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estellan0vella · 2 months ago

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Look For Me: H.HJ Hwang Hyunjin x fem!reader (College AU)

WC: 14.5K

CW: Reader pushing herself, Minho and Jisung are bad friends at one point, Hyunjin talking like a poet (bc I firmly believe this man is a ROMANTIC) General Masterlist SKZ Masterlist

The dance studio pulses with energy, the bassline thumping through the sound system like a heartbeat. Fluorescent lights cast a sterile glow over the polished wooden floor, reflecting the faint sheen of sweat on your skin. You like the sharpness of it. The way it keeps you focused, stripping away distractions until it's just you and the music.

Your outfit is as much a statement as it is practical. Black yoga shorts hug your hips, a matching bandeau crop top leaves your midriff bare, and fishnets climb your legs, emphasizing their length with every step in your sleek black heels. The silver rings on your fingers catch the light as you adjust your cap, the coiled snake on your middle finger glinting like it has a life of its own.

From the corner of the room, Minho groans dramatically, sprawled on a precarious tower of mats like some lazy prince. His cherry-red hair looks like he's been running his hands through it, the undercut sharp and catching the light whenever he shifts.

"You know, Kappa Tau's throwing a fucking banger tonight. Gorgeous sorority girls everywhere, probably in those stupid glittery tops and mini skirts that ride up just enough. And here I am, sitting on my ass, watching you prance around."

You pause mid-stretch, your hands resting on your hips as you arch an unimpressed brow at him. "Prance?" you echo, your voice sweet but sharp as a whip. "This is art, Minho. A performance. And no one asked you to stay."

"Christ," Jisung mutters, slouched beside him with his oversized iced americano. His dark hair flops into his eyes as he nudges Minho's ribs with a sharp elbow. "She's got the showcase coming up, you dick. Ever heard of being supportive?"

Minho rolls his eyes, throwing his arms out wide in a mock display of virtue. "Supportive? That's me. Mr. Fucking Supportive. Someone print it on a badge."

You tilt your head at him, lips curving into a smile that's all teasing softness, your tone sugary sweet. "You're here, aren't you? That's more support than I expected."

Minho groans and flops back dramatically. "Fuck off. Both of you."

The opening chords of Dirty Diana ripple through the speakers, low and seductive, and you stride to the centre of the floor like you own the room. Your steps are deliberate, the click of your heels sharp against the floor. You pause there for a beat, letting the music seep into your bones, before rolling your shoulders and starting to move.

Every motion is precise, fluid, calculated. When you twist your hips, the fishnets catch the light, and when you step, it's with the kind of confidence that could break hearts.

"Holy shit," Jisung breathes, sitting up straighter. "Okay, yeah. You're killing it."

You spin on your heel, perfectly on beat, and as you glide by, Jisung stretches out his arm, holding your iced latte like it's some kind of peace offering. "Sip?" he asks, grinning like a kid.

Without breaking stride, you lean forward, the straw meeting your lips. The sip is quick, your eyes catching his as you pull away, and then you spin off again, your hair brushing your shoulders. Jisung whoops so loudly it echoes.

"Jesus fuck," Minho mutters, propping himself up on his elbows. "Can't believe I'm fucking sober for this shit."

"You're welcome to leave," you throw over your shoulder, arching a brow as you twist your torso in a smooth, deliberate stretch. Your silver hoops catch the light when you lean to the side, and Minho's gaze follows the motion before he snaps out of it.

"Nah, someone's gotta make sure you don't break your neck in those ridiculous shoes. Purely a safety measure."

You smirk, dropping into a deep stretch to touch your toes. The pull feels divine, your muscles warm and pliant. "You're a goddamn saint, Minho."

"You're goddamn right I am," he deadpans, making Jisung choke on his coffee.

As you rise, Jisung gestures at you with his cup. "Hey, seriously though. What's with the switch-up? You're usually all bubblegum pop and shit. Now it's, like..." He waves vaguely at the speakers. "Stripper territory."

"Range, Ji," you reply, smoothing your top. "I need range."

"Range, huh?" He snorts, slouching back against the mats. "What's next? A fucking waltz in stripper heels?"

"Maybe. Gotta keep you guessing."

The routine picks up again, this time with more intensity. You drop to the floor at the build, your knees sliding smoothly against the wood. When the beat hits, you spread your legs, arching your back as your head tips back, the movement fluid and hypnotic. Your hand trails slowly down your body before you twist and rise, heels clicking as you transition into the next move.

Jisung lets out a low whistle, muttering, "Holy fucking shit."

"Fucking hell," Minho echoes, blinking like he's trying to recalibrate.

You ignore them, the music consuming you completely. When the song fades and you're left panting, hair sticking to your damp skin, Jisung and Minho break into loud, raucous applause.

"You should seriously consider stripping," Minho says, pushing himself upright and grabbing his water bottle. His grin is sharp and teasing. "You'd make so much goddamn money."

You shrug casually, wiping the sweat from your brow. "Maybe I will."

Minho nearly spits his water. "Fuck, I was kidding."

You flash him a smile. "Relax. So was I."

Jisung grins, swirling the ice in his cup. "Hey, you should add a crawl in there somewhere."

You glance at him, one brow lifting. "A crawl?"

"Yeah," he says, miming the motion poorly. "Sex appeal and all that."

"He's not wrong," Minho adds, deadpan. "Sex sells, sweetheart."

You hum thoughtfully, leaning down to snag your latte. The movement is slow, deliberate, and when you rise, you flick a teasing glance at both of them. "Noted."

The music kicks in again, and you lose yourself once more. Minho and Jisung stay sprawled on the sidelines, alternating between hyping you up and throwing in unsolicited commentary. You can't help the laugh that escapes you mid-routine when Minho yells, "Fucking nailed it!" as you drop into a split.

When the song finally ends, you're breathless and flushed, the room echoing with the sound of your panting and their whistles.

"Shit, you're gonna destroy at the showcase," Minho says, softer this time, his grin lopsided but genuine.

Jisung raises his coffee in a mock toast. "To our star. Just don't forget us little people when you're famous."

You smile, sweet and sincere, as you gather your things. "Never," you promise. "You're stuck with me."

The three of you linger in the studio, the air warm with laughter and bass, none of you in any rush to leave. This is your time, your sanctuary. And with them beside you, it's perfect.

The Alpha Phi frat house is chaos, as always. The faint hum of a game console buzzes from the corner of the living room, punctuated by the sound of Felix yelling, "What the fuck, Changbin?!" as Changbin's character delivers a devastating blow.

Felix is half-sitting, half-sprawled on the floor, his legs stretched out like a kid while Changbin perches on the edge of the couch, laser-focused, the controller a deadly weapon in his hands.

Across the room, Chan lounges on the couch, one foot propped up on the coffee table, earbuds jammed in as he scrolls through his phone. His lips move faintly like he's mumbling lyrics under his breath, probably tweaking music tracks for the millionth time.

Seungmin leans against the arm of an old recliner that's seen far too many frat house disasters, flipping through a thick textbook with his trademark scowl. He looks vaguely disgusted, though it's unclear whether it's because of the content or the sheer existence of the people around him.

And then there's Hyunjin. He's planted right in the middle of the floor like a dramatic artist in his natural habitat, cross-legged with a massive sketchbook balanced on his lap. A pencil twirls between his long fingers, tapping rhythmically against the blank page. His dark hair falls into his face in perfectly messy strands, like it always does, because the bastard can't look not good even when he's pissed off.

"Fuck," Hyunjin mutters, dragging a hand through his hair. The strands fall back in place like it's their life's mission. His head tilts back dramatically, eyes on the ceiling like it holds the answers to all his problems.

"Creative block?" Chan doesn't even look up, one earbud still in as he scrolls.

Hyunjin shoots him a murderous glare. "What gave it away, Sherlock?"

"The way you're sitting there like a kicked puppy," Seungmin supplies dryly, not bothering to look up from his book.

Hyunjin groans and collapses backward, sprawling out on the carpet like he's been struck down by some divine force. "I'm fucked. I have this fucking project about passion and I've got nothing. I'm literally a failure."

"Finally, some self-awareness," Minho says, breezing into the room with Jisung on his heels. He's holding a mug that probably contains three parts coffee and one part his own bullshit, and Jisung, as always, has a bag of chips open and already half-empty.

Hyunjin flips him off from his spot on the floor. "I'm being serious, you dick."

"Yeah, and I'm seriously saying this is the funniest thing I've seen all week," Minho replies, taking a sip of his coffee and smirking over the rim. "The tortured artist act is so fucking predictable."

Hyunjin props himself up on one elbow, glaring. "I need something raw. Something fucking real. Everything I've done so far looks like it was churned out by some art bot."

"Sounds like a you problem," Jisung quips, flopping onto the couch beside Chan and immediately tossing a chip into his mouth. "But hey, Minho and I might have a solution."

Minho raises an eyebrow at him. "Do we?"

"Yeah." Jisung grins, leaning forward like he's about to drop the hottest gossip of the year. "Y/N."

Hyunjin frowns, his pencil freezing mid-tap. "Who the fuck is Y/N?"

"Our friend," Minho says, rolling his eyes like Hyunjin's an idiot for not knowing. "She's a dancer. She's working on this routine for the college showcase, and it's, like, fucking insane."

"Dancer?" Changbin finally swivels his chair around, abandoning the game as Felix yells, "Don't pause mid-fight, you asshole!"

"Hot as fuck," Jisung clarifies, ignoring Felix. "She's doing Dirty Diana."

Felix whistles low. "And you're introducing her to Hyunjin? Bold move."

"Why the fuck is that a bold move?" Hyunjin demands, sitting up straighter. He looks vaguely offended.

"Because you're Hwang Whore Hyunjin," Felix says, deadpan. "Like, it's your brand."

"Fuck you!" Hyunjin throws a pillow at him, which Felix dodges easily. "I'm not a fucking whore."

"Sure," Seungmin mutters, finally looking up from his book. "And the earth is flat."

Minho crosses his arms and leans against the back of the couch. "Look, if introducing him to Y/N gets him to stop stealing my half-eaten apples to sketch them, I'm willing to make the sacrifice."

"You're such a dick," Hyunjin mutters.

"And you are a fucking menace," Jisung retorts, tossing a chip at him. "Remember when you made me hold an Oreo ice cream sandwich for, like, fifteen minutes while you got the perfect angle?"

"The vision was worth it," Hyunjin insists, his tone defensive.

"No, it fucking wasn't," Jisung says, glaring. "That shit melted in my hand, and you didn't even use the sketch!"

Minho sighs dramatically. "Anyway, Y/N's our peace offering. Take her. Get inspired. Just don't ruin her."

Hyunjin raises an eyebrow, mock-offended. "What the fuck does that mean?"

"Exactly what it sounds like," Minho says. "No flirting. No fucking around."

"Why the hell would I flirt with her?" Hyunjin shoots back, sounding genuinely indignant.

Minho just snorts. "Because you flirt with everyone, Hyunjin. You can't help yourself. It's pathological."

"True," Seungmin mutters, flipping a page. "It's exhausting."

Hyunjin throws up his hands. "You guys are such dicks. I'm literally trying to work here."

"And you're gonna work when you see Y/N dance tomorrow," Jisung says smugly, his grin widening. "Minho's right, it's fucking hot. Her costume is, like, Rocky Horror Picture Show meets Moulin Rouge."

"Christ," Felix mutters, leaning back against the couch. "You guys are walking her into the lion's den."

"Shut up," Hyunjin snaps, though there's a flicker of interest in his eyes as he taps his pencil against the edge of the sketchbook. "I'll go. I'll see her. But I'm not promising anything."

"Just keep your dick out of it," Minho says bluntly, taking another sip of his coffee.

"Scout's honour," Hyunjin replies, raising one hand.

"You weren't a fucking scout," Chan says, finally looking up from his phone.

Hyunjin smirks. "Details."

Jisung shakes his head, muttering, "We're all gonna regret this."

"Probably," Minho agrees, but his grin says he's ready for the disaster. "But hey, at least I'll get to eat my apple in peace."

The dance studio is quiet, save for the hum of the air conditioner and the faint squeak of your stilettos on the polished wooden floor as you stretch. You bend forward, fingers brushing your toes, the pull in your muscles warm and satisfying after your light warm-up. The fluorescent lights above gleam off the mirrors that line the walls, casting your reflection back at you: a bold, commanding figure.

The halter-style leather corset clings to you like a second skin, laces tight across your torso. The black gloves on your hands shimmer under the light, tiny embellishments catching flashes like sparks.

Your hotpants are short enough to make you raise a brow the first time you tried them on, and the garters attached to them stretch taut over your fishnet-clad thighs, disappearing into the tops of your heeled boots. It's a look designed to demand attention, but you're not thinking about that right now. You're focused, calm, working your muscles loose.

The sound of the door creaking open cuts through the silence, followed by Minho's voice. "You better not be dead in here, Y/N."

"And if she is," Jisung adds, his tone entirely unserious, "I'm not cleaning it up. That's Minho's job."

A small smile tugs at your lips as you glance at them in the mirror. "Still alive, thanks for the concern." You stay in your stretch, head upside down, watching their reflections as they step into the room.

Jisung's carrying a bag of chips and he's already grinning like he knows he's about to start shit. "Oh, by the way, we brought a friend. Y/N, meet Hyunjin."

You tilt your head, curious, and peer between your legs. Your hair falls forward, creating a curtain around your face, but you can still see him.

The new guy standing just inside the doorway is tall, lean, with sharp, elegant features that could probably make someone's knees weak if he so much as glanced their way. His long black hair falls past his shoulders in glossy waves, and his eyes, dark, intense, and slightly wide with surprise, are locked on you.

"Hello," you greet, cheerful but with a hint of amusement at the fact that he's still staring.

Hyunjin blinks, startled, and looks away so fast you almost laugh. "Uh, hi," he mumbles, rubbing the back of his neck.

"You're looking at her through her fucking legs," Jisung points out gleefully, shoving a handful of chips into his mouth. "What a gentleman."

Straightening up, you roll your shoulders, the soft leather of your corset creaking slightly with the motion. "Don't mind them," you say to Hyunjin, your voice calm and soothing, though there's laughter in your eyes. "They're always like this."

"Good to know," Hyunjin replies, his lips twitching into a small, hesitant smile. He shifts his weight, his sketchbook tucked under one arm, as if unsure where he's supposed to stand.

"Wait a fucking second," Jisung says, holding up a hand dramatically like he's just noticed something life-altering. His eyes dart over your outfit, widening. "That's what you're wearing for the showcase?"

"Is that a problem?" you ask, brushing your gloved hands over the front of your corset, smoothing invisible creases. "I'm not wearing the feather headpiece or the boa yet, but yeah. What do you think?"

"What do I think?" Minho practically chokes, gesturing wildly at your ensemble like it's a personal affront. "I think you need a goddamn blanket. Holy fuck, Y/N. Jesus fucking Christ."

"And a full-body censor," Jisung adds, nodding gravely as his gaze drops to your legs. "This is why you got that bikini wax last week, isn't it?"

You nod, entirely unbothered, as you twist slightly, stretching your spine. "Mhm. Had to. The outfit doesn't leave much to the imagination."

"Doesn't leave anything to the imagination," Minho sputters, throwing up his hands. "You can't wear that!"

"Why not?" you ask, tilting your head. There's a faint teasing lilt to your voice, but you're genuinely curious.

"Because- because-" Minho stammers, gesturing at you with such exasperation he looks like he might combust. "It's fucking indecent!"

"You look too hot," Jisung blurts out, his voice half a groan. "Do you have any fucking clue how many people are going to be watching you? Guys are gonna lose their minds."

"That's kind of the point," you reply. "It's a performance. I'm supposed to grab their attention."

"Well, you're grabbing something, all right," Jisung mutters, rubbing at his temples as if he's suddenly developed a headache. "Holy shit, this is a fucking hazard."

Hyunjin clears his throat, and for the first time since entering, his voice cuts through the noise. "It's bold." He steps further into the room, his eyes scanning you with an intensity that's equal parts artist and something else entirely. "It fits the song. Definitely makes a statement."

You blink, slightly surprised by the evenness in his voice. "You think so?"

Hyunjin nods, his expression serious as he looks you over like you're a painting he's trying to dissect. "Yeah. It's provocative, but not trashy. It's striking. It suits you."

Your cheeks flush slightly at the unexpected compliment, but you smile anyway, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. "Thanks. That's exactly what I was going for."

"Don't fucking start," Minho groans, pointing a finger at Hyunjin. "Do not flirt with her. We're barely ten minutes into this."

"Relax," Hyunjin says, a smirk curling his lips. "I'm just making an observation."

"You'd better keep it that way," Jisung warns, his tone sharp. "This is sacred fucking ground, man. Don't ruin it."

Hyunjin raises his hands in mock surrender, but his smirk only deepens. "Scout's honor."

"You were never a fucking scout," Minho snaps, and Hyunjin shrugs, unapologetic.

You laugh softly, the tension breaking under the sound. "It's fine, guys. He can stay. I'd actually like to hear what an artist thinks of my routine."

"Oh, you'll hear it," Jisung mutters darkly. "He never shuts the fuck up."

"I'll behave," Hyunjin promises, though the glint in his eyes says otherwise. "Swear on my sketchbook."

"God help us," Minho mutters, dragging a hand down his face. "Fine. But if he gets weird, Y/N, we're kicking him out."

You smile at their antics, amused, and gesture toward the mirrors. "All right, sit down and let me know what you think."

As they settle into a corner, the buzz of conversation fades into a soft hum. You move to the centre of the room, the feel of the polished floor under your heels grounding you. The air feels different now, electric, like a storm brewing. You inhale deeply, rolling your shoulders as the music starts, and then you lose yourself in the rhythm.

The Alpha Phi living room is its usual chaotic self, a swirling mess of noise and energy. Jeongin is sprawled on the couch like a cat, scrolling through his phone while his sketchbook sits abandoned on the coffee table.

Felix lies on the floor, headphones dangling from one ear as he messes with his laptop. The faint smell of someone's cologne clings to the air, mixing with the scent of coffee, chips, and something burnt. Probably whatever disaster Changbin left in the kitchen earlier.

At the far end of the couch, Hyunjin sits perched like some brooding artist prince. His long legs are folded under him, and his sketchbook rests on his lap. He's uncharacteristically focused, head bent over the page, the faint sound of his pencil scratching across paper punctuating the room's chaos. His brows are furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line of concentration, and the muscles in his forearm flex subtly as he shades and reworks the lines.

Jeongin looks up from his phone, his curiosity piqued by Hyunjin's intense focus. He leans forward, craning his neck to peer over Hyunjin's shoulder. A second later, his eyes widen, and a slow, shit-eating grin spreads across his face.

"Hyunjin," Jeongin starts, his voice cutting through the room like a knife. "Why the fuck are you drawing a girl spreading her legs?"

The chaos screeches to a halt. Felix pulls out his remaining earbud, glancing over, and Changbin, who's been lounging in the recliner like he owns the place, sits up straight. Seungmin sighs audibly, muttering something about how living with idiots is ruining his brain cells.

Hyunjin doesn't even look up, his pencil moving smoothly across the page. "It's Y/N," he says, his tone casual, as if he's commenting on the weather. He tilts his head, adding a delicate line of shading. "It's part of her routine."

Jeongin's jaw drops. "What the fuck?!" He leans closer, unabashed now. "Ohhh, the Y/N. The dancer Minho and Jisung brought you to see. Holy shit, this is actually, wait, this is fucking good."

Now Felix is sitting up, his laptop abandoned. He scrambles over to see the sketch for himself and he whistles low when he catches a glimpse of the drawing. "Hyunjin, what the fuck. This is insane. You really nailed the, uh, energy."

"Energy," Jeongin echoes, snorting. "Yeah, that's one word for it."

Changbin finally drags himself off the recliner and ambles over, looming behind Hyunjin as he surveys the sketch. His eyes sweep over the drawing: your figure mid-move, legs extended, head tipped back in a pose that screams strength and sensuality. Hyunjin's lines are sharp but fluid, capturing the raw energy of your performance with a precision that feels alive.

"Damn," Changbin says, his voice low and impressed. "She's fucking hot."

"Excuse me?" Minho's voice cuts through the air like a whip as he strides into the room, a mug of coffee in hand. His cherry-red hair is a little messy, falling into his eyes as he fixes Changbin with a glare sharp enough to kill. "Not Y/N. Absolutely not. She's too good for you fucking degenerates."

Hyunjin glances up briefly, smirking. "Nice doesn't mean off-limits."

"It does when it comes to her," Minho snaps, slamming his mug down on the coffee table with enough force to make Felix flinch. "She's sweet and I'm not about to let you or any of these assholes ruin that."

Changbin raises his hands in mock surrender, though there's a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Relax, man. I'm not planning to do shit. I'm just saying-"

"Well, don't fucking say," Minho interrupts, pointing an accusing finger. "The last thing she needs is you cretins ogling her like she's a fucking dessert."

Felix smirks from his spot on the floor, leaning back on his hands. "To be fair, she's hot."

"Felix," Minho snaps, rounding on him. "You too? What the fuck is wrong with you people?"

"I'm just making an observation," Felix replies, holding up his hands. "Not my fault she's objectively attractive."

Seungmin sighs heavily, his voice dripping with disdain as he flips a page in his textbook. "This house is full of fucking animals."

Hyunjin finally sets his pencil down and turns to face the room, his expression calm but tinged with amusement. "You're all overreacting. I'm drawing her because she inspires me. That's it."

"Bull-fucking-shit," Jeongin mutters under his breath, only to yelp a second later when Minho smacks him upside the head.

"I'm serious," Hyunjin continues, ignoring the chaos. His voice takes on a more thoughtful tone. "Her routine- it's captivating. She has this way of moving. It's raw. It's like she's channelling something real, something... intense."

Minho narrows his eyes, leaning forward. "Hyunjin, I swear to fucking God, if you-"

"If I what?" Hyunjin interrupts, standing with a lazy stretch that makes Jeongin roll his eyes. "If I admire her talent? If I get inspired by her passion? What's the fucking crime here?"

"If you fuck it up," Minho says, his tone deadly serious. "She's not just some muse for your tortured artist bullshit. She's our friend. Don't fucking forget that."

Hyunjin's smirk falters slightly, and he holds his hands up in surrender. "I get it. I'm not an idiot."

"Debatable," Seungmin mutters under his breath, earning a sharp glare from Hyunjin.

"I'll behave," Hyunjin promises, his voice softer now. "She's different. I know that."

Minho studies him for a long moment, his eyes narrowing. "Good. Keep it that way."

The tension eases slightly, the energy in the room shifting back into its usual chaos. Jeongin flops back onto the couch with a dramatic sigh, Felix resumes fiddling with his laptop, and Changbin mutters something about everyone being way too sensitive as he retreats to his recliner.

Hyunjin picks up his sketchbook again, glancing down at the unfinished drawing of you. The lines of your pose are bold, commanding, and yet there's a softness to the way he's shaded your face. A flicker of something almost reverent.

"Different," he murmurs to himself, tapping his pencil against the page.

Yeah, you were different. And maybe that was the fucking problem.

The night air bites at Hyunjin's cheeks as he strides across campus, his sketchbook clutched tightly under his arm. Most of the students are heading in the opposite direction, their laughter and drunken shouts spilling out into the streets as they make their way to the Kappa Tau party.

Music thunders from open windows, bass vibrating through the air, but Hyunjin barely registers it. He knows Minho and Jisung are probably already there, doing something ridiculous, probably egging on a keg stand or starting an argument over God knows what, but he has other plans tonight.

The glow of the dance studio comes into view, spilling a warm golden light onto the pavement. Hyunjin pulls the door open, stepping into the familiar scent of polished wood, faint sweat, and the quiet hum of the air conditioning. It's like walking into another world, separate from the chaos of campus life, calm yet charged with potential.

You're already there, your black sneakers shuffling softly against the floor as you stretch. You're wearing black shorts and a cropped tank top, your hair loosely clipped up with stray strands falling around your face. The outfit is practical, sure, but there's something about it, about you, that catches Hyunjin off guard. You look effortless. Grounded. Like you belong here in a way no one else ever could.

The door shuts with a soft thud, and you glance up, catching his reflection in the mirror. A smile spreads across your lips, warm and genuine. "Hi, Hyunjin."

"Hey," he replies, his voice softer than he means it to be. He raises his sketchbook slightly, as if in explanation. "I was wondering if I could sit and sketch? Watching you dance makes it easier to get the details right."

You straighten, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face as your smile widens. "Of course. Make yourself at home."

He settles onto a bench by the mirrors, tossing his bag to the side and flipping open his sketchbook. His pencil hovers over the page, poised and ready, but his gaze drifts to you as you turn back to the barre. You lift your leg in a slow, fluid motion, pressing it effortlessly toward your head.

The stretch elongates your body, your muscles moving with practised ease. There's something hypnotic about it, the way your motions are deliberate yet entirely natural.

"How long have you been dancing?" Hyunjin asks, his voice cutting through the quiet. His pencil starts to move, tracing the shape of your form.

You glance at him, thoughtful as you lower your leg and switch sides. "Since I was five. My mom put me in ballet classes, and I hated it at first. Like, really fucking hated it. But then, I don't know. Something just clicked. It stopped being this thing I had to do and became something I needed to do."

His pencil pauses for a moment, and he nods. "It shows. You're incredible."

You laugh softly, a light, airy sound that fills the room. "Thanks. That means a lot."

As you finish at the barre, you move to the centre of the room, rolling your shoulders and shaking out your limbs. Hyunjin watches as you start to move through your routine, your steps deliberate and sharp. Every spin, every lunge, every roll of your hips is purposeful, like you're pouring your entire soul into the choreography.

There's something raw about it, something almost vulnerable, and it grips him in a way he can't describe.

"You don't hold back," Hyunjin says, his voice laced with admiration as he sketches furiously. His pencil races across the page, trying to keep up with you.

"Why would I?" you reply, pausing mid-spin to glance at him. "If I'm not giving it everything, then what's the point?"

He hums in agreement, his lips curving into a small smile as his gaze flickers between you and his sketchbook. "Most people are scared to be that exposed. It's rare."

