be evident in your eyes because Joshua smiles genuinely. “I always knew I wanted to get married someday, even when what I thought would be my first and last relationship ended badly. I moved it to my right hand so when that day comes… the ring finger on my left would be saved for the person I love. And…” he turns back to you hesitantly, “that’s pretty much it.”

“Not cool,” you mumble weakly, sniffling before hastily burying your head underneath the covers, “you’re not supposed to make a sick person cry.”

You hear his laugh, a laugh you’ve grown to love the sound of. “I know, darling. But you asked, and I wanted to tell you too.”

Ensuring any stray tears are now soaked into the sleeves of your pyjama top, you lower the covers to their original position across the bottom half of your face. “No, but—” okay, maybe one last sniffle—“thank you for telling me that… and for trusting me enough to do so. I’m so sorry about what happened with your first girlfriend, but you’ll find love, Joshua. I really do believe that.”

You wonder if you’re seeing things; you swear you just saw a tear roll down his cheek. “Thank you, Y/N. I know I will, and so will you.”

The two of you bask in now the tender moment, your hands still connected. He’s warm. Very warm. You dissolve into giggles several minutes later, and the look on Joshua’s face is nothing short of amusement and fondness.

“What are you laughing about?”

He waits patiently until you’ve let out the last of them. “I’m just thinking… will I remember any of this when I wake up?”

“Probably not,” he responds, head tilted back slightly as he laughs, “but I’ll gladly tell you again if you want to hear it later. For now get some rest, okay?”

“Okay.” You burrow further into your bed, lids growing heavily as you struggle to keep your eyes open. You make out Joshua’s silhouette hovering over you, his fingers gentle as he brushes stray hairs away from your face.

He’s adjusting your covers when he hears the quiet, muffled call of his name. He glances at your still figure, your eyes fluttered shut and lashes resting against your cheek. His voice comes out equally hushed. “Yes?”

“Thank you, Joshua. For everything.”

There’s a light pressure on your forehead, something that feels all too much like soft lips pressing against your skin. Maybe you’re already dreaming.

“No, thank you.”

❀❀❀ E N D ❀❀❀

💌 thank you for purchasing our lavender! — dino’s flower emporium

a/n: i’m once again really sorry to everyone who’s been waiting for the third part of this series ;-; it was pretty hard and i got super demotivated in the process bc i thought it was absolute garbage so this went through a few rewrites ahdajhd but i’m really glad i pushed through and i’m decently happy with how this final version came out :’)

if you enjoyed this, i’d really appreciate if you could take a few mins to lmk what you think through replies/tags/asks as it helps me become a better writer and encourages me to keep writing 💗💗 your gentle reminder to support cc’s through giving feedback <3

this was written with my favourite joshushu in mind <3 you know who you are bc only you (and lucy <3 hai wifey) will truly understand all the personalised bits here (@joshuas muah)

1K notes · View notes

leejungchans · 3 years ago

Text

trial and error : k.mg

word count | 2.9k

pairing | kim mingyu (svt) x female reader

warning(s) / includes | food mentions (lmk if i missed anything!!)

genre | fluff, humour (a lil), barista au

summary: three times mingyu tries to ask you out and fails and the one time he actually succeeds… though not without some help.

a/n: can’t have a valentine’s day/season without a present to my very seggsy wifey @seungcy 💗 heyyy babe happy very belated valentine’s day 😻 i hope you like this very little something i wrote about the man you always cheat on me with /j luv u hottie muah muah :hehecat:

PHASE 0

Mingyu thinks you might just be the cutest person he’s ever seen when you walk in. It’s like a scene pulled straight from a K-drama: dreamy music playing in his head as the bell chimes above your head with your arrival, your eyes twinkling with anticipation while you look around the café before flashing a smile at him and—

Okay, so maybe that wasn’t exactly how it played out. He caught a glimpse of you before you promptly disappeared behind the growing queue of customers waiting to have their order taken. He’s instantly reminded of all the times Wonwoo teased him about his tendency to fall in love with strangers easily, but that’s not going to stop him from developing a crush on you. Maybe you really will be the one this time! Who knows?

So when you walk up to the counter, his palms are already starting to get sweaty. God, you look so cute with your pink beret.

“Good morning!” you greet cheerfully, “can I get an iced latte to go, please?”

“Sure,” Mingyu says plainly because he doesn’t trust himself not to blurt out something painfully uncool to you, “cash or card?”

You’re either unfazed or unaware of his monotonous attitude, still smiling brightly at him as you answer the latter and hold your card to the reader. You move over to the waiting zone with your receipt, oblivious to the distress you’ve caused Mingyu from your fingers touching when he handed you the slip of paper. His heart hammers as he watches your back profile, eyes lingering on the cute pins on your backpack—how much more endearing can you get? he wonders to himself, a smile tugging at his lips as the Pikachu hanging from your bag bounces with every step.

The customer after you clears their throat, and with a fiery hue spread across his cheeks, Mingyu tears his attention away from you with a sheepish grin. That usually does the job; even the most peevish patrons find it hard to stay annoyed with him even when he's looking at them like that.

“Sorry about that, what would you like to order?”

PHASE 1

“You sure this isn’t just another one of your three-day crushes?”

“Yes!” Mingyu whines, looking up from the table he’s been wiping down with a damp rag. “It’s been more than a week and the last time she came in we actually had a conversation! And at least this time I know her name!”

“That’s a start,” Wonwoo agrees, “what did you guys talk about?”

Mingyu’s eyes practically shine when he whirls around to face his best friend. “She told me she moved out of her university dorms to live with a roommate, and that she started coming here because it’s on the way to the bus stop.”

“The one a few blocks down?”

“I think so?” Mingyu hums as he secures his apron around his waist, ready to start another busy shift. Despite the early hour, on a Monday no less, he finds himself looking forward to the morning rush, because even seeing you for just a few minutes brings the brightest of smiles to his face.

Wonwoo observes quietly as his friend giddily takes his place behind the counter. Sure, Mingyu’s had countless crushes on customers in the past, but he’s never seen him as smitten for one as you. He’s refilling the straw holder when Mingyu speaks again.

“I’m gonna do it.”

Wonwoo pushes his glasses further up his nose bridge. “Do what?”

“Ask Y/N out,” Mingyu says like it’s the most obvious answer in the world. “For coffee or something, so we can get to know each other.”

“You’re gonna ask her out for coffee… when you’re already working at the café she goes to?”

Huh, he has a point. “Then… I’ll let her pick! Yeah, that’s it!” He then falls silent for several beats before his voice comes out slightly shaky. “You don’t think someone would suggest rock-climbing or bungee-jumping for the first date… right?”

Wonwoo snorts. “Probably not. But I’d focus on asking her out for now if I were you.”

“Pft, it’ll be easy.”

Spoiler alert—it’s not. Because the moment you walk up to the counter with your usual cheery smile, the short spiel Mingyu had come up with all but disappeared from his mind, and he’s once again reduced to a tongue-tied mess before you.

“Are you okay?” you ask, peering at him curiously after noticing his shifting, nervous gaze as he punches in your order.

“Y-Yeah! Everything’s fine!” Mingyu squeaks, gesturing for you to tap your card. “Don’t worry about me! Everything’s just fine!”

From the corner of his eye, he sees Wonwoo glance over at him, his expression wholly unimpressed as though to say “as if anyone’s gonna be convinced”.

“O…kay, well… thanks, Mingyu!” You don’t seem to be offended, perhaps just a little confused, by his odd behaviour as you take your receipt and begin moving aside for the next person in line, but it still has guilt and panic sinking deep into his gut like a ton of bricks.

“W-Wait!”

Your widened eyes blink owlishly at his sudden outburst. “Hm?”

Mingyu blushes, the rosy pink tint on his cheeks now rapidly spreading to his ears. “I—I was j-just wondering if… uh…if…”

“If…?”

“If you also wanted a blueberry muffin, they’re fresh out of the oven,” Mingyu finishes lacklusterly, already mentally slapping himself.

“Oh! Sure!”

And as he watches you tap your card against the reader once again for your added purchase, the disappointed sagging of his shoulders having gone unnoticed, he wonders what had deluded him into thinking this would be anything near easy.

PHASE 2

“You’re going to what?”

Pointedly ignoring the disbelieving look Wonwoo sends him, Mingyu ushers him aside as he takes your cup and the milk frothing pitcher from him.

“I’m doing the latte art,” he finally responds before adding as an afterthought, “only for Y/N’s though, I don’t think I’m capable of doing more.”

“Yeah, because there’s a reason why Seungcheol put me in charge of the hot lattes for our shifts.”

He’d really rather not be reminded of the questionable foam design he made that led to such a decision from their supervisor. “No, it’s because I want to channel all my energy into just her cup.”

“Right…” Wonwoo says skeptically, but relents and steps aside anyway because he’s a good friend and he genuinely wants to see Mingyu’s love life thrive. But he also doesn’t want to witness the absolute fiasco that may very well likely result from Mingyu being let anywhere near the milk frother. Having hot milk dripping from every surface of their workspace isn’t the most ideal reoccurrence, and this time Wonwoo would like to be as far away from the splash zone as possible.

Mingyu’s tongue pokes out from between his lips, deep in concentration as he begins pouring the milk into your cup. So far so good, he mentally pats himself on the back. Maybe this will prove to Seungcheol that he deserves a second chance with the latte art.

A loud clatter resounds through the café, startling him. His hand jolts, hot milk missing the rim of the cup and splattering inches away from his feet. Mingyu cranes his neck in the direction of the sound just in time to see a customer nearby picking up their fork from the ground with a sheepish smile, cheeks tinged red as their friend muffles their giggles behind a gloved hand.

Huffing, Mingyu turns back to your latte to find the design ruined, what used to be a heart now split down the middle. Definitely not a very nice omen to give someone just a week before Valentine’s Day. What if you thought he was trying to curse you?

