Instead Of You [part Twenty] || L.mh

instead of you [part twenty] || l.mh

pairing: [best friend’s brother] lee minho x college!reader ft. han jisung

summary: you didn’t expect to spend your summer pretending to be your best friend’s girlfriend- then again, you didn’t expect to fall for your best friend’s brother, either. 

warnings: swearing, angst, reader has emetophobia,

word count: 3k

a/n: revamped my tom holland series from my main blog ( @wazzupmrstark ) to try and motivate myself to finish it!!

series masterlist | early access to the next chapter on ko-fi

As soon as the cable car reached the peak, Minho ushered you into the Men’s Room with your head buried in his shoulder so that no one could see you. He blocked the door with the trashcan once you were inside to prevent other people from coming in. Anyone else who had to use the bathroom would just have to hold it until they were back at the loading dock.

You were a goddamn wreck, and that was sugarcoating it. Your eyes were red and puffy from crying, your nose was running- you’d gotten some snot on Minho’s shirt, which would have mortified you way more if you weren’t having a meltdown, and you couldn’t catch your breath no matter how hard you tried.

Minho helped you up onto the counter and yanked a bunch of paper towels from the dispenser on the wall for you to blow your nose and wipe your eyes with.

“Thanks,” you murmured as you took them from him.

He slotted himself between your legs, eyes searching your face. He had this helpless look on his face and you just wanted to kiss it off, but that was what had gotten you here in the first place. It was clear that he didn’t really know what to say, and you didn’t blame him.

You, yourself, couldn’t pinpoint the reason you were crying. It was either your paralyzing fear of heights that had sent you spiraling a few minutes prior, or the fact that you were falling for your best friend’s brother and had kissed him… also a few minutes prior. The most likely answer was a combination of both, but you weren’t ready to come to that conclusion.

You let Minho dab at your cheeks with a paper towel, let him attempt damage control, even though you were far beyond repair.

“I’m such a horrible person,” you groaned.

“No, you’re not,” Minho assured you in a hushed tone, but even if he believed what he was saying you knew it was a lie.

In his mind, you had kissed your boyfriend’s brother twice now. Once had been his fault, you were both drunk, and even if you’d shittily played it off like you thought you were kissing Jisung, it was still Minho who had initiated it. The second time was on you. You were sober and you knew exactly what you were doing. But the reality was potentially worse. You’d kissed your best friend’s brother twice, when you were supposed to be pretending to be in love with him. You’d betrayed him, and if he ever found out you were afraid it’d ruin your friendship. And what made it worse, was that stupid list of rules you’d agreed upon on the plane before meeting his family. There was an entire clause dedicated to not flirting with Jisung’s brothers. You were pretty sure kissing went way past flirting, not to mention all of the other things you thought about doing to his brother.

“Yes, I am,” you insisted. “I kissed my boyfriend’s brother! Twice!”

“Technically, the first time was my fault.”

“But the second time- there shouldn’t have even been a second time.” Minho didn’t respond. “I’m the worst girlfriend ever!”

“You’re not the worst girlfriend ever. It’s not like we slept together.”

You gave him a look. “Well, I’m a pretty bad one.”

“I mean, I kissed you back. I’d say that makes me a pretty shitty brother.”

“We’re both awful people,” you seceded, sniffling. “Maybe we deserve each other.”

Minho’s upper lip twitched almost imperceptibly, but he shook his head.

“Are you going to tell Jisung?” he asked.

“Should I?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“I just- I know it’s wrong not to tell him, but I don’t want to hurt him.”

“I mean, you love him, right?”

“Yes.” You answered automatically, because for the millionth time, you did love Jisung. But not in the way Minho thought you did.

“And you don’t want to break up with him?”

“No, I don’t.” You stared at the ground, suddenly fascinated with the dirty grout between the tiles. “Do you think he’d forgive me if I told him?”

Minho didn’t respond right away and your heart sank. “Probably. Eventually. But I don’t think he’d forgive me.”

You felt your eyes well up with tears again. “B-but you’re his brother. He has to forgive you.”

“Jisung, uh,” he paused and you thought he might’ve been getting emotional too. “Jisung hasn’t had it very easy because of me. I know he’s always kind of felt like he was living in my shadow, that’s why he went abroad for uni. He’s completely unique, you know? Of course you know, you’re his- anyway. He’s got his own talents and ambitions, and so many achievements! But he feels they pale in comparison to mine. I think most of it comes from people who used to pretend to be his friend or use him to get to me. I know h- I know he resents me for it.”

You shook your head. “That’s not true.”

“Why do you think he never told you what I do for a living? Why do you think I’m always joking about him being upset with me?” You pursed your lips, unable to give him an answer. “Exactly. And you, I’ve never seen Jisung look at anyone like the way he looks at you. If he finds out I kissed you, more than once, if he finds out that I think-” he stopped short. “That’s just one more thing he thinks he’s lost to me. I don’t think he could forgive me for that.”

“He’d get over it eventually,” you tried.

“I don’t know if he would.”

You could tell Minho had been beating himself up over this for a while. Maybe you had more in common than you thought.

You weren’t sure if Jisung would forgive you either if you were being honest with yourself. You knew Minho was right on some level. Jisung had always been a little possessive of you, but it wasn’t until you met his brother that you understood why. You’d stabbed him in the back in spite of that, and yet part of you still wanted Minho.

You wanted to take him by the collar and kiss him again and again until you couldn’t think anymore. You wanted him to kiss you back, chasing your lips like he couldn’t get enough of you.

He was like the sun: blinding and brilliant and warm. If you lingered in his presence for too long you’d get burned.

“I have an idea,” Minho murmured finally after a painful silence. “You’re not going to like it.”

“What is it?”

“Maybe… tell Jisung after the trip is over? I know it’s asking a lot, but it’ll just make things less complicated.”

“I… don’t think I’m going to tell him,” you said quietly.

“Wait, really?”

You nodded. “I don’t want to ruin you and Ji’s relationship.” And selfishly, I don’t want to ruin me and Ji’s relationship.

“Are you sure?”

“I think so.” You sighed and pushed your hair out of your eyes. “I’m sorry for kissing you.

“It’s fine. Guess we’re even now.” He gave you a weak grin.

“Yeah, we’re even. Consider your IOU voided.”

“Do you still have the postcard?”

“It’s in my backpack back in Tokyo.”

His smile brightened and he opened his mouth to respond, but at the same time, the door to the bathroom rattled against the trash can as someone tried to get in.

“Sorry, man, it’s um, out of order,” Minho sputtered out in a panic as he walked over and pushed the door closed with more force. He held his hand to it for several seconds as the person on the other side continued wrestling with it.

You gave him an anxious look, but he just returned the look and shrugged. He seemed entirely too calm for someone who was about to be discovered in the men’s room with a woman that looked like she’d just been railed. You looked like a mess for a completely different reason, but you knew no one would believe you if you tried to explain yourself. And after being recognized once today it wouldn’t surprise you if it happened again. Minho was pretty famous. Getting caught fucking someone in a bathroom halfway across the world wasn’t a great look for a K-pop idol.

Maybe you should get down from off the counter. Sitting up there only made you look guiltier.

Minho didn’t let up until the knocking eventually stopped. He was stronger than you thought he’d be. He’d only used one hand to hold the door closed while the other person had seemingly thrown their whole body weight into it. He hadn’t even broken a sweat.

“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up,” he said casually and helped you hop down. “Your eyes are still pretty red, you should splash some cold water on your face.”

You followed his advice and turned on the faucet, cupping your hands underneath the running water and bringing them to your face. The chill was a shock to your system, grounding you in the moment and helping soothe the burning of your cheeks.

You straightened up and made eye contact with Minho in the mirror who had been standing behind you the entire time watching. He handed you another paper towel to dry off with. You thanked him silently and turned around, looking to him for his approval.

He gave you a once over, uncrossing his arms and reaching toward you hesitantly. “Can I?” he asked, eyes flitting to yours. You nodded and he brushed a strand of hair out of your eyes. “There.” His voice had dropped to a whisper and you found yourself staring at his lips again. He was a walking distraction. He didn’t even have to do anything to have you at a loss for words. “I think… we should probably keep our distance from each other. At least, for a little while.”

You did your best to ignore the pang in your chest as you nodded in agreement. He was right, and you knew that. The fact that he was the one to suggest it should be a relief to you, but it wasn’t.

“Okay, let’s go back down to the bus before they leave us here.”

Minho held your hand in the cable car on the way back down the mountain, but neither of you spoke. The bus was also silent. Minus the handholding.