You turn back to your routine, a faint smile playing on your lips. "Dancing doesn't feel like exposing myself. It feels like telling a story. Like I'm showing people something they can't see otherwise."

Hyunjin's pencil halts mid-stroke. His gaze lifts to you, something unreadable flickering in his dark eyes. "That's fucking beautiful."

The sincerity in his voice makes your cheeks warm, but you push past it, spinning into a series of pirouettes that ends with you dropping into a low lunge. The sound of your breathing fills the room, mingling with the soft scratch of his pencil against paper.

When you pause to grab your water bottle, he speaks again. "Do you ever get nervous? Performing, I mean."

"Every fucking time," you admit, wiping a bead of sweat from your temple. "But it's a good kind of nervous. It reminds me that I care. That it matters."

He nods slowly, his pencil moving again. "Yeah. I get that. It's the same with art sometimes. The nerves keep you grounded. Like, if you're not a little terrified, are you even fucking alive?"

You laugh, soft and genuine. "Exactly."

The next hour passes in a rhythm that feels oddly intimate. You dance, stretching, refining sections of your routine, and he sketches in near silence, the occasional question or comment slipping from his lips. The concentration on his face mirrors your own: brows furrowed, eyes sharp, hands moving as if guided by instinct.

Every now and then, you steal a glance at him, marvelling at the way his long fingers grip the pencil, the way his wrist moves so fluidly as he captures moments of your movement on paper.

Finally, you pause, your chest heaving as you catch your breath. Grabbing your towel, you walk over to him and lean down, tilting your head to get a look at his sketchbook. "Can I see?"

For a second, he hesitates, then flips the book around. Your eyes widen as you take in the drawing. A snapshot of you mid-spin, arms extended, hair fanned out like a halo. The lines are bold but fluid, each stroke capturing the energy and emotion of your movements. It's raw, dynamic, alive.

"Holy shit," you breathe, your voice hushed. "This is... amazing. You're so talented."

His cheeks flush pink, and he ducks his head slightly, a shy smile tugging at his lips. "Thanks. But honestly, it's easy to draw when the subject's this inspiring."

The words catch you off guard, and for a moment, you're not sure how to respond. Your chest feels warm, like the air between you has shifted. You tap the edge of his sketchbook lightly, smiling. "Well, I'm glad I could help."

"You've done more than that," he murmurs, his voice soft, almost too low to hear. His gaze meets yours, and there's something in his eyes. Something unspoken but heavy. It lingers there, filling the silence.

You clear your throat, breaking the moment with a small laugh. "All right. One more run-through, and then I'm calling it a night."

Hyunjin nods, settling back against the wall, pencil poised. "Take your time. I'm not in a fucking hurry."

As the music starts up again, you throw yourself into the choreography one last time, your body moving like it's connected to the beat. Hyunjin sketches furiously, his hand working almost faster than his mind can process. There's a feeling in his chest, a kind of ache he can't quite name. But as he watches you dance, he knows one thing for certain: you've become more than just a muse.

Over the next month, the dance studio transforms into a quiet sanctuary for the two of you. It becomes a rhythm. Unspoken, natural. Hyunjin shows up whenever he knows Minho and Jisung are too distracted by their latest frat house chaos to hover, sketchbook tucked securely under his arm. There's always the faint scent of graphite clinging to him, mingling with his cologne, something crisp and warm that lingers even after he's gone.

At first, his visits are clinical, purely about capturing your movement on paper. But slowly, without either of you acknowledging it, they shift into something else. The conversations get longer. The silences more comfortable. And tonight feels different somehow.

The studio is quiet, save for the faint hum of the air conditioner and the occasional creak of the barre as you stretch. Hyunjin sits cross-legged on the floor, his sketchbook balanced on his knees, but his pencil lies idle for once. He's watching you instead, his dark eyes tracing the shape of your body as you lean into a deep stretch.

There's something captivating about how natural you look, your hair swept up in a messy bun, loose strands curling against your neck, dressed simply in a black tank top and leggings. There's no stage, no spotlight. Just you, raw and unpolished.

"You're quiet tonight," you say softly, twisting your torso to stretch your sides. Your voice cuts through the stillness, gentle but curious. "What's on your mind?"

He shrugs, running a hand through his hair in that effortless way of his that makes it fall perfectly back into place. "Nothing," he replies after a beat. "Just thinking."

"Dangerous," you tease, settling onto the floor across from him. Your legs stretch out in front of you as you lean back on your hands, your expression soft but playful. "Thinking about what?"

His fingers tap against the edge of his sketchbook, his lips twitching into a faint smirk. "About how you make this shit look so easy. Dancing, I mean. Like you don't even have to try."

You laugh softly, tilting your head as you consider him. "It's not always easy. I fuck up all the time. You've just been lucky enough to catch me on my good days."

He huffs out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "Bullshit. Even when you're just warming up, it's like watching something... magic. Like it's in your blood or something."

"That's sweet, but you're giving me way too much credit."

"I'm not," he says, his tone firm and certain. He leans back on his hands, the curve of his lips softening into something more thoughtful. "I've been stuck on this project for weeks. Trying to figure out what the fuck passion even looks like, and I still can't get it right. But you? You are passion. You don't even have to try."

You blink at him, caught off guard by the weight of his words. Ducking your head, you fiddle with the hem of your tank top, your voice quieter now. "I don't know what to say to that."

He smirks, his eyes lighting with mischief. "Say I'm right."

You roll your eyes, laughing softly. "You're impossible, you know that?"

"Yeah, but you like it," he shoots back, the corners of his mouth tugging into a grin.

For a moment, the room falls silent again, but it's not uncomfortable. It feels easy, like you're both content to exist in this shared quiet. Hyunjin's fingers brush against his pencil, but he doesn't pick it up. Instead, he breaks the silence, his voice lower this time. "So why'd you pick this song for the showcase? Dirty Diana doesn't seem like your usual vibe."

You settle onto your elbows, tilting your head as you think. "Honestly? It was a challenge. I usually go for light, fun stuff—songs that make people smile. But this? This is darker. More intense. It scared me a little."

"Doesn't look like it," he says, his gaze steady on yours. "You own it. Like the song was written for you."

"Thanks," you reply. "But it took a lot of fucking work to get there. The first few times I practised, I felt like a complete idiot. Like I was trying too hard, you know?"

Hyunjin leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he watches you intently. "And now?"

You glance away for a second, your voice quieter when you answer. "Now it feels freeing. Like I'm stepping into someone else for a little while. Someone who's bolder. Less afraid to take up space."

His lips curve into a small, genuine smile. "That's what art's supposed to do, right? Push you. Make you see yourself differently."

"Exactly," you say, meeting his gaze. "It's the same for you, isn't it? With your sketches?"

He chuckles, looking down at the blank page in front of him. "Yeah. Except half the time I want to rip the fucking paper to shreds because it's never good enough."

"Don't," you say firmly, your voice soft but insistent. "Your work is incredible, Hyunjin. Don't sell yourself short."

His ears tint pink, and he ducks his head, his smile almost shy. "Thanks. That means a lot coming from you."

The conversation shifts from there, drifting into easier territory. You talk about ridiculous childhood stories like the time you tripped during your first recital and wanted to quit on the spot.

Hyunjin counters with a tale about Minho accidentally locking himself out of the frat house wearing nothing but a towel, and you laugh so hard you have to wipe tears from your eyes.

"God, your friends are fucking insane," you say between giggles.

"You have no idea," he replies, grinning. "Living with them is like a daily test of patience and survival."

The hours slip by without either of you noticing, the weight of the day melting away in the warmth of your laughter. By the time you glance at the clock, it's nearly midnight.

"Shit," you mutter, standing and stretching your arms overhead. "I didn't realize it was so late."

Hyunjin follows suit, stretching lazily as the hem of his sweater rides up slightly, revealing a sliver of toned skin. You quickly avert your gaze. "Time flies when you're with me," he says, smirking.

"Or when you're swapping embarrassing childhood stories," you counter, shooting him a playful glare.

He chuckles, grabbing his bag and slinging it over his shoulder. "Fair enough. I'll let you get back to it, then."

You walk him to the door, pausing as he turns to face you. "Thanks for coming by," you say softly, your smile warm. "It's nice having company."

"Anytime," he replies, his voice just as soft. His gaze lingers on you for a moment, unreadable but heavy. Then the smirk returns. "See you soon, Y/N."

"See you soon, Hyunjin," you echo, your voice barely above a whisper.

As the door closes behind him, you exhale, your lips curving into a small smile. The air feels lighter, warmer, though the space is now empty. And for the first time in a long while, you're glad it isn't just your sanctuary anymore.

The studio is unusually quiet tonight. The air feels heavier than usual, weighted by your own fatigue. Each movement takes more effort than it should, your muscles dragging like they're stuck in molasses. You stretch at the barre, your arms trembling slightly as you press into the motion.

A soft cough escapes your lips, muffled into the crook of your elbow. You try to ignore the rasp in your throat, the way your breath comes just a little too shallow, but it's no use. Your body isn't cooperating, and you know it.

Hyunjin watches from his usual spot by the mirror, his sketchbook open on his lap. His pencil hasn't moved for minutes now, his focus entirely on you. He notices every detail, the way your shoulders slump, the hesitation in your usually fluid spins. When you pause to lean against the barre, catching your breath, he finally speaks up, his voice sharp enough to cut through the stillness.

"Y/N," he says, his tone edged with concern. "Are you sick?"

You glance at him, brushing a loose strand of hair from your damp forehead. "I'm fine," you say, your voice hoarse and thin. "Just a little cold."

"Bullshit," he snaps, setting his sketchbook down with a soft thud. His eyes narrow as he pushes himself off the floor. "You're coughing, your voice sounds like sandpaper, and you look like you're about to keel the fuck over. Don't lie to me."

"I'm fine," you insist, but it's weak, even to your own ears.

"Like hell you are." He strides across the room, his long legs closing the distance quickly. "Take a break. Seriously. You look like you're about to pass the fuck out."

You sigh, leaning heavily against the barre, the fight draining out of you. "I just need a minute."

"No," he says firmly, grabbing his sketchbook and sitting on the floor. He pats the spot next to him with exaggerated patience. "You're sitting down. Now. Don't make me drag your ass over here."

Your lips twitch with the faintest hint of a smile, but you're too tired to argue. Slowly, you sink down beside him, stretching your legs out in front of you. "Fine. What are we doing?"

He flips through the pages of his sketchbook, his movements deliberate. "Just look at this," he says, though there's a hint of nervousness in his tone that you don't miss.

You glance down as he opens the book to a familiar page, a sketch of you mid-spin, arms outstretched, hair flying. You've seen this one before, the strength and fluidity of your movement captured perfectly in pencil strokes. But as he turns the page, your breath catches.

It's you. Not the dancer you see in the mirror, not the performer on stage, but you in quiet, unguarded moments. You sipping coffee, your hands curled around the mug like it's a lifeline. You laughing, your head thrown back, eyes squeezed shut. You stretching absentmindedly, a faint smile tugging at your lips. The sketches are meticulous, yet they radiate something softer, something achingly familiar.

"You've been drawing me?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. The rawness of it is both from your cold and the sudden emotion bubbling up in your chest.

Hyunjin rubs the back of his neck, his cheeks faintly pink. "Yeah. I mean... you're inspiring. It's not just the way you move—it's everything. The way you laugh like you don't give a fuck who's listening. The way you zone out when you're thinking too hard. Even the way you drink coffee, like it's the best goddamn thing you've ever tasted. It's... fuck, I don't even know how to explain it. You're just... effortlessly beautiful."

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, but in the best way. You blink down at the sketches, the intricate lines and subtle shading, the way he's managed to capture so much of you. "Hyunjin," you whisper, your throat tightening. "These are- they're incredible. You're incredible."

He shrugs, a lopsided smile tugging at his lips. "It's easy when the subject is..." He trails off, his gaze flickering to yours. "Well. You."

You feel your cheeks heat, the compliment settling somewhere deep in your chest. "Thank you. For seeing me like this."

His expression softens, the usual cockiness giving way to something more vulnerable. "It's just the truth."

You cough again, the sound rough and raw, and Hyunjin's brow furrows immediately. He shifts closer, his knee brushing yours as he sits up straighter. "That's it," he declares. "We're done here. Come on." He stands and holds a hand out to you.

You blink at him, confused. "What?"

"We're getting you soup," he says, his tone leaving no room for argument. "No fucking debate. Let's go."

You start to protest, shaking your head weakly. "I'm fine, Hyunjin. I don't need—"

"Y/N." His voice is firm but not unkind. He fixes you with a look that's both exasperated and weirdly endearing. "You're not fine. You're a stubborn little shit, but you're also sick. We're getting soup. End of story."

You sigh, defeated, and take his hand, letting him pull you to your feet. "You're bossy, you know that?"

"And you're a pain in the ass," he shoots back, grinning. "Let's call it even."

The night air is sharp against your skin as you step outside, and you pull your jacket tighter around yourself. Hyunjin walks beside you, his hand brushing yours occasionally as the two of you head toward a quiet corner of campus. The restaurant he leads you to is small and cozy, tucked between two buildings like a secret. Warm light spills from the windows, and the scent of broth and spices hits you the moment you walk in.

Hyunjin orders for both of you, a hearty soup and a pot of hot tea to share, and when the food arrives, he pushes your bowl toward you with a pointed look. "Eat."

You pick up your spoon, the warmth of the soup spreading through you as you take a sip. It's comforting in a way you hadn't realized you needed.

"Better?" he asks, his voice softer now, almost tentative.

You nod, a small smile tugging at your lips. "Much better. Thank you."

He leans back in his chair, his expression smug but satisfied. "Good. You're not allowed to starve yourself when you're sick. It's fucking illegal."

"Oh, really?" you ask, raising an eyebrow. "Whose laws are these?"

"Mine," he replies without hesitation, grinning. "And trust me, I'm an unforgiving dictator."

You laugh, the sound raspier than usual but still genuine. "Well, thank you, Supreme Leader Hyunjin."

"You're welcome, loyal subject," he quips, his grin widening.

The two of you fall into an easy rhythm as you eat, the conversation flowing between bites of soup and sips of tea. He tells you about Minho's latest antics, something about an ill-fated attempt to flirt with a girl who turned out to be his TA, and you share a story about your first recital, when you tripped during the opening number and wanted to quit on the spot.

By the time you glance at the clock, it's nearly midnight, and the world outside has gone quiet. Hyunjin insists on walking you home, his hands stuffed into his pockets as the two of you make your way back across campus.

"Thanks for taking care of me," you say softly as you reach your door. "You didn't have to."

"Yeah, I did," he replies, his gaze meeting yours. "You're too fucking nice for your own good. Someone has to look out for you."

You feel your heart squeeze at his words, but you smile anyway. "Well, you're pretty good at it."

"Damn right I am," he says, smirking. "Now go to bed. No late-night choreography, I mean it."

"Yes, sir," you tease, rolling your eyes.

He grins, stepping back. "Goodnight, Y/N."

"Goodnight, Hyunjin."

As he walks away, his hands stuffed in his coat pockets, you feel a warmth settle over you that has nothing to do with the soup. For the first time in days, you feel genuinely cared for.

The Alpha Phi living room reeks of weed, stale beer, and half-eaten pizza. A haze of smoke curls lazily around the room, mixing with the loud, slurred laughter of the frat boys sprawled across the furniture.

Minho is slouched on the couch, a joint dangling from his fingers, his other hand resting on the thigh of a Kappa Tau girl perched on his lap. Her glossy lips are stretched into a giggle that grates on Hyunjin's nerves the second he walks in. Jisung, meanwhile, is leaning back in the recliner, another girl practically draped over him, both of them laughing at something incoherent and stupid.

The coffee table is a war zone of empty beer cans, crushed Solo cups, and grease-stained pizza boxes. It's the kind of chaos Hyunjin usually ignores, hell, sometimes he even thrives in it. But tonight? Tonight, it makes his blood fucking boil.

"Y/N's sick," Hyunjin snaps, his voice slicing through the noise like a blade. It's sharp, furious, and instantly cuts through the haze of laughter. "She's fucking sick, coughing her lungs out, barely able to stand, and meanwhile, you two are here, lying to her, ignoring her, fucking around like it's nothing. What the actual fuck is this?"

Minho blinks at him, slow and stupid, his eyes bloodshot as he squints through the smoke. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

Hyunjin takes a step closer, his jaw clenched. "Y/N. Your friend. The one you two abandoned for this bullshit." He gestures wildly to the scene in front of him, his frustration spilling out unchecked. "She was in the studio earlier, pushing herself so hard she could barely breathe. I had to drag her out to get soup because she hasn't been eating properly, and she couldn't even fucking call either of you because, guess what? You lied to her about having exams. So tell me, Minho, what the fuck is this?"

Jisung sits up straighter, looking vaguely defensive as he rubs at the back of his neck. "She's fine. Y/N's tough."

"Tough?" Hyunjin's voice rises, and the anger in it makes Jisung flinch. "You think that makes it okay? She's fucking tough because she has to be, not because she wants to. She was practically falling over, Jisung. You should've seen her, coughing, wheezing, still trying to practice because she thought you two were too fucking busy to care."

One of the Kappa Tau girls, a brunette with obnoxiously long extensions, chimes in with a scoff. "They're busy with us. Their little friend can handle herself."

Hyunjin's head snaps toward her, his dark eyes narrowing dangerously. His voice drops, cold and venomous. "Get the fuck out. Now."

The girl blinks, clearly caught off guard. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," Hyunjin says, his tone lethal. "Get. The fuck. Out. Before I rip those shitty extensions out myself."

Her bravado falters under his glare. "You're such a fucking buzzkill," she huffs, grabbing her bag and stomping toward the door. The other girl, less bold and clearly spooked, scrambles up and mumbles a quick goodbye before following her out.

Minho looks up, his jaw tightening. "Hyunjin, what the actual fuck is your problem?"

"My problem?" Hyunjin snaps, his voice cutting like a whip. "My problem is that Y/N is too fucking nice to realize that the two of you are absolute shit friends. My problem is that she thinks it's her fault you've been ignoring her. She was literally defending you earlier, Minho. She said, 'They probably have their reasons. They didn't want me to feel left out.' Left out? She's making excuses for you, and meanwhile, you're here playing frat house fuckboy."

Jisung's mouth opens, but Hyunjin raises a hand, cutting him off. "No. Shut the fuck up. You let her think she didn't matter enough to bother with. And for what? This?" He gestures angrily at the wreckage of the living room. "This isn't fucking worth it."

Minho looks away, his jaw tight, guilt flickering across his face. Jisung runs a hand through his hair, visibly uncomfortable, his leg bouncing nervously as he struggles to find words.

"You don't deserve her," Hyunjin says finally, his voice quieter but no less sharp. "She's too fucking good for either of you."

The weight of his words hangs in the air, and neither of them tries to argue. Before they can muster a response, Hyunjin's phone buzzes in his pocket. He pulls it out, his expression softening slightly when he sees your name. Without hesitation, he answers, putting the phone on speaker.

"Y/N?" he says, his tone gentler than it's been all night.

"Hi, Hyunjin," your voice comes through, weak and raspy. It's like a punch to the chest. "I'm sorry to bother you. I just- Could you maybe pick me up some cough medicine? My muscles ache so bad, and I feel awful, but I didn't want to bother Minho or Jisung. I know they're busy."

Hyunjin's eyes snap to Minho and Jisung, both of whom look like they've been slapped. Minho's grip tightens on the joint before he crushes it out in the ashtray, his jaw clenching.

"Of course, Y/N," Hyunjin says, his voice soft but firm. "Don't worry about it. I'll be there soon."

"Thank you," you whisper, relief heavy in your tone. "I really appreciate it."

"Anything for you," he replies sincerely. "I'll see you soon, okay?"

He hangs up, and the room is deadly quiet for a moment before Hyunjin turns his glare back to the two of them. "Did you hear her? She didn't want to 'bother' you. You've made her think she's a fucking burden. You assholes are lucky she hasn't cut you off completely."

Minho is already on his feet. "I'll get it. I'll go right now."

Jisung jumps up, grabbing his keys. "We'll fix it. We'll get the medicine and apologize."

"You fucking better," Hyunjin mutters, stepping back as they scramble for their shoes. "And you're going to make it right."

"Yeah," Jisung says quickly, his voice tight. "We will."

They rush out, the door slamming behind them, and Hyunjin exhales heavily, running a hand through his hair. The anger lingers, simmering under his skin, but there's a flicker of satisfaction too. For once, it feels like they might actually get their shit together.

And for you? Hyunjin would burn the whole damn house down if it meant you never felt alone again.

Minho and Jisung practically sprint through the dorm hallways, juggling plastic bags filled to bursting with everything they could grab at the store. The rustle of bags and their muffled swearing echoes down the corridor as they fumble with the sheer volume of their haul: cough medicine, lemon tea, honey, tissues, painkillers, ginger, lemons, pre-cooked chicken, and even random snacks Jisung insisted on, including a family-sized pack of cookies.

"Fucking hell, why did I let you grab this much shit?" Minho hisses, nearly tripping over his own feet as a bag digs into his wrist.

"Emergency morale boosters are a necessity," Jisung shoots back, juggling a box of instant ramen precariously on top of his already-full arms. "I'm telling you, Y/N's gonna love the cookies."

"Soup first. Cookies second. I swear to God, if you make her eat cookies before real food—"

"I know, I know! Don't yell at me!" Jisung grumbles, though his pace quickens as they round the last corner.

When they reach your door, Minho raises a hand to knock, but the door swings open before he can. You're leaning heavily against the frame, wrapped in an old blanket and wearing one of Minho's oversized T-shirts. The fabric hangs off your shoulders, the faded logo almost completely worn away. Your hair is messy, tendrils sticking to your forehead, and your face is drawn, your tired eyes framed by deep circles. You sniffle softly, offering them a weak smile.

"Hey," you croak, your voice a low rasp.

Minho's brows knit together immediately. "Jesus fucking Christ," he mutters, stepping closer to place a hand on your forehead. His touch is cool, and the frown on his face deepens. "You look like absolute shit."

"Wow," you rasp with a dry laugh, stepping aside to let them in. "Nice to see you too."

"Holy shit, Y/N," Jisung says, shuffling inside and carefully dropping the bags on your tiny kitchen counter. His wide eyes dart around the room, taking in the barely-touched water bottles and the tissues piled on your nightstand. "Why didn't you fucking call us earlier? You look like death warmed over."

"I didn't want to bother you," you reply, closing the door and leaning against it for support. "You've been busy."

"Busy being dicks," Minho mutters under his breath as he starts unloading the bags onto your counter. He pulls out a pot and grabs the chicken, turning back to look at you, his expression softening. "Go. Get your ass in bed. I'm making you chicken soup. And don't even fucking think about arguing. You love my soup."

You hesitate for a moment, but the way Minho glares at you, sharp but with an underlying warmth, makes you cave. "Okay, okay," you mumble, shuffling toward your bed. Your legs wobble slightly as you move, and Jisung is at your side in a heartbeat.

"Fuck, Y/N, sit down before you collapse," he says, his voice filled with more concern than he usually shows. He helps you onto the bed and grabs a blanket from the foot of it, draping it over your shoulders and tucking it around you like a burrito. "There. Cozy?"

"Super cozy," you rasp, amused despite yourself. "Thanks, Ji."

"You're welcome," he says, pulling up a chair next to the bed and rummaging through one of the bags. "Okay, let's see, honey, for your throat. Lemon. Oh, shit, I grabbed ginger too. And, uh, tissues. And this weird-ass herbal tea the cashier said would cure your soul or something."

"You're high," you tease softly, watching him with a faint smile.

"Maybe a little," he admits, giggling as he pulls out a pack of cookies and waves it like a trophy. "But that doesn't mean I can't take care of you. Look, cookies. For morale. Revolutionary."

"Soup first, Jisung," Minho barks from the kitchenette, where he's already chopping vegetables with sharp, practised movements. "No fucking cookies before soup."

"Fine, dad," Jisung mutters, leaning over to smooth a stray strand of hair from your forehead. "Y/N, I swear to God, I'm gonna take care of you until you're back to dancing around and making us feel untalented."

You laugh softly, but it turns into a rattling cough that makes both of them wince. Jisung's face twists in concern as he grabs the tissue box and holds it out to you. "Okay, coughing is now illegal. I'm banning it."

"Seconded," Minho calls, tossing chopped ginger into the pot. "And you're not allowed to die. It's against the rules. You're too nice for that shit."

You manage a hoarse laugh, curling deeper into the blanket. "I wasn't planning on it, but thanks for the pep talk."

Jisung's voice drops, uncharacteristically serious. "We're sorry, Y/N. For being, you know, absolute dickheads. You deserve better."

You shake your head weakly, your voice soft. "You're not dickheads. You're here now. That's all that matters."

Minho glances at you over his shoulder, his jaw tight. "We're here now because we fucked up, and we know it. I lied to you about that fucking exam, and Jisung didn't call you back because we were too busy being assholes. That's not okay."

"You're my assholes," you murmur, the corners of your lips tugging into a small smile.

Minho snorts, turning back to the stove. "Damn right we are. And as your assholes, we're fixing it. Starting with this soup."

Jisung leans closer, his chin resting on the edge of your bed. "We missed you, Y/N. And we're gonna do better, I swear."

You hum softly, your eyes already fluttering shut as the exhaustion pulls at you. "I missed you too. So much."

Jisung reaches over to hold your hand lightly, his fingers brushing against yours. "You're way too fucking good to us."

"Damn straight," Minho mutters, his voice softer now. "But we're not leaving you like this again. I mean it."

Jisung picks up the cookies again, holding one up with a grin. "Okay, one morale cookie before soup. Just one. I promise. Don't let Minho see"

You crack an eye open, looking amused as you reach out. "Fine. Just one."

The backstage area is a chaotic whirlwind of activity, a blur of sequins, feathers, and rushing bodies. Dancers flit past in various states of dress, their laughter and shouted instructions blending with the occasional hiss of a steamer and the clatter of heels against the floor. The air is heavy with the sharp scent of hairspray, powder, and sweat, the electric tension so thick it's almost suffocating.