“You want me to do it for you?” Wonwoo asks sympathetically, gesturing for them to swap duties. With a heavy sigh, Mingyu agrees, taking his initial place back behind the cash register and plastering a smile on his face as the same customer comes up asking for another fork.

A pout subconsciously makes its way onto his face at the sight of your smile when Wonwoo brings you your latte. He can’t hear what you’re saying, but he’s guessing you’re marvelling over the leaf design his friend created.

Maybe next time.

PHASE 3

“Ta-da! It’s a coffee stencil!”

“Yes…” Wonwoo enunciates slowly, not knowing where this is going, “we have those in the back for special events—speaking of which, we need to grab the heart ones for the Valentine’s Day event starting tomorrow. Did you specifically buy that for this?”

“No!” Mingyu says, bringing the stencil closer to Wonwoo’s face, practically shoving it in the space between his eyes. “See? It says “YOU’RE CUTE”, I’m gonna use it when Y/N orders her latte and this time I’m bringing it over to her table and ask if she wants to hang out!”

His words are almost slurred from how excited he is, almost vibrating with excitement because his plan is so fool-proof; he knows he won’t mess up with the stencil and he knows you come in every other day to enjoy a piping hot cup of latte and a toasted croissant before heading to your late-morning lectures. There’s no way anyone could ruin it for him this time.

He can’t help himself from staring at the door awaiting your arrival during whatever short break he gets from taking orders and heating up baked goods, oblivious to the way Wonwoo occasionally sneaks glances at him with an amused smirk tugging at his lips. If the phrase ‘lovesick puppy’ were a person, it’d undoubtedly be Kim Mingyu.

Soon enough, your figure appears behind the frosted glass windows of the café, and while your entrance brings in a gust of frosty wind from the streets outside, he feels nothing but warmth in his chest as you walk up to the counter with a smile he’s come to associate with the summer sun. Sweet and dazzling.

“Hi, Y/N!” he says, a soft pink blush blooming across his cheeks, his fingers already hovering over your usual order on his screen, “hot vanilla latte with a toasted croissant?” His stencil—the one he bought just for you—sits on the counter right behind him, patiently waiting to be dusted in a layer of cocoa powder to create his little message.

You smile apologetically as you adjust the beanie on your head. It’s so you, he thinks, in a dreamy peach shade and topped with a fluffy white pom-pom.

“I’ll have to get both to-go today, I have to meet up with some groupmates for a project,” you explain, and Mingyu feels the blood drain from his face at your words. He can almost hear the shattering glass sound effect if this were a rom-com; the universe must be playing a prank on him.

It’s not even April Fool’s.

“O-Okay,” he falters, his arm suddenly weighing heavy as he inputs your order into the machine, “y-yeah, I can definitely do that.”

You smile gratefully. “You’re the best, Mingyu.”

He definitely doesn’t feel the best as he watches you leave with your breakfast, not even the encouraging pat on the shoulder from Wonwoo is helping much.

“Always next time, right?” his friend consoles.

He wonders how many more next times it will take.

PHASE 4

“I’m giving up,” Mingyu bemoans, slumping over the counter fifteen minutes to opening, “I’ll just accept that the universe doesn’t want me to find love.”

Wonwoo is hardly fazed by the sight of the giant man draped over the granite as he touches up the drawing of the limited edition drink—the red velvet latte—on a small chalkboard to put near the cash register.

“You’re being dramatic, Gyu,” he reasons, voice soft over the scribbling of chalk, “just try again today.”

“But it’s Valentine’s Day! Do you know how many happy couples I walked past on my way here? Plus, maybe she already has plans and isn’t coming in. I’ll never believe in love again.”

“Let’s just see how it goes, hm? Don’t give up hope just yet.”

By some miracle, Wonwoo’s right. You show up precisely thirty-seven minutes before their shift ends—yes, Mingyu counted.

“Any plans today?” he probes lightly, trying to sound casual when you order the red velvet latte and a scone.

“Nah, no boyfriend sadly,” you reveal with a quiet chuckle, “but it’s okay. It’s just any other day, right?”

Mingyu nods. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Wonwoo shoot him a knowing look. “Yeah, I guess... But if it makes you feel less alone, I don’t really have plans either,” he blurts.

“You? Really?” You look skeptical, lips curled disbelievingly.

He places a hand over his heart in mock hurt, thankful business is slow today so he has more time to talk to you without worrying about holding up the line. “What? You don’t trust me?”

“Well… I just didn’t expect someone like you to not have plans on Valentine’s Day.”

“And what kind of person am I?” He delights in how the question seems to fluster you, internally cooing at how adorable you are as you fumble over your words and take your receipt before claiming a table near the pick-up counter. Your reaction gives him a little hope that maybe, just maybe, you feel the same way as he does.

His confidence all but dissipates into thin air the second he finishes your latte. He used the same ‘YOU’RE CUTE’ stencil for the cocoa powder on top, and thankfully it turned out great if the appreciative whistle Wonwoo let out when he saw it was anything to go by. But the thought of bringing it over to you was daunting. What if you didn’t feel the same way? What if you don’t realise he used a different stencil specifically for you?

“What if I trip and accidentally spill it all over her?”

“You won’t,” Wonwoo groans, exasperated by his friend’s ridiculousness, “now hurry up and get this to her before she starts wondering why it’s taking so long.”

Mingyu’s eyes are pleading as he asks, “Can you do it for me?”

“What? The whole week you’ve been sulking because you couldn’t ask her out and now you want… me to do it for you?”

“I wasn’t sulking,” he mumbles, looking over his shoulder to find you happily sketching something on your iPad. “And well, now I’m chickening out. Maybe I’ll do it when she’s about to leave, it feels less awkward that way. Please?”

Wonwoo’s sharp eyes narrow behind his glasses, the gears turning in his head before sighing. “Fine.”

A new customer walks up to the cash register, tearing Mingyu’s attention away from your cup as he rushes to take their order. Wonwoo watches carefully from the corner of his eye, ensuring Mingyu isn’t looking his way as he nabs a napkin and a pen from his pocket, having decided that his friend needs a little nudge in the right direction.

You look up from your screen with a smile when the other barista gingerly carries the steaming beverage and the pastry over to your table. He’s cute, but he’s not Mingyu. Grinning down at the rather fitting design on your latte, you lift the cup to take a sip only for your eyes to be immediately drawn to the napkin that sits on the saucer. You scan the message scrawled on it, hiding your smile behind the rim of your cup as you feign nonchalance, though pinpricks of heat are already beginning to form on your cheeks.

Still, you wait after you’ve finished your late breakfast until you spy Mingyu mopping up the floor behind the pick-up counter. He peers up through his eyelashes when you place your empty cup and plate in front of him.

“Thanks,” he says with a smile, “just leave it there, I’ll get it after I finish.”

Much to his confusion, you don’t walk away. Instead, you continue standing at the opposite side of the counter with an expectant glint in your eyes. Bewildered, he looks down at your empty cup, brows furrowing when he spots what appears to be writing on the napkin underneath it. Hesitantly, he picks it up.

Oh, he’s so going to kill Wonwoo.

my friend thinks ur rlly cute and wants to ask u out and it’s painful watching him struggle, pls put him (& me) out of his (our) misery if u like him 2, no pressure though

“I—I can explain,” Mingyu stammers, mouth opening and closing like a fish but words simply refuse to leave him. It’s cute, it reminds you of the goldfish you had as a kid, Turtle. You loved that funky orange dude.

And perhaps love truly is in the air, because you think you really like the barista standing before you too.

“Well, I did say I don’t have any plans today,” you muse, beaming at him, “and if my memory serves me right, so did you.”

“M-Me?” he echoes, jabbing a finger at his chest, “you wanna hang out… wi-with me?”

A beautiful chime travels to his ears as you giggle. “Yes, Mingyu, I’d love to hang out with you.”

“My shift ends in ten! W-We could go somewhere after that, if you want!”

You grin, cheeks round from smiling so widely as you toy with the lace hem of your sleeve. “Sounds like a date.”

a/n: is this word vomit? atp idk anymore 😞 but thank you sm for reading and feedback is greatly appreciated hehe ily besties 💗💗

2K notes · View notes

leejungchans · 3 years ago

Text

scored! : l.c

word count | 12.4k (SORRY idk why i do this to myself either)

pairing | lee chan (svt) x female reader

warning(s) / includes | swearing, mentions of drinking and alcohol, food mentions (lmk if i missed anything!!)

genre | fluff, humour, university au, enemies-to-lovers au

notes | uh i don’t really know how game season works bc it’s not really a thing in unis here (?) so ;-; please forgive me for any (inevitable) inaccuracies hghhghe also this is my first time making a moving banner so shhh just ignore how bad it is gwhsha

summary: lee chan should really stop winning so many games for your university, because as the resident writer for the sports column of the student newsletter, you’re starting to get really sick of having to cross paths with him all the time.

a/n: happy birthday to my boyfriend (/j) chan who’s also a loser (affectionate ig) bc he never pays rent for living in my head 🙄💗 also just thought everyone should see this clip that kinda inspired this whole fic okay bye—

WEEK NINE.

You love writing for your university’s student newsletter, you really do; you just hate the person you have to write about.

“Stupid Lee Chan and his stupid wins,” you grumble, stomping across the football field with your notebook grasped tightly in your hold. Seungkwan kindly got you one with a hard cover for the new school year, because he will never forget that particular afternoon last year when you stormed into Wonwoo’s office and slammed down a crumpled sheet of recycled paper onto his hardwood desk, with LEE CHAN’S STUPID INTERVIEW #4 messily scrawled across the top of the page.

Something about the look on your face that day told Seungkwan you didn’t particularly care if Chan saw the title, written in all caps with a black marker. Hell, you probably wanted him to see.