There was only one more stop before the tour was finally over and you could collapse into bed and try to forget the entire thing. It was a bullet train that would take you back to Tokyo, but it was running a couple minutes behind so your tour group was ditched at the train station by the guides who left with the buses while you waited.

You were standing next to Minho on the platform when his mother pulled you aside suddenly, asking to speak with you for a moment. Your heart leapt into your throat as you followed her a couple paces away from the group. What could she possibly want to talk to you about? Did she know something? Was she going to confront you about how close you seemed to be with the son you weren’t dating? A million possibilities ran through your mind, but you honestly had no idea what to expect.

“Is everything okay?” you asked breathlessly.

“Oh, everything’s fine! I’m sorry if I worried you by asking for a word. I just wanted to let you know that I talked to Jisung earlier today and he mentioned your… aversion to stomach illnesses so Dom and I looked to see if there were any extra rooms available at the hotel and we’ve booked you your own for the next few days until we leave. Jisung can join you when he’s feeling better, but we didn’t want you to have to deal with that ickiness.”

“Oh my god, you didn’t have to do that!” you exclaimed, embarrassed that Jisung had told his mom about your stupid irrational fear.

“Well, you and Jisung were supposed to have your own room anyway, but someone,” she looked pointedly at her husband, “messed that up. We would’ve switched you both sooner, but nothing at the resort had opened up. It’s not a big deal, trust me, okay? We want you to get some good rest and I know you won’t be able to do that with the twins keeping you up all night. We know Minho will be fine with them, but you shouldn’t have to suffer through that.”

You clutched your hands to your heart. “That’s so thoughtful of you, thank you!”

“Of course! We just want you to be comfortable, love.”

You thanked her again, but she insisted that it was really nothing and let you get back to standing silently with Minho.

The train pulled up a few minutes later and everyone got their tickets stamped as they boarded and filed into their seats. You and Minho sat across from each other while his parents took the seats beside you- Dom next to Minho and Nikki next to you.

It had been a long day so no one was in much of a mood to talk, thankfully. You tried to nap, but you were still too on edge to relax. The events of the day had exhausted you, but not enough for your body to give in to sleep. It was like your brain was trying to protect you from letting your guard down.

Y: what did you say to your mom??

J: what do you mean

Y: she told me you talked to her about my “aversion” and now i have my own room??

J: oh yeah

J: you’re welcome ;)

Y: it’s EMBARRASSING

Y: they got me my own hotel room??? like? i don’t want them to spend extra money on me!!

J: technically they were already going to spend that money anyway but dad fucked up the reservations. they’re still saving money

Y: ig but still :(

J: look, i knew you wouldn’t get any sleep tn if you came back to our room. i still can’t keep much down and neither can felix. it’ll just stress you out- not to mention that you have a tendency to puke whenever you’re around people who are also sick

Y: …

J: you know i’m right

J: i didn’t want you to be miserable

Y: i know…

Y: thank you. i love you.

J: always :)

J: and make some use of that alone time ;)

You rolled your eyes and slipped your phone in your pocket. His idea might help you relieve some stress, but you knew you’d be out like a light as soon as your head hit your pillow.

Your new room was much smaller than the one you shared with the Han boys, but it was cozy. It was on a completely different floor, which made you feel a little lonely, but mostly you were relieved to have your own space. There wasn’t a kitchenette like there had been in the other one, which wouldn’t be a problem since you weren’t going to be doing any cooking, and a queen-size bed lay in the middle of the room. You almost cried when you saw it, thinking about how you’d get the whole thing to yourself for at least a night.

As tired as you were, you still took the time to shower the day off. You scrubbed yourself with the bar of hotel soap until your skin was raw and the bottom of the tub was full of suds. All of the sweat and grime was long gone, but you still felt dirty.

Eventually, you gave up and rinsed yourself off before wrapping one of those big white towels around you and calling it a night.

You went to sleep naked, not having bothered collecting a change of clothes from the boys’ room. You didn’t want to venture in there if you didn’t have to, and you’d just text Jisung in the morning to bring you something to wear anyway.

-

The morning came far too quickly. You felt like you had barely blinked and the sun had already risen. It was past nine, the Hans had let you sleep in a little, but only barely. There were still plans for today, and you had to be downstairs and ready for them in a little less than an hour. You weren’t sure if the twins were feeling up to tagging along today, but you hoped they would. You didn’t know how you were going to spend another day alone with Minho- especially now that you had agreed to keep a distance from each other.

You texted Jisung to ask him to bring up a change of clothes. His mom had left the second key to the room with him so that he could join you when he was feeling up to it so you told him that he could just let himself in and leave the clothes on the bed.

Instead of waiting around, you decided to be proactive. You pushed yourself out of bed, groaning at the stiffness of your muscles, and made your way into the bathroom to wash your face. You used the bar of hand soap sitting on the counter to lather up- against your better judgment- and then rinsed it off with cold water to wake yourself up.

As you dried off with a washcloth you heard the door to your hotel room open and close and you breathed a sigh of relief.

“Y/n?”

“In here!” you called back, not thinking twice about it. Jisung had seen you naked plenty of times, and even though you had told him to leave the clothes on the bed you figured he might just want to say hi or something.

The bathroom door slid open and you turned towards Jisung to ask how he was feeling, except it wasn’t Jisung standing there. It was Minho.

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the boy is bad news | h.hj smau

ch 30 - plus one

summary: An aspiring journalist, you are the news editor for The Uni Chronicles; the campus newspaper, popular for delivering breaking news at the drop of a hat and providing detailed articles about the various happenings around your university. You think you’ve covered every story there was to cover before you’re tasked with producing an in-depth editorial on a student whose name is on everyone’s lips—Hwang Hyunjin.

a/n: it’s exciting times for yn!! And she deserves it! Hyune’s being very sweet and supportive but u best believe he is dying inside once again 🥲 let me know your thoughts on this chapter! Thanks for everyone’s support 🫶

masterlist

Taglist: @mal-lunar-28 @ladylexis @vampcharxter @sisterofsomeone @whlfchnari @imasimplol @writersun @i2lain @astraystayyh @jiimout @hwajin @hyynee @rachabreathing @zoe8stay @abbiestearsricochet @ven-fic-recs @stay-down-kid @flowerbin131 @hyunverse @whatthefsposts @carousellights @dorisnumber1fan @hyunsungbased @manj1ro @straydhampir @jungkookies1002 @rindomo @iadorethemskz @silent-jill @feelikecinderella @vixensss @leeyanyanyaaan @broken-glowsticks @bmnyy @fawnpeaks @hyuneyeon @septicrebel @channiesstars @mimi-sierra04 @dreamstarsandskz @cheshireshiya @staurdvst @swissgoswish @ggundeuri @farfromsugafanfic @whats-my-question @bintificreads @iwaplant @yla-aira @midsoulz

taglist CLOSED

ʚïɞ butterfly bandage - 05

note: this is the final part of a series (part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4)

content: bang chan/reader, university au, themes of twin flames, themes of soulmates, reader is female and referred to with she/her pronouns, angst, hurt/comfort, mentions of past unhealthy relationships, themes of death/grief, more crying (sorry), nsfw scenes

18+ content: sub chan, dom reader, soft smut, mirror sex, lots and lots of praise, body worship, biting, marking, possessiveness, teasing, channie is very embarrassed, handjob, begging, just a little bit of crying, edging, reader and chan are kinda obsessively in love, unprotected sex, riding, cockwarming

word count: 17.3k

A call of your name from across the lab caught your attention, just as you were preparing to collect your materials and head out for the day. Fumbling with your bag, you zipped it up as quickly as you could and headed towards your lab instructor, already bracing yourself for a conversation that, based on your track record with her, was very likely to be disheartening.

She lowered the stack of papers she’d been holding as you approached her, revealing her smile—a rare sight for anyone who worked under her.

“Yes?”

“Congratulations,” she announced. “Your paper’s approved.”

Your eyes widened as she handed the stack to you, over twenty pages of blood, sweat, and tears. They felt heavy in your hands, heavy with the weight of everything that had been sacrificed for their completion. Just a few days ago, the news would’ve had you over the moon. It was all you’d been wanting to hear, all you’d been dreaming of since you’d first begun your studies. Now, it was nothing more than a shallow comfort, a single drop of sunlight that was immediately obscured by the shadows all around it.

“Great,” you said at last, flashing a strained smile. “Thank you, Professor.”

She gave you a pat on the back, and you tried to find solace in the proud shine in her eyes. “You did well,” she praised. “I’m sure you’ll excel in your next rotation, too.”

“My next…rotation?”