You sit at your station, staring into the mirror under the harsh glare of the lights. Your makeup bag is open in front of you, brushes and palettes scattered in disarray, but your hands won't stop trembling. The eyeliner in your fingers drags a jagged line across your lid, and you curse softly, dropping it onto the table in frustration.

The outfit you've been practicing in for weeks looks stunning under the backstage lights. The halter-style leather corset clings to your frame perfectly, its lace-up front shimmering every time you shift. The matching gloves glint with small embellishments and your garters are taut, connecting your hotpants to the thigh-high fishnets that make your legs look impossibly long in your stilettos. A red feather headpiece tilts delicately on your hair, framing your face, while the boa draped over your shoulders adds a dramatic, sultry flair.

But even with all the effort, the polished look feels like a lie. Your stomach churns, twisting with nerves that seem to multiply with every second, every muffled call for the next dancer. You've never felt more exposed, like every flaw is about to be illuminated the moment you step onto the stage.

"I'm gonna fucking vomit," you mutter, slumping forward to press your forehead against your hand. The eyeliner pen rolls off the table, but you barely notice, too consumed by the rising tide of panic.

"Knock, knock," a voice cuts through the noise, low and familiar, and your head snaps up to meet Hyunjin's gaze in the mirror.

He leans casually against the doorframe, his dark jeans and loose black button-up looking effortlessly perfect, as always. His hair is tucked behind his ears, framing his sharp features, and though his sketchbook is absent, the quiet intensity in his eyes makes you feel like you're being sketched anyway. Every detail of you taken in and captured.

"How's my favourite performer?" he asks, stepping inside. His tone is light, teasing, but there's a softness in his expression as he takes in your trembling hands.

You try to smile, but it falters. "I feel like shit," you admit quietly. "I think I might actually puke."

Hyunjin strides closer, crouching beside your chair so that he's at eye level with you. "You're not going to puke," he says firmly, his dark eyes locking onto yours. "You're going to go out there and absolutely kill it. End of story."

You huff a weak laugh, shaking your head. "You have way too much faith in me."

"That's because I've seen you," he replies, his voice soft but resolute. "I've watched you pour every ounce of yourself into this. Every step, every spin, every goddamn detail. Trust me, you're going to blow their fucking minds."

Your throat tightens, your fingers twisting in your lap. "I can't even get my eyeliner right,"

Hyunjin's lips twitch into a smirk. "Let me," he says, standing and grabbing the eyeliner from the floor. He straightens and tilts his head. "Trust me?"

"You? Do my eyeliner?" you ask, raising an eyebrow. "What, are you secretly a makeup artist now?"

"Relax," he says, his tone playful but sure. "I've done this before. Stay still."

You hesitate for a moment, then nod, your heart fluttering as he steps closer. He places one hand under your chin, tilting your face up toward him, and the warmth of his skin steadies your trembling slightly. His other hand holds the eyeliner steady, and you try not to think about how close he is, his focus entirely on you.

"Don't move," he murmurs, his voice low. You barely breathe as his hand guides the pen smoothly across your lid, the strokes precise and confident.

After a few moments, he leans back, setting the pen down. "Done. Look."

You glance in the mirror, and your jaw drops. "Holy shit," you breathe. "That's... that's perfect."

"Told you," he says smugly, his grin widening. "Now stop clenching your hands. You're gonna ruin your gloves."

You glance down, realizing your fingers are white-knuckled against each other, and laugh softly, releasing them. "Sorry. It's just a lot."

Hyunjin straightens, leaning against the table as he looks at you. "Forget about them," he says suddenly, his tone firm.

"What?"

"The audience. The judges. Fuck all of them." He waves a hand dismissively, his lips quirking into a smirk. "Or better yet, imagine them naked. Isn't that what people say?"

You laugh, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly. "Why are you being so nice to me?" you ask, your voice soft. "You've done so much already. More than you had to."

His smile falters for a moment, something vulnerable flickering in his eyes. He steps closer, his voice quieter but steady. "Because you've done something to me, Y/N. No one's ever inspired me the way you do. Every line I draw, every thought I have... it's you. And honestly, it scares the shit out of me."

Your breath catches, your heart hammering as he continues.

"But the idea of not telling you, of not trying, scares me even more," he says, his gaze unwavering. "I'd rather crash and burn than watch you dance out of my reach."

For a moment, the world outside fades, the noise of the backstage chaos, the calls for dancers, the rustling of costumes. It's just you and Hyunjin, his words hanging between you like something fragile and beautiful.

"I-" you start, but he holds up a hand, his smile softening.

"Later," he says gently. "We can talk about it later. Tonight, just find me in the crowd. Forget everyone else. Look for me."

You nod slowly, your voice trembling as you say, "Okay."

He reaches out, brushing a strand of hair from your face and adjusting the red feather in your headpiece. "You've got this. I'll be right there."

With one last smile, he steps back and heads for the door, glancing over his shoulder before disappearing into the hallway. As the door clicks shut, you take a deep breath, his words still echoing in your mind.

You turn back to the mirror. Your eyeliner is flawless, your outfit gleaming under the lights. The nerves are still there, but they're muted now. Tempered by the warmth in Hyunjin's voice and the steady certainty in his gaze.

You pick up your boa, draping it over your shoulders as you stand. One thought anchors you, steadying the whirlwind of nerves in your chest. Find Hyunjin in the crowd. Forget everyone else.

The stage is bathed in darkness, the auditorium buzzing with electric anticipation. You stand just offstage, one hand gripping the edge of the curtain, your breathing shallow as you wait for your cue.

The opening bassline of Dirty Diana thrums faintly in the background, the vibrations running through your heels and up your legs. The heat of the stage lights waiting to ignite feels oppressive even from here. Sweat beads on your back, but it's impossible to tell if it's from the heat or the nerves.

You can do this, you tell yourself, though your pulse pounds erratically. Your stomach twists, and your fingers curl tighter around the curtain. When the lights dim further, a sharp red glow spills onto the stage like blood across black velvet, cutting through the air like a siren.

This is it.

The music surges, and the red lights sharpen into beams that slice through the darkness, spotlighting the stage. You step out, your stilettos clicking softly against the polished floor, and the air in the room shifts. The world feels like it's both expanding and closing in, the crowd's hum muted by the rush of blood in your ears. Your movements are steady but deliberate, every step taking you further into the blazing heat of the spotlight.

Then you see them.

Front and centre, Hyunjin sits with Jisung and Minho, but the entire Alpha Phi crew has shown up. Chan leans slightly forward, his expression curious but impressed. Changbin is perched with his arms crossed, nodding along to the beat as if sizing you up. Felix has a camera slung over his shoulder and is already snapping away, adjusting his angles. Jeongin and Seungmin sit side by side, both watching intently, though Seungmin looks like he's trying not to smile.

And Hyunjin? His eyes are locked on you.

The moment your gaze meets his, it's like the rest of the room blurs. He's sitting forward in his seat, elbows on his knees, his dark eyes fixed on you with an intensity that feels like a physical touch. There's something grounding about the way he looks at you, steady and unwavering, and for a moment, your nerves falter. Then his lips quirk into the faintest of smiles, and something shifts inside you. Confidence blooms, hot and electric, chasing away the fear.

The music kicks in, the beat hitting hard, and you move.

Your body responds before your mind can catch up, years of practice taking over. You flow seamlessly with the rhythm, every movement deliberate and sharp. The click of your heels punctuates the music, your steps precise and purposeful as the choreography unfolds. The leather corset clings to you like armour, your boa trailing behind you like the tail of a firework. The lights pulse red and black, shadows shifting dramatically with each movement.

When you drop to the floor for the first time, your legs spreading perfectly in sync with the beat, the crowd explodes. Gasps and cheers echo through the auditorium as you arch your back, tossing your head back, the red feathers of your headpiece catching the light like flames. You snap your head up, hair whipping around you, and from the corner of your vision, you catch Felix grinning as he snaps another shot.

"Holy fucking shit!" Minho's voice booms over the noise, his hands clapping wildly as he half-stands, pointing at you like he's claiming you as his protégé. "That's my fucking girl!"

"Damn right!" Jisung yells, standing to add to the cheers, his voice rising above the roar. He's grinning so wide it looks like his face might split, his energy contagious as the rest of Alpha Phi joins in. Changbin whistles sharply, a low, appreciative sound, while Jeongin nudges Chan and mutters something that makes the older boy laugh and nod.

But your focus narrows to Hyunjin. He hasn't moved, hasn't taken his eyes off you once. He's leaning forward slightly, his hands clasped loosely, but there's nothing loose about the way he looks at you. His expression is unreadable, captivated, maybe a little awestruck, but it's the kind of intensity that keeps your feet steady and your movements sharp. It feels like he's grounding you, tethering you to something solid as you pour every ounce of yourself into the routine.

The beat builds again, and you drop into a split, leaning back so your head nearly brushes the floor. The lights pulse red and white, casting jagged shadows across your body as you snap back up into a smooth twist. Your legs cross, your arms sweeping out as you rise to your feet, spinning sharply into the next sequence. The cheers swell, a wave of sound that pushes against the stage like a physical force.

"Fucking insane!" Jisung yells, his hands cupped around his mouth. "Y/N, you're a goddamn goddess!"

"This is fucking gold," Felix mutters, adjusting his lens for a better angle. "Minho, shut up and let me focus."

Minho doesn't shut up. "She's killing it!" he shouts, his voice cracking slightly as he claps harder. "Look at her go!"

You can't hear the individual words over the roar of the crowd, but you feel the energy coursing through the room like lightning. It fuels you, pushing you through the crescendo of the song. Your body moves on instinct now, every step, every spin, every drop a perfect reflection of the beat. The corset bites slightly at your ribs, the heels make your calves ache, but you barely notice.

And always, your eyes find Hyunjin.

He's smiling now, a faint curve of his lips that's softer than anything else in the room. But it's his eyes that hit you hardest. They're lit with something raw, something bright and deep that makes your heart pound harder than the bass. Pride, admiration, something else you can't quite name, it's all there, written plainly across his face. It's for you, and it's yours.

The routine crescendos into the final beat. You drop into your finishing pose, legs wide, boa draped across your shoulders, your arms outstretched, head thrown back. The lights flash once, twice, then fade, leaving you framed in a spotlight as the last note lingers in the air.

For a moment, the auditorium is silent.

Then the crowd erupts.

The applause is deafening, whistles and cheers bouncing off the walls. The Alpha Phi crew is on their feet, clapping and hollering louder than anyone else in the room.

Minho is shouting your name like a man possessed, Jisung is laughing so hard he can barely yell, and Changbin throws up a hand in a triumphant cheer. Chan and Jeongin are whistling loudly as they clap. Felix's camera is still clicking, capturing every moment, while Seungmin claps steadily, a faint grin tugging at his lips.

Hyunjin stands too, his applause slower but no less intense. His eyes never leave you, his expression unreadable except for the warmth radiating from his gaze. You're sure you're imagining it, but it feels like he's the only one clapping, the sound of his hands cutting through the chaos to wrap around you.

You take a deep, shaky breath and bow, your chest heaving, your face flushed. The world feels impossibly loud, but there's a quiet warmth growing in your chest. Something steady and grounding that you know belongs to him.

As you step offstage, your legs trembling slightly, someone presses a water bottle into your hand, and you take a grateful sip. The crowd noise follows you, the energy still thrumming in your veins.

The backstage hum has settled into a quieter buzz, the adrenaline fading to a warm, satisfied ache in your muscles. The air still carries faint traces of hairspray and sweat, mingling with the cool bite of the water bottle pressed to your lips. You lean against the edge of the makeup table, your legs shaky but your chest still thrumming with the electricity of the performance.

Then the door opens, and Hyunjin steps in.

He looks breathtaking, like he's been pulled straight out of a dream. His black button-up is slightly wrinkled from where he's probably been fidgeting with it, his dark jeans hugging his long legs in a way that feels unfair. His hair is tucked behind his ears, framing his sharp jawline, but it's the way his eyes find you that steals the air from your lungs. In his hands is a bouquet of vibrant red roses nestled alongside soft pink carnations and white lilies, the colours a stark, beautiful contrast against his all-black outfit.

You freeze, your words catching in your throat as the world narrows to just him.

"You were incredible," he says, his voice soft but firm, like he's stating a fact. He steps closer, the bouquet shifting in his hands as he holds it out to you. "I've never seen anything like that."

The sincerity in his voice is a balm to the lingering nerves that twist in your stomach, and you manage a small, shaky smile. Your hands tremble slightly as you take the bouquet, the weight of it grounding you. "Thank you," you whisper. "For being there. For... everything."

Hyunjin shakes his head, a faint, almost bashful smile tugging at his lips. "It's not enough," he murmurs, his eyes scanning your face like he's trying to memorize every detail. "I wish you could've seen what I saw out there. You..." He exhales, almost in awe. "You were ethereal."

The way he says it, like he believes it with every fiber of his being, makes your heart stutter. The bouquet trembles slightly in your hands, and you set it down carefully on the table beside you before turning back to him. You don't think; you just act, grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling him toward you.

Your lips crash against his, and for a split second, everything goes still. Hyunjin freezes, his breath catching, but then his hands find your waist, and it's like a dam breaking. He pulls you closer, kissing you back with an urgency that's almost overwhelming. It's messy and raw, a collision of emotions too big to put into words. His fingers dig into your hips, firm and grounding, as he tilts his head to deepen the kiss.

Your back hits the edge of the makeup table as he lifts you effortlessly, setting you down on the cold surface. The contrast of the chill against your skin and the heat of his hands sliding up your sides makes you gasp, and Hyunjin takes the opportunity to nip at your bottom lip before soothing it with his tongue.

"Hyunjin," you breathe, breaking away just enough to rest your forehead against his. Your fingers twist in the fabric of his shirt, and you can feel his breath, warm and unsteady, mingling with yours. "What are we doing?"

"Exactly what I've wanted to do for weeks," he admits, his voice low and rough, each word vibrating against your skin. His hands trace small, deliberate circles on your waist, like he's trying to anchor himself to you. "I want you. I want to be the one you look for in the crowd. For as long as I have hands to draw and a heart to give."

The raw honesty in his words makes something inside you unravel, leaving you exposed in the best way. Your chest feels too full, your heart beating so fast it feels like it might break free. "You should've been a poet," you manage, your voice a soft, teasing whisper, even as a smile tugs at your lips.

Hyunjin chuckles, the sound deep and rich, sending a shiver down your spine. "You inspire me to be a lot of things," he murmurs before kissing you again, this time slower, more deliberate. His hands cradle your face, his thumbs brushing tenderly over your cheeks as his lips move against yours like he's memorizing every curve, every line, every moment.

When he finally pulls back, his breath comes in shallow, ragged pulls, but his gaze is steady. His forehead rests against yours again, his voice barely above a whisper. "I have something to show you tonight. At the frat."

You nod, your fingers tracing absent patterns on the nape of his neck. "Okay," you whisper back. "Whatever it is, I want to see it."

Before either of you can say more, the door bursts open, and chaos spills in.

"Y/N!" Jisung's voice rings out like a fucking bullhorn, followed by a cacophony of shouts, laughter, and the loud rustling of paper. You and Hyunjin spring apart, though his hands linger on your waist for a fraction of a second longer before he steps back.

The entire Alpha Phi crew barrels into the room, each of them holding bouquets that range from extravagant to downright ridiculous. Jisung's is mostly weeds and wildflowers, while Minho's looks like he swept his arm across a flower shop shelf and grabbed whatever fell. Chan's is elegant but understated, a careful mix of white roses and greenery.

"Look at you!" Chan grins, stepping forward to hand you his bouquet. "Fucking murdered it out there. Absolutely killed."

Changbin whistles, his eyes darting between you and Hyunjin. "Uh, should we come back later, or...?"

"Shut the fuck up, Bin," Minho huffs, shoving a massive bouquet of sunflowers and daisies into your arms. "These are for you. And you better fucking like them because I didn't spend half an hour talking with the florist for nothing."

You laugh softly, overwhelmed but deeply touched. "Thank you," you say, your voice still raw but warm as your gaze sweeps over them. "Really. This means so much."

Felix grins, leaning over Changbin's shoulder. "Told you she was hot as fuck," he mutters, earning a sharp elbow from Minho.

"I will end you," Minho snaps, though his glare lacks any real heat.

Jisung throws an arm around your shoulders, his grin wide and boyish. "You fucking crushed it, Y/N. Like, holy shit. That split? I almost died."

Jeongin leans against the wall, smirking. "Well, we weren't gonna miss it. Minho and Jisung wouldn't shut the fuck up about how amazing you were. Turns out, they were right."

Amid the chaos, your eyes find Hyunjin's again. He stands slightly apart from the group, his hands tucked into his pockets, but the private smile he gives you is enough to make your cheeks flush. It's quieter than the bouquets, the noise, the shouts, but it's the most meaningful thing in the room.

The Alpha Phi frat house feels unusually subdued as you and Hyunjin step through the front door. The muffled echoes of laughter and music drift up from the living room, but the usual chaotic energy is missing, leaving the air strangely calm. Hyunjin's hand brushes yours lightly as he leads you toward the stairs, a touch so casual yet electric it sets your nerves on edge.

He glances back at you, his dark eyes flicking over your face. "You're quiet," he says softly, his voice barely carrying over the creak of the stairs.

"I'm... processing," you reply, your tone just as quiet. "This whole night has been... a lot."

Hyunjin's lips quirk into a small smile, but there's something unreadable in his expression. "Good 'a lot' or bad 'a lot'?"

"Definitely good," you admit, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "Just... new."

His laughter is a low, warm hum. "I think you'll like this next part, then."

When you reach his room, he pauses at the door, his hand lingering on the knob. He looks at you for a beat, as if debating something, before pushing it open and stepping aside to let you in.

The room is cozy, in that effortlessly personal way that feels so much like Hyunjin. His bed is neatly made, a dark throw blanket draped at the foot. The desk is cluttered with sketchbooks, pencils, and a scattering of erasers that looks less like a mess and more like a workspace frozen in the middle of inspiration. An easel stands in the corner, a sheet draped over it, and the faint scent of paint lingers in the air, mingling with the warm spice of his cologne.

You step inside, your gaze sweeping the space. "I think this is the cleanest frat room I've ever seen."

Hyunjin snorts, closing the door behind him. "High standards for myself. Low standards for the rest of these idiots."

You laugh softly, perching on the edge of his bed as he moves to the easel. "Okay," you say, gesturing to it. "You've been hyping this up all night. What is it?"

He hesitates for a moment, his fingers brushing the edge of the sheet as he glances at you. There's a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, quickly masked by his usual confidence. "It's something I've been working on. For you."

"For me?" you echo, your brows knitting together. "Hyunjin, what-"

He pulls the sheet away in one smooth motion, cutting off your question. The painting underneath steals the air from your lungs.

It's you. Caught mid-motion, your body curved in an elegant stretch, one arm arched high above your head as if you're reaching for something just out of frame. Your hair cascades around your shoulders, and your lips are curved into a soft, genuine smile, the kind you rarely catch in your reflection.

The colours are warm and rich, a mix of soft golds and deep reds, your figure glowing against an impressionistic blur of background. The strokes are deliberate yet fluid, the details so intricate it feels alive, like it could move at any moment.

You stare at it, your hands gripping the edge of the bed. "Hyunjin," you whisper, your voice barely audible. "It's... it's stunning. I don't even know what to say."

He steps closer, his hands shoved into his pockets as he watches your reaction. "It's how I see you," he says simply. "Effortless. Alive."

Your chest tightens at his words, and you glance back at the painting, overwhelmed. "I don't... I don't think I've ever looked at myself like this."

He shakes his head, his voice quieter now. "That's the problem, isn't it? You don't see what everyone else does. You don't see what I see."

You look up at him, your heart hammering in your chest. "And what do you see?"

He tilts his head, a small, wistful smile tugging at his lips. "I see someone who makes the world brighter just by existing. Someone who laughs like it's a gift. Someone who makes me want to be better. Fuck, I see someone who makes me."

You blink, your throat tightening as his words sink in. The painting blurs in your peripheral vision, eclipsed by the intensity of his gaze. "You really mean that?"

"I don't say shit I don't mean," he murmurs, stepping closer. His hands come to rest on either side of you, gripping the bed as he leans down slightly. "You've been in my head since the moment we met. You're in everything I do. Every sketch. Every brushstroke. You're everywhere."

Your breath catches, and before you can overthink it, your hands find the front of his shirt, pulling him closer. Your lips meet his, and it's like the world tilts on its axis. His kiss is hungry and insistent, his hands sliding to your waist and pulling you flush against him. His teeth graze your bottom lip, and you gasp softly, your fingers tangling in his hair as he deepens the kiss.

Hyunjin groans low in his throat, his hands tightening on your hips as he lifts you onto the bed. You gasp again, your back arching slightly as the cool fabric of his comforter contrasts with the heat of his touch. His lips move to your jaw, then your neck, and the sensation sends shivers down your spine.

"Fuck," he breathes against your skin, his voice rough. "You don't know what you do to me."

You pull his face back to yours, your eyes locking onto his. "Show me," you whisper, your voice trembling but steady.

His gaze darkens, but there's a flicker of tenderness in his expression as he kisses you again, slower this time. His hands cradle your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks as if you're something fragile and precious. The air between you is charged, every touch, every kiss laced with unspoken promises.

When you finally pull back, your foreheads rest together, your breaths mingling. "I don't think I'll ever be able to look at myself the same way again," you admit softly, your fingers tracing the edge of his jaw.

"Good," he murmurs, his lips curving into a faint smile. "Because I'm not letting you forget how incredible you are."

The painting stands quietly in the corner, the soft glow of the room's light casting a warm shadow over it. It's a testament to everything you've been and everything you're becoming. A reflection of how he sees you. And as you sit there, tangled together in the quiet of his room, the world outside feels a million miles away.

General Taglist: @nightmarenyxx

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sungbeam · 2 years ago

Text

nonidol!kim sunwoo x f!reader

you never thought your humble, little podcast would ever touch somebody's soul like it did one kim sunwoo's.

▷ genre, warnings. s2f2l, mutual pining/crushing, college au, fluff, minor angst, humor, comfort, swearing, i actually know very little about anything going on w their majors tbh LOL 💀, uhh sunwoo's a simp but wbk, the outline of sunwoo's abs but if u read too fast u will miss it, kissing, low-key miscommunication trope (im sorry i hate those too), rip sorry yangyang, uhm they're kinda cute i *guess* :/, if there r typos then whoops i don't like editing !!

▷ word count. 28.7k help TT

this is the fifth installment of the love in unity series! this fic can be read as a standalone, but there will be references to the main plotline and all other yns will be referred to as _!yn. ALSO, the second episode specifically has a direct reference to a scene from flight risk, but the rest of the fic won't need any other outside context!

a/n: for @justalildumpling and her chopsticks <3 i dragged myself out of writer's block, pls reblog :'))

EPISODE ONE (PILOT): RHAPSODY… LIKE THE BOHEMIAN ONE?

THERE was something about general education requirement courses that felt too much like a university scam. Why was it required to learn more about things that wouldn’t help one’s chosen career path in the long run? Sunwoo hadn't necessarily been thrilled when he wasn't able to get one of the lower level English classes to fill his requirement, but the 300-level literature class had so far turned out to be… actually interesting. Well, the literature itself was interesting enough. The professor?... Not so much.

There was one thing about this class that he could safely say kept him sane though. And it was more so a person than a thing.

The discussion classroom wasn't terribly full as he strolled through the door with his hoodie thrown over his dark brown curls and headphones, a pretty voice flowing through the ear pieces as he took his usual seat to the side of the room.

"...and we're back! Hope you all enjoyed this week's song recommendation. It's been a favorite of mine ever since my dad introduced it to me when I was a kid. An absolute road trip banger—"

Sunwoo's eyes flickered up to see that the TA for the discussion wasn't yet here, but he lowered the volume on his headset slightly in case.

"—kudos to all the songwriters out there. Writing relevant stuff that transcends time is hard, man. I can't even make meaningful conversation with my graduate student supervisor."

A small smile curled the corners of his lips upward. Just as he anticipated the segment on the host geeking out about her favorite oldies music picks, he heard instead—

"I can't even make meaningful conversation with my other grad student supervisors, you know?"

Wait a minute. Confusion flickered across Sunwoo's face as he checked and lifted one of his headphone ears. That can't be right…

Somebody sat down in the seat beside him, almost startling him because he had his back to the door. It was you, the pretty second-year who he had met on the first day of this discussion a few weeks ago. But he was peering at you now in a whole new light as a smile lingered on your face from your conversation with the class’s TA.

When you felt his eyes on you, you flashed him a bright grin. “Hey, Sunwoo.”

He cleared his throat, fumbling to turn his headphones off and follow your lead in taking out the materials needed for today’s discussion. “Oh, hey, Yn.” It occurred to him just how creepy he was probably being just then…just watching you. But the thoughts in his brain were flying around like mosquitoes around his head—had he been hearing things?

“What’d you think of the reading?” You asked him pleasantly.

The reading from the past week had been the first third of a novel called The Stranger, a version translated from its original written in French. Sunwoo sucked in a breath, grimacing, “It’s not my favorite,” he drawled. “I have no idea what the point of his character is, to be honest.”

You pursed your lips and nodded your head. “Yeah, he’s a little… flat,” you chuckled.

“Is this supposed to tie into the theory that professor was talking about last week?” He asked then, in an effort to actively shift his brain’s focus away from your awfully familiar voice and sayings, and to the present.

“Something about how he doesn’t fit societal standards. I think it’s existentialism and nihilism. Well, at least I think it is.”

Huh. Interesting. Sunwoo gave a little bob of his head, and this was just when the TA turned everyone’s attention to a class discussion about the novel. He definitely hadn’t thought of those terms specifically when reading, but at the same time, he did understand where you were getting that sentiment from. He just couldn’t articulate his view of literature quite as well as you could. That had made you somewhat intimidating to him in the beginning, besides your very cute smile, but he was hoping he could learn something from you nonetheless.

