Lilacs | P.jm. (bts)

lilacs | p.jm. (bts)

pairing: jimin x reader

genre: florist au, fluff

word count: 800

warnings: none

summary: jimin has always given you flowers — since he’s the main worker at the florist shop and that’s his job — but he’s never actually given you flowers. until today.

a/n: my friend @euphoria-vmin7 and i were talking about timestamps and florist jimin (because who doesn’t want to talk about florist jimin?) and uhhh somehow this happened and i texted this to her and she was like POST IT so here this is XD i don’t usually write fics for bts and i’m sorry if this sucks, but this is dedicated to you miss rey, thank you for inspiring me 💖💖💖

(also i’m still having tag issues so this is a repost, sorry T^T)

The small flower shop by the beach has always been one of your favorite places to visit. At times you’ve found yourself there, sometimes browsing, occasionally buying, but often talking to the lovely florist with the chocolatey brown hair.

He had told you his name was Jimin, and ever since the first time you’ve set foot in his shop, he’s always been helpful in suggesting flowers for whatever occasion you bring to him. He also seems to have a special talent for assembling bouquets — never overdone yet never lacking, and every single flower is arranged perfectly, not a petal out of place.

Yet one day you come to him in distress, longing to be comforted by the warm glow of the late afternoon sun and the boy who now occupies a rather large space in your heart. In a few months, all your closest friends since childhood will be moving to universities, while you have chosen to stay in the same town you grew up in.

You tell him none of this, but he notices your expression and wordlessly brings out a bouquet from behind the counter. How did he make it so soon after you walked through the door?

Unless… he had started it earlier…

And he gives it to you, a textured array of purples and pinks. “What’s this?” you ask.

“It’s for you,” he says, the tips of his ears turning red. “I — I’ve been meaning to make you one for a while.”

You gently touch one of the larger flowers, the petals feeling velvety under your fingers. “For… me?”

“Yeah,” he says, hoping you don’t notice how flustered he’s getting.

Knowing Jimin, he was a flower expert and never added anything without first giving it a great deal of thought. “What do they mean?” you ask, the plastic wrap crinkling loudly in the small shop as you lower it and gaze up at him.

He feigns innocence. “What does what mean?”

“The flowers, what do they represent?”

“Oh, um…” He bites his bottom lip nervously and gestures to the pink flowers. “These are peonies. They represent prosperity, compassion, and sometimes shyness.” Hmm, now that he mentions it, you are starting to feel a bit shy in his presence. Maybe he’s right about that last part.

“And these, uh…” He points to the small flowers that are a darker shade of purple. “These magenta ones are lilacs. They symbolize passion, and — and I remember you told me about your passion for music and dance… so that’s why I added them. Mmhm.”

But you realize that the entire time, he hasn’t yet mentioned the lighter purple flowers — a different kind of lilac, since they look similar to the ones he’s just described. They’re the most abundant in the bouquet, but he hasn’t explained them yet. Almost as if he’s been avoiding bringing it up.

“And what are these ones?” You hold up one of the buds with a lifted finger.

“Um…” He visibly swallows, and he immediately realizes that maybe he’s made a mistake in giving this to you. “Umm…”

You wait patiently for his answer, which he eventually delivers. “Theymeanfirstlove,” he says quickly, his cheeks flushing.

You lean forward to hear better. “What was that?”

“They — they mean… first love,” he mumbles. “And so do the rest of them,” he confesses. “They all mean — they mean love.” And he glances up to see your reaction, only to find that your face is just as red as his. “Y-yeah,” he finishes awkwardly and looks away. “Sorry…”

“Sorry?” You stare at him in awe. “Jimin, this is — this is really sweet of you, thank you.” You hand it back to him, careful not to mess up the bouquet, and that’s when Jimin knows that he’s made a huge mistake. He’s ruined it, hasn’t he, he’s ruined his friendship with you, and he’s —

“For you too,” you say, trying to stare at anything else that isn’t him out of embarrassment. “I — I mean all of those things, too, Jimin.”

His mouth forms an “O” shape and his eyes widen. “So… you’re saying… you feel the same w—”

His words are abruptly cut off by the sensation of your lips to his cheek. “Yeah,” you say shyly as you step back. “Yeah, I do.”