Your instructor glanced down at her clipboard, adjusting her glasses with a hum. “Since your research has been approved, there’s no need for you to remain at your current station. You’ve spent quite a bit of time with those binary pairs,” she added. “You’ll be doing interferometric imaging for the next few weeks. We’re a few people short.”

Something twisted inside you. “Really?”

She looked up from her notes, quirking an eyebrow. “Is there a problem?”

“I…” you trailed off. There was nothing you could tell her that would be meaningful enough for her to let you stay—nothing that wouldn’t get you laughed at or even potentially dismissed from the lab for the rest of the semester. How on earth were you meant to explain that a pair of spectroscopic stars had come to mean so much to you? How on earth were you meant to explain what they signified in your mind?

“No, nothing,” you said weakly. “I’ll transfer my things tomorrow. Thank you.”

Your instructor nodded, and that was that. In the blink of an eye, you’d lost the final piece of what you’d had left of Chan.

You adjusted the strap of your bag, bowing quickly to her and turning to leave. Your pace quickened as you exited the lab, a wave of inexplicable emotions rising within you. It ushered you to head home as soon as possible, like it was a race against time, like you had to reach shelter before it crashed into the shore and drowned you in front of everyone.

A cold gust of air billowed past you as you pushed open the doors to the physics building. You squinted against it, burying your hands in your pockets. The sky was still covered with that same, gray sheet—much darker than it had been earlier in the week. The closer you studied it, the more it looked like the clouds might break at any given moment. All the more reason to rush home; you hadn’t brought an umbrella.

Your phone vibrated against your hand, and you fished it out of your pocket without thinking. Anything to distract you from this. 

bin 😑 (2:27 p.m.) hey

bin 😑 (2:28 p.m.) is everything okay?

Just as you were about to close the notification, another came.

bin 😑 (2:30 p.m.) did something happen with chan?

You stopped in your tracks. 

Did he really not know? Had Chan still not said anything to him? Was he keeping it all to himself? Suffering in silence, even now?

You didn’t have to question it for long. Of course he was. 

Against your better judgment, you typed out a reply, fingers stiff from the cold and—for some reason—thumb burning.

you (2:33 p.m.) i’m fine bin don’t worry about me

you (2:34 p.m.) please just be there for chan

bin 😑 (2:36 p.m.) where have u been??? i was worried

Guilt, guilt, guilt. 

He wouldn’t be worried anymore when he found out the truth.

bin 😑 (2:38 p.m) pls talk to me

You wanted to talk to him. You so badly wanted to talk to him—not even about everything that had transpired over the past four days, just in general. You wanted to tease him, to laugh with him, to share a meal with him, to chatter about the most trivial, most mundane of topics with him because you could, because you enjoyed each other’s company and nothing else.

You missed your friend. But he was Chan’s friend first and foremost; Chan’s little brother. Losing Chan meant losing Changbin. The moment he’d find out what you’d done, how you’d hurt the person he admired most in this world, he would look at you with that same, dark glare that had unsettled you so much on the day you’d first met. Only this time, it wouldn’t be misleading, masking the kindness underneath. It would be real, intentional. He would mean every bit of it.

Minho’s glares were one thing. The thought of Changbin looking at you the same way was more than you could take. There was no place for you in his life anymore.

A droplet landed on your screen, splattering water across it and blurring the words of his message. You looked up at the sky. The clouds had broken.

You were going to cry.

It was for the best, probably. A pot could only withstand so much before it boiled over.

You pulled the hood of your jacket over your head just as the rain began to fall more steadily, sinking to the ground and settling on the curb of the sidewalk. You gave up on outrunning the wave. For once, uncaring of the people around you. For once, allowing yourself to be an inconvenience. 

Vaguely, you felt another buzz in your pocket; repeating, persistent. Changbin must have been calling you. Pressure rose in your chest. A strange sound built in your throat, an unpleasant, unfamiliar sensation pricked at your eyes. But before droplets of your own could well up in their corners, before you could release, the feeling of rain pattering relentlessly against your clothes came to a sudden halt, like something had passed over you, shielding you from it.

You didn’t bother to look up, praying that whoever it was whose presence you felt hovering above you, they’d take the hint and leave you alone. Just a moment to wallow in your misery. Just a moment to feel without worrying about anyone or anything else. Even now, that was too much to ask for, it seemed.

Through the roaring downpour, you barely caught it—soft, airy.

“It’s raining.”

Your blood ran cold, chilling you more than any of the water seeping through your clothing, right down to your bones.

Of course. You almost laughed out loud. Of fucking course.

This had to be some kind of joke, the universe’s cruel finale to everything it had put you through over the past three years.

“Go away.”

“Aren’t you gonna congratulate me for learning how to use an umbrella?”

You peered up through the mess of hair and fabric blocking your vision, fixing him with a look fiercer than any of the insults he’d ever hurled your way.

“Go away.”

His stare didn’t waver, face unchanging as always. It must’ve been so easy, to be so unaffected. It must’ve been so easy, to care so little. He blinked down at you, and—despite the static swarming your mind—through it all, you couldn’t help but notice that there was nothing harsh about the look he was giving you. Not quite warm, not quite cold. It was far from the self-satisfied expression of someone who knew he had been right all along. Of someone who knew that he had won. 

“Come with me.”

You watched him blankly, too appalled to speak. 

When you didn’t budge, he tilted his wrist, leaning his umbrella forward so that it covered you completely and exposed part of himself to the rain.

“I’ll get sick if you don’t.”

“Yeah? Brew yourself some yuja tea.”

His lip twitched into the beginnings of a smirk. Not smug, not condescending. Just faintly amused.

“That was pretty funny.” He tilted the umbrella further. The rain began to land on his hair, darkening it, weighing it down. “But I’m really starting to get cold, now.”

“I don’t care.”

He clicked his tongue. Still, he made no move to leave, not even to pull his umbrella back over himself. You might’ve been swayed by whatever approach he was taking if you weren’t too preoccupied with figuring out just how the hell you could get rid of this guy.

“By the way,” he added casually. “Changbin gave me something. I think it belongs to you?”

You cursed yourself for perking up so quickly, so obviously. It was only for a split second, but he caught on—of course he did—eyes glinting like a cat that had spotted its target in all your loose threads.

“What do you want?”

“Let’s talk,” he said. “Come with me, and the pencil’s all yours.”

You gave in. For whatever reason, Lee Minho had suddenly decided that you were now worth his time.

He didn’t offer his hand to help you come to full standing, but he kept the umbrella steadily above you as you rose from the curb, allowing himself to get drenched in the process. It almost made you grimace more than his usual behavior, solely because it felt so wrong. And, maybe, because you felt like you didn’t deserve it. Not even from someone like him.

As he led you down the sidewalk towards wherever he planned to take you, you inched away from him, back into the rain. He made no effort to move closer again, but you did notice his eyes flicker your way once or twice.

You shuffled awkwardly behind him, focus kept firmly on the pavement, feet kicking up water with every step you took. It wasn’t until the warm, addictive scent of freshly-ground coffee flooded your senses that you lifted your head with a start, just in time to see Minho wiping the bottom of his shoes on the campus library mat. He shook out his umbrella and stepped inside, seemingly debating for a moment whether or not he should hold the door open for you.

An ache gripped your heart, somehow, stronger than anything you’d felt over the past four days. It ached and throbbed and pulsed when you processed where you were headed. The table right across from the entrance, at the very back of the library.

You half-expected to find him there—shrouded in black, hunched over his laptop, one set of fingers playing with his lips, the other set tapping along to the melody of his music. But his seat was empty. He wasn't there anymore.

You tried to control the sheer enormity of your anguish as you approached its source. You’d already humiliated yourself enough in front of the last person you’d ever have wanted to witness it. Even if he didn’t seem nearly as delighted with your downfall as you’d imagined, the fact that he’d caught you more vulnerable than anyone else had before, more than Chan ever had, made your skin positively crawl.

Minho sat down with a heavy sigh, ruffling his hair in a half-hearted attempt to dry it out. He slipped off his drenched jacket, giving it a disgusted look before dropping it on the table.

“Want some coffee?”

“No.”

“It’ll warm you up.”

You narrowed your eyes. If you’d had any semblance of rationality left in your system, you would’ve told yourself that it was just an offhand comment, that he couldn’t possibly have known just how devoid of warmth you truly were. But you were far past that point. Everything he said was a trap and everything he did was a taunt.

When he saw that you had no plans to respond, he shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

“Where’s my pencil?”

“Oh,” he sniffed. “I lied about that.”

You bristled. “What?”