You weren’t even a literature major, he realized as he listened to you offer your thoughts to the group. It was cool, though—you were cool.

— ✶

The Songbird Station was a podcast, radio-esque show that Sunwoo had discovered over summer break, a few weeks ago. The podcast was hosted by an anonymous host who dubbed herself “DJ Dove.” She definitely didn’t mind talking about a few of her personal life experiences; it was easy to simply bar the names and identities. Sunwoo had binged all two seasons so far of the podcast, happily tuning in as a silent listener and admirer of hers for awhile, and he had always wondered where she went to school or who she was, but it hadn’t invaded his thoughts like this before.

Sunwoo laid in his bed the day after the literature discussion, his hands resting on his stomach and his expression turned up toward the violet-red LED-lit ceiling of his room. His phone sat on the edge of his nightstand as it played a playlist of songs that Dove had recommended to her listeners—or well, he wondered if he could safely assume that what he heard yesterday was correct, and that you were DJ Dove.

It would make sense, he thought. You were a sound and music production major, had great taste in music (from the brief conversations you struck up with him while in class), and you literally said the exact same thing that Dove had said over the podcast. It couldn’t have just been a coincidence. And now that he thought about it, your voice really did sound a lot like DJ Dove’s. There was a sort of friendly warmth to both of your voices, and—and—

Knock, knock— “Aye, Sunwoo! I'm going to Juyeon's place now. Are you sure you don't wanna come with?"

Oh, right. He had nearly forgotten that Eric had planned to head over to their new mutual friend's apartment tonight to watch a sports game. Juyeon was a friend of a friend of a friend—the connections ran long in their friend circle, he supposed. Sunwoo stole a peak at his phone screen for the time and his joints ached at the sight of 8:53 on the face. His face screwed up as he replied to his friend and roommate, “Nah, I think I'm still just gonna chill here tonight.”

He grabbed his phone fully off the nightstand this time and turned onto his side.

“Oh, okay. Don't burn the apartment down and don't steal my ramen!”

Sunwoo squished his face down into his pillow, raising his voice slightly since his words would probably be muffled, "I'm not going to steal your ramen!" This guy.

He heard Eric grumble something under his breath from the other side of the door, followed by the sound of footsteps moving farther away from his room. When he heard the front door close, he let out a breath and turned back to his phone. To his surprise, he had managed to absentmindedly navigate away from the playlist screen and to the Songbird Station homepage, filled with a collection of all of your links. One of these links was for listeners to submit song recommendations or ask questions, and most of the time, they were all anonymous with their own little nicknames.

He had never fully considered doing it… but that didn’t mean he hadn’t ever partially thought about it. He definitely imagined becoming one of Dove’s more frequent anonymous submitters and becoming friends with her—on a level that one could consider oneself friends between two anonymous users, at least.

But up until now, he hadn’t thought that he could do it. Well, because Dove was Dove; he was one of hundreds of listeners.

“But she’s Yn,” he thought aloud to himself, turning back onto his back to speak to the ceiling, as if the layer of plaster above his head could possibly give him a viable answer. “There’s probably a reason she doesn’t use her actual name,” he pondered further, expression contorted into deep contemplation. “This feels wrong!” He groaned.

There was at least one person he could count on to deal with his bullshit.

sunwoo’s phone: yes or no

tree rat: no

“Well, screw you, too,” Sunwoo huffed as he swiped out of his and Changmin’s text chain. Out of all the times Changmin said “no” randomly, it had to be this time.

It didn’t matter much anyway though. Sunwoo went back to the links page and clicked on the anonymous submissions. He was met with a customized greeting page from the hostess herself, as she thanked her listeners and asked what they’d like to contribute to the show.

Sunwoo moved to sit up against his headboard as he racked his brain for something to say. He had tons to say, but the first message had to be perfect, right?

“It’s fine,” he said out loud, thumbs flying over the keyboard to type out the first thing that came to mind. After all, it was completely anonymous, so it wasn’t like she would—or you would—even know it was him.

He probably read over his little paragraph about a hundred times before attempting to figure out an anonymous name to sign off with. He hugged his knee to his chest when he couldn’t come up with something cool, charming, or unique. Maybe he would stay completely unknown for now. Maybe he wouldn’t even have the courage to submit another message after this one anyway!—

"Rhapsody," he said aloud. Rhapsody was a cool word. Rhapsody anon? Was that who he would sign as?

He did the most logical course of action: look up the word. He asked the internet for its most basic definition, then somehow ended up in the rabbit hole of etymology of the word rhapsody. It described one who stitched verses or songs together—something of the sort. It sounded cool, at least.

It would have to do… and even if you—or DJ Dove—thought it was stupid, no one would know it was him.

Before he could psych himself out of it, Sunwoo pushed the submit button and launched his phone away from him onto the bed like it was explosive. There was something thrilling about anonymous submissions, but incredibly anxiety-inducing, as well. He could only hope that you would be pleased to read it.

— ✶

It was Wednesday when the next episode of the podcast dropped, and Sunwoo was swift to don his headphones on his way out the door of the apartment. The walk to campus was a good fifteen or so minutes, which would get him about a quarter of the way through the episode, but usually the line in the campus cafe was long, so he had plenty of time to listen.

“Welcome to Songbird Station! I’m your host, DJ Dove, and today, I went to my Groupon singing lesson and realized that I think my teacher is having an affair with her neighbor…?”

Sunwoo let out a snortish laugh, covering his mouth with his hoodie sleeve in slight embarrassment as he passed by somebody else going in the opposite direction. Usually, there would be anonymous submissions sprinkled throughout the episode, most of them having to be diverted to later episodes because they were song recommendations. Sunwoo wasn’t super optimistic about his chances of being featured in this episode, but a guy could dream, couldn’t he?

The sky was a pleasant shade of crystalline blue, even as the seasons shifted from summer to fall. There was a slight breeze wafting through the air that brought in the telltale autumnal chill.

"...and luckily the rest was history. My voice was completely dead and my throat is still a little sore, haha, so we'll do a couple more anonymous submissions and recommendations today! This is supposedly a radio show-esque podcast, after all. This one's from a new friend—Rhapsody Anon!"

Sunwoo nearly tripped over the flat sidewalk and sent a nervous smile to the other person waiting at the stoplight with him. Did you just say what he thought you said?

There came a soft laugh from you. "Ooh, like Bohemian Rhapsody by Queen? Such a classic, by the way. Rhapsody says: Hi Dove! Hoping you're doing alright and that songwriting is going well. I'm a relatively new listener but a fan from first listen—awh, wait… that's kind of like love at first sight but for the voice version, isn't it?"

He reddened. The crosswalk turned green.

"Anyways, that's really sweet; thanks so much—there's a bit more of the message that I'll post on my story later so we can save time, but Rhapsody, thank you for tuning in and interacting with me. Your message sounded so heartfelt to me? I dunno," you chuckled and he swore he could hear the smile in your voice, "maybe I'm a little biased 'cause I love your song rec, too. Speaking of which, Rhapsody recommends Painkiller by Ruel! An immaculate choice, if I do say so myself…"

Sunwoo couldn't help but smile to himself at your warm reception of his anonymous submission. He wished he could have gotten your full reaction to his entire message, but he understood that you needed to account for all the other things you had planned.

Even so, an acknowledgement from you would have been enough. He hadn't thought it was possible, but he thought he just became even more attached to this DJ Dove persona.

EPISODE TWO: I HATE VALENTINE'S DAY.

three months later.

THE curtains in Sunwoo's room were yanked open, the sound of metal rings against the metal bar scratched at his eardrums and made him grimace. It definitely did not help the pounding in his cranium, and—wait, was he in jeans? There was a disgusting after taste in his mouth, something akin to alcohol, and when he lifted his hand to rub his eyes, he felt dried tear tracks on his skin.

Eric stood at the foot of his bed with a scowl and his arms crossed over his chest. "I'm mad at you."

Sunwoo smooshed his face into his pillow in a sorry attempt to hide his eyes from the blinding overcast sky outside. "What's new?" He babbled incoherently.

It seemed his friend and roommate was not pleased with his answer and moved to tower over Sunwoo right beside him. "You couldn't have waited ten minutes before barging in? I was so close to kissing her!"

"Huh? What the hell are you…" Sunwoo's voice trailed off as the events of last night were slowly coming back to him.

Yesterday was Valentine's Day. Ugh. He remembered making plans to go to some singles party with Changmin and Chanhee, and that Eric was bringing EC!Yn over to woo her or something… yeah, he got all that. So why did Sunwoo drink so much and why couldn't he…

The notification… the tweet…

Oh no.

The emotions from last night came rushing back to him like the tide to shore. Horror contorted his face as his brain raced to string pieces of last night together. He released a groan as he brought both hands up to his face. "Oh my god," he muttered into his palms.

The distinct feeling of devastation and disappointment sank into his gut. No wonder he had thrown all caution to the wind last night and gotten himself drunk off his face.

"How bad?" He asked.

Eric still had his arms crossed. "You cried on EC!Yn like a whale and asked why women were perfect and why you couldn't have this one girl." By the drone of Eric's voice, he hadn't been pleased or amused by last night's events. Whoops.

"I'm—"

"You are going to be forever alone, by the way."

Sunwoo dropped his hands from his face and leveled a scowl up at Eric. Now, that he remembered saying, too. Unfortunately. "Hey! I'm still tender from last night."

Eric's smile was sarcastic and he said nothing as he made his exit from Sunwoo's room and left the hungover man to fend for himself. Left to his own devices, Sunwoo pushed out a harsh exhale as he stared up at the ceiling.

He remembered receiving the notification from the Songbird Station Twitter account and excusing himself to go to the bathroom to hear your voice memo. And when he'd finally found an empty bathroom and played it back, he learned a devastating piece of information.

Guys, I went on a date… updates in the next episode. That was what you had said, essentially—you, Yn Ln, the girl Sunwoo had met in his literature course last quarter and whom he had figured out was the anonymous host of the podcast Songbird Station under the pseudonym DJ Dove.

And he had gotten drunk over the fact that you'd gone out on a date, and said date hadn't been him.

"Dude," he said out loud to himself.

He couldn't believe he had gotten so off his rocker by this news. It wasn't like he knew you or liked you or—well, maybe he had grown an affection for you over the span of time he listened to your podcast and interacted with you via his own pseudonym, Rhapsody Anonymous.

But he was just another fan to you, and you would never know his identity.

A guy could dream though, right?

A thought suddenly occurred to him as he rolled over to go through the copious amounts of notifications on his phone he had. There were lots of messages in his group chat with Chanhee and Changmin that he would deal with later, lots of social media notifications, emails, and…

Wednesday. Today was Wednesday.

Sunwoo cursed. You were definitely uploading the episode today then.

He bit his lip as he sorted through the notifications to find one about the podcast. Sure enough, there it was: I Went On A Date? was the title, and he pretended like that didn't make him want to play Lany's Valentine's Day on loop—

The bedroom door opened and Eric poked his head into the room. "I made hangover soup."

Sunwoo blinked in surprise. "Oh. Thanks, man."

"Yeah, don't mention it," Eric mumbled, shifting on his feet. "Seriously, don't mention it."

— ✶

For the next couple of days, Sunwoo left the notification at the top of his phone, pretending like it wasn’t there. It had worked for about five minutes, but the remainder of time he was stubborn, he allowed his imagination to get the better of him. Although he no longer needed to take a literature course, he found himself deeply considering the vague title you had provided. Well, what could you mean by that question mark at the end? Had it not gone well? There was no way it could have, since your tone didn’t really scream “OH MY GOD I WENT ON A DATE!!!” (not that Sunwoo had imagined what he would have acted like post-date with someone like you or anything…). He didn’t even know who you had gone on a date with, and that made his stomach churn.

The curiosity devoured him alive over the two days he managed to torture himself with his overthinking. No one knew he listened to the Songbird Station podcast, and he planned to keep it that way. It would be the absolute death of him if any of his friends found out.

By Saturday morning, Sunwoo had had enough of his own stubbornness and caved. He donned his headphones, grabbed his bag, and headed out the door to do some work in a cafe located on the Ave. There was one that his friend Jacob had recommended to the group awhile back, and Sunwoo hadn’t looked back since.

As he tuned into the episode, he shoved his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, shivering against the cold, winter winds. February weather was a doozy, and a hot cup of coffee or hot chocolate sounded so very sexy right this moment.

“Welcome to Songbird Station! I’m your host, DJ Dove, and you’re probably wondering what the title of this episode even means, or why I sent that weird, cryptic voice message the other night.”

The traffic light turned green, and Sunwoo began to cross the road, the coffee shop in sight. His hands were beginning to get clammy in his pockets.

“Don’t riot, but friends, it means exactly what it says—” As you exhaled out a breathy kind of laugh, Sunwoo inhaled sharply.

“Helpful,” he muttered under his breath as he pushed into the warmth of the coffee shop. He shook the cold out of his body before hopping into the line to order.

“ —I did actually land myself a date yesterday. Honestly, I’m not really much of a dater; I never really had time with it over the past years because I would, uh… well, I would rather stay in and do music, y’know?”

The corners of Sunwoo’s lips curled up into a smile. Maybe he had been nervous before about this episode’s topic of choice, but he should have had more faith in you. Rather than speak about the date the entire episode, you always managed to worm in a discussion about your passions, and that was the kind of talk that had first gotten Sunwoo hooked. There was something so attractive about hearing or witnessing a person gush about their passions and ambitions—the way their eyes lit up, their posture righted itself, how they smiled so big that one could hear it in their tone of voice.

He was happy that you went out on a date, because you deserved to meet someone who treated you as special as you were. You were a good person, and it wasn’t fair that he was being so salty about it, especially when he was too chicken to—

“Sunwoo?”

His soul practically fell out of his body. “Shit—” He swore, yanking his headphones down with eyes as wide as the earphones. He whirled around to greet you with a flushed face, red like the old Christmas decorations still hanging up from the crown moldings.

You were standing right behind him with a mildly amused look on your face, your lips pressed into a smile and eyes crinkled in absolute delight. You were similarly bundled up like he was to no doubt shield you from the cold on your way here. “Sorry I scared you! I probably should have, like, tapped your shoulder or something, huh?”

Sunwoo let out a nervous laugh and cupped the back of his neck, the skin there warm to the touch. “Oh, uh, no problem at all. I just kinda…”

“Get scared easy?” You offered.

He huffed with a sheepish sort of smile. “No, no that’s not it. I—I just wasn’t expecting you, that’s all.” Inwardly, he winced. The fact that he was listening to your voice in his ears, and you just happened to say his name at the same time and appear in the same exact coffee shop as him. Weren’t there fifteen of these places on the block? There was no way you just happened to choose this one at this moment.

You chuckled, playing along. “Ah, I see, I see. We haven’t seen each other since fall quarter though. How have you been?”

You and Sunwoo inched up with the line, so the two of you now stood side by side. Sunwoo was trying everything he could to calm the racing of his heart. Play it cool, dude. “I’ve been okay…ish,” he grimaced, re-thinking his answer. “You know winter quarter is always the worst.”

“For sure,” you replied. “It’s so cold and dreary—nobody wants to leave their apartments, especially me,” you joked.

Sunwoo was about to chime in on how he could totally relate to that, when you popped the question: “And then there’s Valentine’s Day. Crazy how it never seems to rain on Valentine’s Day, though, so people can go out. Did you do anything for it?”

Sirens commenced their screeching in his head. WEE-WOO-WEE-WOO! Don’t let her know how much of a loser you were! He coughed, reaching up to scratch his head. “Uh, nothing special in particular, if that’s what you mean. A couple of my friends and I just went to this singles party.” Would that give you the wrong idea? Probably not, right? Why was he so bad at this, he thought, wasn’t he supposed to be a communications major?

You inched up in line. “Oh, that’s cool. I think I went to one in freshman year at my old uni,” you said.

Before he could stop himself, he said, “I almost forgot you transferred this year.” He knew that one from the podcast when you talked about the struggles of being a transfer student and having to almost “redo” your entire first year experience, social-wise. But you had also told him that when you and he had worked together in your shared class last quarter; it was just that the two of you didn’t really talk much about your old university much after that.

“It’s okay,” you smiled, nudging his arm with yours as a gesture for him to order first. “Not many people remember.”

Sunwoo wanted to protest, maybe to reassure you that it wasn’t that easy to forget something like that, but he was forced to switch gears and order his hot beverage first before he could say anything else to you. After he said goodbye to five more dollars, he stepped aside and made his way over to the pick-up counter to wait for you and his drink.

When you were done, you sidled up beside him, hands tucked into the folds of your coat.

Come on, say something, his inner voice chided. “So, uh, how was your Valentine’s Day?”

He immediately regretted it. Out of everything he could have asked, he had to go with the one topic he really didn’t want to hear about. However, it had been one of the logical progressions of the conversation, and who knew? Perhaps it wouldn’t lead to him feeling like he’d been shot down with lightning? (Was he being a little dramatic? Yes. Did it matter? Not when no one was going to hear him, no.)

You let out a small laugh and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “It was okay,” you replied.

It was… it was okay? What was he supposed to do with that answer—

“I mean,” you continued with a smile that looked more like a grimace, “it was—fine! It was fine. Uhm…”

Sunwoo’s thoughts came to a slow, teetering stop. Worry began seeping into the cracks of his brain as new scenarios formed. “Hey, if you’re uncomfortable talking about it, then we don’t have to talk about it.” All of the nerves and envy from before was becoming something softer in concern for your response.

“No! No, it’s okay. I promise,” you reassured him. The look you gave him was earnest, and he felt the fist tucked into his pocket gradually relax a bit. “It’s just weird putting it into words, y’know? I kind of chickened out of talking to my friends about it, and even to—” You stopped yourself short, and he could see you backpedaling in your brain. “Anyways, it just felt weird? I think it would have been a really nice night if I actually saw him in that light. But at the same time, I kind of want to try and give it a chance. Does that make sense?”

He nodded, tension falling out of his shoulders. “It does. I mean, sometimes there’s just no spark, y’know?” He added. “I was just worried he did something to make you uncomfortable or something.”

“Oh, no, nothing like that. You don’t have to worry.”

“Okay, that’s good,” he murmured, licking his lips. “I’m just curious—” he piped up, “—and you don’t have to tell me, but who did you go out with?”

One of the baristas from behind the counter called your names, and the two of you both stepped forward. Sunwoo took a long stride to get there before you, and handed you your cup for you.

You murmured a “thanks” to him first before stirring in a packet of sugar. “Liu Yangyang. Do you know him?”

Did he? Yangyang was one of the people Sunwoo recognized from not only around campus, but as a person who made music online, too. Even if Yangyang was in the same year as him, Sunwoo always admired the man’s flow and way with words. It made so much sense that Yangyang would pursue you, someone equally talented and charismatic, especially if the two of you were the same major.

A tightening sensation creeped into Sunwoo’s chest as he marinated on the revelation further. If you couldn’t see someone like Yangyang in a romantic light, then where did that put himself?

As Sunwoo let his intrusive thoughts get the best of him, you finished preparing your coffee.

“I’ve gotta run now,” you told him with a soft-cornered grin. “It was nice seeing you, Sunwoo.”

Sunwoo managed a smile back at you, head bobbing in some semblance of a nod, before you were exiting the shop. He stood there for a moment to gather his wits, his thoughts, and his dignity.

“Did that really just happen?” He muttered to himself. He took his coffee with him to find an empty table and retrieved his study materials from his bag. Technically, he didn’t even have to listen to the rest of the podcast, but… who was he kidding?

EPISODE THREE: HEART TO HEART

“YOU’RE coming with me to the practice rooms, right?” Ji Changmin trailed behind Sunwoo as the two of them shouldered into Sunwoo and Eric's shared apartment with their bags and leftovers from today's lunch. It had been about a week and a half since he had bumped into you at that café and he had been feeling over the interaction since.

Sunwoo popped open the refrigerator while his friend perched on one of the breakfast bar stools, his duffle bag dumped at his feet. "Uh, yeah. 'Course, hyung," he said, shifting some groceries from JC!Yn around to make space for his white plastic container.

A thought occurred to him, and he groaned. "But you're gonna have to go first—without me," he clarified. He grabbed the carton of orange juice out to pour himself a glass, facing his friend's curious look.

Changmin's brows furrowed. "Wait, why not?"

It was a reasonable question, as it went against Sunwoo's normal pattern of behavior. Usually, Sunwoo would tag along with Changmin to the practice rooms at the back of the performing arts building. Changmin was a dance major, and with the highly anticipated winter dance showcase just around the corner, it was important that he got that practice in. Plus, with Eric out of town for an away game, Sunwoo was left alone in the apartment, which wasn't exactly his favorite thing. He would much rather go out and be around other people… unless there was something else occupying him.

Today, that certain occupation came in the form of your first live podcast session, something you were trying out. It was just going to be a live audio stream, so you could stay anonymous with your pseudonym, and answer people's submissions live. You had been advertising it for the past week, having excluded the weekly podcast in order to prepare for today.

Sunwoo was excited as you were and wanted to support you and be one of the people tuning in live. This was important to him, and he had even gone so far as to plan out his day.

"I just have something I need to turn in before the day ends," he said easily, shoulders lifting in a half-hearted shrug. He lifted the glass of orange juice to his mouth for a languid gulp.

Changmin made a teasing noise of disappointment. "Aye, you know if Chanhee were here he'd be on your ass, right?" He chuckled, the dimple of his smile pressing into his cheek.

Sunwoo pouted when he lowered the glass. "If Chanhee or JC!Yn were here, I wouldn't have admitted to procrastination. I have self-preservation skills."

"And you don't think I'd be on your ass?" Changmin gasped dramatically with a hand pressed to his chest.

With tongue in cheek, Sunwoo grinned amusedly. He shook his head, adjusting the hood pulled over him. "Hyung, you can't ding me for procrastination when you procrastinate religiously. Remember that one time you had to beg Professor Ka—"

"Yah! Nobody asked for specifics!"

Sunwoo's chuckle turned into nervous laughter as Changmin reached across the island with a claw-shaped hand. "Ah! No! You stay away—go practice!"

Changmin snickered. "Chicken."

Soon after, Changmin indeed took his leave to head over to the performing arts hall. Sunwoo drained the juice in his cup and refilled it before making a beeline for his bedroom.

The livestream was projected to last for an hour, about the length of a usual episode, but you did say the timing wasn't set in stone. Sunwoo set himself up at his desk, signing into the platform you always used. Over the past couple of months he was Rhapsody, he'd become one of your regulars, suggesting new and old songs from his music library, talking about his day or week or something the last podcast had reminded him of. He liked to think that the two of you were friends—parasocially.

A guy could dream, right?

He was on his phone when the waiting room faded and became a split screen: one half with a sketched sign that read "ON AIR: COMING TO YOU LIVE!" with a little dove in headphones, and the other half was a live chat feed that people who were tuned in could use. There was both a public and private feature, and Sunwoo kept his on the public chat, unafraid of what a bunch of other people behind anonymous names and screens could do to scare him.

"Oh! Woah, I think that worked," came your voice, loud and clear, through his laptop speakers.

He smiled to himself, reaching over to settle his fingers on his keyboard. A tingling feeling bubbled up inside him, starting from his toes and rocketing up through his chest. He could actually talk to you in real time today.

You clapped lightly on the other side, relief pouring through your voice. "Thank god. I'm supposed to be good with some computer programs, but this livestream feature is kind of new. How're we doing, everyone? It seems…" A couple clicks from your end, "... We've got some more people rolling in. I'll give it a couple minutes, but let me know who we've got here today! It's so cool seeing you guys live!"

Sunwoo was swift to type out a greeting message: Dovey hi!! He paired it with a little, hand-waving emoji.

The small gasp of delight from you had him giggling to himself. "Oh my god, Rhapsody! Hi, best friend, welcome in! We might actually be able to hold a conversation for once," you chuckled.

rhapsody anonymous: yeah fs haha

rhapsody anonymous: did u have a good week? it felt weird without an ep from u 🤧

"Oh! Yeah, haha, sorry about that—”

He rushed to type as you continued with answering his question: No no! Don’t worry, I don’t blame you or anything lol it’s just something I look forward to every week.

“...Ah,” you said after skimming over his message. “Understood—and aw, I’m glad it’s something you look forward to every week. That makes me really happy to hear… oh! It looks like the numbers are becoming a little stagnant, so I’m gonna get started. Hi, everyone! Welcome to the live edition of Songbird Station. I’m your host…”

— ✶

An hour later, Sunwoo ended up seated at the kitchen counter, drinking orange juice straight out of the nearly-depleted carton, while the livestream continued on. The whole experience had been one of a kind, and by the way you were able to seamlessly speak and engage with your audience for the entire time made Sunwoo feel warm and fuzzy. He was glad this was working out for you.

There was a gradual lull in conversation, however, and you were just wrapping up your last topic to bring your first livestream to an organic stop.

“...wanna thank you all for being here, of course. 57 people listening to my voice for over an hour is kind of crazy, but this was a lot of fun!...”

Sunwoo was just about to start typing up a message to you when his phone buzzed on the counter beside his laptop. He startled, fumbling with the device and grumbling under his breath until he saw who it was and picked up the call.

“Hyung?” He squeezed the phone between his ear and shoulder, attempting to finish his private message to you. I was wondering if I could…|

Changmin’s voice came out breathy and panting like he had just finished a run-through. “Hey, are you done with your assignment yet?”

I was wondering if I could hang back for…| “Huh?” Why couldn’t he multitask, for god’s sake? I was wondering if I could hang back for a minute? If it’s weird though, then it’s no problem…|

No, that wasn’t weird, right? Totally not. He pressed the 'enter' key, satisfied with the message.

“What were you saying?” Sunwoo asked and picked up the phone with his hand. His eyes flickered back to his laptop screen to find that you had sent him a private message back.

Changmin let out a grumbling sigh. “I was just thinking—”

“Uh oh,” Sunwoo joked.

He could hear his friend’s eye roll from here. “When you get here Kim Sunwoo…”

“Okay, okay, okay!” He chuckled as he read your message and silently punched the air in celebration. “What do you want? I was in the middle of something.”