Thus entered the hard-cover notebook so no other innocent sheet of paper would have to meet its unfortunate demise at the hands of your never-ending feud with the star player.

“Well,” Mingyu begins, easily catching up to you thanks to his long legs, “they don’t call him the ace of the team for no reason, you gotta admit that those goals he scored at the game were pretty awesome. Redstone U stood no chance.”

You hate everything about the soccer field; the dirt that gets trapped between the grooves of your soles, the occasional rogue ball that comes whipping at your head at light speed, the jock who’s currently waiting for you at the bleachers…

“Yeah, he’s a good player, I guess. But I think he let all the attention get to his head.” You lift your free hand to shield your face from the late afternoon sun, beads of sweat already forming along your hairline. Damn you for always forgetting to apply sunscreen before heading to the field, Minghao will have your head when he finds out. “Every time he poses for you while you take his photos, I just want to throw up.”

“I don’t know, Y/N,” Mingyu singsongs, “people don’t throw themselves at him for no reason either. Plus, I think that blonde hair he has going on right now suits him really well.”

Your lips purse together as you swallow down a bitter remark about how you absolutely do not find Lee Chan attractive, especially not with the new hair colour he got done over the summer. Who cares that a compliment from Kim Mingyu, most-eligible-bachelor-on-campus extraordinaire, means you’re undeniably hot with a capital ‘H’ and the trademark symbol? Certainly not you.

“Whatever,” you mutter, annoyance rising upon spying the bane of your existence in the third row, seventh seat from the left, “let’s just get this over with.” You don’t notice the smile that creeps its way onto your photographer friend’s face as he trails behind you, amusedly observing the way you stomp over to Chan.

“Glad you finally showed up, Y/N,” Chan says with that insufferable smirk of his, “you can never get enough of me, huh? Who knew you’d still be writing for the sports column despite claiming to hate my guts.”

“Because I actually enjoy writing about the other athletes at Pledis U who don’t walk around acting like people worship the ground they walk on.”

Chan places a hand over his heart in mock hurt. “You really know how to hurt a man, don’t you?”

“Only if it's you.”

“Aw, I didn’t know I was that special to you.” He has the audacity to lean in, his cocky grin unwavering as the afternoon sun accentuates all the sharp angles of his face. “You find me irresistible, Y/N, admit it.”

Mingyu, sensing you’re only minutes away from bursting a blood vessel, graciously cuts in. He’s always been on friendly terms with Chan, anyways. “No practice today?” he asks, nodding towards the athlete’s casual wear as opposed to the team uniform he usually dons whenever he’s on the field.

“Nah, Coach gave us a few days off. If this is your way of asking me to hang out, I guess I can make some time for you guys, especially for Little Miss Reporter over here.”

“No thanks,” you snap, “I see enough of your face already, and the same goes for Mingyu since he has to edit your stupid photos for the column all the time.”

“Suit yourselves. So… the interview?”

You really should’ve known that Lee Chan would never make your job easy, because you’re only at your third question when he lets out a scornful chuckle.

Your eyes narrow as your hand subconsciously tightens around your pen. “What now?”

The boy leans back on his hands, still watching you with that shit-eating grin on his face. “You ask the same questions every time, it’s kinda boring, don’t you think?”

“And you give the same answers each interview, but you don’t hear me complaining,” you shoot back, “it’s not my fault that people want to read these things about you.”

It’s true. For one of his interviews last year, you decided to mix the questions up a bit just so you could get a change of scenery, only to later have people come up to you in lectures asking why you left out the riveting part about Lee Chan’s workout routine.

You almost screamed, and after that Minghao started getting you to meditate with him.

“Ah, I see... Well then, please continue. Wouldn’t want to disappoint my fans.”

“I don’t know how you can still stand up straight with that huge head of yours.”

“I was just joking. You’re cute when you’re all grumpy like this, by the way.”

“I have a pen in my hand, Lee Chan, I would try being less infuriating if I were you.”

The smirk that tugs at his pretty pink lips burns your insides with anger, a clear sign that he did not find you threatening in the slightest. “See? Cute.”

Unfortunately, your woes don’t end with the interview. Having Kim Mingyu as the newsletter’s photographer is a double-edged sword, because while his photos always come out looking like he plucked them from some high fashion magazine, his need for perfection also meant that you have to sit through 20 minutes of Lee Chan’s posing.

So you settle for doodling flowers in the margins of your notebook while you wait on the bleachers, hoping it will make you appear occupied while keeping the temptation to watch at bay.

“It’s a little hot, do you mind if I lose the jacket?”

“Sure. Wait! Drape it over your shoulder like thi—yeah, yeah, yeah, like that! Okay, hold still…”

Against your mind’s warning, your gaze tears away from the page to where Mingyu is currently taking Chan’s photos on the field, mentally slapping yourself for gawking at the way his white T-shirt clings to his figure.

Much to your embarrassment, your eyes meet when he looks away from the camera momentarily, and the ever-growing grin on his face tells you it’s far too late to avert your gaze and pretend you haven’t been staring.

“Like what you see?” you hear him call out.

“You wish!”

“I don’t blame you for looking!” Chan yells back, and it just makes you want to bury yourself in a hole before someone else can hear him. “Let me know if you want my shirt off too!”

“Fuck off!”

You want to take his denim jacket and fling it into the sun where it can burn like your extreme dislike for him. (“Hate’s a strong word, Y/N,” Minghao always says.) You also hate how Mingyu’s looking at you, like he’s trying very hard not to say something that will have you chasing him around whacking his head with your notebook.

Hm, maybe Seungkwan was right to get you one with a hard cover. You make a mental note to thank him later.

“You sure you didn’t want his shirt off?” Mingyu asks teasingly on your way back to campus.

“No, I did not.” It’s just the heat that’s making your cheeks burn. Just the heat.

“He’s totally into you.”

“He flirts with everything that walks on two legs. Plus, he was definitely doing it just to piss me off.”

“Whatever you say,” your friend hums, so engrossed in clicking through the photos he took that he would’ve walked right into a pillar if you hadn’t pulled on his sleeve to steer him away. “Anyways, these are some pretty cool shots, especially because of the sun! Ugh, I love golden hour. Wanna have a look?”

He wags his camera in your face, to which you gently push it away with a scowl. “Absolutely not. Now watch where you’re going.”

WEEK SIXTEEN.

“No.”

“But it’d be a fun team-building activity for all of us!” Despite putting on your sweetest smile, your editor doesn’t seem convinced.

“I know you’re just trying to get out of doing the sports column for a bit because the soccer team won another game,” Wonwoo reveals as he pushes his glasses up, “I know you don’t like Lee Chan, but he’s not all that bad. I’ve spoken to him before.”

“W-Well, he’s different with you guys than when he’s talking to me! Anyways, swapping columns would be so fun even if it’s just for a few issues! Like, imagine me taking over Michelin Shua!”

“‘Take over’?” Joshua whines, “Michelin Shua is doing just fine and you don’t know the nuances that come with it!”

“You go to restaurants outside campus and review their food! What nuances can there possibly be? Ugh, fine. What if I do Project Vernway?”

“I don’t know, Y/N,” Vernon teases, pretending to check his nails like a haughty socialite, “Project Vernway is serious business.”

“You rate students’ outfits on whether or not they’re related to The Simpsons, Powerpuff Girls, or Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles!”

“Precisely. It’s a very serious business that requires someone with an eye for fashion to handle.”

You whirl round to face Seungkwan, the newsletter’s resident advice columnist who also happens to be your last hope. He’s always been the most sympathetic to your predicament with Lee Chan, the two having butted heads quite often from their time in elementary school.

He beats you to it before you can even present your case. “Sorry, Y/N. I love you, but I wouldn’t trust you with giving advice to anyone.”

“Rude!”

“Minghao told me you once almost fought a squirrel in the quad,” he deadpans.

“It hissed at me! Plus, he was the one who told me I needed to start asserting myself more!”

“I don’t think he meant doing it to a glorified rat with a bushy tail!”

Vernon gasps, utterly scandalised. “Hey! You crossed the line with that one!”

God, you need new friends. Like, right now.

“Aw, don’t look so down, Y/N,” Joshua coos, smiling brightly despite your obvious despair, “we all know you like him more than you let on.”

“Yeah, and don’t think I didn’t catch you looking through the photos I took for him from his last interview,” Mingyu chimes in, shooting you a pointed look from his desk in the corner of the room. He’d been so silent the entire meeting that you almost forgot he’s in the room with you all.

“I—I was doing quality control!”

“Liar,” Vernon coughs, quickly raising his hands in mock surrender when you swivel around to give him your best death glare. “Sorry, just a tickle in my throat.”

“Anyways, we’re not doing the column exchange,” Wonwoo concludes. The steely gaze he sends you through his wire-framed glasses tells you it’s not up for debate, hence effectively ending the conversation. “You’ll be fine, Y/N, the people like what you write for the sports column, and besides, this will probably be the last piece you write on Chan before winter break.”

A heavy sigh pushes out of your chest. “Fine.”

•••

It’s not fine.

mingyu 🐶 [15:23] okay don’t kill me but

mingyu 🐶 [15:23] sth came up with the photog club and i can’t come :(

y/n [16:01] WHAT

y/n [16:01] IM LITERALLY ALREADY AT THE BLEACHERS

y/n [16:01] I CANT DO THIS ALONE MINGYU PLEASE

mingyu 🐶 [16:03] YES YOU CAN!! I BELIEVE IN YOU!!!!

mingyu 🐶 [16:03] c’mon i’ll buy you ice cream later 🥺

y/n [16:03] ……..fine

“Your muse has arrived.”

You look up from your notepad with a scowl as Lee Chan walks up the steps to where you’re sitting, wrinkling your nose upon taking note of his damp hair and uniform. It physically pains you to admit that despite it all, he still manages to look good.