“Then is it okay if I —” He stops, glancing between your irises for any sign of permission. He finds it in the way your eyes crinkle as you smile, and takes that as his cue to lean forwards and press his plush lips against yours.

As sunlight ventures into the shop through wooden blinds, the beams dance over your back and the collar of Jimin’s shirt, illuminating the room with the final light of the day and the first light for the two of you.

water glass | h.rj.

pairing: renjun x reader

genre: restaurant au, college au, angst, fluff, waiter!renjun

word count: 5.7k

warnings: mentions of date drugs (not renjun), suggestive intentions (also not renjun)

summary: a dinner date gone wrong… or, if you look at it another way, a dinner date that almost got you in a terrible situation. almost.

a/n: not sure i really like the prompt of the way this date goes wrong, but renjun as a waiter? yes, always yes, 1000 times yes (also yikes the editing on the title in the picture rip XD) (also this is a repost because tags weren’t working the first time i posted this, i’m not sure why hjhdfjgfd)

Ever since you had laid eyes on Shin Youngjin, you’ve been harboring the largest crush on him. He was perfect — his voice had a comforting effect on people, his intelligence was said to be as sharp as his jawline, and every time he ran a hand through his hair, you felt yourself melt.

Unfortunately, you had been told by many individuals that Youngjin didn’t date — in fact, no one had ever seen him on campus with a girl longer than “was necessary”, which you took to interpret as “conversation made for class purposes only”.

But fortunately for you… he had seemed to make an exception.

That day when he had approached you of his own will, while World History class hadn’t even started yet, he’d leaned down next to your ear and whispered, “You’re beautiful.”

Maybe it wasn’t the best pickup line ever, but it had blood rushing to your cheeks before he’d even started speaking (the wink he added afterwards didn’t help). One thing led to another, and the two of you had exchanged numbers. Youngjin promised to take you out to dinner one of these days.

“As a date?” you’d asked, not quite believing him.

“As a date.” The half-smile that traced his face was killing you slowly. But in a good way.

And this is how you find yourself tonight, wrapped in a dress that your roommate had suggested you wear (read: aggressively barricaded the door with a chair and told you that you are NOT going out like that on a DATE who do you think you ARE (Name)??).

Youngjin, ever the gentleman, opens the door to the restaurant for you. You’re vaguely aware of the hand that he has around your waist, but you decide you don’t mind. It’s Shin Youngjin, for God’s sake.

A waitress leads you to a booth and the two of you sit, a shy smile gracing your face as you open the drinks menu. Not long after, a young man in a black apron appears, and you notice the shining tag he wears on his top: “RENJUN”. He greets the two of you politely and tells you that he’ll be your server tonight, placing glasses of cold water in front of you both. “May I get you started on drinks?”

Youngjin looks at you expectantly, but you shake your head. “Ah, I don’t do alcohol.”

His eyes seem to glint at you, and he nods. “I don’t either,” he says, staring at the side of your head as you, unaware of his gaze, hand the beverages menu to Renjun.

Your server looks between the two of you. “Water’s fine? Okay, I’ll leave one of these menus here, just in case you change your mind.” His attitude is professional yet cheerful, and you wonder if you’ve seen him at your college. Before you can say anything, though, he’s gone, the dinner menu left in his wake.

“I feel like I recognize him from somewhere,” you tell Youngjin, tracing the condensation on your glass thoughtfully. “From school.”

“Hmm, maybe,” he says, not really interested in talking about your waiter. “So, Miss (Name)…” His velvety tone makes you blush. “What else do you do, besides being the only interesting subject in History class?”

Oh, oh wow. It’s not even a good line, but you’re smitten (unfortunately), and you know that (also unfortunately).

You’re in the middle of discussing how you spend your free time in your dorm rooms when the man in front of you has the audacity to whisper in that ever-so-secretive way (the same way that he makes you feel like putty), “What do you say we head back to my place when this is over?”