“Rude! And I was calling you because I was thinking about you,” Changmin huffed. “Anyway, I was just going over some of the movement for Juyeon and my ‘Light a Flame’ duet, right? And I came up with this combo that would be perfect for three people—”

Sunwoo sucked in a breath. “Oh, nonono!”

“But!”

“No!” Sunwoo protested. “Hyung, you know that I don’t… y’know, I can’t dance up there with you and Juyeon hyung! That’s way too much pressure; you’re both so good at dance.” He pressed his finger against the edge of the counter and began mindlessly dragging it along the surface. There had originally been plans of Sunwoo joining Changmin and Juyeon’s dance partnership for this year’s winter showcase performance, but Sunwoo backed out. The winter showcase was far too large of an event for Sunwoo could even fathom participating in, let alone dancing with two of the best dancers he knew. There was just no way.

Changmin sighed from the other end. He’d heard this argument before and he’d argued against this argument plenty of times. “Okay, fine. See you in how long?”

Sunwoo placed his phone onto the counter again so he could tell you that he was still here and hadn’t just left you hanging. “Uh, give me like, thirty minutes.”

“Alright. I better see your ass here in thirty minutes, Sunwoo.”

“Yeah, I know. See ya, hyung.” He hung up then, shoulders sagging slightly from the conversation. It wasn’t like he had to participate in the winter showcase—he was no dance major, nor was he a dance minor. He technically hadn’t even decided on a minor, and had only been focusing on getting this degree finished. Whether or not he had chosen a minor yet was not his parents’ favorite discussion when they visited him, but… it would get done when he had the energy to. He didn’t want to bring up the idea of a dance minor—he saw what it did to Changmin and his parents’ relationship and—well, it was just better this way, for now.

Having finished with his phone call, Sunwoo returned his focus to you, where, god bless, you were still waiting for him in the livestream room.

rhapsody anonymous: omg i’m SO sorry!! >< a friend of mine just called and turns out i am awful at multitasking

“No worries,” you laughed. “I figured that was the case. Everything okay, Rhaps?”

The corners of his mouth curled up at the thoughtful ask. Even when the two of you had been classmates, you were new to the school, but still made him feel like the two of you had known each other for longer than simply a few weeks. It only made sense that you were the host of this podcast, the very thing that had been his source of comfort as of late.

rhapsody anon: yeah nothing really serious lol

rhapsody anon: i just have this friend who’s doing the winter showcase and i was supposed to go to the practice room with him

rhapsody anon: actually, i was going to dance and perform w him too but ig i kind of chickened out

He didn’t know why he was telling you all of this; this wasn’t even what he originally intended to talk to you about.

He heard you make a soft sound of understanding. You shifted in your seat. “I see… the winter showcase is a big event though, as I’ve heard from peers and friends. It's probably really intimidating to even perform in the pre-show, you know? Are you a dance student, by chance?”

rhapsody anon: i’m not, but i’ve taken the intro to hiphop course my freshman year and i usually dance for fun w my friend

rhapsody anon: i think i’ve just always been kind of insecure in my abilities to keep up w him?

“Is he a dance major?”

rhapsody anon: he is

Sunwoo leaned back from the laptop and took his hands off the keyboard. He settled his chin onto his folded arms as he listened to your reply.

“Well, I don’t think you should compare yourself to a dance major, right, Rhaps? I mean, it’s not fair to expect more from yourself when he’s clearly had more experience. And if you enjoy dancing, then I don’t see what the harm in trying to perform or even just being satisfied with private practice sessions is!” You paused for a second to gather your thoughts. “What I’m saying is… is that, I can understand where you might feel insecure, and that’s normal, y’know? And if you’re feeling a little unprepared for this year, there’s always future opportunities.”

Sunwoo peered up at his screen as if he could see you on the other side, speaking to him. He sat up to type out a response. Thanks for hearing me out, it’s nice to feel validated. Sorry this kind of took a downer tone haha it wasn’t my intention, I swear!

You giggled and he swore he was smiling a little too wide now. “No worries, really! I’m glad I could be of help, even if it’s to make sure that you know your feelings are valid. If I’m being honest, one of the few reasons why I even started this podcast thing was to kind of just put my experiences out there in search of validity.” You sighed, “I dunno. It’s a story for another time. I am curious, though, as to why you originally wanted to hang out with me after the others left.”

Oh, right. Sunwoo bit his lip.

rhapsody anonymous: this isn’t really a song rec, but ig it kind of is… i feel like superstar by taylor swift reminds me of u

He held his breath after he pressed the ‘enter’ key.

“Oh…” your voice was soft in surprise, and it made something like giddiness spike in his chest. “That’s really sweet, Rhaps. I… I’m not sure what to say, but thank you. Genuinely.”

rhapsody anonymous: u don’t have to say anything!! really haha ur work and ur words have touched a lot of people

“Even you?”

rhapsody anonymous: esp me

And even after you and he had said goodbye to one another and logged off; even after he was well out of the apartment and on his way to campus, that giddy feeling in his chest still hadn’t left him.

EPISODE FOUR: SHOT THROUGH THE HEART! [AND WE’RE ALL IN PAIN]

DEAD week was not typically something Sunwoo had to worry about, as fortunate as that sounded. There were, obviously, classes that made his stomach queasy and made him feel like the world was crumbling into Hot Cheeto dust, but his classes this quarter had been merciful to say the least. The week before finals week was always something that could be visibly observed on campus: students either manifesting like zombies or zooming around to claim seats in the library; grades rising and falling like the housing market; and snacks and coffee being more commonly consumed than any other moment of the quarter.

It was always a hot pile of shit, no matter the student or major.

“Someone just needs to tell Ouyang to chill!”

“Uh-huh.”

“For sure.”

“—it’s not like we’re the root of all of his problems! I’m just trying to graduate!” Eric halted in the middle of the hallway, causing Sunwoo, whose face was nose-deep in his phone screen, to ram into the baseball player’s back.

“Ow!” He hissed, furiously rubbing the place at his forehead that had collided with the nape of Eric’s neck.

“You’re not paying attention,” said Eric, flatly. He turned to Jacob, who also wasn’t paying attention. “Hyung!”

Jacob’s head lifted from where he was busy smiling down at some orange cat video. “What? Nacho’s learning the periodic table—” He flipped his phone around to show Eric, his face immediately lighting up as he forgot about why he was even mad in the first place.

The three of them were currently in the front half of the performing arts building, heading inwards from the main hall to the backstage area where a couple of their friends were already hanging out. Sunwoo had bumped into Jacob and Eric on his way from one of the campus libraries, and with nothing else better to do (than to study), he tagged along to go find someone to bother. (Jacob and Eric were both STEM majors though, which was weird to Sunwoo since… well, shouldn’t they be bunkered up somewhere trying to survive this quarter’s dead week? Anyways…)

Sunwoo sighed and brushed past his two friends to venture deeper into the building. He could already hear somebody’s music blasting from the sound booth as they rehearsed onstage. Over the past several weeks, everyone had been busy preparing for the winter showcase happening at the end of finals week, right before spring break. Ever since Sunwoo’s talk with you over livestream, he had felt a little better about not joining Changmin and Juyeon on stage this year. Plus, from what he could tell when he watched them practice, they already looked pretty much perfect with just the two of them.

Though, there would always be a part of him that wished he really had the courage to go up there and show the audience what he was made of.

Sunwoo wandered into the main auditorium with his hands tucked into his pockets and the doors closing softly behind him. There was indeed a group practicing their number on the stage at the moment. He could even make out the shapes moving from behind the curtains in the wings as other tech members and dancers rushed to and fro to get to where they needed to. Somewhere in that mass of chaos were his friends.

A familiar voice had him lifting his head toward the sound booth. His eyes widened when he recognized you standing in the booth with Bang Chan, one of the more prominent sound and lighting directors working here at the performing arts center. However, it looked like you were leaving, your hands clumsily wrestling with the zipper on your bag while you continued your conversation with Chan, and while attempting to walk backwards out of the sound booth.

Oh my god, you were going to trip on something if he didn’t help—

Both Sunwoo and Chan pounced toward you as the thought occurred to both of them at the same time.

“Yn, careful!” Sunwoo yelled, as he dove for your phone.

Chan steadied you at the bicep, and you hugged your bag to your chest with a flustered grin. “Oops?”

Chan ruffled your hair as he let you go, nodding his hello to Sunwoo, then ducking back into the booth. You stepped out into the main room and shut the door behind you. “Thanks,” you said to him sheepishly, accepting your phone from him.

The two of you naturally fell into step with one another and Sunwoo let you lead him back out towards the main entrance again. “I didn’t know you worked behind the scenes here,” he told you, cupping the back of his head. If he racked his brain, he couldn’t recall hearing about it from your podcast either. “This is the second time I’ve seen you here,” he chuckled.

You stopped for a minute in the middle of the hallway to get a hold of your things. You had to hike your knee up to properly zip your backpack before hauling it over your shoulder. “Oh, that’s right! Just a couple days ago you were here with your friends, right?”

He gave a bashful sort of grin. He had been here a couple days ago when he came to bother Changmin, and ended up hanging out backstage while Hyunjae’s best friend hosted auditions for her play. It was then that he had seen you hustling about with the Lee Jihoon about lights. He’d been caught so off-guard by seeing you; it was a miracle he managed to even get Changmin to forget about that whole interaction. “Yeah, sorry I was kind of… weird. I didn’t expect you, that's all.”

“Lots of surprise run-ins with us, huh,” you teased, the side of your arm bumping with his as you walked.

Us.

“It’s nice to see you more often though.”

You nodded. “The feeling’s mutual, Sunwoo. Thanks for warning me earlier; I’m usually more careful with my stuff, especially when I’ve got special cargo.” As you said this, you reached back to pat your backpack affectionately.

Sunwoo lifted a brow, opening the door for you as the two of you stepped out into the lobby. “Oh? What kind of special cargo?”

The smile on your face widened. “It’s, uhm, a recording mic, actually! I’ve been coming by to intern around the tech side of things here, and Chan and Jihoon give me some tips about music production, too.” You trailed off, an idea taking hold in your head, and that wide beam from just seconds ago became this shy, little thing. “Hey… would you maybe be up to listening to something of mine? I mean, it’s kind of a weird request, but your music taste from first quarter was top notch—”

“Yes,” Sunwoo said, without even waiting for you to finish your rambling.

You paused, and he rejoiced in the pure delight on your face. “Really? That’s—this is great. Wait, I’m so excited! We’ll need to find a private place to listen, but—”

“Oh my gosh, Yn?”

Coming in from the front lobby doors was none other than Han Jisung, a fellow second-year whom Sunwoo was familiar with. He was bundled in a massive, puffy cream jacket with his head shoved into a beanie, and his nose was reddened from the cold. Jisung tucked the earbuds in his ears away into their case, waddling over to you both with the joy of a baby penguin. “And Sunwoo! Woah, it’s so cool to see you, man. What’s up?”

Sunwoo clasped his hand in his. “S’cool to see you, too, dude. Yn and I were just on our way out.”

Jisung moved over to you and pulled you in for an affectionate side hug. “Oh, well, that’s nice to hear,” he snickered, wagging his eyebrows at you while you sent him a pointed look.

Wonder what that was all about…

“Anyways,” continued Jisung, “I just came by to bother Channie-hyung. Is he in the box?”

You bobbed your head in affirmation. “Yup. There isn’t anyone else with him right now, so I’m sure there’ll be plenty of space for you to bug him.”

“Nice,” he grinned. As he walked away in the direction from which you and Sunwoo came, he sent a wave. “See you both around!”

“Bye!” Both you and Sunwoo called back before resuming your walk out the front entrance.

“So how do you—” The two of you laughed when you both started talking at the same time, saying the same thing. Sunwoo gestured toward you, insisting that you ask the question first. You did: “So how do you know Jisung?”

Sunwoo snorted at the memory. “I, uh, saw him in the hall once and smacked his ass, then asked for his number.”

You had to stop to double over in laughter, clutching your stomach while Sunwoo looked on in flustered amusement. Your face had heated up considerably, and you barely managed to follow him down the steps toward the bus stop. “You what?” You asked, once you could get out anything other than wheezes.

He chuckled, shrugging. “Okay, well, I actually know him from this music summer camp we both went to in high school. I didn’t realize he came to this uni until I saw him last year and… well, made my presence known to him.”

You clapped your hands together and collapsed onto the bus bench. “I was gonna say—that’s one hell of a hello.”

“It’s a true story,” he insisted.

“Oh, I believe you.”

The two of you shared a laugh for a moment and Sunwoo took a seat beside you, his knee bouncing up and down as you waited for the bus to come by. He nudged your shoulder with his. “So what about you then? How do you know Han?”

“Hm? Ah, I just know him ‘cause we share the same major-ish. I’m sound and music production, and he’s just a general music major,” you explained. “We also share a composition class, as well as a writing course. Did you know the guy is a fantastic poet?”

Sunwoo’s eyebrows arched upward. “I would not be surprised; the guy’s an ace.”

“Totally agree.” You fidgeted with your phone between your hands. “He was also one of my first friends here after I transferred. He’s kind of shy, but he’s one of the good eggs you can meet.”

A nod. He glanced over at you, his eyes breathing in the far away look on your face. “Yeah, he is. But hey, at least you got to befriend him then, hm? Maybe some things are just meant to be.”

You met his gaze and Sunwoo felt his heart stutter into a gallop. “Yeah,” you murmured, “I think so, too.”

— ✶

You and Sunwoo ended up in one of the booths of the restaurants on the Avenue. It was a cozy, little hole in the wall with soup that tasted like home and made your belly feel warm and content. You had set up shop at your table, your laptop with the audio file pulled up and your wired earbuds plugged in. You had to power all of your will into not showing Sunwoo how nervous you were for him to listen to this—your fingers shook slightly even as you passed him both of your earbuds.

In an attempt to pass off as cool, calm and totally collected, you brought your glass of water to your mouth to sip on. You'd thought to order food first, then let Sunwoo listen to the file.

"Let me know if you can't hear anything," you blurted out just before he put the buds in.

He paused, then smiled. "I got it," he assured you warmly.

Once the buds were fitted and the song started playing, you could only wait and watch to gauge his reaction.

At first, his eyes widened a smidge. Then he slowly began nodding to the beat, eyes falling closed as he soaked in the electric guitar chords mixed in that Jisung helped you out with. You watched him lean back in his seat… saw the smile bloom on his face, wide like a flower opening its petals to greet the brilliant sun.

And that beautiful smile… oh, he was so pretty when he smiled.

It was a couple minutes later that his eyelids finally fluttered open, and yet that smile on his face remained ingrained there. He passed you your earbuds as you awaited the verdict. "Girl, you've got pipes," he said with emphasis, his face screwed up in an expression one could only describe as appreciative. "Like—oh my god, I want that bridge tattooed on my forehead," he groaned and leaned forward to bury his face in his palms.

Your heart could fly, soar, literally ascend to fucking space! You smiled, big and wide, as you wrapped up the wire chords around three fingers. "I'm glad you liked it."

"Liked it?" He perked up, then melted to the table as he mumbled into his hoodie sleeve, "I could kis…" You didn't catch the end bit of his sentence as his voice dissipated into the fabric of his shirt.

"What'd you say?"

When he lifted his head, his cheekbones had flushed a shade of rose gold. He cupped the back of his neck with a nervous laugh, "Nothing! It was nothing. I just—I just love it, Yn. Really, I mean it. I'm not just saying that because we're friends—"

"Ah, so we're friends?" You jested, even as your heart skipped like a pebble across the surface of a lake.

Sunwoo blinked, lips pursed. "We're not friends?"

"No, I'm only kidding!" You said and leaned your cheek against your fist. "Your reaction was cute though."

You swore something shuddered across his face, but you didn't have much time to analyze it when you felt a presence make himself clear at the head of the table.

Yangyang appeared in a warm-looking jacket and scarf, his eyes flickering curiously between you and Sunwoo. You suddenly felt an anxious spike in your chest at the thought of what this might have looked like to him. That was, until he saw the laptop, of course. You saw the relief in his shoulders, the ease in which he smiled now. "Hey Yn-ie, didn't know you'd be here."

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Sunwoo scratch his jawline, then scoot forward and offer his hand to Yangyang. "Hey, I'm Sunwoo. You're Yangyang, aren't you?"

Yangyang clasped Sunwoo's hand good naturedly with a typical gummy smile. "Yeah, that's me. It's nice to meet you."

"I was just showing him the project," you said next, drawing both of the boys' attention to you.

"Ah," your friend nodded. "How'd you like it, Sunwoo?"

Sunwoo lit up. "It was—incredible. I don't even know how to describe it, y'know? If it was on my Spotify, it'd probably be on my Wrapped."

There went your heart, goodness. You and Sunwoo locked eyes across the table, and you wished you could convey how much his words meant to you by just a look.

"Totally agree," Yangyang nodded. "My Yn-ie's got a gift and she knows how to use it." He gave your head a gentle pat, and heat rose to your cheeks from the bombardment of attention. It hit you subtly, an epiphany—

Yangyang cleared his throat then and returned his hand to his side. "Anyways, I'll leave you two to it. I'll talk to you later?" He asked you as he was already taking a step backward.

—the heat wasn't for him. It simply wasn't.

"Yeah! I'll shoot you a text later," you promised. You realized then that you had barely even spoken to Yangyang since your Valentine's Day date ended several weeks ago. There had just been a lot of mixed feelings churning around in your head that needed time to be sorted out. (And it was currently being resolved.) With a slight inward grimace, you turned your focus back to the guy you'd brought here in the first place.

Sunwoo slid your laptop over to your side of the table. "Soooo… you and Yangyang, huh?" He laughed, and you weren't certain, but it sounded a bit unsteady.

You played with the hem of your sweater sleeve. "I mean, kind of? Not really? We went on that date a while back, if you remember, but that's about it."

He leaned in. "Yeah, I remember."

"Yeah, and we also haven't had time to really properly talk since?" You winced. "I guess it's not really as bad as I make it sound. It's just that, we've pretty much known each other since primary school. He had just moved from Taiwan, and we were pretty good friends. And he would move back and forth between here and this one town in Germany, but we would always—" you made a vague gesture, "—find each other? Is that the word?"

You let out a breathy sort of laugh. "I'm sorry, I dunno why I'm telling you my history with this guy. It's stupid."

Sunwoo frowned and shook his head. "It's not stupid, Yn."

You inhaled, then chewed on your cheek. "It's just that I always feel like people don't really stick around, at least for me. But Yangyang… he's been one of the few constants in my life, and I'm really grateful for that."

"I'm sensing there's a 'but' with this."

You indulged him. "But I'm starting to think that maybe I can't really see him as that kind of constant, if that makes sense." Your brows furrowed in thought. The boat you were on rocked roughly with the waves, the water turbulent and unsteady, as if at any moment it could throw you off. But you were used to the rocking, and you weren't sure why you should be so used to it. Settling for Yangyang even though you were beginning to realize that he probably wasn't The One? That was like staying docked in a home port you'd grown used to when you yearned for the horizon.

You heard Sunwoo crack his knuckles, and perhaps there really was a certain sheen to his eyes then. "I don't want to put words in your mouth," he drawled carefully, "and I can't imagine how exactly you feel and I don't know your whole story. But it has to be hard when it feels like, I don't know, like people are moving on without you." The earnestness in his eyes made his dark brown eyes deeper and richer. "And maybe it's comfortable with Yangyang and you want to try with him because you know that you two will always somehow find each other again."

"You kind of put what I was thinking into coherent sentences there," you mused, the corners of your lips curling upward.

Sunwoo reflected your expression. "That's good to hear, because I was pretty sure I sounded arrogant."

You laughed then, shaking your head. "No, I appreciated that. And you got it right." Breathing a sigh, you saw a waiter coming by to drop off the food the two of you had ordered. "I think it's just taken me some time with myself and with—with other people to make me realize it."

He glanced up with thanks as the waiter passed you your meals, and you swore you saw his hand make a move to reach for yours across the table. But he stopped short, and instead, helped move your hot bowl of soup over to you. "You never know," he said sheepishly, "The One could be right under your nose."

— ✶

eric 🤨: dude where did u go??? cobie hyung and i looked up and u disappeared into thin air

eric 🤨: omg jisung said u went somewhere w a GIRL??? IS THIS THE GIRL U WERE GETTING ALL DRUNK AND SAD ABT 👀

sunwoo’s phone: YAH!!! OH MY GOD STFU

eric 🤨: no.

EPISODE FIVE: LOTS OF THINGS BLOOM IN SPRING

“SO her name is DJ Dove?”

Sunwoo made a face around his toothbrush as he spat the frothy white into the sink bowl. “For the millionth time, yes.” Through the mirror, Sunwoo watched Eric’s face as his roommate perched himself atop the kitchen counter and went quiet, his face pensive. After coming home to Eric’s confrontation, Sunwoo promised to explain it all in the morning to him.

It was unfortunately the morning, meaning Sunwoo had spent the past hour bringing Eric up to speed on his nonexistent love life. Fortunately, it was also a Wednesday morning, which meant you had just posted your newest episode of the podcast, and Sunwoo could force Eric to listen to it with him. A part of him was tense at the thought of no longer “gatekeeping” his little secret that he had kept for the past several months, but this was Eric, one of his best friends. Maybe this would lift a weight off of Sunwoo’s chest by finally telling someone.

“...I’m still in the thrall of dead week,” your voice blasted from the speaker of Sunwoo’s phone at high volume, “and it’s come to my attention that next quarter will probably be a lot for me. I guess this is me forewarning you all that I might be late with some episodes because I’ve got this new internship thing.”

Sunwoo dunked his face into the sink bowl as he splashed water over his lathered foam cleanser. “She’s talking about her internship at the performing arts center.”

“How do you—never mind, forget I asked.”

Sunwoo patted his face dry, then opened the medicine cabinet for all of the skincare products he used to start off the day.

“...It’s been awhile since I’ve recommended something myself, so today, do enjoy ‘gone too long’ by lullaboy with me.” The song began a few seconds after you queued it up, and the apartment was then filled with muted vocals and strings.

Sunwoo straightened. He and Eric went quiet for a while as they both let the song sink in. Sunwoo continued to slather sunscreen on his face and neck, and Eric had started up the stove to make a batch of ramen for the both of them.

A peculiar sensation draped itself over Sunwoo’s shoulders, a blanket of something that wasn’t quite calm and wasn’t quite jittery. He didn’t know how to pinpoint or label the weird tightness in his chest. The song was strangely intimate, as almost all the music Sunwoo listened to was, but when it came from another person, it was always a whole new level of intimate. Whenever someone recommended a song, it was a way to view a piece of them—perhaps not a large piece, but a piece nonetheless. If eyes were the windows to the soul, then music was the viewfinder.

Maybe he missed you. But that didn’t make sense—it… it couldn’t make sense. He saw you yesterday, and he was listening to you now. How could he miss you?

“She has good taste,” Eric murmured as the song faded out.

Sunwoo nodded his head in agreement. “Yeah. She does.”

“...Hopefully when you miss me you’ll play that song,” he heard you say in a lighthearted tone, even though he felt almost like the complete opposite. “On that note, Rhaps sent in a message asking about the dance showcase coming up! ‘Are you planning on going, and if so, any acts you’re looking forward to? Isn’t it crazy that we could be sitting next to each other and never even know?’ —”

Eric perked up, his head peering over his shoulder to look at Sunwoo as he came out of the bathroom to join Eric in the kitchen. “That’s you? Rhaps?”

“Rhapsody Anonymous,” Sunwoo corrected. “And don’t judge me!” He added with a pointed look, finger jabbing in Eric’s direction.

Eric shook his head with a giddy sort of grin. “I didn’t say anything.”

For a moment, the two boys went quiet with only your voice and the sounds of the stove keeping them company.

A thought occurred to Eric though, and he worried his bottom lip between his teeth. “Does it ever feel like lying?” He asked and gestured for Sunwoo to grab a couple of bowls from the cabinet.

Sunwoo walked over with the soup bowls, then leaned his hip against the counter next to Eric. “Does what feel like lying?”

“Hiding that you know it’s her.”

Well… Sunwoo idly scratched his jaw. “I guess I never thought about it like that,” he said. All this time, he’d figured it was probably better that he didn’t bring it up to you. After all, you used a pseudonym for a reason and didn’t show your face. Maybe this was just supposed to be your secret passion project that you used as a safe space. He didn’t want to burst your bubble by confronting you with that information. How would he even go about doing it? Oh hey, by the way, I’ve known that you’re this podcast host DJ Dove for a very long time? That probably had ‘awkward’ written all over it.

Eric passed him a pointed glance. “Something to think about then.”

— ✶

Finals week had come and gone, a hurricane of destruction in its own right. But when the storm passed, it gave way to the beautiful cherry blossoms blooming in the quad. As per university tradition, the quad was filled to the brim with students, staff, and tourists alike gathering to pose in the falling pink petals that marked the coming of Spring Break. This was no different for Sunwoo’s friend group who was dragged out to the event by none other than Choi Chanhee. In an effort to appease his friend in some aspect, Sunwoo had come dressed in something decently presentable: black cargo pants, blue denim jacket, and his face fitted in a pair of dark frames (that were definitely not just frames or missing the lenses…).

He shoved his hands into his pockets after taking a peak at the time on his watch. The group had been here for about ten minutes thus far, and half of them had already split off with their significant others to take their own rounds about the quad. They weren't the only ones—in fact, there were probably as many couples as there were people taking grad photos and cosplay photos.

And wait, someone had come in their wedding dress—nothing spelled out Sunwoo's singleness more potently than a couple getting married.

He took a panoramic glance and accidentally watched another couple go in for a kiss. He looked away with a slight frown, blowing a curl out of his eyes. "I hate this more than Valentine's Day," he grumbled.

From beside him, Kevin Moon sighed as he tested a shot with his camera and had to adjust the settings for the right exposure. "You're telling me." When he raised his camera up again, he immediately had to bring it back down with a deadpan expression, "At least on Valentine's Day, people won't photobomb you."