“Trust me, you do not inspire me in the slightest,” you sneer, putting some distance between you two when he unceremoniously plops himself into the seat next to you. “But thanks for agreeing to do this during your break.”

The wink he flashes you makes you almost regret thanking him. “Anything for you, Y/N. Where’s Mingyu?”

“Busy. He’ll text you later to schedule your photos.”

“Aw, why the sad face? Missing him already?”

“So what if I am?” The challenging cock of your eyebrow wipes the mocking pout off Chan’s face as his heart involuntarily beats a little faster, unable to help himself from secretly wondering if you were serious.

He huffs in mild aggravation, miffed at the thought of you and Kim Mingyu being a thing. As much as he’d like to deny all chances of that happening, it’s impossible to ignore how much sense it makes—you spend so much time together on the newsletter, who knows what looks are shared or what touches are exchanged in the editor’s office when Jeon Wonwoo steps out for TA duties?

It’s a horrific seedling that’s been sowed in his mind ever since the two of you first approached him a year ago for an interview much like this one; a seedling Chan would like to leave out to die in the blazing afternoon sun.

“Whatever, let’s just start. My break’s gonna be over soon.”

You don’t know what’s caused such a sudden shift in the athlete’s attitude, but you don’t like it one bit. His answers become increasingly clipped, which definitely won’t give you much to work with when you start on the column in between essays later. You don’t comment on it, though, wanting to maintain your last shred of professionalism around him.

“Okay, next question… what are your personal goals for—”

“Chan! Coach said two more minutes!” Choi Yeonjun yells from the base of the bleachers. “Better wrap it up with your girlfriend!”

You barely know the blue-haired boy, yet something compels you to abandon all self respect to screech back, “I’m not his girlfriend!” He hardly seems fazed, simply shooting you a sheepish smile along with a shrug of his shoulders.

Movement in your peripheral vision catches your attention, and much to your alarm you find the seat that was occupied by Chan just seconds ago abandoned, said boy already making his way down the bleachers towards his teammate. You spring to your feet. “Wait! Lee Chan! I’m not done asking! He said you have two minutes!”

He doesn’t spare you a look, blonde hair bouncing with each step he takes away from you. “Yeah, but I’m done answering!”

“But—”

Finally, he tosses you a quick glance over his shoulder. The sneer tugging at his lips has you seeing red immediately. “You said I give the same answers all the time, right? Just whip something up yourself!”

Defeated, you can only watch dumbly as he continues his descent before huffily grabbing your bag and shovelling your things into it with more force than necessary.

You hate him, you really do.

WEEK SEVENTEEN.

“Wait, she really said that?”

“Who said what?” you ask curiously, throwing your backpack onto the nearest surface with little regard as to where it lands. “And why is Gyu’s face as red as that time when Joshua got drunk?”

“Hey! I’m right here, you know!”

Wonwoo rolls his eyes teasingly. “They were talking about this girl who’s going to be in the coming Project Vernway, basically—”

A loud groan rumbles from Mingyu’s chest as he buries his face into his arms. His voice is muffled when he asks, “Can we please change the subject?”

“Nope,” Vernon says, popping the ‘p’, “anyways, I asked her if we could feature her because she was wearing this super cool Powerpuff Girls shirt—ten out of ten, by the way, you guys need to take notes—but yeah, after Mingyu took her photos she asked him for a goodnight kiss before bolting away. And that’s not all: right after that he said he would’ve given her one if she hadn’t run away.”

Another embarrassed howl erupts from the photographer. “You weren’t supposed to hear that,” he sulks, crossing his arms over his chest, “she was cute.”

“Okay, okay, before Gyu actually starts crying, I just wanna check up on everyone’s progress,” Wonwoo says, “remember your parts are due three days before winter break ends so I have enough time to edit everything and send them to Professor Nam.” He goes around the room, nodding in approval as each of your fellow column writers confirm that they’re in the homestretch of their pieces.

You shuffle nervously when the editor’s eyes land on you, shifting your weight from one leg to the other. A soft utterance of your name leaves Wonwoo’s lips, and his eyes are gentle as he asks, “Do you need help with yours? Because you know you can always tell us, right? I’m sure any of us will be happy to help.”

You smile gratefully as your friends nod in agreement. “Thanks, guys. It’s no big deal, it’s just that… I didn’t really finish the interview with Chan because he got called away, and since he kept whining about how I ask the same questions over and over again I actually added a few new ones this time, so I can’t exactly make up answers for him…”

“But winter break starts next week,” Wonwoo frowns, “you might not see him again until after, which is past the internal deadline Nam gave us.”

“Maybe she can text him the remaining questions,” Joshua supplies helpfully to ease your growing panic, “that way they won’t have to physically meet up during the break for the interview.”

“Except Lee Chan is notoriously bad at responding to texts.” Your heart practically drops to your stomach because you know Seungkwan’s right, and for a reason you cannot fault Chan over. “Something about random students asking around for his number and blowing his phone up. Honestly, I don’t envy the poor kid.”

“It’s okay, guys,” you reassure, yet your tone betrays your absolute lack of confidence, “I’ll think of something.”

•••

The ‘something’ is what led you to the doorstep of Seo Changbin’s house where he’s throwing a big bash right before winter break starts tomorrow. His end-of-semester parties are always lavish, and while they’re not as exclusive as one might expect, you’ve never found yourself at one of them.

Until tonight, because you happened to be scrolling through Instagram when you saw him on one of the partygoers’ Stories.

The doorbell chimes loudly as you run your hands up and down your arms to warm them. In your haste to get to the party you had forgotten to grab a jacket to wear, leaving you vulnerable to the biting cold thanks to the sheer sleeves of your dress.

The blue-haired athlete who answers the door has your shoulders sagging with relief. At least Choi Yeonjun’s somewhat of a familiar face. “Hey! Y/N, right?” he greets brightly as he steps aside to let you in. “I didn’t know you liked coming to these parties, not that it’s a bad thing, though! I always see you running around interviewing people for the newsletter, so it’s good to let loose once in a while. You look great, by the way!”

You laugh shyly while smoothing down the nonexistent wrinkles on your slip dress, a timeless number the colour of champagne that was one of your many 3am impulse purchases. “Thanks, Yeonjun. I’m not really here to party, though, I’m looking for Chan—oh, don’t give me that look!” you whine, shoving lightly at his shoulder as he cackles, “I just need to ask him a few questions.”

As the two of you head deeper into the house, you quickly realise that all those rumours about Changbin’s legendary parties are indeed true; the marble floors are so shiny that they’re no different from mirrors, the open kitchen you just walked past had shelves upon shelves of what you assume are expensive wines, and you’ve lost count of how many crystal chandeliers you’ve already walked under.

You have to practically yell over the loud music and the chitter-chatter of the crowd just so Yeonjun can hear you. “Wow, Changbin really is loaded, huh?”

He chuckles into the rim of his cup before taking a large gulp. “That’s the biggest understatement of the year. Do you want a drink?”

You refuse with a gentle smile and shake of your head. “It’s okay, I have to go after I talk to Chan since I’m taking an early bus home tomorrow.”

“Ah, that’s a shame, but I can assure you that there’ll be lots more parties like this, so—”

“Y/N? What are you doing here?”

Speak of the devil.

You tear your gaze away from Yeonjun and come face-to-face with none other than Lee Chan. Despite a majority of the partygoers’ choice of fancy attire, he dons an oversized letterman jacket over a snug black shirt with ripped jeans and sneakers, it shouldn’t work so well on him, but it does. His wine-stained lips purse tightly together as his eyes flit between you and his blue-haired teammate suspiciously, and you can’t help but feel small under his intense gaze.

“Oh, okay, got it,” Yeonjun mutters, already beginning to inch away from you, “I’m just gonna go look for Binnie. See ya, Y/N.”

Your heart hammers violently against your rib cage when Chan takes a step closer to you and leans in to speak into your ear, his breath fanning across the shell. “You never answered my question.”

You take a shaky step backwards, plastering an expression of indifference onto your face and resolutely ignoring the dizziness that resulted from your proximity. “I came here to look for you, actually,” you say coolly.

“Me?”

“Yeah, did you forget that we haven’t finished our interview?”

A disbelieving scoff pushes past his lips. “You mean to tell me that you got dressed and put on that,” he vaguely gestures to your dress, “just to talk business with me?”

“Yes, because there’s no way I’m showing up to one of Seo Changbin’s parties in my pyjamas.”

“You could’ve just waited until after the break.”

“My internal deadline is before that.”

He cocks an eyebrow at you as he nonchalantly takes a sip from his cup. “And why should I care? You’re the one asking me for a favour, need I remind you of that?”

“This wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t walked off! Please, I just need five minutes!”

His lack of response is truly maddening, reaching a tipping point where the frustration coursing through your veins brings along a newfound burst of confidence, prompting you to wrap your hand around his wrist before pulling him along with you through the throng of tipsy students. You have no idea where you’re headed, but you figure there’d be a spare room upstairs where you could talk without having to yell over the noise.

A crisp clacking sound echoes off the marble as you march up the stairs with Chan in tow, and you breathe a sigh of relief upon reaching the second floor, already finding it much quieter with the party downstairs reduced to mere buzzing. Your streak of good luck persists when the first door on the right opens to an empty bedroom, which you immediately pull Chan into, shutting the door behind you.

You clumsily reach around the dark for a light switch, brightness flooding the room in seconds as you press yourself against the smooth wood of the door. “Five minutes,” you repeat firmly, “and I swear I’ll leave.”

“It’s not that, Y/N,” Chan says softly, “the guys on the team will be looking for me soon, there’s no time. Look, you can write the interview however you want, okay? Make me look like as much of an asshole as you want and all that. I don’t care.”

“But I do.”