Now, although you’re quite convinced that Youngjin is The One™, you’re not foolish enough to agree to something like heading over to a near-stranger’s dorm. “Maybe some other time… but tonight I want to go straight back to my place.” You know that he might be disappointed, though, so you consolingly add, “My roommate made me promise her to tell her how the night went.”

He seems like he wants to say something against that, but instead he smirks. “Ah, yes, never keep your roommates waiting… I’ve had to learn that lesson the hard way.”

“Care to share?”

“Of course…”

A few minutes later, you catch Youngjin staring at your neck. Why would he — oh, of course, you deduce, he’s probably staring at your necklace. You play with it, explaining that it used to be your mother’s as you rub your fingers over the smooth circle. He’s a good listener, nodding as you continue, still staring at your necklace.

Renjun comes back after noticing that both you and Youngjin have closed your menus. Seeing that you aren’t ready yet, he takes your date’s order first before turning to you.

As your gaze is focused solely on the list in front of you, you barely notice Youngjin reach across the table for a napkin. You miss the small white tablet that falls from his sleeve into your water cup, dissolving quickly into nothing.

Renjun, however, doesn’t. Though he was only able to see it out of the corner of his eye, he has no doubt in his mind what it was. He knows where this will go, and it is in that split second when you look up at him, oblivious to what just happened, that he decides that he must do what he can to spare you, prevent you from even touching your glass of water.

You tell him your order and he writes it down absentmindedly, desperately trying to think of ways to take away your cup. To buy time, he asks about the toppings you want, and oh, what about these other toppings that aren’t even included in the dish? One is a repeat question, and he realizes his mistake only after the words are out of his mouth.

A look of confusion crosses your face. “Um… yes please?”

“Didn’t you already ask her that?” Youngjin asks, his suave attitude now borderline impatient.

“Uh — um yes, my apologies.” Renjun bites his lip nervously, not liking the expression on your date’s face while still trying to figure out how to deal with the water. You probably wouldn’t want him to outright say, “Your boyfriend spiked your drink!” That would be rude, and he doubted you’d even believe him.

He’s running out of time when —

An idea finally hits him.

And unfortunately, it’s a terrible one.

And even worse, it’s the only idea he has.

He leans to take your menu and, while retrieving it, the floppy bound leather knocks your glass onto its side, the contents spilling onto the table. And you.

You’re surprised to the point where you don’t even know how to react, but Youngjin stands up and points an accusatory finger at your server. “You did that on purpose!”

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” Renjun bows at a ninety-degree angle, pretending to panic (and, with the way Youngjin’s glaring daggers at him, he’s beginning to not need to pretend anymore). He quickly picks up the overturned cup and returns it to its upright position, scrambling to dab the water off the table with the spare handkerchief he has in his apron. “I’m new here, I’m so, so sorry…”

That’s false. Renjun’s parents own the restaurant, and he’s been working here longer than any of the other employees (that is, if he counted all those days he spent as a ten-year-old cleaning tables before opening hours and making sure each one had enough napkins and chopsticks). But he’s twenty now, meaning that he has ten years of practice under his belt, ten years of learning that obviously included how to not be clumsy with large menus.

Your date starts to raise his voice. “First you ask her the same question twice, then you spill water on her — if you must know, she is my girlfriend, so don’t even think about —”

“Youngjin, it’s okay.” It makes you weak when you hear him call you his girlfriend (even though you aren’t), but given that your date looks like he’s practically about to tear your waiter to shreds, his hand already clutching the off-white collared shirt, you feel the need to speak up. “He’s new here, and it was just water, anyways.”

Reluctantly, your date releases his grip on the server, sinking back into his seat.

“I’ll go to the bathroom to clean up,” you say, sliding out of the booth and heading towards the back of the restaurant.

Renjun’s hands linger over the napkins, collecting the water in swift, sweeping motions that guide the water away from dripping off the edges of the wood.

Youngjin’s eyes linger on your figure, watching your hips sway and disappointed that, tonight, he would be unable to see them swaying again, although at a different place, his place. Licking his lips at his fantasy, he clenches his jaw as he notices Renjun cleaning the table.

He has a feeling that the waiter saw the tablet, but then remembers that he should have been taking your order down at the time. He curses your server under his breath, which Renjun, ever the professional, pretends not to hear.