As the group's self-proclaimed Dad, Lee Sangyeon, summoned the attention of the boys who were present for a partial group photo. Sunwoo smiled for it, then returned to his frown. Chanhee had his camera held up as he attempted to take a selfie shot since he had been staking out this one tree trunk that a group of people had just left. Sunwoo had to admire the way Chanhee wordlessly swooped in like a vulture over a dead carcass.

"Aye, Kim Sunwoo," Chanhee exclaimed and beckoned Sunwoo over with a curl of his two fingers. Chanhee's head scanned the immediate area and his nose wrinkled when he realized he was missing someone. "Where did Changmin go? He was literally right… ah."

Chanhee's voice trailed off and a sly, little grin when he located the man in question. "Look."

Sunwoo followed Chanhee's gaze across the field to where he was sneaking up behind a familiar person. Sunwoo had met this girl twice, once when he and Changmin had gone looking for Jacob and the other when he went with Changmin to go see her for moral support. Both times, strangely, had been at the lab. Huh, did she even go home…?

But then Sunwoo observed the way Changmin and CM!Yn looked at each other. Though Sunwoo had seen Changmin's eyes light up before, this was a different sort of twinkle, something softer. There had always been a cloud hanging over Changmin when it came to this girl, always some kind of bittersweetness that held him back. It made a smile crawl onto his lips at the sight of Changmin so happy.

"Wah," Chanhee murmured in awe. "They really mended their relationship well, don't you think?"

Sunwoo pursed his lips with an indulgent nod. "Yeah, I'd think so."

His friend sighed. "Oh, well. Looks like it's just us two then."

Sunwoo stepped forward and took Chanhee's phone from him, swiftly changing it to the forward facing camera. Chanhee struck a few poses beneath the blush pink trees as he soaked in the golden hour sunlight streaking across the lawn. Eventually, Sunwoo turned the camera back around to take shots of both himself and Chanhee.

He adjusted the phone so that the selfie mode could capture both of them when he spotted Chanhee scuttling back over toward him with a pile of pink petals collected in his palms.

Sunwoo's eyes went wide and he leapt backward away from his grinning friend. "Hyung, come on, let's talk about this."

Chanhee cackled and inched forward still. His hair was the exact same color as the flowers cupped in his palms. "Sunwoo-ah," he sang, "I think your hair needs a bit of color."

"I just did my hair this morning!" He whined and pleaded desperately. The last thing he needed was to be plucking stray petals from his curls later tonight. When Chanhee still wouldn't quit, adrenaline began to pump through Sunwoo's veins in anticipation for what he needed to do next. "Chanhee hyung! We can be civil about this."

"Civility is overrated!"

Just as Chanhee pounced, Sunwoo swerved on the ball of his foot and made a mad dash toward the other side of the quad. Chanhee's giggles filled the late afternoon air like the twinkling of bells, and though it was probably an amusing sight for onlookers, Sunwoo was running for his life.

Sunwoo pumped his legs furiously as he weaved in between people standing and taking their pictures, screaming out apologies for photobombing them as he went. And when he nearly tripped over someone's dog, he managed to lock eyes with yours.

You. Oh my god, you were here.

He had little time to fully comprehend what he was about to do, but he made a beeline for you.

"Sunwoo, hey—oh!"

Sunwoo grabbed your shoulders and careened himself behind you, his face partially hidden behind yours. "I'm sorry, but—" he screeched, "—he's threatening to ruin my hair!"

Chanhee laughed as he stopped in front of you and Sunwoo. His pale cheeks were dusted with the color of the flowers in the air. "Ah, well, hello. This isn't very gentlemanly of you, Sunwoo. Who's this?" He threw Sunwoo a look over your shoulder.

Fuck. He hadn't thought this one through.

Sunwoo laughed sheepishly and let go of your shoulders to clasp the back of his neck. It was only then he realized you were wearing a delicate, pastel sundress with cherry blossoms littered in your own hair. A gentle breeze wafted by and through your skirt and brushed back a few strands of your hair too.

Pretty…

"This is," he stammered, snapping out of his daze, "Yn. Yn-ie, this is one of my close friends, Chanhee."

"It's nice to meet you," Chanhee said with a warm smile and slight bow of his head.

You gave a little wave. "Nice to meet you, too, despite the circumstances."

"I would wave back," Chanhee gestured with his hand of flowers, "but this is a nice pile, don't you think?"

To your credit, you played along. You laughed, "I totally agree. It definitely should not be wasted on giving me a wave. Though, I'm sure there will be plenty of opportunities to get back at Sunwoo." You turned your head and cocked a brow at him, to which he smiled back boyishly.

Chanhee considered you again for a moment. "I like your style. I guess I'll just… leave you to it then," he drawled and sent Sunwoo very pointed glances with his eyes toward you. Something about the way Chanhee's eyes narrowed minutely made Sunwoo want to hide behind you again.

Chanhee whistled a merry tune as he went on his way, leaving you and Sunwoo to your own devices as he probably went to go find his next victim.

"I'm so sorry about that," Sunwoo lamented as soon as Chanhee was out of ear shot. "I did not mean to make you a human shield."

You chuckled. "It's okay, dude, really. Definitely didn't think I'd find anyone I knew in this mess, so it's nice seeing you out here."

Sunwoo gave you yet another once over and felt heat crawl up the column of his neck. "I—you look really pretty," he said, gesturing to your outfit.

"Oh, thank you," you chirped. "You clean up quite well yourself."

The two of you shared a smile then and for a second, Sunwoo's mouth went dry and no words leapt from his tongue. They all remained lodged in his throat where his heartbeat went pitter-patter.

He cleared his throat, breaking eye contact with you for a moment.

You made a vague nod toward one of the open benches lining the perimeter of the quad, an invitation. "Wanna come sit with me?"

"Do I?" Yes. The answer was yes.

When you and Sunwoo were seated side by side, centimeters separating your arms and legs from touching the other, his heart still had not settled. The adrenaline, in fact, also had her to dissipate. With wide eyes, he soaked everything in.

"Did you go to the winter showcase on Friday night?" He blurted, turning to you.

You met his gaze. "I did. It was such a cool experience, especially since it was my first time. Did you?"

He nodded, locking his lips. "I did, yeah," he murmured. "I had a couple friends performing, so we all went to cheer them on. It's always a really great time though; I'm glad you got to go."

"Oh, that's nice. I always find dancers so impressive," you said with a wistful gleam in your eyes. "Do you dance?"

He found himself fidgeting with Chanhee's phone that he still held onto in his lap. "A little," he admitted bashfully. "I took an intro to hip-hop class last year, and I sometimes dance with my friends. Just—not in public," he said.

For a second, something flickered across your face. But he must have been dreaming because it was gone as quickly as it came.

"So music and dance? You're a multi-talented threat, Sunwoo."

"Aw, not really," he giggled. He wanted to hide his burning face in the collar of his jacket, but there was something about you that also made him unafraid to show you this side of him. Actually, you made this side of him come out. He wasn't usually so terribly shy, always tumbling over his words and doing diction cartwheels… communications major, his ass. "What about you? You're literally a musical genius. You should be on my Spotify Wrapped, Yn."

This time, he could relish in making you flustered. "Aye, you can't say that and expect me not to wanna…" You lost your own words, biting your tongue.

He didn't know what got into him, but he leaned forward closer to you. "Expect you not to what?" He asked lowly, teasingly.

Your breath hitched in your throat, and he swore his own rapidly-beating organ was going to come flying out of his chest.

"Expect me not to—steal your glasses!" With a high-pitched squeal, you snatched the lensless frames from right off his nose.

Sunwoo gasped in scandal, diving to grab them back, but you had already stood up from the bench. "Yah! Those were expensive frames!"

Your face lit up as you donned them. "You'll have to take it off my face then!"

"Bet!" And he lurched after you as you took off into the setting sun.

Your voices echoed across the quad: "Jisuuuuuung! Jisung, save me!"

"Jisung can't save you when he's scared of me!"

EPISODE SIX: AND THE MUSES ARE OFF!

"IT'S not a date!"

"It's a date!"

"It's not a date!" Sunwoo stopped abruptly in the middle of his living room where he had been wearing a hole in the wood floors from pacing. He whirled on his sock-clad heels to face his sofa of judges, Changmin and Chanhee. Eric was out with his girlfriend watching the newest action movie that had come out over Spring Break. "She would say if it was a date, right?"

Chanhee smacked his palm against his forehead with a puff of air. Changmin, however, leaned back on the couch with a ponderous look on his face and rubbed his chin with his thumb and forefinger. "She probably would. She seems like she has more balls than you."

"Hey!"

Changmin grinned. "Just saying." He then leaned down to pick up his duffle bag sitting at his feet. "I've gotta run now, but let me know how it goes."

Sunwoo leveled a scowl at him as he passed by to go to the door. "I hope CM!Yn trips you in the practice room."

"Into her arms!" He hollered back, which was swiftly followed by the front door slamming shut.

While Changmin was headed out to meet CM!Yn at the practice room for her first time returning to dance after three years, Sunwoo and Chanhee were left to prepare Sunwoo for today's agenda. Yesterday, you and he had traded numbers, to which you had immediately asked if he'd wanted to hang out with you some more over Spring Break. The answer had been as easy as counting to three.

Now the only problem was to not freak out over it.

"You're picking up lunch, aren't you?" Chanhee asked as he shoved Sunwoo into the bathroom.

Sunwoo nodded shallowly and picked up his round brush and blow-dryer. "Mhm. I'm meeting her at the performing arts building, and we're gonna take the metro up to Lake Anchor. Ever been up there?"

Chanhee fixed the collar of Sunwoo's white button-up, then snatched the brush and blowdryer out of his hands to do it for him. "Nope. Heard it's nice up there though."

"Yeah," Sunwoo muttered, nearly dropping the serum bottle in his hands. "She said her friend Sieun recommended it."

"Ah."

It wouldn't have felt like a date as much if Sunwoo hadn't searched up Lake Anchor when you'd texted him about it last night. The place was gorgeous, a certified calendar-worthy landscape with purple mountain majesties in the back and shores lined with emerald green hills and willow trees. It didn't help that the Reddit pages all deemed it a "couple's picnic spot you can't miss." Oh, he wasn't going to miss it, all right.

Thirty minutes later, he found himself outside the doors to the performing arts center where you said you were currently taking a tech lesson from Bang Chan. He had a paper bag of snacks and sandwiches from the local convenience store in one hand and the other tucked away into his pocket.

He wondered if he could go in and see you, but he'd already texted you he was waiting outside, and you'd replied you were on your way out.

Just as he was about to go sit on one of the benches, one of the doors at the entrance opened. You emerged out into the late spring morning with the breeze in your hair, a tote bag slung over one shoulder, and a ukulele case hanging from the other. You smiled wide at him and waved.

Sunwoo's lips parted into a grin. "Hi. I got us snacks," he said and lifted the brown bag in his hand.

"Sunwoo, you didn't have to," you pursed your lips fondly, adjusting your bag straps.

"I wanted to." The two of you fell into step in the direction of the closest metro station. It would be a short walk from here into the university Avenue, and down a block to the station. Everything was conveniently placed in the name of accessibility. "Plus, I didn't really eat breakfast," he admitted.

"Me neither." You cupped half your face with your palm. "Aish. I always forget I have, like, yogurt in the fridge, y'know?"

Sunwoo chuckled. "Yeah, I get that. My roommate and I always forget that we have groceries in the fridge because we always see the ramen packets on the counter instead. How was the lesson with Chan?"

The two of you stopped at the intersection to wait for the light. You hugged your ukulele to your chest. "It was good! He's always really helpful and knowledgeable—and patient," you mused. "I hope you don't mind me bringing my uke along though. I thought it would be a nice form of entertainment once we got up to the lake."

"I'm not entertaining enough for you," he gasped melodramatically, jutting his bottom lip out in a pout.

You laughed, and the sound made him break his pout and smile. "I thought I would be the entertaining one for once. D'you know how to play?"

The crosswalk sign turned on for you, and you both made your way across.

"I know some guitar," Sunwoo answered, "but just the basics. They teach you a bit at summer music camp." As he walked by your side, he felt his hand brush against the back of yours. "My hyung—Jacob—he plays guitar pretty well. He's good at singing, too, like you."

He caught your smile from the corner of his eye.

"He did it to woo his girlfriend," he jested, sticking his tongue in his cheek when he remembered how JC!Yn brought him and Haknyeon up to speed last quarter about her love life antics.

You chuckled. "That's a shame you know the trick," you said with an impish twinkle in your eyes, "because that was exactly my plan."

Sunwoo came to a screeching halt in the middle of the walkway, and when you realized he was still staring wide-eyed at the sidewalk, you let out a laugh and went back to drag him along to the station.

— ✶

The view was something out of a magazine, the kind that took one's breath away. You and Sunwoo had claimed the shade beneath a willow tree and settled down across from each other with the brown paper bag flattened out to display the feast he had purchased. There were other small groups of people around, as well, all of whom seemed to have the same ideas as you two as they soaked up sun, read books and napped in the shade, and picnicked along the grassy shoreline. There was even a small booth a mile down the bank that rented out swan-shaped paddle boats and canoes for people to take out onto the water.

You and Sunwoo had pretty much demolished all of the goodies he brought with him. The conversation had been flowing, simple and organic, and you felt at peace—that was the best way to describe it. Maybe it was the location, the circumstance, the company, or all three.

You picked up your ukulele from where it laid in its case by your side. "Any suggestions?" You queried, taking the instrument out and checking that it was in tune.

Sunwoo brushed his hands of crumbs and braced his palms on the grass behind him. It was the visual of him in that white shirt, his sleeves rolled up and collarbone exposed, jawline clean and sharp as he gazed out at the view that made your heart race again. "Hmm," he hummed, "what did you first learn on it?"

"I think I taught myself Lemonade by Jeremy Passion," you said to him and scoured your brain for the right chords. You strummed a G-flat minor, and when it sounded about right, you shifted to B, until you managed to jog your memory of all four chords.

He watched you with softened eyes, his knees pulled up to his chest now as he leaned his cheek onto the tops of his knees. "That's a good song," he murmured.

"Do you know the lyrics?"

He chuckled, shaking his head and flicking his wrist. "Oh, no, no. I don't sing."

"Doesn't sound like you can't," you quipped back with a teasing tilt in your smile. You swayed a little as you played the tune over and over again. "A little shy, are we?"

You could see the smile peeking from his lips even when he tried to hide it in his arms. "I don't sing a lot."

"If I sang the first verse, would you join me in the chorus?" You offered as a compromise. You wouldn't push after this if he still refused, but there was a part of you that felt like you needed to hear this beautiful man sing for you.

He balked for a second, toeing at the dirt. Then, "Okay. I'll join in at the chorus."

A smile bloomed on your face. "Excellent."

You were a little shaky going in yourself. Though you had definitely practiced this song more times than you could count, performing it for someone else was always like playing it for the first time. And you wanted Sunwoo to enjoy it, and to be impressed by you. You wanted to do well for him and to be able to encourage him.

As he said he would, you heard him join in at the chorus—softly, at first, until he was the main vocal and you could bolster him with the harmony.

His eyes met yours, all smiles, as the song continued on. The ending verse… dear god, you could fall over from pure giddiness at the way he nailed the runs and you could do a little showing off with your strumming. Shivers, just plain shivers.

"She's exactly what… I need," he crooned, fingers playing absentmindedly with a strand of grass.

You let the vibrations of the strings linger in the spring air for a moment. It was like the two of you were encased in this bubble all by yourselves; and it was beautiful. It was perfect.

"I knew you could sing," you said to him. "I just had a feeling."

He hung his head, but the smile on his face could not be suppressed. "Thanks."

"For what?"

"For encouraging me," he shook his head. "Believing in me."

You pursed your lips together thoughtfully and you wished you could pick his brain without risking total invasion. "Do people not believe in you often?" You asked quietly, shifting to move yourself around the pile of rolled-up trash and to sit next to him.

He followed your lead, scooting himself next to you until you were no longer opposite, but adjacent. "Not people, just me, I think."

"Ah." You could empathize.

He gave a shallow nod. "Do you ever get scared of making a mistake so you don't—I dunno—go for it? And then you end up thinking that maybe not taking that risk was the mistake?"

You set your ukulele down in the case beside you and mirrored his position, arms looped around your legs. "I do. All the time actually, and it's a scary feeling."

"Yeah," he exhaled. "Sometimes I wish I had just gone into music, full-on. I mean, a communication major is useful and all, but there are times when I wonder where I would have been if I had nurtured that passion."

His words resonated within you. There was a reason why you transferred to this university and decided to leave your original plan behind. You had gone into college with an intent to major in Computer Science, but less than a year in, it had become abundantly clear to you how unhappy you were. Leaving wasn't just a choice, it had been a need.

You turned to look at Sunwoo and you felt your chest tug toward him. You bumped his leg with your knee. "You still have time," you said. "It's not too late to still see where that goes."

But you knew the conflict that warred in his head; you knew it all too well because you had experienced it firsthand. It was much more complicated than simply chasing after one's dreams. There was obligations, expectations, fears, and physical obstacles that made the situation more complex than it seemed at first glance. You didn't know his family situation, didn't know the whole story of why he hadn't taken his summer music camp experiences and translated it into his current college career.

You didn't know it all… but you wanted to. You wanted to know everything about him.

"You said you don't have a minor figured out yet, right?" You asked suddenly, an idea coming to you.

He hummed. "Yeah."

"Well, why don't you choose music as your minor?" When he didn't answer right away, you added, "You obviously don't have to decide right this second—it's just something to think about."

(It seemed he had a lot he needed to think about lately.)

Sunwoo rose up and leaned back onto his palms again. When he turned to look at you, a sense of calm had come over him this time. "I really appreciate you."

You broke into a smile. "I appreciate you, too."

"No, really," he laughed, then bit his lip. "I'm sorry for screwing the mood—"

"You're not! Really," you insisted. "I don't mind. I like having meaningful conversations with people who mean a lot to me."

He didn't even have to say anything, because there was this look, one you simply could not ignore. It made your stomach feel like it was swarmed with butterflies and that you were walking on air. It was like watching him smile while listening to the song you wrote, like walking out of the performing arts center to see him waiting for you. He didn't have to say anything because you knew—you had to. There simply could not be any other explanation, right?

EPISODE SEVEN: WHAT IF SOULS FEEL FAMILIAR FOR A REASON?

YOU had been keeping a secret.

"So what you're saying is that you know that he knows, but he doesn't know that you know that he knows?"

You nodded, arms crossed. "Yeah, pretty much."

Jisung made a face and rested his temple against his palm. "My brain hurts."

From where she was perched on a stool, Park Sieun reached over and patted Jisung's nest of hair. "It is a little confusing. Why don't you just confront him about it?"

"I don't know," you huffed and fell back against the wall. The three of you were holed up in one of the private studios on campus. There weren't many buildings opened since it was still Spring Break, but many of the performing arts facilities were. Jisung had offered for you and Sieun to meet him in the room he had snagged and had been currently occupying in order to bust out as much creative energy as possible. (Newsflash, it was not going well, hence, yours and Sieun's invitations.) Studio rooms were pretty much soundproof, so they were good for those in the music programs who wanted a private space to practice or record things.

You had just brought them up to speed on your latest outing with a certain Kim Sunwoo up to Lake Anchor, as Sieun had so graciously suggested to you the other day. After your outing, however, you'd come to one very solid conclusion.

Well, and there was the matter of The Anonymous Situation.

Just this morning, you had opened your inbox to find another submission from one of your regular anonymous listeners whom you affectionately nicknamed Rhaps. Rhapsody Anonymous had begun to pop up in your inbox just last quarter, and it wasn't until recently that you figured out who it was. At first, it seemed completely implausible for Sunwoo to be the face behind the name, because there was no way out of a whole internet of people that he had managed to stumble across your podcast.

To make matters more complex, you had an inkling that he also knew that you were the host of Songbird Station. He had sent you something along the lines of: "Hey Dovey! I stumbled across this song recently that I haven't heard in awhile. It's called Lemonade, and I realize that I've only actually heard the ukulele vers. LOL anyways, I hope you're not too busy this Spring Break and that you've had time to relax. I've always wondered though… have you ever met someone who feels familiar to you? Not like in a 'I've reunited with you after five years' kind of familiar, but like… something more like kindred spirits……"

The whole message had the same amount of sweetness he always used to contact and interact with you, but the recommendation of the song Lemonade simply could not be a mere coincidence. You just couldn't accept that.

You had pondered this for a long time—the possibility of confronting him about his anonymous persona. And of course, there were several things that held you back from doing so. "I mean," you began, pushing off from the wall to slowly pace the little room available, "I don't want to scare him, y'know? Like I'm sure there's a reason why he goes by a pseudonym like I do, and I don't want to burst that bubble.

"Plus," you continued, "what if I'm just thinking about this all wrong? What if I've read the signs completely out of proportion and he's not actually Rhapsody Anonymous? That would just be embarrassing."

You stopped in front of your friends with your hands positioned on your hips and your head quirked to the side in thought.

"Would it really be so bad if you brought it up, like, even subtly?" Sieun asked you, her pink-tinted lips pursed slightly.

Jisung piped up, too, "Yeah, Sunwoo's a pretty cool guy. And based on what I've seen between the two of you and what you've told us, I don't think he would laugh at you or anything."

"I don't think he would laugh at me either," you confessed. "It's just kinda scary."

The two murmured their agreement. Though Sieun was your trio's only extrovert, you actually had no idea how you'd come to be decently close friends with these two. You chalked it up to all frequenting similar social circles. The music program was always a good way to make friends, and you were glad that it had yet to fail you, even in college.

Sieun made a vague gesture with her hand. "I think you should try, though. I'm sure you'll find a way to slide it in," she chuckled.

Jisung snorted. "I have never seen that man so flustered in his life."

"Yeah, he has to be whipped for you, Yn-ie."

A cough from the boy in the room. "Not like you're any more whipped than he is."

"Han Jisung!" You reprimanded, heat swarming to your cheeks.

He broke into a boyish grin, eyes wide and alight like a chipmunk. "What? Don't give me the government name; you know it's true!"

Even Sieun was laughing behind her oh-so delicately placed hand. "He's got a point."

You sighed, wrinkling your nose. "I came for support, not a call out."

"Are those not the same things—AH, I'M SORRY DON'T WHACK ME—!"

— ✶

There was a place on the Avenue with the best lime soda, as Sunwoo had claimed, when the two of you coordinated to get lunch together. Because you had chosen the place of your last hangout, you'd insisted that he chose a place this time. By his texts, he had seemed pleasantly surprised to be hanging out again so soon, and while your nerves were high in anticipation for the coming conversation, you also couldn't wait to spend time with him some more.

You met outside the storefront of a Vietnamese restaurant that you'd only seen in passing, and had yet to try. You glanced up from your phone just as Sunwoo came up from down the road toward you, dressed in jeans and a bomber jacket.

"Hey, sorry to keep you waiting," he said as he swung the door open for you.

You and he ducked inside. "It's no worries," you assured him. "Hope you're not sick of me just yet."

You saw that boyish grin of his as he caught your eyes and signaled the waiter for a table for two. "Never."

When the two of you were seated, your eyes greedily took in the options laid out on the menu. There were just far too many appetizing items—maybe you should have scouted out the menu beforehand.

"Any favorites?" You queried from over the rim of your menu.

Sunwoo was slinging his shoulder bag over his head as you asked this. "Oh, uh, I've been hooked on their shrimp banh xeo ever since my friend Haknyeon introduced me to it. It's like a Vietnamese crepe with stir fried vegetables and a protein. But I think in general, everything is pretty good here."

You hummed. "Mmh, sounds good. And you said the lime soda is really good, too?"

He nodded his head vigorously. "Yes, for sure. That stuff is addicting."

You took his word for it, and soon, the two of you had finished ordering your lunch for the day. A part of you wished you didn't have to disturb the pleasantness of this one-on-one lunch date (was this a date?) with Sunwoo by bringing up the podcast, but what if by clearing the air, it would make your relationship stronger? (Or, it could end in a fiery, hot pile of shit!)

Either way, you would try to get to it as organically as possible.

"So I wanted to talk to you about something." Yes, because this is totally organic, Yn… You grabbed your cup of lime soda and played absentmindedly with the straw.

You gauged his reaction carefully. He perked up. "You—you wanted to talk to me about something?" He parroted, pointing his finger back at himself. "That's not usually good."

"Sorry, no, it's not bad!" You promised. On the way here, you had come up with about a dozen ways to go about this, but at the end of the day, there would only be a yes or no answer. "Do you, by chance, happen to listen to podcasts?"

There was that flicker of recognition over his face, and for a second, he reminded you of something like a puppy with how wide his eyes were. "Uhh," he drawled, scratching his head and feigning nonchalance, "I mean, sometimes. Like casually."

"This might sound weird—"

"Uh-huh."

"—but are you Rhapsody Anonymous?"

If sweat could be animated, that was what you imagined to be dripping down the side of Sunwoo’s face at this moment. He seemed to be figuring out a way to reply. “Would you believe me if I asked you what a Rhapsody Anonymous is?”

“No, not really.”

“What’s a podcast?”

You huffed. “Sunwoo—”

“Okay,” he relented, slumping over slightly. He seemed nervous, in a way, eyes looking anywhere but you, twirling his straw between his thumb and index finger, his foot tapping furiously against the linoleum floor. “I’m sorry! I didn’t really want to bring up the podcast to you because I thought that you enjoyed the anonymity, y’know?” He told you with an apologetic wince. “And I really liked listening to the show, so I thought it wouldn’t hurt to interact with you anonymously, as well, and over time, I thought we’d kinda become friends.”

He peered up at you nervously, and guilt wormed its way into the trenches of your gut. From what it seemed, he must have really thought that you would react negatively to him knowing your podcast-hosting side show.

“We are friends,” you finally said and scooped a lock of hair out of your face. “I’m not like, mad, or anything; it was more of me trying to figure out why you felt so familiar to me. And I’m really honored that you liked my podcast enough to want to interact with me there. It means a lot.”

With your small smile, Sunwoo’s posture flooded with relief. “So you’re not mad that I figured out your identity?”