Your voice comes out a whisper, so quiet that for a second you fear he didn’t hear you. “I care about my column and believe it or not, I care what my interviewees have to say.” You can’t bring yourself to meet his eyes, your gaze instead trained on the carpeted floor as you continue, “I want to be a journalist after graduation, and I take the column seriously because everyone else on the team certainly does, which makes it even more worthy of my dedication. Can I at least text you the questions so you can answer them over the break, please? I’d really appreciate it if the response came from you, even if it’s all bullshit.”

You wonder if he’s listening, what a blow to your pride it’d be if you were to find him completely zoned out and bored. You will never be able to show your face around him again if that’s the case.

Hesitantly, your eyes find him again. His expression is unreadable, but his stare is piercing, intense, boring into you in a way that has your heart almost leaping out of your chest. Before either of you can speak again, muffled voices outside in the hallway cause the two of you to freeze.

“—Mina said she saw him head upstairs with a girl.”

“Then… shouldn’t we head back?”

“Let’s just try first. Yo, Chan! Are you there? Rocky’s starting Just Dance in five!”

Your head whips away from the door as you stare at Chan with wide, panicked eyes.

He’s the complete opposite, unfazed and composed, when he asks you in a hushed voice, “Are you going home for the holidays?”

You nod.

“Okay, well, where do you live?”

“Excuse me?”

“Just answer the question, please.”

You supply your general area through gritted teeth, bewilderment growing at his chuckle. “I live, like, a fifteen-minute drive away from you, Y/N. How about this: we meet over winter break at some place—a café, park, wherever you want—and I’ll finish the rest of the interview with you. Sound good?”

You blink owlishly at him, mind reeling as you process the offer he made you. “Really? Y-You’d do that?”

Chan shrugs. “Sure, it’s not like I have anything to do. Plus, I do feel kinda bad that you came all the way here just for me to turn you away.”

“I’m so touched.”

He throws his head back in laughter at your dry delivery. It’s a contagious chime, one that has a smile unwittingly tugging at your lips. You feel like you can breathe easier now. Who would’ve known that you and Lee Chan would come to some sort of an agreement for once? Certainly not you.

“How are you getting home?”

“The bus, probably.” You grimace, the thought of standing in the cold waiting in your thin dress highly unappealing.

“Please tell me you have a jacket somewhere.”

Chan rolls his eyes at your telling silence. “My God, Y/N, you’re going to freeze out there,” he mutters in disbelief while shrugging off his jacket before drawing close to you so he can drape the garment over your shoulders. You pray he can’t hear the thundering of your heartbeat as his cologne overwhelms your senses, intoxicating notes of fresh linen and jasmine flooding your system and threatening to make it go haywire.

He gives you a pointed look when you remain unmoving, and you realise that he won't be satisfied until you put your arms through the sleeves. So you do, already feeling much warmer with the thicker material enveloping your arms.

It’s a peculiar combination, his letterman jacket and your silky dress. You peer down at the ensemble with amusement. “What an odd mix.”

The fluttery sensation in your stomach only intensifies tenfold at his grin; it feels like a thousand elephants are doing cartwheels inside you. “Really? Because I think it looks quite nice on you—almost as good as it does on me.”

“You’re actually the worst.” Your words, however, don’t hold any hostility this time around.

“I just gave you my jacket!”

“… Touché.”

WEEK EIGHTEEN.

True to his word, Chan meets you at a cute café you used to frequent with your high school friends. It’s a quaint little place, with potted plants lining every windowsill, fairy lights strewn across the walls in various designs, the smell of freshly-baked pastries wafting through the air. You like that it’s tucked away from the hustle and bustle of the city, you like that it’s not trying to be perfect with its wobbly tables and overgrown plants that dangle just inches from your head, you like that it feels like home.

It feels weirdly intimate to be somewhere like here with Chan, someone you once considered a loathed enemy, especially when the owner, a kind lady in her sixties who treats every patron as though they were her own grandchildren, brought over a slice of chocolate cake for the two of you to share after recognising you from your teenage years. Neither of you have the heart to tell her that you’re not a couple as she strokes your cheeks and reminisces about how much you’ve grown, not wanting to drag down her spirits during the holiday season.

“That was a nice place,” he says when you step out into the freezing cold, regrettably no longer in the comforting warmth of the café, “and the owner was really sweet too. I can see why you used to come here a lot. Thanks for bringing me here.”

You smile. “You’re welcome, and thank you for coming. Honestly, I was a little surprised when you told me you don’t have much to do over winter break, I thought you’d have more places to go, what with being Mr Popular and all.”

Chan matches his footfalls to yours as you wander aimlessly through the icy streets. “Nah. I already spend so much time on practice and games that I’m ready to just relax and sleep until noon. Plus, I miss my family.”

“That’s fair, you’re always so busy.”

Your cheeks grow warm when he playfully nudges you with his elbow. “I mean, so are you with the newsletter. What about you? Any fun plans for the break?”

“Mm, not really. I’ll probably just stay home for the most part to spend time with my family, and maybe meet up with some friends from high school. Minghao and I did plan on going ice-skating so he could teach me, but his parents were in town a week earlier than he expected so I told him to spend time with them instead. The rink is open all year, anyways.”

“I can teach you, if you want,” Chan blurts out.

“Wait, you know how to ice-skate?”

He nods, “Yeah, my dad taught me when I was little. C’mon, it’ll be fun!”

The Lee Chan asking to hang out with you? You almost have to slap yourself to believe that this isn’t some dream your mind had conjured up to taunt you.

“Are you sure? I’ve taken up enough of your time…”

“No, I want to, and you’ll love it! What do you say?”

You’ve never seen him so enthusiastic like this, reminding you all too much like an excited puppy. If he was one, his tail would surely be wagging back and forth eagerly. How could you say no to that?

“Okay.”

•••

“I swear to God, Lee Chan, if you let me fall I’ll actually smack you.”

He laughs as he coaxes you out onto the ice, wincing a little at the vice grip your fingers have locked his hands in. “I won’t, I won’t, I promise.”

“If I die today, please tell my friends that I love them very much even though all they do is bully me.” About my maybe-crush on you.

“You’re so dramatic,” he says with a roll of his eyes, “I can assure you, Y/N, you’re not gonna die today.”

“We’re walking on ice with blades stuck to our feet.”

His grin only widens while he continues guiding you along the rink walls. You’re aware that it’s very much giving the same energy as swimming next to the edge of a pool, but you might actually rather perish than fall on your butt in front of Lee Chan.

“Fair enough, but it gets easier once you know how to do it. Relax a little, yeah?”

He attempts loosening your hold on his fingers, alarm bells going off in your head instantly at the thought of him leaving you to your own devices, stranded on frozen water with kids half your age whizzing by without a care in the world.

In your panicked state, your hand flies up to grip the wall while the other squeezes his as though your life depended on it. “No, no, no! Chan, please! If you leave me here I will make sure your sorry ass regrets it for the rest of your life!”

“Spend a lot of time thinking about my ass, don’t you?”

Heat assaults your cheeks, burning a fiery trail up to your ears as he throws his head back and cackles. “S-Shut up. You’re so annoying.”

“Just relax a little, okay?” You’re surprised at how much softer his voice becomes once his laughter ceases. “Don’t panic, focus on putting one foot in front of the other… See? There you go.”

You’re still not entirely confident—after all, next to Chan’s relaxed, graceful movements you probably look like a fumbling idiot who’s never walked a day in their life. If he feels the same way, he doesn’t show it; instead he’s patient with you, never pushing you too far out of your comfort level by letting you stay close to the wall. Slowly but surely, the two of you establish a rhythm as you glide across the ice with his assistance, emboldened by the murmured words of encouragement that spill from his pretty lips.

“Do you wanna start moving towards the middle?” he whispers.

You look up from your joined hands, heart skipping a beat at his gentle smile and the way his blonde hair falls over his eyes just a little. Perhaps you’d dare be bold and brush it out of the way for him if you weren’t as wobbly as a newborn fawn, but alas you settle with returning the smile, accompanied by a tiny nod of your head.

And so he pulls you out into the wide open, occasionally looking over his shoulder to avoid crashing into the other skaters, though he doesn’t forget to turn back to you with encouraging grins. It’s unclear what has your heart pounding a mile a minute, it could be the lack of distance between you two or simply the fear that you’d slip and send yourself sprawling across the ice, or perhaps it’s the surreality that you’re willingly spending time with each other when it feels like you were vehemently insisting to your friends that you hated him with every fibre of your being just yesterday.

The placement of your next step is just a tad off, and everything happens in slow motion. Your left foot trips over your right, you lose balance, knees buckling as gravity forces your body forward, your surroundings flash and you brace yourself for impact.

The icy impact that doesn’t come.

Chan stares down at you with widened eyes. “You okay?” His hands are gripping at your biceps tightly as you scramble to steady yourself, suddenly feeling very warm because fuck, you totally jinxed yourself and now he’s going to think you’re a loser—

“Woah, woah, slow down. Don’t panic, remember?” he reminds you, “panic will only make you slip more.”

“This would be a really bad time to let go of me,” you joke breathlessly, still trying to get your skates to stay upright.

“I promised I wouldn’t, didn’t I?” Chan asks, before adding, “put a little more trust in me.” He sounds mirthful, as though you’re not supposed to take the latter part seriously, but even in your frenzied state you can tell his gaze doesn’t share the same jest he conveys with his voice.

You smile at him sheepishly when you’re finally able to stand properly again. “Thanks, I think I tripped because I got distracted.”

“It’s okay, it’s totally normal to slip on your first try.”

“Still, you saved me from humiliating myself in public.”

He smiles wryly, “Well, I couldn’t just not catch you.”

For a moment neither of you say anything; you stare into his eyes, fully aware that both his hands are on your arms still, holding you close as your eyes flit from one part of his face to the other. He’s close, so close. And so unfairly pretty.