“I don’t have it,” he clarified. “I lied so you’d come with me. Get it?”

You reached for your bag, preparing to leave.

“You can take it from Changbin yourself,” he continued. “Once this is all fixed.”

For once, the absolute certainty with which he spoke, like anything that came out of his mouth was a prophecy waiting to be fulfilled, wasn’t used to stir doubt within you. You froze in place. Whether it was a flash of hope, or a stubborn indignation that kept you rooted to your chair, you weren’t quite sure.

“Once this is fixed?” you echoed, rife with hostility. “This is exactly what you wanted, isn’t it? Chan hates me just as much as you do, now. You win.”

“I don’t hate you.”

You scoffed, expecting the lie—because it had to be a lie, a jeer, a vicious way to kick you while you were down—to be followed by that same scornful sneer that had become all too familiar for your liking. 

But it never came.

Your disbelief was only met with a sincere, unbreaking expression. No games, no underlying meaning. A complete contrast to everything you associated with Lee Minho.

“Are you serious?”

“You don’t believe me?” he feigned hurt, which you had half a mind to be infuriated about considering the many, many worse things he’d assumed about you. “I mean it. I don’t hate you.”

You blinked.

“I probably could’ve,” he added unhelpfully. “If what I'd thought about you turned out to be true. But really, I just didn’t trust you.”

You grunted to at least acknowledge his confession, unsure of how else you should react. If that was how he treated the people he didn’t trust, you’d love to know what his hatred looked like. 

You’d long told yourself not to take it personally, but for some reason, there was an undeniable sting there. Maybe it was because Minho was eerily perceptive, so much that this whole ordeal had planted the idea in your head that he had to be correct. Or maybe, it was because you’d always felt like there was a bit of truth to his impression of you, even before you’d met him, even before his opinion of you had sunk straight into the gutter. Having someone else say it out loud had just forced you to come to terms with it.

That constant voice in the back of your head, etching guilt into your mind. Telling you that you liked hurting the people who depended on you, that you liked to build them a safe haven and then crush it before their very eyes. Exactly what he had claimed you’d done to him.

Exactly what you’d done to Chan.

“Am I making things worse?” Minho tilted his head. 

“No,” you answered, and it was mostly honest. “Go on.”

He said nothing, eyeing you for a moment longer. It put you on high alert. Similarly to Chan, you couldn’t shake the feeling that he was delving straight into your center—but unlike Chan, there was no comfort of being able to stare right back into his. 

“You probably know this by now, but Chan is an easy target for a lot of people,” he began. Slow, deliberate, no playful lilt to it. “He can usually tell when he’s being mistreated, but even so, he puts up with it. He thinks he can make it all better.”

You shifted uncomfortably in your spot, concentrating on the rain droplets that hadn’t yet dried from your hair. “Yeah, I know.” 

I know better than you. The petty side of you wanted to tack on. But you decided against it, instead choosing to foster whatever kind of tentative truce was coming to fruition here.

Minho paused again. “Right.”

“So, what, you thought I was one of those people?”

“Mm.” Blunt as ever. “Like I said, I've seen the type before. And if Chan wasn’t going to do anything about it, then I was.”

He’d changed his wording, you noticed. It had been your type before, uttered with all the contempt and venom in the world. You wanted to find consolation in that subtle difference, but it didn’t stop the memory from rousing your defiance all over again.

“You think he can’t make decisions for himself?”

It was a risk—hypocritical, too, when you knew firsthand what kind of decisions Chan made for himself, when you knew firsthand the powerlessness of trying to get him to stop—but you said it anyway. Minho hummed, leaning back in his chair, as if the challenge in your words hadn’t affected him in the slightest.

“Of course he can,” he replied evenly. “Doesn’t make them right. When you see your friend make the same decision over and over and get hurt every single time, wouldn’t it be cruel to just sit by and watch?”

He looked off to the side, and if you hadn’t known any better, you might’ve thought that he was—God forbid—trying to prevent you from possibly catching on to an emotion of his.

“That’s what real insanity is—isn’t that how the saying goes? Repeating the same thing and expecting different results.”

You knew, deep down, that his explanation made sense, and somehow, that only stung more. You felt wronged, like the collateral damage for all the people who had harmed Chan in the past. The fact that Minho had treated you so coldly out of the goodness of his heart wasn’t much of a reprieve. In a childish sense, it made things even worse, because now, your own negative feelings towards him felt unjustified.

That didn’t even begin to cover the fact that he had been right. 

Every part of you wanted to object to him lumping you in with all the others as the same decision, but in the end, you were just another name on the endless list of people who had hurt Chan.

When he saw how long you’d gone silent for, Minho spoke up again, looking unsure of himself for what may very well have been the first time in his life. 

“I’m…” he huffed. “Look, I was wrong.”

As always, what he said was the polar opposite of what you’d been thinking. It was almost comical, how the wavelengths the two of you operated on were so determined to be different in every conceivable way. 

His ears, you noticed, had dusted red at the tips—the exact same way Chan’s would flare up when he was flustered. You hated how it weakened your resolve, how his mere association with Chan had you more than willing to accept his olive branch, however awkwardly shaped it was.

“Chan’s done a lot for me—for everyone. I just wanted to protect him.”

That was the point of convergence, the one, precious point where your waves intersected. The desire to keep Chan safe. You understood it better than anything else, and so, for that fleeting moment, you understood Minho. Still, your pride—something you’d repressed far too many times in your attempts to reconcile with him before—wasn’t quite ready to back down.

“But you barely even knew me,” you protested. “What did I do to make you decide that you hated me all of a sudden?”

“Didn’t hate you,” he corrected.

You pressed your lips together into an annoyed line. “What made you think I wanted to…to hurt him?”

Minho looked contemplative, and you found yourself worrying that he may simply decide not to tell you. You wouldn’t put it past him. It would be painfully on-brand, actually, at least with the version of him that you’d come to know. 

“Chan came home crying.”

Your throat went dry.

“What?” you rasped. “When?”

“Back in July. The morning I got back from summer break.”

The morning after you’d first slept together. All at once, everything snapped into place—pieces of the puzzle that you hadn’t been able to connect, pieces that you hadn’t even known were missing in the first place.

“So, he comes home from your place, crying, with those marks all over his neck,” he explained. “It wasn’t the first time something like that happened. I put two and two together.”

You felt sick enough that you actually feared you might throw up, right there, on the library floor.

“I thought he must’ve landed himself in a bad spot again. With someone who only wanted to use him.”

“Why?” You gripped your soaked bag to your chest, with so much force that residual water began to dribble out of it. “Why was he crying?”

How did I hurt him? You wanted to add. Why didn’t he tell me? Why didn’t I notice? 

How could you have ever let this happen?

Minho hesitated, and you squeezed your eyes shut, not entirely certain that you even wanted to hear the answer.

“He was happy.”

Confusion. And then, relief. And then, confusion again. The turmoil must have been written all over your face, because Minho ever so graciously decided to elaborate.

“I didn’t find that part out until yesterday, though. Not much of a happy crier, myself.”

A fresh surge of anger overtook everything else you were struggling to comprehend. Thoughts of what could’ve been, of how it all might have turned out if it weren’t for the man in front of you. The man who had given you all the tools in chiseling your self-doubt to perfection, who had passed you the hammer to destroy what you loved most.

You wanted it to be his fault. It would be so easy to pin the blame all on him. But nothing was ever that easy. Nothing was ever that simple. Even without the right tools, you would’ve found a way to destroy it regardless. It was what you were best at.

“You didn’t bother to ask him!?” you snapped.

“Oh. You think I’m stupid.” A glimpse of his former sharpness. You had to stop yourself from saying yes, just to spite him. “Of course, I asked. More than once. But his answer was the same as always—he smiled and told me not to worry. He’d say it with a gun to his head.”

You frowned. It was too much to process at once, too much for your already worn-down brain to compute. All you could really make sense of was a gut feeling, an instinct, telling you that you’d made a horrible, horrible mistake.

“I talked to Chan yesterday,” he mellowed again, back to his usual, airy tenor. “He told me everything. He doesn’t seem to fully understand it, but I do.”

Minho locked eyes with you, deep, intense. No longer the look of someone that had decided you were guilty, but a look that warned you that he would know if you were lying to him.

“You care about him, don’t you?”

It sounded more like a statement than a question, but you nodded, anyway. Such a simple thing to admit to. How could such a simple thing have ever led to all of this? 

“Yeah,” you mumbled. “That’s why I did it. I was afraid I’d end up…”

You took in a shaky breath.

“I just didn’t want to hurt him.”