In the bathroom, you take paper towels and flatten them, lightly pressing them against your dress, hoping to soak up as much of the liquid as possible. It’s not quite as effective as you had thought it would be, but it’s a better solution than no solution at all.

You’re just exiting the bathroom when you see Renjun, standing against the wall opposite the door. Had he been waiting for you?

His expression makes it clear that he has. Looking around to make sure the two of you aren’t being watched, he whispers, “Your friend put something in your drink.”

“What?” Confusion is evident in your tone, so he continues.

“Your friend. He dropped something into your water.”

“Sorry… I’m not following…” You bite the inside of your cheek.

If you were this dense, he’d best be more direct about it. “Did he ask you if you were interested in going home with him tonight?”

“Huh?” Your eyebrows furrow, and Renjun has never felt more frustrated.

“Did he ask you,” he says slowly, leaning closer to you and lowering his voice even more, “if you were interested — in going home with him tonight?”

A chill makes you shiver, not because it’s cold, but because he’s right. “Yes,” you breathe. “He did.”

“And what did you say?”

“I said no,” you whisper, gulping as you’re starting to put two and two together.

Renjun steps back. “Right before I took your order, I saw him reach over your glass and drop something that was small and white, but I didn’t see it after that, so I assume it dissolved. I don’t think I need to tell you any more.” He pauses, waiting for you to say something.

You can’t believe it. Your Shin Youngjin? And to think he would stoop so low as to slip a tablet into your water in hopes that you would drink it and…

That doesn’t sound like the genuine, charismatic Youngjin you know.

“How do I know you’re even telling the truth?” You fold you arms and Renjun sighs.

“I’m not actually new here. This place belongs to my parents; I’ve been working here since I was a kid.”

“So?”

“So,” he says, trying not to sound annoyed with a customer he’s known for barely five minutes, “I would probably know to avoid knocking over drinks with a menu.”

“But what you’re telling me — about the thing he put in my drink — that just doesn’t seem like something he’d do.”

“Do you even know him that well to begin with?”

The blunt words hit you like the ice in the water, landing abruptly onto your skin and making you stare up at him in shock. But before you can tell him to get out of your way, the question finds its way into your conscience.

How much do you really know Shin Youngjin, other than seeing him regularly in World History?

Then you remember the arm he’d snaked around your waist as you were walking into the restaurant. And, although you didn’t notice it at the time, you vaguely recall his hand resting at your hip, daring to slink lower on your body than it already had.

And, if you can remember that, then you might also be able to assume that oh, maybe he wasn’t looking at the necklace you were wearing, maybe he was looking somewhere else, maybe his gaze was lower than your neck and you hadn’t realized it because you were too focused on him.

Because, when you look at the world — and Shin Youngjin, who up until now, was your world — through rose-colored glasses, all the red flags look like flags.

Renjun watches the realization dawn on your face, and as you glance back up at him, you no longer seem confused. Rather, you seem helplessly distraught.

“What do I do?” you ask, begging him for an answer.

“Dump him,” he says, as if it was the most obvious thing to do.

“What? I can’t just straight up tell him that I’m leaving!”

“Yes, you can,” says Renjun slowly, maintaining solemn eye contact with you. “Because you are your own person, and if you don’t like the way someone is treating you, you can tell them to piss off.”

You send a pleading look at him, but he shakes his head before you can even say your question.

“No, I’m not doing it for you, because it has to come from you. You’re the one he’s mistreating. Also, I’m pretty sure that if I say one more word to him, he’ll punch me.”

“Will you come with me?” Your voice is a whisper, your eyes are sincere. “Please.”

A pause, and then: “Okay, but I’ll have to stand slightly apart from you two. Don’t worry —” he adds, “I won’t be too far away.”

“That took quite a while,” Youngjin says as you return to your seat.

“It was quite a lot of water,” you reply, smoothing down your dress.

“I think we ought to complain to management about this,” he muses, glaring at Renjun, who’s wiping down a table a little ways away.

“But Jinnie, he’s new —”

“This is how new people learn: from their mistakes.”

“Youngjin, please.” You finally gain his attention. “I know you’re upset about the spill, but I’m not. I talked with him earlier and he formally apologized. I forgave him.”