You trace his features with your gaze as if trying to commit them to memory, from his cat-like eyes to the tiny moles on his cheek to his soft lips—pretty, pretty, pretty. Everything about Lee Chan is so pretty, and you knew that, you’ve known it all this time; you just didn’t want to admit that you found him attractive.

Chan quietly observes your flusteredness, taking his bottom lip in between his teeth to suppress a grin as fondness blooms in his chest like flowers in a meadow during springtime. He really wasn’t lying when he said you were cute when angry, then again he just finds you cute no matter what. There’s something so endearing about how your eyes nervously dart from one place to another before eventually landing on his face, or how your earlier tumble had left your hair adorably tousled.

He frees up a hand to fix your hair, and your heart practically stops at his gentle touches as he neatly tucks your hair behind your ear, with every brush of his fingertips against your skin sending jolts of electricity through your body. He smiles proudly at his handiwork, seemingly unaware of the effect he has on you. “That’s better.”

You insist on buying Chan hot chocolate from a vendor at the nearby Christmas market despite his protests. “Just take it,” you tell him with a roll of your eyes as you shove the paper cup into his hands, “think of it as a ‘thank you’ for teaching me today.”

“It was fun, I had fun.” He gingerly takes a sip of the piping hot decadence, tongue peeking out to lick the foam off the corners of his mouth. “You weren’t bad for a first-timer, y’know. I’m surprised how quickly you sorta got the hang of it.”

“What can I say? I had a good teacher—what? Why are you giving me that look?”

“Nothing, nothing, it’s just… I think that’s the first time you’ve given me a compliment. Keep going, don’t be shy.”

You wrinkle your nose at him in mock distaste before taking another sip of hot chocolate, gooey half-melted marshmallows coating your tongue in sweetness. “No, thank you. I like humbling you.”

“You’re so mean to me… I kinda like it.”

“Is this your way of telling me you have a—”

“Excuse me, can you take a picture of us?”

The couple that stops you, dressed in tasteful, coordinating maroon outfits, looks to be around your age. You agree immediately, and the girl beams gratefully before handing you her phone, eagerly pulling her boyfriend to pose in front of the towering Christmas tree at the centre of the market.

The girl practically glows with joy when you return her phone. “These look amazing, thank you so much!” Her happiness is contagious as she scrolls through the photos you took, her boyfriend looking on with a smile with his chin resting atop her head. You can’t help but feel somewhat proud, perhaps Mingyu’s photography skills have rubbed off on you just a little.

“C’mon, I’ll take some for you two as well!”

You look to Chan, desperately pleading for help with your eyes. “O-Oh, but we’re not—”

“Sure, that’d be great. Thanks.”

“Huh? What are you—”

He shoots you a warning look as though daring you to finish the sentence. With a sigh, you realise he’s right: there’s no use turning the situation into an uncomfortable mess for everyone involved.

Cheeks growing hotter by the minute, you stand next to Chan for the pictures. Shoulders just barely grazing the other’s, arms awkwardly hanging by your sides, smiles stiff and unnatural—if the assignment was passing off as a couple somewhat convincingly, the two of you would still be a million light years away from hitting the benchmark. The real Christmas miracle would be if the ground split into a chasm and swallowed you whole, because this is definitely enough embarrassment for a lifetime.

Chan waits for the couple to be out of earshot before buckling over in hysterical laughter, his guffaws unceasing even when you stare at him like he just grew an extra head. “Why the hell are you laughing?”

You roll your eyes when he holds up his hand as a signal to wait, tapping your foot against the pavement impatiently with your arms folded over your chest as he gasps for air.

“I just think it’s funny,” he begins, finally having calmed down, “that we look so painfully awkward. Wait, let me send them to you right now so you can see.”

“I’m not sure I want to—” Your phone chimes from his message. Unable to evade your curiosity, you quickly go through each one, unable to conceal your disgust as your features contort from the grimace that takes over your face. “Ew, I look horrible in literally all of them.”

“You look fine, Y/N. Look on the bright side, in a few months’ time we can look back on these and have a good laugh over them.”

“You already did and it’s only been two minutes.”

“Oops. I did, didn’t I?”

•••

An hour later, you catch him changing your contact photo to the worst one out of the bunch, devious giggles spilling from his lips as he zooms all the way into your face before hitting ‘save’.

Obviously, you do the same to him.

WEEK TWENTY.

“A little birdie told me that you and a certain soccer player sneaked upstairs at Seo Changbin’s party.”

You pointedly ignore your friend’s teasing grin. “It’s not what you think, Hao.”

“Then do tell, who are you so desperately searching for?”

“I just need to return his jacket,” you mutter absentmindedly, eyes scanning the quad for a certain head of blonde hair with an all-too-familiar letterman jacket folded neatly over your arm.

Minghao’s eyes widen dramatically, an expression so uncharacteristic of him that you can’t help snorting at the sight. “It’s his? I thought it was Vernon’s all this time! Why didn’t you tell me? I thought you loved me!”

“It… it slipped my mind,” you admit, “but I didn’t think it was that big of a deal…”

“Of course it is!” He seems almost scandalised that you thought he’d brush off such news. “You were sworn enemies with the guy just before winter break! And now you’re telling me he gave you his jacket and you also hung out over the break? You owe me a week’s worth of lunch.”

“What? Why?”

“If I hadn’t cancelled on you because my parents were in town you wouldn’t have gone ice-skating with your Prince Charming. I made this all possible.”

“Your parents did,” you point out matter-of-factly, “and anyways, he’s not my Prince Charming.”

“I beg to differ.”

You whirl around at the familiar voice only for your jaw to drop to the ground quicker than Professor Park can give out failing grades. Lee Chan stands before you in all his glory, head attractively tilted to the side as he gazes at you with a lopsided smile, one hand tucked in his jean pocket while the other runs through his hair. His purple hair.

He looks… good. Really good.

“You’ll catch flies like that,” he muses when he realises you’re not going to stop gaping anytime soon, and places a curled index finger beneath your chin to gently push your mouth closed.

“You—your hair—when—”

“Oh, that?” he dismisses casually as though he’s not currently the source of all your distress, “like, two days ago, thought a change would be nice. Why? Do you not like it? I knew I shouldn’t have gotten it trimmed—”

“No!” The answer comes out far louder than you had intended it to and draws more than a few confused stares from passing students. You can’t see, but Minghao’s about to burst a blood vessel from how hard he’s holding back laughter at your accidental outburst. “It—it looks… good,” you mumble, ears burning under the blanket of your hair.

Chan’s telling smirk is all you need to confirm that he asked the question fully knowing what your response would be. “Well, if you like it then that's all that matters.”

You hate it, you hate him, you hate what he’s doing to you.

“Your jacket,” you blurt out, not trusting yourself to formulate a full, coherent sentence as you thrust the material into his arms. “Washed and everything.”

“Keep it.”

“What?”

“Keep it,” he repeats, a little firmer this time.

“Why?”

“Because I like how it looks on you more.”

Stupid Lee Chan and his stupid flirty self. “I—but you—”

“She’d love to have it,” Minghao interrupts, paying no mind to the look of betrayal splayed across your face, “and she says ‘thank you’.”

Embarrassingly, your voice comes out a mere squeak. “I—I guess?”

With Minghao’s support, Chan gently pushes the jacket back into your arms. “You’re welcome,” he says with a genuine smile, “I’d love to stay but I have a meeting with my academic advisor. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

You can only nod dumbly, still in shock over all that happened even after he’s long become a speck in the distance. Minghao calls out your name softly but you remain unresponsive, eyes unfocused as he waves his hand before your face. He wonders if you’re still breathing.

“Holy shit, Y/N,” he breathes out. Of all his years of knowing you, he’s never seen someone reduce you to such a state before. It’s kind of impressive. “You’re so whipped.”

You blink down at the jacket, subconsciously clutching it tighter to your body.

“Shit,” you curse softly after several beats of silence, “I think I am.”

WEEK TWENTY-FOUR.

As members of the newsletter team, it’s only fair that you’d be the first to get a copy of the latest issue.

“This bakery looks really good, Josh,” Vernon remarks, idly flipping to the next page of his copy, “ooh, are those cinnamon rolls?”

“The best cinnamon rolls,” Joshua corrects, “they got the pastry-to-cinnamon-to-icing ratio down perfectly.”

You hum, stomach quietly rumbling at all the photos of the treats he tried. “They must be really good if you gave them such a glowing review. I’m gonna get Hao to go with me sometime.”

Bless Joshua Hong for essentially being the student population’s little lab rat. You’ve almost never had a bad meal whenever you go outside campus to eat because of Michelin Shua.

Almost.

Seungkwan snorts, “My sweet, innocent child, Y/N, you keep forgetting that he writes nice reviews for all the places he goes to even if their food sucks.”

“I don’t wanna be mean or make enemies! Plus, have you guys never heard of the phrase ‘see the good in everything’? I swear this place is actually good, though.”

“Mm, you sure it has nothing to do with the girl who works there?”

“How—how did you…”

Seungkwan regards him haughtily, lips stretching into a cheeky smile. “I have my sources.”

“Did you spy on me? You creep!”

You shake your head fondly at their banter as you glance down at your phone, eyes immediately bugging out of your head when you notice the time and all the missed calls. “Gotta go,” you mumble, aggressively stuffing your copy of the newsletter into your bag.

“Woah, what’s the rush?” Vernon asks. To no one’s surprise, he’s on Seungkwan’s page because you all know he’s not-so-secretly-anymore invested in the drama people anonymously confess, in particular the girl who’s recently been asking for advice on confessing to her best friend.

Wonwoo smiles amusedly, eyes twinkling with mirth behind his glasses. “You’re going to meet Chan, aren’t you?”

“I’m not. What makes you think I’m meeting him? I have other friends outside of him. I could be meeting with Hao.”