“Ah, seriously.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, and he laughed. Incredulous, dry, ending with an exhale. “You broke up with him because you didn’t want to hurt him? Do you realize how insane that sounds?”

Your face heated up. “You’re the one who thought I would in the first place!”

“But I was wrong.”

You were taken aback by how plainly he admitted to it, how that indestructible, stubborn pride of his was extinguished the instant he’d learned it had harmed someone he cared about. Even more troubling than that, was the fact that you could tell he was apologetic, even without him saying it outright. All of this, as annoyingly as he was going about it, was his apology to you. Changbin’s words—fond and reassuring and, now, truer than ever—reverberated in your mind. Soft at heart.

“People are supposed to help each other. You know that, right?”

You snorted at the absurdity of the question. 

“Obviously.”

“So why are you so weird about it?”

“It’s different with Chan,” you insisted. “You said it yourself. He does so much—everyone takes so much from him. I didn’t want to do the same.”

“But that’s still not fair, is it?” he countered. “You’d just be giving everything instead. Chan doesn’t want that, either.”

You opened your mouth to argue, only for the words to die in your throat. There was no way to justify it without sounding ridiculous—maybe, because it was a bit ridiculous. But Chan was the exception, he would always be the exception. You would give everything to him because you knew he would never take it for granted. You would give everything to him because he’d already given everyone so much.

Because he’d given you so much. 

Ah.

“God, you two are so—” Minho cradled head dramatically, sensing that you’d finally worked it out in your mind. “You’ve already got the hardest part figured out. Just learn to take once in a while. You’re not gonna die.”

“But he won’t change unless I do,” you muttered. “I know he won’t.”

He gave you a look of pure exasperation, as if the answer couldn’t have been more obvious.

“So, change.”

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

The feeling of your heart threatening to burst out of your chest, courtesy of Bang Christopher Chan, was one you’d become well-acquainted with over the past seven months. But of all the times you’d experienced it, it’d never been quite like this. This was something else entirely.

A day to mull everything over after your conversation with Minho, a restless night spent trying and failing to map out how you could possibly approach the situation, and over an hour of pacing restlessly around your apartment—all useless in ebbing the adrenaline that coursed through your veins. Before the clock had even struck 10:00 a.m., you’d not only felt like you had run a marathon, but that you could run another for good measure. 

You’d spoken to Changbin first. He at least deserved to know what was going on. He deserved an apology, even if the very real possibility that he would never speak to you again afterwards made your stomach churn. On a more selfish note—you figured today was as good as any to start with that—you’d also just really, really missed him. 

As it turned out, he’d more or less come to grasp the situation, even when being protected from all angles. Between what little Minho had let slip, Chan’s avoidant behavior (to the surprise of no one, he’d hardly let Changbin know a thing) and your vaguely ominous texts, he’d gathered up enough bits and pieces for his genius intuition to fill in the gaps. The sound of his voice once you’d revealed what had happened in full; compassionate, calm—not an ounce of the disdain you’d resigned yourself to be met with so viciously—had almost been enough to make you choke up.

“You should’ve told me,” he’d chided. “Why do you love doing that to yourself? What, you think I’m not strong enough to lean on?”

You’d let out a long exhale, heavy with all the apprehension you released with it; relieved, embarrassed, resigned. “It’s not that, Bin,” you’d mumbled. “I didn’t want to trouble you. Not when Chan and Minho both mean so much to you.”

“And you think you don’t? C’mon, you’re supposed to be the smart one here.”

Naturally, it only added to your guilt, that you’d created such an uncharacteristically cruel image of him in your head. This was Seo Changbin, after all. A great talker, but an even better listener, and as much as he liked to tease Chan for his age, he had a level of emotional intelligence far beyond his years. A wisdom that you would probably do well to learn from whenever it bothered to make an appearance. 

At the same time, however, this was Seo Changbin, the one man show, Leo incarnate. Once the relief of hearing back from you had eased his conscience (as much as it could, knowing how horribly tangled up everything had become), the theatrics had ensued.

“Dating my best friend is one thing, but breaking his heart is off limits!” he’d complained. It was mostly light. No real anger behind it, just plenty of highly-warranted frustration. “Not only that—breaking your own heart too! What am I supposed to do with two brokenhearted best friends? Hang out with Minho!?”

After a slew of loud, nagging, reprimands, and a very serious threat that Cinnamoroll would be held hostage until further notice, Changbin had let you go. For the first time in five days, you’d laughed. You’d never felt more grateful, or more stupid, in your life. He made it all sound so simple. Lee Minho, quite possibly the most convoluted piece of work you’d ever encountered in this world, had made it all sound so simple. 

You could only hope that you hadn’t crushed it into something infinitely more complicated, something beyond repair.

The trembling of your fingers, coupled with that strange sensation in your thumb that had yet to go away, made it difficult for you to type properly. Still, you persisted, throwing caution to the wind. Caution had ruled over you for far too long, anyway.

you (10:03 a.m.) hi

you (10:04 a.m.) i understand if you want some space right now but if you can, i’d like to talk

You prepared to lock your phone, not expecting a reply for some time—if any at all. Even under normal circumstances, he didn’t always get back to you right away. But, well, maybe the fact that the circumstances were anything but normal should’ve been enough for you to know better, because you didn’t even get the chance to swipe out of your messaging app before you noticed three little dots below your chat bubble.

Appearing. Disappearing. Appearing. Disappearing. Just a sign of life from him, and your palms had grown clammy. With fear, anticipation, dread. The dread of being met with anything but love, anything but warmth.

Then, at last, a single word.

channie 🐺 (10:08 a.m.) about?

you (10:08 a.m.) everything us

This time, it took him longer to respond. Ignoring every instinct that screamed otherwise, you typed up another text. There was no use hiding. There was never any use hiding with him.

you (10:12 a.m.) i don’t think i can do this

Almost immediately.

channie 🐺 (10:12 a.m.) me neither

Your heart leapt. You didn’t want it to give you hope. He had every right, every reason in the world, to not give you the time of day. He could get his closure and leave you, just as you’d left him.

channie 🐺 (10:13 a.m.) i can be over in 10?

A million thoughts sparked to life at once. The question of why he was already so close by. The urge to insist that you go meet him instead. The sudden realization that you were in no way prepared to see him so soon.

But all of it, overwhelming as it was, didn’t hold a candle to your strongest desire—a desire that could never be subdued by anything else. To put Chan first.

you (10:14 a.m.) okay, sure see you soon

Get here safe, Channie. You added in your head.

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

Chan looked tired when you opened the door. Eyes dull, drooping, littered with traces of pink and lined with dark circles. A few stray curls peeked out from beneath his beanie. You prayed that the black hoodie he was wearing wasn’t the same one he’d had on five days ago. He looked so tired. Tired and cold.

His gaze met yours. Just for a heartbeat, then it fell to the ground. You wanted to think it was because he felt self-conscious, you wanted to think it was that shyness—that hopelessly endearing shyness that got the best of him no matter how many times he looked at you. You didn’t want to believe that he simply couldn’t stomach the sight of you anymore.

“Are you okay?”

Chan tensed. Then, he caught you eyeing the bandaid on his thumb. He brushed his finger over it absentmindedly. He’d thought the pain had faded until now.

“Yeah. Just cut my finger.”

Your expression changed.

“On accident.”

“Oh,” you murmured. “Does it hurt?”

“A bit.”

You reached up to tug at your ear. He swiped his thumb over his nose.

“I—” you swallowed. The moment he’d stepped through the door, everything you’d so carefully planned to say, every point you’d spent hours trying to piece together into something comprehensible, was immediately tossed out the window. You had to navigate this in real time. There was no map for it—the path to something better. The only place you’d ever journeyed was your own destruction. 

“I’m so sorry,” you blurted out. “I think I messed up.”

He lifted his head. For once, unreadable.

“What do you mean?”

He knew what you meant, you were sure of it. But he wanted you to say it—needed you to say it. He needed you to dare to open yourself up to him, just as he had to you.

You understood now. That was the most important thing you could’ve ever given him, yet the one thing you’d refused to give.

“I’m not used to this,” you confessed. “I don’t know how to get used to it. You’re…you’re so good, Chan. To everyone. To me.”

Already, cracks were beginning to form in your composure. You had to keep it together, just enough to fix this. Just enough to hold the mirror up to him before it shattered. 

“When someone that good comes into your life, you wanna do everything you can to keep them, y’know? I wanted to do everything for you.”

Chan’s breath caught in his throat, audibly, and you knew a protest was building on his tongue. So, you barreled through.  