“You forgave him.” His tone is one of disbelief, as if something was wrong with that.

“Yes.” You stand up, trying to maintain your composure. “And do you know what else we talked about?”

“What.”

As you stare at him, you realize that he is no longer the shining Youngjin that you’d viewed him as just an hour earlier. Instead, you see that he’s impatient, unforgiving, selfish.

And, as his actions from tonight had clearly displayed, you see that he has no respect for others. He didn’t care whether you said no to coming home with him, because he was going to try to have it his way. He didn’t care what happened to you — he only cared that he got what he wanted.

“We talked about how you drugged my drink when I wasn’t looking.”

The bomb you drop in the conversation makes him stand up, as if the spark was right underneath him. He tries to defend himself. “Whoa whoa whoa — I didn’t put a thing in your drink! I’m not that kind of person, (Name), you know that. And besides, why would I?”

“Because I said I wouldn’t go home with you tonight. And I meant it, and you ignored it.”

“I didn’t — I swear, I didn’t touch your drink. Did you see me do something that made it look like I had?”

“No. But someone else saw you.”

Renjun had moved onto another table, one placed in your peripheral vision if you were staring at your date. Your gaze flits to him, and he gives you a look, one that you can’t quite put into words, yet one that tells you what to do next.

“You’re despicable,” you say to him. “I hate your attitude towards me; it shows how you treat women.” You stand up from the booth and gather your purse and phone. “And I hate how aggressive you were with our waiter. Don’t even try to call me, or text me. I don’t want to talk to you ever again.”

As you begin to make your way towards the exit, his voice calls from behind. “You have nowhere to go.”

You can hear the arrogance in his voice when he says it, but you turn and face him with the most repulsed look you can muster, rooted in the absolute disgust you have for him. “I’d rather have nowhere to go than to be at your mercy. Goodbye, Youngjin.”

You spin on your heels and make your way into the outside air, already cold from the night but frigid from the slight breeze. He was right — you did indeed have nowhere to go, no ride to catch. Maybe an Uber would be the best option, so you look up the phone number before realizing that neither you nor Youngjin had tipped.

It takes a couple of minutes to find the back entrance to the restaurant, which is hidden by a wall and stacked boxes. This must be where the deliveries for supplies go through, you conclude. And that door seems to lead to the kitchen.

It swings open easily, maybe even too easily, the flimsy metal grate of the door wobbling as you try to close it without making too much noise, but in vain, you hear an “excuse me” from behind you.

Caught.

A lady with smile wrinkles bows out of common courtesy, and you bow out of respect. “I’m sorry, dear, but we don’t allow customers in this part of the restaurant.” She clasps her hands in front of her apron, the plastic of her head cap crinkling as her hair falls down when she stands upright. “May I walk you back to your table?”

“Oh, um —” You try to explain yourself without sounding too nervous. “Is it… is it okay if I stay back here for a little bit?”

She tilts her head to the side and leans forward, listening.

“I — I came here on a date, but he put something in my water — and our waiter knocked it over so I wouldn’t drink it, and — then the waiter told me about it, and then I — I talked to my date about it but he got angry with me, and he was being really rude and making me uncomfortable…” Your eyes dare to tear up and you lower your head in shame, embarrassed to admit such a thing to a stranger.

But she understands and nods, taking pity on you. “Stay here as long as you need,” she says, her eyes filled with sympathy. Then she sits you down on an unused chair, asking if you’d like something to drink. “Barley tea while you wait?”

“Yes, please…” Your tone is an odd combination of grateful and miserable.

A few minutes later, Renjun walks into the kitchen, relieved that your date had finally stormed off. His sleeves are rolled up from cleaning tables and he sighs, tossing the dish rag into a nearby laundry basket.

And then he notices you, holding a cup filled with something he assumes is tea. “Why are you still here?” he asks, a part of him breaking inside when he sees your expression.

It’s awkward as you try to put the cup down while fumbling with your purse. “Well I — I forgot that I hadn’t tipped, so I just — I wanted to —”

“You don’t have to.”

You stop, a couple of dollar bills between your fingers. “Why not?”