“You start babbling when you get defensive.”

You freeze, hand hovering just above the doorknob. “No, I don’t. You’re a liar, Mingyu.”

“Just go,” Joshua says, making a shooing motion with his hand, “don’t keep lover boy waiting.”

“He’s not lover boy!”

The last thing you hear before closing the door behind you is a smug “called it”.

Damn you, Mingyu.

•••

The field is practically empty when you arrive, only a few jocks remain as they gather their stuff from the sidelines, neither of which are Chan.

Huffing at your own forgetfulness, you take your phone out from your pocket and scroll until you get to his contact. You pace around as you wait for him to pick up, lazily gazing up at the darkening sky with your phone pressed to your ear.

“Sorry, the person you are calling cannot be reached right now. Please leave a message after the beep.”

You end the call and switch to your messages instead, hoping to find texts from him about his current whereabouts. Shoved in a box at the back of your head is the thought that perhaps he’s given up on waiting for you and went home; you want to take that box and burn it.

You decide to try calling again.

“Come on, come on, come on…” you mutter, already starting to curl into yourself as a gust of icy wind rustles through the field. Maybe you should head inside the sports centre, he might still be in there if you’re lucky.

“You’re late.”

A startled yelp escapes you, and you whip around with a hand on your racing heart to find Chan levelling you an unimpressed stare.

“Sorry,” you squeak, “I was going through the new issue with the team and lost track of time. Why are you soaking wet?”

He looks at you weirdly like you just said something totally bizarre. “Because I just took a shower? I’m not going to dinner with you dripping with sweat and in my uniform, I have standards too, y’know.”

“You should’ve dried your hair completely,” you say disapprovingly, “it’s still winter and you’re out here standing with wet hair, you’re gonna catch a cold.” You don’t bring up the way his white T-shirt clings to his damp torso, teasing the defined muscles underneath. You don’t even want to think about it. “Go back inside and dry it, I’ll wait.”

“But I’m starving,” he complains, but follows you to the sports centre anyways.

“I don’t want you catching a cold and then passing it to me. I can't be sick, I have a column to run.”

“Mhm, and it totally has nothing to do with you caring about me and not wanting to see me sick.”

You shiver as you step through the automatic doors. Universities love running the AC on full blast like electricity costs nothing, you’ve come to realise. “Exactly.”

Chan folds his arms across his broad chest—again, you don’t want to think about it—and a pout settles on his lips. “Fine, then let’s just go eat. You can just avoid me if I do end up getting sick.”

“For God’s sake, just go,” you groan, pushing him in the direction of the first hallway that leads to the men’s locker room.

“I like it when you’re bossy,” he grins, “it’s attractive.”

“I’m going to leave if you don’t hurry.” That seems to do the trick and he relents, but in true Lee Chan fashion he turns around and winks once he gets to the door.

You have to duck your head so he doesn’t see the growing smile on your face.

•••

“This is why I don’t dry my hair completely, with damp hair I can at least push it back, but now it’s just getting in my eyes.”

“Okay, you big baby.” You don’t know what he’s talking about, his hair looks so soft and fluffy like this. Your hand itches to run through it.

“Oh? We’re on ‘baby’ terms now?”

You dodge his question in favour of gazing up at the neon sign. “Rocket Diner? Good choice.”

Chan hums. “Yeah, saw it got a good rating on Michelin Shua.”

“You read the last issue?”

“I read most of them,” he admits. “I skip your column when it’s not about me, though.” He must’ve seen the pure horror that flashes across your face, because he chuckles. “I’m just joking, Y/N, I do read them. You’re good at writing, seriously.”

You smile shyly at his genuine compliment. “Thank you, really.”

The two of you pick a booth at the far back and place your orders, most of the selections being Joshua’s recommendations. He’d be so flattered.

“So… one more game before the championship, are you nervous?” you ask as the server takes away your menus.

“A little… we want to keep the winning streak going, so we’ve been practising more, but everything’s going well so far. Are you coming to the next game?”

“Of course,” you reply, smiling at the server in thanks when he brings you your sodas, “what kind of sports column writer would I be if I didn’t?”

“Will you make me a glittery sign that says ‘Go Chan’ in all caps?”

You pause to mull over his request, “I’ll make you one if the team makes it to the championship.”

He grins cheekily, “I was joking again, but since you’re the one who offered—sure, I’d love one and I’ll definitely hold you to it.”

“You better keep it forever after that, I want glitter to haunt every crevice of your life.”

He throws his head back as he laughs, “You have creative threats, I’ll give you that.”

You smile over the rim of your glass, idly stirring the ice cubes around in the fizzy beverage. “Thanks, it’s my redeeming quality.”

It feels odd, but not unwelcome, to be giggling and talking over dinner with Chan as though you’ve been close friends for years. Perhaps it’s odd because you’d be lying if you said you didn’t notice them too—the longing glances, the lingering touches, the flirty remarks that still feel genuine somehow, it begs the question if this is a date. Or more importantly, if there’s something between the two of you that goes beyond a simple friendship. How cliché of you, growing a friendship with an old enemy only to then fall for him.

But as he walks you home after dinner, your hands grazing each other’s in that will-they-won’t-they manner while your laughter echoes through the dark when he recounts yet another story about his teammates, you’re starting to think that maybe clichés aren’t so bad.

WEEK TWENTY-SEVEN.

News spread like wildfire at Pledis U, this one is no exception.

You’re walking out of your last lecture of the day with Minghao when gasps and murmurs break out around you. You only manage to catch a few words at a time, but it doesn’t take long for you to piece everything together, and it takes even less time for the blood to start draining from your face.

Minghao knows the look on your face all too well. “Go,” he tells you softly as he takes your bag, “I’ll bring it back to your place, just go.”

You manage a grateful smile before you’re pushing yourself through the swarm of students leaving the lecture hall, hushed apologies spilling from your lips. Your legs carry you as fast as they can possibly go in the direction of the university’s medical centre where the staff at the counter gives you directions to the room he’s in.

Yeonjun and a few others are sitting on the benches outside when you get to the third floor. His neck cranes to where you stand at the top of the stairs upon hearing your quiet pants and offers a tight-lipped smile when your eyes meet.

“Is he okay?”

“Yeah,” Yeonjun whispers back, “the doctor said it’s just a minor sprain and he should be able to fully heal by the championship. He’s just… understandably upset about it all. He trained really hard and then this just… happened.”

“Can I see him?”

“Sure, I’ll go in and talk to Coach for you.”

Nodding in gratitude, you watch as he heads into the room. There’s muffled conversation for about a minute before he steps out followed by an older man who immediately makes a turn around the corner, mumbling something about making a call.

Yeonjun’s still holding the door open for you when your attention shifts back to him, the small smile on his face telling you you have the green light to go inside.

The door shuts behind you as you hesitantly look around, eyes finally landing on Chan who’s already staring back at you. Your heart cracks a little when you see his ankle wrapped in bandages. Even before you became friends with him, you already knew how much the sport and being on the team means to him, so you can’t imagine the pressure and frustration he’s under when a major competition’s just around the corner.

“I have the worst luck ever,” he says when you sit in the chair across from him, “literally right before the championship and this happens.”

“It’ll be okay, Chan,” you say, “if you take it easy and focus on healing, you’ll recover with at least a week left to practise.”

A single tear escapes his eye and falls into his lap as he tilts his head back, blinking up at the bright lights in order to keep his tears at bay.

“I just feel horrible,” he whispers after several moments of uneasy stillness, “this couldn't have happened at a worse time—if I can’t make it to the championship all the guys’ hard work will have been for nothing and it’ll be all my fault. I let them down, I let Coach down.”

“No, you didn’t,” you say firmly, “you didn’t let anyone down and you’ll make a full recovery before the match.”

“But what if I don’t?”

Your hand finds the side of his face, and it’s that moment when he breaks like glass shattering on the ground, droplets gliding down his cheeks behind shut eyes as your thumb wipes them away.

Your other hand finds his clasped ones, resting over them in hopes it’ll provide some degree of comfort, in hopes he’ll feel a little less alone.

“You will, Chan. I promise.”

WEEK TWENTY-NINE.

You should’ve known to never trust Lee Chan.

His ankle healed a few days ago, but he was still advised to take it easy and to avoid vigorous movement for the time being. Yet, as you watch him practise for the first time in two weeks from the bleachers, you can tell he’s doing anything but that.

So when the team takes another short break, you head down to the field to talk to him with your bag hiked over your shoulder.

“Uh-oh, I think you’re in trouble,” Yeonjun says to Chan when he sees you approaching. Even from several feet away, the stony look on your face is unmistakable.

Chan glares at his friends half-heartedly when they let out teasing ooh’s before jogging over to you. “What’s wrong? Why the long face?”

“What’s wrong?” you repeat incredulously, “what’s wrong is that you’ve clearly been over-exerting yourself when your ankle just healed! You’re supposed to take things slow for at least a little more!”

His smile instantly fades away. “There’s no time for that, we only have two weeks left, you know that.”

“I do, and I know the championship is important to you all, but you’re only going to increase your chances of getting hurt again if you keep playing like this today.”

“Geez, I’m fine,” Chan snaps, “I don’t need you to babysit me.”

“I’m not babysitting you! Excuse me for not wanting to see you hurt again!”

“I just said that I’m fine!” The two of you are too busy heatedly staring the other down to notice the rest of his teammates observing you, prepared to intervene in case things get too ugly. “I didn’t know you cared so much about me.”

You can’t help but flinch at the scorn that drips from his voice; it’s like a poison, paralysing your every nerve until you can’t move an inch. “O-Of course I do…” you stammer out, “why wouldn’t I care about you?”

He angles his face to the left, refusing to meet your eyes. Genuine hurt consumes you and burns through your flesh like acid, it feels like a large rock’s been lodged at the back of your throat, making it difficult to speak or swallow.