“It’s exactly because you’re so good that I got so scared. Because you wouldn’t just let me do it all for you like everyone else does.”

There was a pause, long and heavy enough for you to debate if you should just keep going, to air it all out and pray that at least some of it would come out sensical. But before you could, he spoke up, attentive as ever in what he chose to focus on. He narrowed it down like second nature, sought out the most essential part. The root of it all.

“You were scared?”

You winced. “I…yeah.”

“I’m sorry.”

Whatever remained of your heart from the past few days was effectively smashed into pieces. An apology from the last person on earth you needed to hear it from. An apology from someone who was owed so many apologies. From you, from himself, and from countless others who would never have to say it.

“Why are you sorry?” 

“I drove you to this, didn't I?” he whispered. “I thought about it the past few days—talked with Minho about it. I put you in a position you didn’t want. It’s my fault.”

“Oh, Channie,” it slipped out so naturally, with such ease, you didn’t even have the chance to second-guess yourself. “Your only fault is the way you treat yourself.”

Chan didn’t appear convinced. He shuffled his feet from side to side, hands heavy in the pocket of his hoodie. Restless, ashamed. Still not looking you in the eye. You weren’t grateful for it anymore; you missed his gaze. Dark and reflective, kind and curious. Seeing right through you, even with all its flickering around. 

“Maybe I needed to be put in that position,” you continued. “I was just too much of a coward to take it. B-because you were right. I try to be everything for people, then I end up being nothing. I was so afraid I was going to do that to you—or even worse. I was afraid I was going to be the one taking everything from you.”

“Why would you ever think that?” he sounded so helpless, like you were communicating in two completely foreign tongues. No room for speaking in riddles. “I saw every little way you cared for me. Always. Did you think I didn’t?”

Challenging him meant challenging yourself. You’d taken the plunge acutely aware of that fact, this time. Still, the panic rose in your chest all over again, the itch in your feet goaded you to turn and run.

“I know you did. And that’s more than enough for me.” You forced yourself to take a step forward instead, desperate to get through to him, desperate to reach him. “But when you do these things for me at your own expense…when you don’t tell me about it, don’t you see how that could scare me? As someone who cares about you?”

In all the time you’d known Chan, you’d never once have guessed that he could be so difficult. But if that unshakeable stubbornness would emerge over anything, of course it would be this. He would never make things difficult for anyone but himself. You still remembered how plainly he’d said it, how bleak and merciless and cold it had been: “It doesn’t matter.”

You could tell he sensed how on-edge you were, how laughably out of your element something like this was for you. But you were pushing yourself—for him. So, like a true reflection, he matched you.

“I guess I was scared, too,” he admitted quietly. “It’s been the only thing I know how to do for so long. I thought…I-I thought you’d leave if I did anything else. Because why else would you stay, y’know?”

You’d known it. Even before he’d bared himself to you, even before you’d had the knowledge to connect all the dots, you’d felt it, deep within you. But that didn’t make hearing him say it out loud any less devastating.

“I don’t love you because of what you can do for me, Chan.”

His eyes shot up at last. Wide, intense, searching. Realigning with you. A break in the fog that had been clouding your view of each other for the past five days.

It may have been unfair—cruel, even—to say now. But you needed him to hear it, even if this was the end of the road for you and him. You needed to at least plant the seed in his mind with the hopes that one day, with enough care, it might sprout into something beautiful.

“You’re worth so much as you are,” you tried to get a handle on the shake creeping into it. “You do so much for me just by being yourself.”

Chan blinked. Pupils darting between you and the floor, hands slipping from his pockets, face muscles twisting in an internal conflict. You could see him physically exerting all his willpower to not reject the idea—to dare to accept a love so unconditional, solely so that you might accept it in return.

“If I told you the same thing,” he began slowly. “Would you believe me?”

You sucked in a deep breath. “I can learn to believe it.”

His fingers flexed. You realized for the first time how close the distance between you and him had become—drifting towards each other involuntarily. That inevitable, magnetic pull, more powerful than any of the forces you’d studied in four years.

“Okay.” He was reaching out for you. “Then, how about we learn together, yeah?”

Your heart jumped against your ribcage. Over his words. Over the sight of his pinky, held out in earnest despite you giving it such little reason to ever do so again, waiting patiently to curl against yours. 

You’d believe in anything that connected you to him.

“Together.”

Just as quickly as things had fallen apart, the foundation was laid out for them to be put back together. A steady foundation, built to last. Your belief that day had turned out to be true, after all. Everything always worked out when you talked to Chan. When you leaned into him. When you didn’t run.

Heat rippled through you the instant your fingers entwined, fiercer, more all-consuming than even the first time you’d ever touched. Still, neither of you pulled away. For the first time in five days, you were warm again.

The new, unspoken promise igniting to life between you reminded you of another; one that you’d let sit on your ledger for far too long. One you’d made so carelessly to the boy who deserved all the care in the world. The boy who treated you with all the care in the world.

“I’m going to be more selfish from now on.” You tightened your hold on his pinky, creating a fresh buzz of heat. “Because I want you to be, too.”

You thought you were hallucinating it for a second, the beginnings of a grin on Chan’s face. Soft cheeks rising, not enough to draw out his dimples or eclipse his eyes, but enough to make you certain of your decision. The key you’d tossed out a year and a half ago was in that smile.

“Guess I’ve got no choice but to mirror you.”

“That’s right,” any firmness it might’ve had was lost to a smile of your own. Exhausted, but tragically enamored with the boy in front of you. “Since you wanna be my other half so bad, and all.”

He giggled. Short, sweet, playing the strings of your heart like a harp. Or, rather, its melody was the sound of your heart.

“I’m gonna tell you some things,” you warned. “And they’re not going to be nice. Or good. Is that okay?”

“Anything.” He unhooked his pinky from yours, only to wiggle his sleeve back and weave all of your fingers together instead. Five fingers, one for each of the days you’d spent apart. Your palm pressed against his, pumping faintly with your quickening pulse. “Tell me anything.”

You inhaled. Better to start with something smaller, first. A test run in this whole emotional openness thing.

“About Minho…”

“He gave you plenty of trouble, didn’t he?”

You puffed out a soft laugh. “Well, I gave him some back.”

“I scolded him,” Chan mumbled. “A lot. Bin did, too.”

You tried not to feel too satisfied about it. The idea of Chan, so doting, so unabashed in his adoration for the younger boy, rebuking him, addressing him with anything but overflowing fondness. You would take it as a small, private victory—one that Minho didn’t need to know about now that you’d both chosen to bury the hatchet.

“But…I hope you won’t think badly of him. He means well, really. He’s—”

“Soft at heart, right?” you finished for him. “It’s okay, we talked it out in the end. I think.” 

“Yeah,” he sighed. “Yeah, he told me.”

You could’ve laughed. Lee Minho. You never thought you’d see the day where the mention of him wouldn’t be promptly followed by a wave of absolute revulsion. You wondered if he was the reason Chan had even agreed to see you today. You wondered if he was the reason Chan had only been ten minutes away from your apartment before you’d even sent him a message.

“I just wish you’d told me.”

I wish you’d told me. They were words you’d said to him so many times, words you’d wanted to say on even more occasions. But it was in your hands, now. You were in each other’s hands, now. You didn’t have to wish anymore.

“I know.” You gave his palm a squeeze. “But you can see why I didn’t, right?”

He nodded, sheepish, well aware that it was a pointed question.

“A lot of the things Minho did were to protect you,” you murmured. “But, a lot of the things he said were things someone else once said to me. I guess it made them easier to believe.”

Chan’s thumb glided delicately across the back of your hand. You knew he could predict where this was going.

“When you told me about what happened two years ago, I think I related to you a lot. I think it was one of those shared experiences you talked about.”

Each sentence felt like it was being dragged out of you, uprooted. But it was necessary. Clearing the weeds out to make room for something less parasitic—maybe, even flowers. “My last relationship was with someone who took a lot out of me, too. He needed someone to depend on. I…I wanted to be that for him.”

“I know you did.” Gentle, sad. A tenderness for you and, hopefully, himself. It gave you the strength to keep going.

“He needed so many things, felt so many things. All his emotions became mine until I didn’t have any for myself,” you were losing control of your voice again. “I didn’t understand how you could ever blame yourself for what that girl did to you. But, really, I’ve always blamed myself, too. Because I let him rely on me. I promised to be everything for him, then I left.”

“But he never let you rely on him, did he?” Chan didn’t miss a beat, like he already knew the answer. “He wanted you to carry it all yourself.”