He shrugs. “You just don’t. I only brought you water… which I knocked over, so the more reasonable thing to do is for me to pay for your dress.” His mouth twists and he looks away, feeling partially guilty.

But you don’t stop the conversation there, frustrating him slightly more. “Oh, my dress? My dress is fine, it was just water.” And it’s awful, because now Renjun can’t think of anything else he can do to make everything up to you, make tonight not a complete failure of a date for you. Dear god, this is like when Mom tries to pay the check after a dinner with friends. Do I need to FIGHT you for the bill?

And then he has another idea, and he isn’t sure whether it’ll be good or not.

“I’ll take you out to dinner,” he says bluntly, the words tumbling out of his mouth before he can arrange them into something more polite.

“What?”

“Well if you’re still hungry — and if you want to, sorry that was a bit too straightforward —”

“I want to.”

It’s something barely louder than a whisper, but he hears you and unties his apron, folding it up and placing it on a counter. “Mom?” he calls. “I’m taking my break now.”

One of the chefs turns around, and you realize it’s the lady who allowed you to stay in the kitchen and gave you barley tea. She takes one look at the two of you before saying, “Oh, okay! Have fun!” and delivers a teasing smile to you both.

Renjun’s ears are pink. “Mom —”

“Yes, I heard you! Go take your break, Jun!”

You and Renjun prove to be very indecisive over where to eat (“Um… do you want to eat in the restaurant?” “I don’t mind, where do you want to go?” “I don’t know.”), which is the only reason why you’re eating churros for dinner. It has nothing to do with the fact that your friend doesn’t want to eat at his family’s restaurant (he says).

But Renjun knows the owner of the churro shop a block away, who said that you guys didn’t have to pay (he doesn’t tell you that it’s because his friend’s proud of him for finally getting a girlfriend, which he doesn’t object because hey, free food). And they’re good churros, so who are you to complain?

As you sit across from him inside the parlor, you learn that he does, in fact, attend the same college as you — you happen to be in the same year and you even have your life skills class together, which surprises you both (and despite it being a class of a hundred people, you wonder why you don’t seen him more often).

And he learns your name, something he realizes he didn’t know yet. He hadn’t felt the need to, since it was just you and him, but now he feels slightly embarrassed for not asking it sooner.

Your previous feelings pass with the time as you watch people enter and exit, walk by the glass windows of the place and peer in curiously. Renjun’s a good storyteller, weaving anecdotes of his college friends into your mind that play like a movie — Lee Donghyuck, his classmate from the music section in the arts department; Na Jaemin, his friend from and captain of the dance team; Lee Jeno, his roommate of two years and best friend of ten. And after a while, you find yourself longing to get to know the boy sitting in front of you, to possibly share some experiences with him, to fall into his memories and join him there.

By the time you finish your churros and walk around the streets, a question — ignored until now — arises.

“Renjun…” Your voice trails off, and you become painfully aware of just how many things still separate you. He may be in your class, but he’s still very much a stranger. A pretty stranger, but a perfect case of seeing yet not knowing.

“Hmm?” He turns his head, a thoughtful expression on his face.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?”

“Why are you… being so nice to me? You barely know me.”

“Well…” He shoves his hands into the pockets of his slacks, starting to make things slightly awkward. “I didn’t approve of what your friend pulled earlier, no one deserves for that kind of thing to happen to them —”

“No, I mean all of tonight. You prevent me from drinking the water, and then you help me get rid of Youngjin, and then you take me out for dinner — why?”

He sighs. “What happened in the restaurant was what anyone would do. But I didn’t want you to be upset after everything… so I asked to hang out with you more, because I wanted you to at least have an okay night.”

Something inside of your chest blooms as his words reach your ears, a giddy feeling that only comes from the thoughtfulness of a stranger… and perhaps from other things, too but you’re not quite sure.

You’re caught up in your mind in dilemmas of your own. How can you express your gratefulness after all that has happened? He acts as if his acts were nothing, not knowing the effect it had on you. How do you thank him?

And you realize where your thoughts have left you, your gaze landing on his lips.

Oh.

Blood rises to your cheeks as you dismiss the notion, hastily looking away.