“Chan,” you call out softly, reaching out to grab his hand. He doesn’t pull away, which you take as the first good sign. “Chan, I care about you so much… and look—at the end of the day you know your body best and you can do whatever you feel like is right, I just don’t want anything bad to happen to you again, okay?”

He still doesn’t respond, but you know he’s calmed down judging by the steady rises and falls of his shoulder and the unclenching of his jaw.

Your phone vibrates with a reminder, disrupting the silence between you two.

You check the notification before shoving your phone back in your pocket. “I have a newsletter meeting,” you tell him regretfully, “but I’ll try to stop by later again. Just… just take care, okay?”

The lack of reaction from Chan worries you, a sinking pit forms in your stomach as you wonder if you’ve truly upset him to the point of no return. Perhaps it’ll be better after you both have some time alone. With one last glance at him, you begin making your way off the field.

You barely make it twenty steps when you hear his call of your name.

The last thing you register before your mind goes blank is him jogging up to you; there’s a light pressure on your left cheek, a feeling all too similar to that of soft lips against your skin. Chan’s cheeks are tinted pink when he draws away, the rosy hue growing in intensity as hollers and whistles erupt from his teammates, evidently still watching your exchange from where they sit in a circle just a few feet away.

His shy smile is endearing, as radiant as the sun shining down on you.

“Just so you know, I care about you a lot too.”

WEEK THIRTY-ONE.

“Hold still, something’s in your hair.” Joshua leans closer to Minghao, his fingers picking seemingly nothing out of his silvery hair. He examines the sparkling, minuscule speck on his fingertip before giving your friend a questioning look. “Glitter?”

Minghao groans, your name leaving his lips in a long, drawn-out whine. “See! I told you it got everywhere!”

“It’s not my fault!” It kind of is. “He’s the one who wanted it with glitter!”

“You owe me big time for helping you with that sign,” Minghao pouts, ducking his head after Joshua very kindly offers to check his hair for more glitter.

“I know,” you agree, certain that it wouldn’t turn out as well as it had without the assistance of Minghao’s artistic flair, “feel free to name your price anytime.”

As always, Wonwoo had managed to get you all front row seats at the championship, his reasoning had been the same as last year’s—“How is my sports column writer going to write about the game if she can’t even see what’s going on?” Works like a charm every year, and neither of you are ashamed about sneaking the rest of the team plus a few other friends into your exclusive section.

But this also meant the hanging shade covers do little to shield your faces from the blazing sun, prompting Mingyu to fish his sunglasses out of his bag. Along with his to-go cup of iced tea (at least it used to be) he looks like a dad on vacation, but he makes it work. “When’s the second half starting?” he asks, grimacing after taking a sip from his watered-down beverage.

Vernon checks his watch. “In about five minutes.”

“You think we can catch up?”

“We can, I hope. Belville is doing way better than I’d expected this year, though…”

You find it difficult to tune into the conversations around you, your mind far too occupied by a certain someone on the massive field below. From where you’re sitting, you’re just able to spy him sitting on one of the benches whilst being flanked by his teammates, purple hair almost appearing red in the sunlight as they listen intently to their coach. You wonder how Chan’s feeling; discouraged by Belville University’s unusually good performance? Or is he confident they'll break the tie?

Minghao gingerly sits down next to you to avoid startling you. “Still worried about him?” he asks gently.

“I just hope he’s not feeling too burdened,” you reply quietly, “he puts enough pressure on himself being their ace and all, not to mention how he needs to be careful with his ankle.”

“I’m sure he is, especially after you talked to him about it,” Minghao smiles, softly nudging you with his elbow as a reminder of that afternoon when Chan kissed your cheek on the field. You had called him that day as you were speed-walking to your meeting, words jumbled and frantic as you attempted to tell him everything in a single breath. He still distinctly remembers your almost incoherent rambling before finally putting together the pieces thanks to context clues.

You stare longingly at Chan’s figure, eyes tracing the ‘DINO’ on the back of his uniform as a smile tugs at your lips.

“I hope so.”

•••

You’re sure the frustration the Pledis U players are feeling at this moment must be tenfold of that of your fellow students. Belville manages to score another goal just as everyone was starting to believe it’d be another victory for your school, once again bringing the match to a tie with just four minutes left on the clock.

“This sucks,” Seungkwan groans, burying his face in his hands, “they were so close to winning.”

Wonwoo nods. “Yeah, but you have to admit that this makes it all the more exciting. Y/N, you’ve been taking notes, right?”

You roll your eyes teasingly as you wave your mini notepad around, showing the editor your full page of notes. “Of course, boss,” you joke, “it’s not like I do this for the past games I’ve been to.”

“Well, but that was before you started being distracted by Lee Chan,” Vernon pipes up before shoving the rest of his hotdog into his mouth. This has to be this third or fourth one, much to Joshua’s disappointment, who had already asserted that the stadium still has yet to improve the ketchup-mustard ratio on their hotdogs, but Vernon eats practically anything you give him so no one is surprised.

“I was not distracted by him!”

Seungkwan looks wholly unconvinced by your statement. “Please, you were totally ogling him when he scored that goal just now.”

“And you choked on your water when he lifted his shirt to wipe his face.”

“Xu Minghao!”

“Just telling the truth.”

It’s almost funny how quickly your friends’ collective teasing (read: bullying) dies down when the match resumes, your section falling into severe silence as none of you dare make a sound lest you miss out on a single moment. You and Minghao soon find yourselves pressed to each other with your arms linked, sharp inhales and hisses escaping you two every now and then as the Pledis U team endeavours to score one final goal.

You’re unable to peel your eyes from Chan, his purple hair bouncing as he runs across the grassy pitch alongside his teammates, skilfully passing the ball from one to another towards the goalpost.

Regardless of how many games you’ve been to in the past, you’ve never once felt immune to the effects of the adrenaline you get as the timer counts down to the final seconds. At this point, you and Minghao are squeezing the hell out of each other’s arms, and despite no words being exchanged you know you’re both hoping the team will manage to pull through—no, they definitely will.

Yeonjun passes the ball over to Chan as they near the Belville goalkeeper, and it feels like time has stopped when he kicks it with full force. Your eyes follow the ball slice through the air like a sharpened knife, you don’t know if you’re even breathing at this point.

It goes in, and time unfreezes as the entire stadium erupts into cheers and applause. Next to you, Seungkwan and Vernon squeal while crushing each other into a bear hug, and even the usually-stoic Wonwoo lets out delighted shouts before clapping you on the shoulder, a knowing smile playing on his lips when he remarks that you’ll definitely face no shortage in material to write about.

Out on the field, the Pledis U team tackles Chan in a huddle, their hollers so loud you can hear them from all the way on the stands. It doesn’t take long before they’re raising him to their shoulders, even tossing him into the air a few times. Yearning blooms in your chest, and you secretly wonder if it’d be appropriate to run down there to celebrate this moment with him.

As though reading your thoughts, Minghao lightly bumps his hip against yours. “Go,” he urges with a grin, “you know you want to.”

“What if he doesn’t want me there, though?”

“He definitely does,” Mingyu reassures, shoving the glittery sign you and Minghao spent all night working on into your hands, “go get him, tiger.”

The smiles on your friends’ faces are all the encouragement you need as you make your way off the grandstands, heart thumping wildly in your rib cage like a rogue drum when you reach the edge of the pitch. You take the first step onto the field, grass crunching under your feet as you make your way towards the team, the sudden realisation that everyone on the spectator stands can see you with your big obnoxious sign has your previously-gained confidence dissipating into thin air little by little.

Yeonjun’s the first to spot you, pulling away from the group huddle with a smirk before exchanging whispers with the guys beside him. Confusion writes itself all over Chan’s face when they abruptly set him down, the look of bewilderment in his eyes melting away when he sees your approaching figure.

He jogs up to you, sweaty purple hair pushed off his forehead and practically glowing with happiness as he beams. “You came,” he breathes out.

You grin back. “Of course I did. Congratulations, I knew you could do it. Is your ankle feeling okay?”

“Yeah, it’s okay.” His gaze flickers down to your sign, his smile so wide that it threatens to split his face as the blinding gold ‘GO CHAN’ glitters up at him. “You actually made me one?”

“Hao helped a lot, you know I’m hopeless with the arts and crafts stuff,” you admit shyly, “think of it as a victory present.”

“That’s it? Don’t you think I deserve a little more for that last goal?” he teases.

“Well, what were you thinking of?”

He steps closer to you with a coy smile. The proximity makes you dizzy, makes you feel like a blushing schoolgirl talking to her crush for the very first time. “Hm, I do happen to have a few ideas...”

You raise a brow. “Why don’t you show me, then?”

“I’d prefer if you do it.”

“You’re an idiot, you know that?”

Chan tilts his head, challengingly, enticingly. Huh, you never noticed how long his lashes are. “Am I at least your idiot, though?”

This is it—you’ve truly fallen. Somewhere along the line, traded insults and heated glares evolved into shared giggles and longing glances. Somewhere along the line, you went from hating him with your whole being to making room for him in your heart.

Somewhere along the line, you’ve fallen for the boy with infectious laughter and endless zest.

And so when you reach up to cup Chan’s cheek, pulling him in to press your lips to his, you know in your heart that you don’t regret it one bit.

“See?” he murmurs when you part for air, smiling sweetly as he rests his forehead against yours, “I knew you can never get enough of me.”

“You talk too much, Lee Chan.”

“You should do something about it.”

He doesn’t have to tell you twice.

a/n: everyone wish my love the bane of my existence a happy birthday or you owe me 20 dollars /j (uh it’s not the 11th anymore where i live but that’s my fault </3) anyways feedback is always highly appreciated and important to me :> so do let me know what you think hehe 💕 thank you for reading besties!!!

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