You averted your stare. “M-maybe. And maybe I wanted that, too. Some people just need more support than others, y’know? I thought I could handle it.”

You always thought you could handle it, even when every past experience proved otherwise. That was yet another thing Minho had been right about. You’d driven yourself mad repeating the same cycle over and over again, deluding yourself into thinking it could ever turn out any different.

“Nobody needs no support at all,” he pointed out. “Not even someone as strong as you.”

Strong. Hearing the word come out of his mouth—his perfect mouth, in that light, melodic voice—pricked at your eyes. It was a term you’d never once thought to describe yourself with. It was the exact opposite of everything you’d come to believe about yourself. You wanted to reject it, to crush the idea before letting it get to your head. But how could you, when it came from the strongest person you knew? How could you do anything but cling to it, cherish it?

“I don’t know if I’m strong,” you muttered, blinking away what was sure to come eventually. “It’s just that every time I’ve tried to lean on someone, they let me fall. So it’s better to stand on my own.”

“Yeah. I understand,” he said quietly. You knew that much was true. You knew, painfully well, how much he understood. And you knew he still thought you were strong.

“I…” Everything had been put into place—or, rather, everything had been properly displaced—for the dam to break loose. Tentatively, lovingly, he was helping you pull out each log. It filled you with fear, down to every last fiber of your being, but you knew that you could break in front of him. He wouldn’t crumble with you. He wouldn’t shatter over the mere prospect of you expressing an emotion of your own. He’d let you release, and when it was all over, he’d help you pick up the pieces. Just as you had with him.

“I lost my friend last year.”

“Lost…?”

“I mean, she passed away—last summer. She was in an accident back home.”

Such a common way to die for someone who was anything but. Such a special person to become part of such an ordinary statistic. Chan’s face morphed into something heartbreaking, a look that told you he felt everything you were feeling in that moment. The gears were turning in his head, you could see it unfolding through your blurred vision. That was why you hadn’t wanted to return home over the summer. That was why you’d come back to him so soon.

“I’m so sorry.”

You knew he wasn’t only giving his condolences, he was apologizing for ever cornering you to reveal it. For forcing you to unveil the wound that had been festering for so long. Bleeding with no signs of stopping, neglected with no signs of healing.

“It’s okay, I—” A lump rose in your throat. “I need to talk about it, I think. Never really did.”

His hand tugged at yours, just barely, uncertain. Always hesitant to pull you as close as he really wanted. You leaned forward all at once, falling into him. And he caught you.

“Never?” 

“I tried once.” You rested your head against him, and his arms locked securely around you straight away. No room for you to fear, even for a second, that he might let you fall. “I tried to tell him. He always said he felt bad that he wasn’t there for me like I was for him. B-but…” The wave was rising again. “He just left.”

You couldn’t see Chan’s expression, you weren’t sure if you wanted to. You didn’t want to know what anger might look like on such an angelic face. But you could feel it, his jaw clenching, his muscles tensing. You figured he must look something like you had that night in October, struggling to maintain the delicacy in your movements as he revealed things that had filled you with a protective fire.

“He left?” Chan repeated, strained. “He left you like that?”

“Yeah. I-I guess it made him feel worse to be there.”

His hand began to run slowly up and down your back; drawing out your pain and soothing it simultaneously. When he spoke again, his tone was softer. He’d put his anger to the side, just as you had that night. “It must have been lonely for you.” 

Lonely. Something else you’d never once considered. Something else that became so obvious only once he’d said it. You’d always been surrounded by people, but they were all flocking to a version of you that didn’t exist. A version you’d let them believe was real, because that was so much easier. Maybe the version of you, in your truest form, had been lonely.

“A little.” You buried your nose into his hoodie. No scent of sweet citrus today, no vanilla cherry blossom. Just him. “I think she’s the only one I could’ve talked to about it. She…she was a lot like you, in some ways.”

Something seemed to dawn on Chan, because he gripped you a little tighter, pulled you impossibly closer. The realization that the universe had taken away the only person you’d ever come to rely on. Of course you would be terrified to ever let anyone take that role again.

“She sounds exactly the kind of friend you deserve,” his voice rumbled softly where you rested against his chest. “You can tell me about her. About it all. I’m here to listen.”

“I want to,” you took in a sharp inhale. “But I think I’m going to cry.”

“You can do that, too.” 

The wave engulfed you in full. For the first time since the day you’d lost her, you allowed yourself to cry over her.

Given how long you’d been holding it in, it didn’t come out nearly as explosive as you’d expected. The tears slipped from your eyes and down your cheeks without a sound, but they came and came and came. Each hot stream was immediately followed by a fresh one, a buildup of all the sorrow you’d kept sealed inside you for the past year and a half, and all the years before that. You didn’t sob or wail or scream out, but with how tightly Chan was holding you, you were certain he felt every tremor, every subdued hiccup, every droplet soaking through his clothes.

“It’ll be okay, one day,” he promised. “You’ll remember all the happy times with her. That’s something you can never lose.”

You hoped it was true. You hoped that one day, you could step off the train in your hometown, take in the pine-tinged summer air, pick a chrysanthemum from that flower stall, and remember her with that warm, glowing ball of light you used to carry in your chest.

Chan didn’t stop rubbing your back the entire time you cried. He didn’t stop enveloping you in his warmth. He didn’t stop humming sweetly in your ear. 

He didn’t leave.

The tears eventually stopped flowing, not because it didn’t hurt anymore—you just didn’t think your body could keep up. No amount of tears could ever live up to your grief for her. But your breathing slowed, your shaking steadied, and, as much as your head positively throbbed, a sense of tranquility came with it, one you couldn’t remember the last time you’d felt.

“Thank you, Channie,” you mumbled. “Thank you for being here.”

“Thank you for trusting me.”

After everything you’d put him through the past five days, after he’d listened to you so intently and patiently as you poured your heart out, after he’d comforted you when he was still in such a fragile state himself, he was thanking you. It was hopeless. You would fall in love with him over and over again, every moment you spent with him. 

“Have you…” he hesitated. “Have you ever thought about talking to someone? About everything?”

“No,” you choked out a sad laugh. “Not really.”

Chan hummed again, quiet. He rested his hand on the back of your head, as if to pull you so far into him that you’d meld fully together.

“You shouldn’t torture yourself anymore,” he murmured.

“Neither should you.”

So immediate, so resolute, it made him stiffen against you.

“My stuff doesn’t compare to any of this.”

“That’s not true. You’ve only told me the half of it, haven’t you?” You curled your fingers a bit tighter around his hoodie. “You've been through so much to become this strong, haven’t you?”

The peaceful drag of his hand finally stopped. When he spoke, his voice was thick with emotion. He'd been holding it together up until now, for you, even if your every tremble and sniffle made his chest ache like your pain was his own.

“Maybe,” he rasped. 

“So, let’s work towards something better. Together.”

“Together,” he agreed.

You raised your head at last, squeezing your eyes shut so that any remaining trace of tears trickled free. Chan reached up to swipe the droplets away with his thumb, soaking his bandaid. Still, neither of you let go. There were so many things to let go of, but not each other.

“I finished Placebo,” he said softly. “Do you want to hear it?”

The final promise that had yet to be fulfilled.

“Yeah,” you smiled. Weak, a piteous sight, probably, but genuine. “It makes me happy.”

You were lulled back to that day in April, seated next to Chan in the warm, coffee-infused atmosphere of the library, trying not to fall head over heels in love with him right then and there while he played the instrumental for you with a giddiness so uncontainable that he had to bite down on his fist. As you heard Placebo’s lyrics for the first time—lyrics that had gone through countless rearrangements, rewrites, and delays—you decided it must’ve been fate that it had been brought to completion now, of all times. You felt Chan in every line, every vitalizing beat, every nostalgic melody of the synth. You understood it better now than you ever would have back then.

But just as you’d predicted on that warm day in April, it became your new favorite.

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

The sun had been shining for two days straight. Bright, unobstructed by a single cloud, bathing everything in gold. It filtered through the blinds of your window, casting a delicate pattern of light on Chan’s face and creating quite possibly the most breathtaking view you’d ever seen. And you were warm. Warm against each other.

His curls were free, messy, tousled as you combed through them. You relished in every ringlet dancing between your fingers, in each content sound he let slip when your nails grazed his scalp. You brushed his bangs back, revealing his face to you in full—droopy eyes, big, adorable nose, soft cheeks, faintly freckled skin, every feature illuminated with nowhere to hide—then allowed them to fall into his eyes once more. The dark locks moved as one, a fluffy unit. He wasn’t taking care of them properly. You wanted to wash them again, give them the treatment they deserved.