No, that’s a bad idea.

Quite terrible, in fact.

After considering what he had said earlier, Renjun is hit with a sudden thought and he swallows nervously, facing you. “I realize now that I’ve become too involved in your life tonight. I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to mess everything up for you.”

You raise your eyebrows at his change in demeanor. “What are you talking about?” He doesn’t reply, so you continue. “You saved me. And… you encouraged me to speak out because I was uncomfortable, and I really appreciate that. You didn’t mess anything up, Jun.”

His ears burn a bright scarlet, unseen by you in the darkness, but he reaches up to touch them and you think you might know why.

 “Um — well, what I’m saying is —” You stammer under his gaze, which is fixated on you, only you. “— I really enjoyed spending time with you tonight.”

The lights on the sidewalk are able to illuminate his expression, but it’s not enough for you to notice the pale pink dusting his cheeks. “I did, too.” His voice breaks on the first word and the sentence becomes a whisper. “Ah — it’s getting late, I ought to take you home.”

“Wait —”

Renjun freezes when your hand grabs his in an attempt to make him stop walking, and his brain short-circuits as he tries to think about anything except holding it.

“We haven’t even had dessert yet.”

“What?” he chokes out as he concentrates on your hands, hoping you don’t realize his voice is suddenly an octave higher. God, were you trying to make him flustered? “Churros aren’t dessert?”

“I mean they’re sugary, but not quite dessert material…”

He tries to relax — at least as much as he can while you’re holding his hand — and manages to somewhat compose himself. “Okay…”

“Do you want to get something cold or something hot…?”

He doesn’t know, and instead chooses to run his other hand through his hair, the chill of the wind blowing gently across his face. You can’t tell that his cheeks are tinted pink, but you feel his palm starting to get sweaty.

“I have an idea,” you say, squeezing his hand and you could swear you just heard him gasp with a sharp intake of breath.

“Oh?”

“It’s a terrible one, though.”

“Go for it, I love terrible ideas.” He watches as you gaze up at him and step nearer, and he begins to realize where this is heading. “After all —” His arms find your waist, his eyes reflecting the pale glow of streetlamps. “— I wouldn’t be here now if I didn’t spill water on you.”

“True.” You pull him closer and notice that he tilts his head yet doesn’t move. Were you making a mistake, was this too fast? If he wasn’t staring at your lips, you certainly would have thought so.

Then what was he waiting for?

Amidst the thoughts running through your mind, an answer comes to the surface.

You. He was waiting for you.

Renjun realizes that this may not be your first kiss ever, but it’s your first kiss with him, and it shouldn’t be his decision to make — it should be yours.

And your answer is yes.

You meet him halfway, a silent thank-you passing between. It was out of respect that he hadn’t kissed you first, out of respect, he had waited for you. You hadn’t expected a person to do that on a date… or ever.

The night air picks up and sends chills down your arms and legs, the only heat coming from Renjun’s hand on your cheek. With every gust of wind your grip on his shirt tightens, ensuring that the warmth won’t leave you, grasping for it like a child trying to catch embers flying from a fireplace.

An indescribable gratitude bubbles up within you as your arms loop around his neck. And the moments tick by as slowly as if you suddenly stared at a clock for each second.

One.

Thank you for saving me.

Two.

Thank you for keeping me company.

Three.

Thank you for waiting for me.

And you pull away. The kiss was short, yet it leaves you too shocked to speak.

Thank you for making me stand up for myself when I was nervous, thank you for encouraging me when I wasn’t sure.

Your thoughts never get further than the tip of your tongue, but they make it to your eyes, a sign of your gratefulness present in your expression.

The first actual words out of your mouth are: “You taste like cinnamon sugar.” His cheeks flare up in embarrassment, and although you can’t see them in the current lighting, you can feel them burning as you brush your fingers against his face.

 “I — thanks?”

“Mmhm. Well, you didn’t specify hot or cold for dessert, so I decided a little bit of both.”

“What was the cold?”

“The wind.”