“Definitely not,” you shook your head. “If anything, I’m relieved. I’ve been wondering about your identity for a while now.”

The corners of Sunwoo’s mouth lifted. “That’s… that’s cool. This is really cool,” he said. He let out a sigh, leaning back to slump in his chair with a dramatic expression of anguish on his face. “You have no idea how much it’s been eating me up inside, Dovey! Like how do you balance your two identities? It takes so much energy for me to make sure I keep them separate.”

“I can tell; you weren’t exactly the most inconspicuous,” you teased.

He sat up. “What do you—”

“Well, you kind of told me things in person that you’ve told to me on anonymous, and vice versa.” You recalled to him the two main instances that gave him away to you. It was amusing to see the way he grew increasingly more flustered as you kept talking about it, but you realized that this was probably incredibly painful for him to hear.

Sunwoo had his head in his hands by the time you were done. “I’m an idiot.”

“You’re not an idiot.”

He shifted slightly so that his cheek rested against one palm. “And to think that I was being all slick and secretive,” he pouted, scrunching up his nose. “You know, I always thought about being friends with you in real life. That one time that I told you about that one Taylor Swift song that reminded me of you?”

“Superstar?”

“Yeah, that’s the one.” He meditated on that thought while sipping his drink. “It just felt right. Like you were far away but also right there in my ear. Does that make sense?”

You knew what the song was about; you could recite the lyrics by heart, and the fact that he associated that song with you… It sent your heart a-flutter. “It does.”

He jolted up so suddenly you nearly fell out of your seat with him. “Not that I’m desperately in love with you or anything,” he added quickly, the words tumbling out of his mouth as fast as he mentally skimmed through the lyrics again and again. His cheeks were tinged with pink, and you were sure that your neck looked as hot as it felt.

You pretended your heart didn’t drop to the pit of your stomach when he said that. You laughed along with him, though you weren’t sure why it sounded like it did. “Oh, right, right. I didn’t think that; don’t worry.” All the butterflies in your stomach drooped.

Sunwoo scrambled to find the right words. “I just mean that I always felt like some average Joe, and you were…” He gestured to you helplessly, “you.”

Your heart couldn’t help but give a sharp pang at that.

“And how could I ever be anything more to you than just another listener in your stats, y’know?”

You never thought that you would have ever given off that kind of vibe toward listeners, or come to mean that much to any members of your audience. It had seemed simply impossible for you to ever become large enough to evoke that kind of feeling in people—a popstar to their fans. You folded your arms over the table and leaned toward him. “Sunwoo, you were never just another listener. You made yourself known to me and you made me feel like I wasn’t alone.”

He slowly met your eyes, and you sat up straighter, reaching toward the paper straw wrapper to fidget with. “I originally started this podcast because I needed a place to talk. After feeling like people were always moving on without me, I was trying to search for validation, and I found that in podcasting. I figured that maybe… if I was feeling these things, then there had to be someone out there who was feeling them, too.

“And the song recommendation and music talk was always a nice bonus,” you added. “I had people send in anonymous submissions, but never as frequently as you did, and it made me feel like I was reaching somebody. Not just a random hit every so often, but somebody.”

Sunwoo’s eyes shone in the artificial lighting inside the restaurant, and outside your little bubble, you barely registered the noises around you. It was just you and Sunwoo in this moment in time and space. He swallowed. “You’re really cool, you know that?”

You grabbed your cup of lime soda and softly knocked it against his. “That’s all you, superstar.”

— ✶

Lunch had progressed much smoother after you had confronted Sunwoo, to say the least. You were convinced, however, that you had to meet this Haknyeon character he kept telling you about. He was the one to recommend the Vietnamese restaurant, and he was going to be your new favorite person. (Sorry, Sunwoo.)

When both you and Sunwoo had finished up with lunch, you didn’t want to cut your time with him short and asked him if he’d ever been up to the Farmer’s Market north of the Ave.

“There’s a Farmer’s Market over there?” His mouth gaped as he let you lead him a couple blocks north.

You grinned, tipping your head up to the sky to soak in the last bits of sunlight before it was about to be blanketed over by gray clouds. “Yeah! It’s really neat. They’ve got one going every week, I think.”

The walk up was an easy one as it was a straight shot from the restaurant to the intersection where white picket fences were set up to barricade the street for vendors to set up in. Pop-up tents of different colors and sizes lined either side of the street as people milled about going from vendor to vendor. This had been one of the few gems you’d found when you transferred here, and though you didn’t often visit, you tried to buy at least a couple things to support the local businesses. The fruit here tasted much better than the ones in-stores, anyway.

You and Sunwoo slipped past the fences and into the throng of people, and you watched his face light up in awe as he took in the sights and smells. There were people selling beaded bracelets and art, farmers tossing blueberries into kids’ mouths… it was a lively slice of community here.

“Wow, this is incredible,” he said, but suddenly stopped short. “Oh my god, they’re selling melon pops, Yn-ie!” He pointed out a stand a little further down the way that he had peered over a few heads for. He grabbed your hand and pulled you along with him. “Come on! I’ll treat you to one.”

It wasn’t like you were going to refuse him.

Within another few minutes, you and Sunwoo had both acquired one melon popsicle each. It was adorable to see him bouncing along on the balls of his feet like a kid on Christmas morning as he lapped up the light green juice dripping down the side of the frozen treat.

“—look how pretty those sunflowers are!” He gasped at one of the stands to your left selling bundles of different flowers.

An idea popped into your head, and you scurried over to the booth and traded a two dollar bill for one of the baby sunflowers. You whirled around to where Sunwoo stood and waited for you. “Stand still,” you said while reaching up to tuck the flower behind his ear.

Before he could comprehend what was happening, you pulled out your phone and snapped a quick picture of him.

Sunwoo’s eyes had gone wide, his cheekbones the same color as the roses in the bundles behind you. “What… just happened,” he asked, blinking, then came over to poke your shoulder to get your attention. He peered over at your phone screen to see that you were setting the photo you took as his new contact photo. He let out a hum, “Wow.”

“It’s cute.” You let him see the picture.

He narrowed his eyes at the screen before finally giving it a nod of approval. “Okay, good enough.”

You scoffed, lightly hitting his arm with the back of your hand. “Good enough? I think it’s perfect.” You finished off the rest of your melon pop and tossed the stick in a nearby trash bin.

(If you’d looked up from your phone at that moment, you would have seen the utter bliss on Sunwoo’s face after hearing you compliment a picture of him and calling it “perfect.” To him, absolutely nothing could ruin this day, this moment, this year for him—!)

One raindrop fell onto your phone screen, followed by another, and another, and ano--

(He should not have spoken so soon.)

“It’s raining,” you observed dumbly, reaching a palm out to feel the pitter-patter of the sky’s tears on your skin. Others around you were beginning to notice, too, either huddling under their nearest tent or the overhangs of establishments lined on the sidewalk.

You figured somebody must have pissed the weather off because the rain only began to drum harder against the world.

"Well, shit," you laughed and patted Sunwoo on the back of his shoulder to move him toward the side of the road. "Let's find shelter!"

The two of you joined the crowd as you scrambled past the tents and up onto the sidewalks. Some people simply went into the shops themselves, but you and Sunwoo took a moment to stare out at the once-clear sky. Strange how springtime weather worked.

Sunwoo finished off his popsicle and found a trash bin to toss the stick into. He ran a hand through his dampened locks, then dragged that same palm down his face. "D'you like a little rain, dove?"

The nickname caught you off-guard for a second, but not as badly as seeing the soft-cornered smile on his face.

You cleared your throat. "I don't mind it. How about you?"

He made a frown at the sky as if he could reprimand nature for crashing the date—wait, this wasn't a date, was it? "It would have been nice if the weather report was accurate for once, but a little walk in the rain never hurt anybody."

You voiced your agreement. The next course of action you both decided on was making the long trek home in the rain together. You tried to stay out of the shower as best as you could, but there definitely weren't enough overhangs to get you home completely dry.

At one of the intersections, Sunwoo looked over at you through his dripping wet bangs. "You don't have a jacket."

On instinct, you glanced down at your bare arms, only clad in a T-shirt. "Oh, I guess I don't," you mused.

"Here—" he shouldered off the black bomber jacket and draped it over your shoulders.

"Sunwoo, I can't—"

"Yes, you can," he laughed and shook his head out. The light turned green to cross, and he wrapped an arm around you to keep you steady along the rain-slicked street.

The jacket and arm around you were both warm, but you had a feeling that even without the jacket, his arm would have been more than enough.

When you'd made it to your apartment complex and bursted into the front lobby, you and Sunwoo practically stood in your own self-made puddles. You took the jacket off from around your shoulders and shook it out; it was a shoddy attempt to get the water out, but at least the material was semi-waterproof on the outside.

"Here you…" Your throat went dry as you made to hand his jacket back to him and zeroed in on the way his wet, white T-shirt stuck flush against his skin. There was no other way to describe it but as see through, and there was no way in hell you were going to be able to erase that defined stomach from your mind. "...Go."

You coughed as you looked away, and he accepted his jacket back with a low "Thanks."

When he zipped his jacket up, you nodded toward the elevator. "Do you wanna come up and dry off before you go out? You can totally borrow my umbrella if you want, too."

He shook his head. "No, it's okay. My apartment's not far, I swear."

"Ah, alright. Get home safe then." You paused, then added, "Text me once you get back?"

Sunwoo flashed you a smile, and man, if you could engrave that smile, the wet hair, into your brain… "Promise. I'll see you soon, superstar."

He reached over and ruffled your hair, then ducked out of your apartment into the rain. Just before he was out of your sight, he turned back and waved at you through the front windows.

You let out an exhale once he had disappeared. A fuzzy feeling lingered in your chest, your smile never leaving your face. You were so far gone.

EPISODE EIGHT: SWERVE LIKE A CHICKEN

ALTHOUGH Spring Break had swept through the university faster than it came, Sunwoo could still say he felt like he was riding on Cloud 9. The beginning of the quarter was easily a more relaxed part of the term, but Spring quarter itself was a whole other nightmare in itself. Everyone around him was beginning to wake up from their break-dazed slumbers to clamber their asses back into uncomfortable lecture chairs and study rooms.

It was the first Tuesday back from Spring Break when he found out you were going to be in a practice room alone for a while, working on a new project. This intel had been courtesy of one Han Jisung, who had been texting Sunwoo off and on about a track he had been mixing with Chan.

han !!: yeah just left cuz my brain was feelin super fried 🤣 dunno how ynies still there

sunwoo's phone: oh fr?? she's still over there?

han !!: yuh bro that's what i just said

han !!: r u gonna do anything abt it 👀😳

sunwoo's phone: i have no clue what ur talking abt

han !!: okay bye chicken

sunwoo's phone: u did not just call me chicken.

han !!: 🐓🐓🐓

Sunwoo walked out of his room and stood in the middle of the apartment, staring blankly at the back of Eric's head. His roommate was seated on the couch setting up a movie, and when he sensed someone was staring at him, he began to say, "Baby!—wait a minute."

Eric made a face. "Never mind, it's just you."

Sunwoo scoffed and flopped onto the opposite end of the couch. "Rude! Before EC!Yn, I used to be your one and only."

"That's actually so incorrect—"

"Do you boys ever not cat-fight?" EC!Yn mused as she came out from the bathroom and found a seat between Eric and Sunwoo. Eric instantly curled an arm around her and pulled her into his side.

Sunwoo considered this with a frown. Why was he so single? "You're lucky I tolerate your boyfriend, EC!Yn," said Sunwoo as he folded his arms over his chest and sunk into the shadows of his hoodie.

"I'm glad you've come to like me more than your own best friend," she drawled in jest. "What's got you in the dumps, my friend?"

Eric perked up, pressing the play button on the TV remote to start the movie. "Oh yeah! You were in such a good mood this morning."

A grumble from the lump of hoodie. "It's nothing."

A moment of silence passed. Then, "He misses Yn."

"I think so, too."

"Do you think if we texted her to text him, he would at least smile?"

"Oh, I think I found her Instagram the other day—"

Sunwoo peered out of his hoodie with narrowed eyes. "I can hear you guys, you know that, right?"

Both Eric and his partner shot him impish grins, delighted that their very obvious conversation brought him out of silence. The thought forced a smile onto Sunwoo's face anyway. Eric's baseball game had been canceled today because the team who they were going up against this week had internal problems (something about an affair between coaches and players—it was complicated). Thus, Eric had decided to fill his afternoon with an impromptu movie session with his girlfriend. Sunwoo was invited by roommate obligation.

There were definitely more productive things that Sunwoo could have been doing (finding a minor, finding a job, finding the answers to his cognitive psych homework, etcetera), but watching… Wait, what were they even watching?

EC!Yn reached over and nudged his shoulder with her knuckles. "Hey, Earth to Kim Sunwoo."

He shook out of his daze. "Huh? Oh, sorry." He sighed, pulling out his phone. "Jisung just told me that Yn's at the practice room working still."

"Still?"

"Yeah," he bobbed his head. "They've been there ever since they finished their composition class this morning."

Eric lowered the volume on the TV. "Dude, you should go keep her company."

Sunwoo's eyes shot open as he began mindlessly scrolling through Instagram. "I don’t wanna bother her; she probably doesn’t wanna be bothered if she’s been working for so long.” The thought had crossed his mind to head over to the practice rooms right now and sit in for a session, but he had shut his own idea down almost immediately. Would you appreciate him going to bug you or would you mind him just going to sit with you and enjoy your presence?

“I was thinking the exact opposite,” said EC!Yn, “I mean, whenever Eric comes over unannounced to come sit with me at the dorm, I appreciate it all the time.”

Eric cooed. “Aw, you do?”

Sunwoo blinked and was suddenly glad he was staring down at his phone and not the couple on the couch next to him. But he glanced up to catch EC!Yn’s eyes. “Do you really think she wouldn’t mind?”

When Eric tucked his face into her neck, she idly scratched his head. “Oh, definitely. I think it’ll be a nice surprise, considering she probably feels the same about you, based on what you’ve already told us.”

“You’re right!” Sunwoo shot up off the couch, but halted. “Wait, she what?”

Eric snorted. “She said that Yn probably feels the same about you, which, if I’m being honest, I can’t believe—”

Sunwoo dashed into his room to grab his wallet and keys. “Nobody asked you!”

— ✶

Coffee. You liked coffee, right?

Sunwoo couldn't quite think straight with the giddy anticipation bubbling in his stomach and up his chest as he balanced twin cups of iced americano in his hands. Taking the bus to the School of Music would have been less effort on his legs, but waiting for it simply did not sit with the amount of energy currently carrying him down the street and up the stairs and across the quad like a madman.

People were probably eyeing him weirdly, but he was trying to come up with things to say to you. Preferably, these things were smooth and not strange fragments that weren't properly strung together. He wanted to look put together, to sound put together.

He was probably going to look frazzled, though, from half-running a mile uphill, but that was okay—he was excited to see you.

The School of Music stood right across from the School of Art building, the twin towers looming above the quad stairs. With school back in session, there were plenty of people milling about the entrance, and somebody graciously opened the door for Sunwoo so he didn't have to awkwardly balance his coffees and risk spilling them to get inside. He hadn't often visited this building, but he had been in here before to visit friends and upperclassmen. Though the architecture was grander, it still had the homey feeling of a high school band room, some place music students could call home.

Sunwoo navigated himself toward the practice rooms in the back hallways, murmuring "excuse me"s and apologies as he sidestepped string bassists and bassoons and snare drums. (He could've sworn there was a whole drum kit in one of these; it was strange seeing someone carrying around a single snare… huh.)

He reached the corridor to turn right into the practice hall when he froze, diving back behind the wall.

"—wait, Yangyang—"

Something in him sunk deep into the pit of his stomach, an anchor to the sea floor. He watched you launch out of your practice room and into Yangyang's arms, both of you hugging each other closely. He had his arms wrapped around you and his cheek against the crown of your head.

Sunwoo couldn't hear what you were saying to each other—if you were saying anything at all.

And you didn't let go. Not yet, at least.

When you did finally let go, the two of you were beaming at each other. It was near impossible to make out what kind of emotion was there from so far away, but Sunwoo couldn't look anymore when Yangyang leaned in towards you—

Sunwoo pressed himself against the wall he was peering around.

Oh.

He struggled to swallow; there was a large lump sitting in his throat that he had to wrestle down.

Disappointment—yeah, that was disappointment.

Before you or Yangyang could come down this way, Sunwoo retraced his steps from where he came until he was back outside. He sucked in a breath, mind abuzz.

He set down the cups of iced coffee, now perspiring, on a ledge nearby, so he could pull out his phone.

It rang twice. "Yo."

"Are you practicing right now?" Sunwoo asked, leaning his body against the railing. His free hand held his face as his brain replayed the events he had just witnessed. Did that mean what he thought he meant? You were totally allowed to see other people—the two of you weren't exclusive—but goddamn, did that hurt to think about.

Was he too late? Had he chickened out so long that you decided to move on, or was he never in the running in the first place?

He heard a bit of shuffling from the other side, then a sigh from Changmin. "Now I'm not. What's up?"

"I'm coming over."

A pause. "...Okay, see you soon."

EPISODE NINE: [YELLS.]

THERE was something different in the air and you could taste it. Not literally, of course, but you figured your paranoia had manifested strong enough within you to be able to sniff these kinds of things out. "These things" referred to the slight difference in the way you interacted with Sunwoo, or rather, how Sunwoo interacted with you.

You turned your phone off again, having checked it for what felt like the fifth time in the past two minutes. Usually, he replied relatively fast, but for the past week or so, he'd been a little more delayed. He didn't text dry, which was a relief, but there was something off about it. You couldn't articulate it too well—it was just a gut feeling.

"Oy, phone away, Yn," Sieun ordered, snapping her fingers and holding her hand out across the table.

You sent her a look, but reluctantly handed your phone over to her. "But—"

"No buts!" She tutted. She hid your phone within the confines of her purse before promptly returning to the warm bowl of biang biang noodles in front of her. "The more you check your phone, the sadder of a sap you look."

"Thanks," you deadpanned, but followed her lead and picked up your chopsticks to eat your food.

The two of you were seated in, arguably, the best Chinese restaurant on the Avenue. It had become a fast favorite of yours when you first transferred, saved for the long days and weeks when you needed something like spice to make you feel anything other than sad. Sieun had suggested coming down here for dinner rather than staying in and eating another round of instant ramen. It was something she knew would cheer you up easily, and so far, it was only half working.

You reached for your water, only to realize it was practically empty.

As if she could read your mind, the waitress taking care of your table appeared at your side and filled your water up for you.

"Oh, thank you!" Your eyes glanced over at her name tag—HN!Yn—and met her kind eyes.

"Of course. Anything else I can get you two?" She asked cheerily, swiftly filling up Sieun's cup, as well, with practiced grace. "Food's good?"

Both you and Sieun nodded your heads vigorously, especially since both of your mouths were now full and you couldn't speak. She seemed to get the idea and hustled over to a nearby table to tend to them. How waiters and waitresses always knew when you had food in your mouth, you could never figure out. It was always absolutely awful timing, but you supposed the skill was akin to Starbucks workers butchering name spellings.

When you finally swallowed your bite, you chased it with a gulp of water. "I don't think I did anything wrong," you said to your friend, pushing around the saucy rice in your bowl with the tips of your chopsticks.

Sieun covered her mouth. "I don't think so either," she replied, eyebrows furrowed. "Maybe he's just busy? It could be that he got a job or something, or school work is piling up."

You frowned. You thought he would have let you know he was going to be a bit busier, but at the same time, he didn't owe you anything. You just worried about him and hoped he wasn't overworking himself. It didn't help that you missed hanging out with him; it didn't feel like it used to between you just last week.

From behind you, you heard the door to the restaurant open and close with a loud smack! The door to the restaurant was awfully loud when it closed, unless it was carefully done. Something about the angle at which it was constructed, or something like that.

Sieun's brows flew up. "Speak of the devil," she muttered with her food pushed into her cheek.

"Hm?" You hummed and twisted around in your seat to see who she was referring to.

Oh. Well, she definitely wasn't wrong, per se.

Coming in through the door himself was Kim Sunwoo, as well as a few of his own friends, you guessed. You recognized one of them as Ji Changmin, one of the dancers from the winter showcase. Besides those two, there were four others, too—three other boys and a girl. You didn't recognize any of them, but you saw the way your waitress greeted them and squeezed one of the boys' hands.

You and Sunwoo made eye contact, and you shot him a small smile, lifting your fingers in a wave.

He seemed surprised to see you, and you didn't fault him for that. His wave was slight and smile shy, but you couldn't figure out why he ducked his head and didn't come by and say hi.

They're being seated for dinner, Yn. It's okay. Chill a little.

You turned back in your seat to face Sieun and your food again.

"Hey, cheer up, girl." Sieun's smile was sympathetic as she caught your attention. You hadn't even noticed how your posture noticeably slumped after that interaction—if one could even call it that. "Don't let this ruin your dinner, okay?"

You sighed out of your nose, testing your chopsticks over the rim of your bowl. "You're right. I don't know, Eun. It feels like we regressed? Is he avoiding me? Am I overthinking this?"

"I'm not sure, hon," she told you. "It'll be okay, though. I promise. Are you ready for the check?"

You nodded, reaching for your napkin to wipe your mouth.

Sieun lifted her hand and caught your waitress's attention, then made a motion for the bill. HN!Yn was quick to bring it over and set the little black tray with the receipt onto the edge of your table. In her hands she held a small device to input your method of payment.

"Are we splitting the bill today, ladies?" She asked you, eyes flickering between you both.

"Yeah, evenly split would be great, please," you told her.

Sieun leaned over to peer at the receipt as you reached into your bag to grab your card. Her face contorted into confusion, and she ran her finger over a line as if reading over it again carefully. "Oh, uhm, excuse me. It says we get a discount—not that I'm complaining! But…"

HN!Yn smiled. "Ah, you're friends with Sunwoo, right? That's what he told me, at least. I always give my partner and his friends my Friends & Family discount, so don't worry about it. I appreciate your integrity though."

You and Sieun exchanged wide-eyed glances, blinking, then turned to peer over at where Sunwoo's friend group sat. One of the boys sitting next to him whacked his arm to get his attention, nodding toward your table.

Sunwoo looked up.

Your head tilted to the side and you mouthed a "thank you?" to him, unsure of why he went out of his way to help you out.

He only nodded before ducking his head again. Huh. You'd have to thank him properly later.

HN!Yn was quick to help you and Sieun box your meals and finish paying. Before long, you tucked your arm around Sieun's to push out into the cool evening—not without glancing back at Sunwoo's table first.

— ✶

"She looks sad. Why is she sad?" Sunwoo sulked, lying atop his folded arms on the table and staring at you through the space between Haknyeon and JC!Yn.

You were the last person he thought he'd see when he and his friends walked into Haknyeon's favorite Chinese restaurant. You and your friend were pretty much wrapping up dinner when they'd come in, and he was quite literally startled by your presence. He'd been walking around on eggshells, he felt, all because of this stupid situation he'd forced himself into.

It was stupid. Yeah… it was stupid.

Changmin delivered a light whack to the back of Sunwoo's head. "You're dumb."

Sunwoo sat up and cupped the back of his head, leveling a glare at his friend. "Hello?"

"He's not exactly wrong," said Chanhee from the other side of him as he texted someone on his phone.

Sunwoo pressed his lips together and looked across the table from him at JC!Yn in a silent cry for help. The woman could only lift her shoulders half-heartedly. That meant that she agreed with them… great.

Eric snapped his wooden chopsticks apart and began using either stick to smooth the other for splinters. "We're saying you're dumb because you're doing this to yourself and to her unnecessarily."

Sunwoo huffed. "That's because you guys weren't there to see it happen! They're totally together—or at least, close." It still felt awful to think about. It felt like there was a hole in his chest left empty after considering the possibility that he was too late. He didn't want to get hurt.

"You can still talk to her like you used to, Sunwoo-ah," Haknyeon chimed in. "Even if they were—and I'm not saying they are—together, there's still a healthy amount of space where you can dwell as her friend."

HN!Yn appeared at the head of the table with a tray of water, and everyone pitched in to pass the cups down. "Thanks, guys," she said, tucking the tray under her arm. "Are you guys ready to order?" The question was directed towards the rest of the table, but Sunwoo saw the way her eyes lingered on Haknyeon and how Haknyeon's smile shifted to something that Sunwoo was sure was only for her.

It made him feel strange again.

The group, as usual, trusted Haknyeon's choices in dishes and let him take the reins in deciding what they ate tonight. Once HN!Yn had headed off into the kitchen to deliver their order, conversation resumed swiftly.

"I think you're just scared, Sunwoo," JC!Yn said to him over the rim of her glass of water.

Murmurs of agreement resounded from all around the table. Sunwoo's jaw fell open. "I—I am not scared. What would I be scared of?"

"The truth! Oooh," Eric pursed his lips and wiggled his fingers in Sunwoo's direction.

Sunwoo promptly smacked Eric's hand away.

"If you weren't scared of the truth," said Haknyeon, as he propped his elbows onto the table, "you would have gone up to her in that hallway."

"Didn't she tell you that she didn't see Yangyang that way anyways?" Chanhee chimed in. He was still going at it texting whoever it was on his phone.

"But she also said she wanted to give it a second chance," Sunwoo corrected.

Changmin scratched behind his ear and grabbed sauce trays from the end of the table to pass down to everyone else. "That was before she started hanging out with you some more. What is your point?"

They all made excellent points, he thought. That afternoon he'd seen you and Yangyang, he'd gone to meet Changmin in one of the dance practice rooms. After that, he'd gone home to yell into his pillow until his throat burned. Eric had muttered something about Sunwoo being dramatic and summoned JC!Yn over to the apartment to deal with him.

Sunwoo had just been bummed. He didn't even know if bummed was a strong enough word.

"I'm just scared of getting hurt, I guess," he finally admitted, meekly.

The table quieted to allow him room to speak his mind, and even Chanhee put his phone away to give him his full attention now. It wasn't often Sunwoo wore his heart on his sleeve like this, and it wasn't easy either. For anyone. Admitting to his fears in the middle of a Chinese restaurant while five of one's friends listened in was intimidating, but it was comforting to know that these friends he kept would find a way to support him. Even if he was being stupid, their tough love was out of desire to look out for him.

When he was done, Changmin clasped a warm hand on his shoulder and his dimple pressed into his cheek. "Sunwoo-yah, I think that you second guess yourself too much and you know that. You're self aware enough to know that you make the mistake of not going for what or who you want."

Sunwoo stared at an impurity in the table. What Changmin was saying hit the nail on the head—it was what happened with the dance showcase, too, and now he was about to let it ruin a friendship he had with a person he cared very much about.

"My advice," Changmin continued, "is to talk to her about what you saw and clarify it. I know it's… I know it's scary thinking you're gonna get hurt again, but I think you'll feel a lot better afterward."

EPISODE TEN: SUPERSTAR, I'M NOT TOO FAR

your phone: hey thanks for the fnf discount last night! sorry i didn't thank u properly before, but yeah, really appreciate it :')

sunshine (sunwoo): it was no problem, dw abt it!

your phone: btw is everything okay? u seem a bit distant lately and i wanted to make sure u were doing alright

sunshine (sunwoo): ah yeah, im sorry :( there's just been some things on my mind

You shot Sunwoo a quick text back to let him know you were here if he wanted anyone to talk to. His text had just come in after you'd sent him a reply in the early evening.

"Yn-ah. Still on your phone, I see?"

You jolted and shoved your device into the pocket of your jeans, smiling sheepishly as Lee Jihoon power-walked into the backstage area with a pen behind his ear and a clipboard in hand. "Hi, Jihoon!" You squeaked.

He lifted his eyebrows at you, motioning for you to come follow him. Since everyone was back from Spring Break, the work for the play being performed was kicked into high gear. Jihoon was a graduate student at the university and a director of the stage here; adding the fact that he majored in the same thing you did also made him one of your favorite mentors ever. The back hallways were bustling with costumes, props and other assorted technicians while most of the actors were either in the main backstage area or onstage proper with the play director, HJ!Yn.

You followed swiftly after him and weaved through the people littered about the corridors. "I finished synching the panel back here with the projector in the box," you told him, "though, it's weird that it was ever undone in the first place." You frowned. There had been a lot of strange things happening in the theater lately.

Jihoon gave you a curt nod and set you up in front of one of the house lights panels located in the hallway leading right out to the audience. He pointed at it with the back of his pen. "Yeah, some funky shit's been happening around here," he sighed. "You were here the other night when the speakers were acting weird, right?"

You nodded and let him guide you through navigating this backup panel. "I was. You and Chan seemed really stressed."

"We were," he said, adjusting his cap. "We really do need some more funding to update our equipment—careful, that knob is really sensitive. Good, nice work."

Once you and Jihoon had successfully finished with this panel, you lingered in the hallway for a moment. Normally, you would switch back and forth between shadowing either Chan or Jihoon, and tonight was with the latter. He was going through a couple forms on his clipboard—he must have been reading through them while working tonight.

"You seem distracted tonight, Yn-ie," he said. "Is everything okay?"

Despite being one of the busiest and hardest workers here, Jihoon was also one of the most observant, still. You leaned against the wall next to him, toeing at the floor. "Boys are stupid, right?"

Without hesitation or looking up from his clipboard, he replied, "As a boy, I can confirm."

That made you sputter out a laugh, and you saw him glance up and flash you a smile. When you couldn't find something else to say, he went forth. "I don't know the whole situation, and you don't have to tell me anything. But we guys are a little—" he made a gesture with his hands and wrinkled his nose, "—blind. You probably know that already, but dudes are dumbasses, and sometimes when feelings get in the way, they want to run for the hills.

"But if you think he's worth it, then reach out and be forward with him. And if he cares about you, he'll reach out and be honest," he finished. He let you settle with that thought, let it marinate in your brain to give you something to think about. (As if you didn't have a lot to think about already.)

You pressed your lips together with a slow nod. "Thanks Jihoon."

"Anytime, Yn-ie." He nodded back toward the direction you both had come from. "Let's go back that way, yeah? We've got some more housekeeping to take care of."

— ✶

Sunwoo was in trouble.

"...I thought I'd recommend a song that's been on my mind. I've actually been listening to quite a few Taylor Swift songs recently, especially since she's re-recording all her albums! So here's 'Superstar' from Fearless, Taylor's Version."

He had put your most recent podcast episode on full volume while he made himself dinner. It had been a long day today, and so his automatic thought was to listen to you. But now that he was getting into the meat of the episode, he was quickly coming to realize how much trouble he was in. You were playing the song, and it was a direct call out to him to wake the fuck up.

As the song faded to a close, your voice came back on.

"Actually, I was recommended the song by someone I know," you said in the mellow tone you'd been in for the entire episode so far. "I guess I'm just confused and I was wondering if they really meant what they said."

Sunwoo nearly dropped the egg in his hand onto the kitchen floor. Guilt swirled around in the bubbles of the soup in the pot and he frowned down at the rich, creamy liquid.

He sighed, tapping the egg against the counter and cracking its innards into the pot. "Of course, I really meant it," he said as if you could hear him. He wished he had the guts to tell you everything that was going on in his head… As his soup boiled away, he leaned against the empty counter to wait, cradling his head in his hands, groaning. "You're being unfair, Sunwoo."

"...This one's from Peony! They say: almost didn't realize Rhaps Anon wasn't in the last episode until the very end when we hadn't gotten a rec from them. Hope they're doing okay!" Ah, so you weren't the only one who noticed his brief absence. Your sigh filled the apartment, though, he heard the way you tried to force some kind of cheeriness into it. "Yeah, I hope they're doing okay too. But Rhaps'll be back! Let's all wish them well. Fighting!—"

Oh, man. Now he felt even worse.

He really needed to talk to you. Oh god, he really needed to talk to you. If not to confess, then to clear the air and assure you that all was okay on his end. He was just being a coward, and he knew that well enough now.

When his dinner had finished, Sunwoo turned the flame off and headed for his phone on the opposite counter. He lowered the volume as he went in and pulled up his text thread with you.

sunwoo's phone: hey,, i know ur probs busy w the play this week, but is there a possibility for me to see you sometime soon? i wanted to talk to u abt something

He gnawed on his bottom lip as he awaited your answer, until he realized you were probably working. That made him drop his phone and return to his dinner—maybe he just needed to not look, so his anxiety wasn't so high—

His phone buzzed and he bolted back over.

superstar 💫: i think i'll prob have some time saturday morning

EPISODE ELEVEN: [SOMEONE'S LOOKING OUT FOR YOU, LOSERS.]

YOU asked Sunwoo if he'd like to tag along with you as you did some grocery shopping before rehearsal on Saturday morning. His answer had been automatic, and you both agreed to meet each other at the bus stop to ride down to the larger supermarket down the hill together. Even as you stood at the corner of your street waiting for him beneath the overhang, you were trying to come up with possible things he was going to say to you. You had figured, when he’d texted you Wednesday night, that perhaps the best way to go about this would be to make this casual. Hence, why you were forcing yourself to go grocery shopping a day earlier than you usually did.

Casual, in this case, called for “you don’t have stare me in the eyes the entire time,” and to be frank, you were a little too nervous for that kind of setting anyway.

You tugged the edges of your cardigan over you as you heard your name being called from the opposing street. Sunwoo was bounding his way over to you with his arm raised in greeting. You returned the gesture with a soft smile. “Hey.”

He stopped by you, shoving his hands into the pockets of his gray jacket. “Hi,” he said, licking his lips. “Thanks for agreeing to meet with me.”

The bus slowed to a halt in front of your stop, and the two of you retrieved your transportation cards to board. “You say that like I wouldn’t have agreed,” you chuckled and tapped your card, Sunwoo following suit.

The two of you managed to find a pair of empty seats near the second half of the vehicle where the exit was for an easy departure when you reached the foot of the hill. But for now, you tucked your bag onto your lap and settled into the window seat, while Sunwoo occupied the one next to you.

You turned your head to gaze out the window and watch the world blur by as you did. The Avenue streets were a tad narrower than most around the university, so the bus traveled as efficiently as it could from stop to stop before turning the block to make its descent. It was technically still morning, and though it was spring, the sky had decided to blanket the sunshine with gray clouds to form an atmosphere that reminded you distinctly of the past winter quarter. Except, instead of thin, empty branches, the streets and walkways were encased in darkening green leaves and falling pink petals, a nod to the short-lived cherry blossom season. From the corner of your eye, you saw Sunwoo’s foot start to tap against the ground like Thumper the Rabbit, and you wondered for the millionth time what was going on in that pretty head of his.

“I don’t really understand,” you found yourself saying—his head swiveled—and you turned to look at him, “did I do something wrong?”

Sunwoo stammered, "What? No, it wasn't you! It wasn't your fault at all—I was just—" he sighed, grimacing to himself. "I was just being stupid. And I know that sounds super vague, but the short answer is that I was being stupid and scared and insecure."

Your brows furrowed and you felt the bus come to a gentle stop at the foot of the hill. "Scared and insecure? What's going on; is everything okay?"

You both got up to make a quick exit off the bus and began making the short walk from the bus station into the outdoor shopping center.

There was a jittery bounce to Sunwoo's steps as well as a tension in his shoulders. "Last week," he began, "Jisung told me that he'd just left you at the practice room and that you were probably going to be there awhile."

You nodded, grabbing a basket at the front of the grocery store. That rang a bell for sure. It had been a very long day in the practice room, so you weren't quite sure what direction this was going in yet.

"Well, I wanted to go surprise you and come hang out with you. You know, like, to keep you company." He started scouring the opposite shelf to you in the dried foods aisle, his eyes nervously darting from the BUY ONE, GET ONE pasta noodles deal signs, to your person. "And when I got there, I saw you and Yangyang."

Me and Yangyang…? Oh, me and Yangyang.

It was like a lightbulb went off in your head, and you stopped pretending to look at the overpriced vermicelli noodles on the shelf behind you.

"And you guys were hugging and close and stuff—and by all means! I—I have no problem with that, of course," he added quickly, "I mean, you guys are really close… friends? And I just saw him lean toward you and left because I… I got the message." The latter portion was delivered in a defeated tone as he looked on toward you helplessly and sorrowfully. It was how Sieun described you Tuesday night when you'd seen Sunwoo at the restaurant: a sad sap.

You both stopped moving down the aisle to face each other. In the white, fluorescent supermarket lights, his hair hung in his eyes like his head in embarrassment. You were going to let him finish.

He cupped the back of his head, suddenly feeling so bare before you despite not being physically naked at all. "I thought some space might distinguish or extinguish my feelings for you," he continued, nose wrinkling and lip curling in a wince. "Clearly it didn't help, and I think overall, I realized I wasn't being fair to you—as a friend. And that I was also being the biggest fucking loser ever."

Wait, you were still reeling from the mentions about feelings—

Before you could even address the aforementioned, you had to make something clear first. You felt the corners of your lips lift. "Sunwoo, me and Yangyang really are just friends." At the confused, puppy-dog look in his eyes, you explained further, "That day, Yangyang came by and I made it clear to him that I just saw him as a friend. I felt really awful for feeling like I'd led him on and was going to lose his friendship."

Sunwoo's mouth opened, then closed, then opened again, and he struggled to come up with the response he wanted. "So… so when he was leaning in toward you…"

"He leaned in and flicked my nose, then almost gave me a nosebleed," you chuckled. You'd given him a very appropriate flick to the forehead after that.

His eyes widened at that. "Well shit. Are you okay?" He asked, and you saw his smile slowly begin to make its appearance, the sun peeking through an overcast sky.

"Yeah, perfectly fine," you dismissed with a flick of your hand. "Especially now. But yeah, we're just friends."

There was a surge of relief in his tense shoulders. "Oh, okay."

He trailed after you as you continued to make your way down this aisle in particular to pick up the things that were on your shopping list.

At one point, he coughed, handing you the jar of red peppers you were reaching for. "So no hard feelings, right? I promise it will be totally back to normal!"

"Normal, as in back to before?"

He nodded eagerly. "Yeah! To be honest, Dovey, I was just kind of scared that I had lost my chance after waiting so long. I don't know. And I realized that I was just scared to face that fact."

You gauged his reaction and your own heart thundered in your chest. "Scared to face the fact that you'd lost your chance with me?"

"Well, yeah. I—" He stopped and froze like a deer in headlights. And in any other circumstance, you would have been laughing, but he seemed so distraught by what he just admitted to that you tried hard to suppress your amusement. Tried. "I just said that aloud, huh."

Nodding, you grinned fondly. "You did."

He smiled, cute and flustered, cheeks tinted pink. "You're always too easy a person to talk to," he muttered.

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"I would've said something sooner…" He began.

Something jumped to attention in your brain. Oh no. "Was I giving you mixed signals?" You pursed your lips like you'd just gotten into something sour. "'Cause I swore I thought my attraction to you was clear. And, like, the thing where I totally began rethinking my thoughts about Yangyang when you came into the picture—"

"Wow, so Changmin was right?" Sunwoo made a face, holding his hand against his forehead. "That's crazy."

"Crazy good or…?"

He chuckled, and you couldn't help but admire the twinkle in his eyes as he did. "Crazy so good."

"I don't think people actually say that."

He whined, "Yah, you can't already be clowning me. Not when I just confessed that I like you."

That made you sober up, but you couldn't say the same for your heart rate. Man, your BPM alone could probably power a bullet train… "I like you, too. I hope that's clear."

There you two stood in the middle of the dried foods aisle with twin smiles glowing on your faces, soft and shared. You didn't know what the BOGO pasta was doing, but it was definitely adding to the atmosphere. You had intended for running errands to distract you from whatever Sunwoo had wanted to talk to you about, but clearly that was not the case—it would have never worked like that. You would be damned to have missed something like this. Not with him.

Perhaps he had made a mistake—he was now apologizing and clarifying and trying. You could hear Jihoon's words of wisdom ring loud and clear in your head. There was something perfectly fine about how this turned out.

"No more mixed signals?"

"No more mixed signals," he agreed.

— ✶

The remainder of your errand run with Sunwoo had gone smoothly, and soon, you were both seated side by side once more on the bus up to the University District. Sunwoo had gotten a couple things for his fridge, too, and so you both sat with your grocery bags by each other and your fingers grazing the other. Ever since you had clarified your position with Sunwoo a little over an hour ago, you had been feeling much lighter, your heart skipping for a different reason. You were back to feeling the giddy excitement you always had around him, and especially since you knew he saw you in exactly the same way.

The two of you shared a laugh as you stepped off the bus and onto your block, grocery bags in hand.

“—I’m being completely serious! Apparently I was just snot-nosed wailing into her shirt about being single and forever alone,” Sunwoo guffawed, grinning wide at you as you both stopped to the side of the walkway. “And Eric was pissed, oh my god.”

“I mean, you just kiss-blocked him; kind of understandable,” you mused.

Sunwoo sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Aye, I know. He’s a good guy though. Total loser, but a good loser. He made me hangover soup the next day.”

You let out a laugh, walking slowly with him down toward the entrance of your apartment complex. "That was sweet of him."

He snorted, "A little out of character, but yeah."

"You know," you piped up, "when I was applying and eventually interviewing for the position with Chan and Jihoon, I had no idea what either of them looked like. So I accidentally—woah, shi—"

Somebody coming down the sidewalk toward you crashed into your shoulder and sent you careening toward the sidewalk. Sunwoo swore as you let out a squeak—his arm looping around your waist and hauling you against him to steady you.

He lifted his head in the direction of the person with a glower on his face. "Hey! Dude, watch where you're going!"

"Thanks," you said sheepishly.

He turned to fix you with a smile, and you saw the moment he realized the position you were both in: you pressed firmly up against the side of his body, his arm wrapped around you, your faces so close to one another… He released his hold on you, neck burning as he cupped the back of it. "Heh, yeah. It's no problem. People should just really watch where they're going."

You coughed and nodded your head. "Yeah, for sure."

The pair of you were now in front of your apartment complex once more, reluctant to say goodbye. You wondered if he would ask to spend more time with you, but you had a feeling that he wouldn't want to intrude on your time any longer. It wasn't like he was intruding to you, but it was just a feeling you had about him. He wanted to respect your time.

And, well, you both had groceries to put away.

"So I'll uh, talk to you soon then?" You asked him, holding your grocery bags in front of you.

He peered at you through his lashes. "Definitely."

"This morning turned out way better than I thought it would, to be honest."

"Yeah no, same here," he echoed. "I'm just glad you actually gave me another chance."

You reached over and gave his shoulder a playful punch. "How could I not? I've always believed in you."

That seemed to ignite something inside of him. He jutted his bottom lip out and whined, "Oh my god, you can't just say that! You're so—wah."

You giggled, watching him squirm like he was being jolted by electricity. "Hey man, sometimes you've gotta be straightforward."

"Yeah, I know." He sobered slightly and took a step forward. Your heart clambered around in your chest and rattled your ribcage. There was this look in his eyes that made you glance at his lips—his perfect, plush, pink lips.

You held still, held your whole fucking breath, as he turned his head and kissed your cheek. It was feather-light, barely there, and yet, all the heat in your body seemed to rush to that single spot in a millisecond.

When he pulled away, his voice was soft. "How's that for straightforward?"

EPISODE TWELVE: ONE LOVE SONG CAN'T CONVEY HOW I FEEL FOR YOU, SO HERE'S TWENTY—

SUNWOO imagined that he looked as cartoonish as any man in love could. There had to be hearts in eyes, hearts around his head, hearts on a glittery pink trail that carried him everywhere he went. He giggled to himself as he fished his house keys from his pocket and unlocked the front door to let himself in.

"Oh my god. We've properly lost him."

With a loud, war-like AHHH!, Sunwoo yelped and nearly dropped his groceries, struggling to hold the bags to his chest as he pressed himself against the back of the front door. His apartment filled with high-pitched cackles of delight.

Though his heart was going through about a million cartwheels a second, he managed to force the fear from his eyes as embarrassment flooded his system. He flared his nostrils, frowning and tipping his head against the door. "I hate you guys!"

"You should hate Eric for giving JC!Yn your apartment key," Changmin wheezed, slapping his hands together and rolling around on the living room carpet as he pointed and laughed at Sunwoo's absolute misery. "You should've seen your face!"

Chanhee was on the couch with his legs curled up into his chest as he had his phone out, recording the entire thing. "This one's going in the drunk Sunwoo folder."

"Yah, I'm not even drunk!"

Chanhee shrugged. "It's become your general meme folder now. We should probably rename it."

Sunwoo whipped his head toward JC!Yn, who was seated on the opposite end of the couch with an amused smile on her face. "Noona! Are you just gonna let them bully me like this?"

Her smile widened. "Sorry, Sunwoo, but we didn't think you would miss us completely when you came in."

He let out a loud groan, fragging himself over to the kitchen so he could set the grocery bags on the counter and begin to unload them. "What're you guys doing here anyways? Isn't it Saturday morning? Where's Kei?" He asked, unloading a carton of juice from the bag and slotting it into the fridge.

Kei was JC!Yn's roommate, and the two girls always went on a grocery shopping date every Saturday morning with Changmin and Chanhee. They often made Changmin drive since he had the biggest car, and grocery shopping was an exclusive event that only the four of them were allowed to partake in. Eric, Sunwoo, and even Jacob had expressed distaste at that elitism. One of these days, they were bound to let someone else join… right?

But regardless, that always meant that Saturday mornings were occupied for them. So why were three-quarters of the group currently invading Sunwoo's apartment?

Changmin sat up from his place on the floor and fixed Sunwoo with a grin that made him nervous. "We dropped her off at their place, and we did go shopping this morning, but you'll never guess the curious thing we witnessed while we were there." His giggles sent a doom-like shiver down Sunwoo's spine.

Then it clicked.

Sunwoo abruptly stopped taking dried noodle packages out of the grocery bag. "You're kidding."

A snort from Chanhee. "Oh, you wish."

Sunwoo bashed his head against his sweater-covered palms. "No."

"Yes!" Changmin shrieked.

"I didn't know you guys went to that supermarket!" Sunwoo wailed, throwing his head back toward the ceiling. "You guys saw us?"

JC!Yn rested her chin against her arm as she leaned over the back of the couch to face him. "We heard you, too. I'm glad you decided to own up to your chicken-ness. See? Wasn't so scary after all."

Well, he couldn't exactly agree with that. But he also couldn't disagree with it. He'd been so scared he was about to lose your friendship then for being so insecure for no reason. A simple clarifying question could have saved the both of you so much strife. But the conversation also reaped rewards: your mutual confessions.

He sulked and didn't say anything.

"It was cute though, Sunwoo-ah," said Chanhee with a teasing lilt to his smile.

"And also," Changmin cut in, "what do you mean 'so Changmin was right? That's crazy?!'"

Sunwoo snorted. "Now that, I have nothing to say to."

"So what's the deal now?" JC!Yn asked. "Are you two dating now or…?"

Oh. Another long pause, then— "Oh my god, you didn't ask her out?"

"Hey! Listen!" Sunwoo yelled in an attempt to defend himself.

"We're listening." Chanhee folded his arms over his chest with a less than impressed look on his face. He scoffed. "I can't believe you pull."

"Shut up!"

"He hasn't even asked her out yet—how can he pull?" Changmin quipped back with frenzied gesticulations.

Sunwoo groaned as he flopped over the counter. He couldn't believe he was having such a good morning, and now he was being berated once more for his stupidity. How could he not ask you out? It was right there! The opportunity had presented itself a multitude of times, and yet, why was he still here, dateless?

Then there came the thought of how to go about this. There was a part of him who thought that just asking you was probably fine. But the other part remembered how much he liked you—so texting was simply not an option. It had to have some pizzazz, a bit of oomph, to it.

"We can see the gears turning in your head, Sunwoo," said JC!Yn. "What's on your mind, bub?"

Sunwoo looked up from where he had smattered himself onto the kitchen counter like a pancake. "I have no rizz."

Chanhee coughed. "Well, that's not news."

Sunwoo sent him a scowl. "How should I ask her out? I kind of want it to be special, you know?"

"Hmm." JC!Yn pursed her lips, tapping her chin in thought. "The other day, I was talking to Sangyeon about music or something or other, and he showed me the playlist he'd made his girlfriend—"

"His fake girlfriend," Changmin corrected with a little smirk.

She rolled his eyes. "I'm pretty sure Lee Sangyeon is not sad enough to make fake playlists for his fake girlfriend." It was a known inside joke amongst the friend group that Sangyeon had a "secret girlfriend" stashed away somewhere. A few of them liked to joke that she either didn't actually exist or that he kept her locked in his laundry machine or something. Mostly, though, they just wanted to know if he actually was single or not. What was the point of keeping her a secret anyway?

The slight change in victim brought Sunwoo's mood up. "What about the playlist, noona?"

She blinked, turning her attention back to her original train of thought. "Oh, right. What if you made her one of those cute, romantic playlists?"

The four of them exchanged glances with one another. It was a silent form of communication, one that had one uniform thought running through the wire.

— ✶

You'd received a text from Sunwoo about thirty minutes ago asking if he could stop by your apartment to drop off something of yours. Apparently, in the madness of the checkout aisle at the grocery store, he had accidentally "stolen" one of your cans of chicken noodle soup.

You hadn't bought chicken noodle soup though.

This was why you now anxiously awaited his arrival for the real reason he wanted to stop by. You had literally just seen him about an hour or two ago, but you'd be lying if you said you were happy at the prospect of seeing him again so soon. Your cheek still seared from his kiss.

As if he could read your thoughts, you heard a loud series of knocks at the door.

"Coming!" You called, hustling over from your living space area and over to the door.

After peeking through the peephole, you definitely saw Sunwoo, but what he was holding was nowhere near the likeness of a can of chicken noodle soup.

In a hurry, you ripped the door open, lips parted at the bundle of bright colored blooms in his hands. Sunflowers and carnations and lilies and roses—

He peered out sheepishly from behind the bouquet with his other hand occupied by his open phone. "Hi," he peeped.

"Hey," you exhaled, a grin fighting its way onto your face.

"If I made you a playlist, would you go out with me?"

You blinked, heartbeat rocketing into high gear. "Sunwoo," you started with a disbelieving laugh, "you don't have to—"

His thumb lowered onto a button on his phone. "Whoopsies, already did it."

Right on cue, you heard your phone buzz from your pocket. Curious, you withdrew it and opened the text message from him with a link to a Spotify playlist entitled: "One love song can't convey how I feel for you, so here's twenty."

You could have melted into a puddle of ooey-gooey goodness. "Sunwoo," you lamented, smiling way too wide now.

He beamed back at you. "What do you say?"

You shook your head, throwing your arms around him as he laughed and hugged you back. "You're so cute. Yes, I'll go out with you."

He gave you a little, warm squeeze. "Oh, thank god. I thought I was gonna die from anticipation."

You laughed and smiled into his shoulder. When you pulled away, your hand gently reached for the side of his face. "What if I kissed you right now?"

His eyes widened a smidge. "What if you wha--"

You cut him off and pressed your lips to his briefly, then pulled back.

"Wait, wait. Come back here," he murmured, chasing after you and crushing his mouth against yours. And it was perfect. Everything was perfect. The feel of his lips, the smell of his cologne, the firmness of his shoulders beneath your grip and the perfect pressure as you both sealed the deal with a kiss.

The two of you pulled away at the same time with labored breaths, foreheads meshed together as you caught your breath.

"You're not gonna turn this into a podcast episode, are you?" He asked, voice low and raspy, yet laced in a playful tonic.

You teased him right back. "As long as it doesn't end poorly."

He chuckled, and you could feel the vibrations of his laugh against your lips. "Then I guess I'll just have to make it the best date ever."

"Don't worry," you said with a cheeky hand on his chest, "I believe in you."

With a laugh, he grazed his lips over yours again. "Thanks, superstar."

a/n: hihi!! thanks so much for reading <3 if you enjoyed, i would deeply appreciate a comment, reblog, or an ask to tell me what u thought about it! much love, onto kevin's !!

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