“Ah, the wi—” He lets go of you to check what you’re wearing, noticing the raised bumps on your arms and the way that your hand is a lot colder than his. “Wait, you must be freezing, I’m so sorry —”

“Oh, it’s fine —”

“I mean, I would offer you my jacket, but I don’t have one, so unless you want to wear my shirt…”

You smack his shoulder lightly. “We should start walking, then.”

As you move to continue down the sidewalk, it’s now Renjun’s turn to take your hand. He ignores the fact that he can’t hear himself over his internal screaming while holding your hand again, asking, “Wait, you never told me the other half. What was the hot?”

Glancing sideways at him, you send him a knowing look and laugh. “I think you know. Let’s keep going —”

“Actually, seeing as I apparently taste like sugar,” he says matter-of-factly, “you don’t need dessert.”

“What are you talking about?” Whirling around to face him, you point to yourself. “Dinner goes to the stomach.” You gesture to your chest. “But dessert goes to the heart. That’s why there’s always room.”

Renjun pretends to consider your philosophy before agreeing. “Hmm. I like the way you think.”

“Yeah, me too.” You grin cheekily at him after dismissing his remark and earn an eyeroll, something that you were sure you’d be seeing a lot more often if you decided to start seeing him (which was a very likely possibility, if you were being honest).

“Are you sure you don’t need to go back soon? I don’t want to keep you here if you do…”

“What? No, I don’t need to go back,” you say, ignoring the rather inconvenient vibration of your phone, probably your roommate asking where you are. “The date’s not over until we’ve both had our fill of ice cream.”

“Hold on, ice cream? You want ice cream in this weather?” He gestures to the sky to indicate his point.

“Every time is ice cream time, Jun.”

Your phone keeps buzzing and you check it reluctantly. It is indeed your roommate, spamming your texts in hopes of getting your attention and an answer. Rather ineffective, you decide as you switch your phone to Do Not Disturb mode. Of course, it might result in some complaining at the end of the night, but you suppose that you could be spared that conversation for now.

She would ask you, “Where were you?” and you would reply, “On a date.” She would ask, “I should have known — no Sherlock, what were you doing for so long?” and you would say, “We went out for dessert, too.” She would inquire further, “So what happens with you and Youngjin now?” and your puzzling response would be a shake of your head and a “Never again… but I did meet someone else…”

You could picture the scene as you step into the ice cream place with Renjun’s pinky interlocked with yours, a small and rather inaccurate display of the growing affection he has for you.

Your orders are placed, as are your spoons, smooth plastic meeting smoother dessert. Neither of you are brave enough to try the adorable fish-shaped cones that the shop is famous for, since they look like a mess about to be made. Your dress and Renjun’s white collared shirt aren’t exactly ready for that, so you get your ice cream in cups like the cowards you are.

On the side of the counter, there’s a glass dispenser of water with cucumbers and mint sprigs floating over the surface, and Renjun leaves you to take the ice cream and find somewhere for you both to sit, which you do.

When he returns, he places two water cups on the table and bows respectfully, clasping his hands in front of him and surprising you slightly. Yet as he straightens up, you notice the smirk tracing his face, the playful gleam in his eyes.

“May I get you started on drinks?”

tag game !

WHY IS THIS SO FUNNY HDKFJSJFHDJDH LUCAS I'M SORRY

— tagged by: @luvdsc ◦

— tagging: @euphoria-vmin7 ◦

“we the future”

“and we are dreamers”

where is wayv, you ask?

“as loud as we can get”

to the guy who wrestled a frisbee that was SIGNED BY MARK LEE and THROWN BY BYUN BAEKHYUN out of the hands of my best friend at the superm concert after she’s stanned baekhyun for SIX YEARS and mark SINCE SMROOKIES and this was her FIRST CONCERT EVER and she had actually CAUGHT the frisbee with one hand but the guy used two hands against a 5’1 TEENAGE GIRL, to the guy who even “allowed us” to take a picture with the signed frisbee after the concert was over:

i don’t like you

i don’t like you at all

hey just a heads up the links in your description don’t work!

i know :(( i keep forgetting to take them down haha 😅 (actually i’ll do that now)

i’ll be using them for my masterlist/about pages once i’ve posted a couple more stories, but thanks for letting me know! 💖💕

edit: they’re fixed now !!