Chan watched you the entire time you played with his hair, curious, mesmerized. Every flop of his curls against his forehead made him giggle, and so, you did it again and again. You couldn’t help it. After five days without him, without that sweet, harmonious sound, you could listen to him laugh for hours on end and still yearn for more.

But his lips were getting poutier with every card of your fingers, his thighs were shifting beneath you more and more. Impatient, even if he didn’t say it out loud. He didn’t have to say a thing for you to hear him willing you to do it, begging you to do it. So, you leaned in and kissed him.

He sighed into it, just like he always did. But it was higher in pitch this time, involuntary, a neediness he typically tried to suppress until later down the line when it grew into something unbearable. He was already so vocal, so responsive, but today, he needed you more than ever. Every gap, every crevice between your bodies, he needed filled with you.

His lips consumed your senses, plush and plump and warm. They moved against yours seamlessly, encasing you in his softness, matching your rhythm, every part and pucker. So attentive, even through his haze of longing. It was familiar, the most natural thing in the world, yet still something you’d never get used to—something you never wanted to get used to. How his lips chased yours so insatiably, how they warmed you to your very core.

You were both breathless when you broke apart. That was nothing new either, you would kiss each other until your lungs cried out and then some. With the way Chan hardly pulled back, mouth ghosting just a centimeter away as you panted lightly in unison, you might’ve thought he needed to kiss you more than he needed oxygen. You took his lower lip between your teeth, nibbling delicately just to get a taste of him while the two of you caught your breath.

“Missed you,” he whimpered. “God, I missed you.”

Your chest ached. 

“I know, baby.” 

Giving his bottom lip a light tug, you released it. You could tell his head was starting to go fuzzy, it was far more important for you to speak clearly. You rested your hand on his curls again, trying to keep yourself composed for his sake—even if your body was screaming for you to take him back and take him back now. “I know. I missed you, too.”

“Don’t leave me, please?” For once, a selfish request. 

He pecked the corner of your mouth as he said it, then your jaw, growing less controlled the further down he moved. He was getting lost in you, he wanted to lose himself in you and never find his way out again.

“Never,” you assured him. 

“Promise?” 

He nuzzled his nose into your neck, lips pressing urgent kisses to every spot of flesh they touched. Gentle and intense, hot and wet. They cooled your skin and set it ablaze, all at once. 

You’d gone five days without each other before—even longer, on particularly hectic weeks—but it had never been anything like this. After the emptiness that came in your time apart, the holes that had been left behind where you’d ripped yourself away from him, you wanted every kiss absorbed into your skin, filling them up one by one. You found yourself wondering, for what was neither the first nor the last time, how you’d ever managed to trick yourself into thinking you could be without him. You couldn’t even take him in moderation.

“I promise,” you murmured. “I'm not going anywhere, I promise.”

Chan whined, opening his mouth against the edge of your collarbone, sucking, tongue flickering lightly against it. You allowed him to, petting his head, humming sweetly to him as he covered every inch he roamed with that irresistible heat.

His restlessness beneath you grew more obvious—squirming. He ran his hands up and down your sides, feeling and grabbing and holding onto you like you might disappear if he didn’t. His usual hesitance to touch was nowhere to be found today, far overpowered by his hunger for you. You adjusted your position in his lap, and the beginnings of his desire brushed against your thigh, adorably transparent as always. It made your own self-control slip just a bit. Suddenly, his clothes were forming far too thick of a barrier between you and him for your liking.

You pulled gently at his hair, catching his attention enough for him to lift his head from your neck. His lips were already swelling, deepening from that pretty pink shade into something even more addictive. His eyes were dark, dilated, and so hopeful, like he didn’t already know where this was going. Like he had no idea that you craved him every bit as much as he craved you.

“It’s getting warm, huh, Channie?”

“Mhm.” He rested his cheek against your palm. “You’re so warm.”

“Let’s get you out of this, then.” You reached down to dip your fingers under the hem of his sweater. Reluctant to let go for even a moment, Chan kept his hands close to you, wiggling around as best as he could to help you slip the garment off. He blinked his eyes open once you’d pulled it over his head, catching a glimpse of his reflection in your dresser mirror, directly across from where the two of you sat tangled up in each other. It made his stomach drop a bit. Hair unkempt, eyes sunken, face puffy from what was a concerning lack of rest over the past week, even by his standards.

His gaze averted, flickering right back to you the instant he took in his appearance. Brief as the action was, it wasn’t lost on you, twisting your emotions and resurfacing an idea in your mind—one that had been brewing ever since the day of the showcase, where Chan had avoided looking into the bathroom mirror like his life depended on it.

You cupped his cheeks, pushing them together just enough for his lips to pucker.

“You’re glowing, Channie,” you marveled. “You’re so beautiful.”

He furrowed his brows. “I’m not.”

You pressed your thumbs into his skin, chiding. “The light’s hitting your face so perfectly. You look like an angel.” 

Chan’s breath quickened, another deflection building in his throat. You slid your hands down from his face, allowing the golden rays of the sun to fully illuminate him, just as they illuminated the moon. 

“I…” he chuckled. “Th-thank you, but I’m a mess.”

You frowned, placing your hands over his. Panic struck when you urged him to unlatch his fingers from your hips, you could tell by the way he gripped you just a bit tighter. It was another pang to your chest. Somewhere in the depths of his mind, that reflex had been ingrained. But you weren’t going to leave him, not even for a second. You kept your hands firmly rested on his shoulders as you hoisted yourself off his lap and settled down right behind him on the mattress. Comforting him with your touch, reminding him that you were there.

You peered into the mirror from over Chan’s shoulder, met with the gorgeous sight of his bare upper half and, unsurprisingly, his head ducked in embarrassment. A mop of dark curls shielding him from himself. 

“You should try looking at yourself through my eyes,” you suggested. “You might like what you see.”

He glanced up to meet your stare in the mirror, stubbornly set on ignoring his own figure. You dragged your hands along his tense shoulders, feeling up the warm expanse of skin, the curves of his muscles—taut, yet tender.

“Rather look at you,” he said softly.

Affection swelled inside you, but you were determined to maintain your resolve, even when faced with an opponent as formidable as Chan’s oblivious charm. 

“Why?” You faked a pout. “You’ve already got such a pretty view right here.”

You lowered yourself to brush your lips against his neck, almost completely out of sight. He all but jolted as you pressed an open-mouthed kiss right below his jawline, just as reactive as your first night together. Just as honest and open and just as painfully cute. Your hand slipped over his shoulder to take hold of his chin, tilting it up, exposing his throat fully to you and encouraging him to look at himself.

“You’re a gorgeous boy, Channie.” Your words melted right into his ear. “Everyone can see it.”

You pressed another kiss to the juncture of his shoulder and neck—his weak spot. With how sensitive he was, every part of his body may as well have been his weak spot, but the sound he let out as you grazed your teeth over it was like no other. Sweet and pleading in the back of his throat. It spiked in volume when you closed your mouth over the patch of skin, unconcerned this time over whether or not the mark would show. He wanted it to. And, selfishly, so did you.

“I-I don’t see it,” he stuttered at last. “I can’t.”

Your tsk of disapproval was met with another shaky sigh as you ran your tongue over the fresh lovebite. It soothed his burning skin, fogged up any remaining space in his head. You took a moment to admire the blooming red ring before gliding your lips over to a new spot to sully. He was yours, even untouched, but you wanted to leave traces of yourself everywhere, to make him a part of you in every sense.

“Look at yourself, baby,” you ordered gently.

His Adam's apple bobbed under your mouth, swallowing down his misgivings and finding the courage to comply. Before he even locked eyes with himself in the mirror, his ears were already flushing at their tips.

“There we go. Good boy.”

The praise eased his mind a bit, but you could still feel his heartbeat racing under your kisses, pulsing beneath your traveling fingers. All simply because of the sight of himself—a sight you wanted engraved permanently into your memories, just as badly as he wanted it removed from his. 

“Look at all these muscles. So big and strong.” You flattened your palms against his broad shoulders, trailing slowly, appreciatively, down to his biceps. Arms you used to dream about having bulge beneath your hands. Arms you had at your mercy, even in all their strength. Because it was a strength used solely to protect others, never to harm.

You wrapped your fingers around the defined muscles, too large to even close your grip entirely around. They flexed under your touch—a detail you found adorable, strangely enough.

“D-do you…” Chan licked his lips. “D’you like them?”

You smiled against his skin. Such an endearingly Chan question. Setting himself up for a response that he wouldn’t be able to handle; a response that was sure to set his face on fire and put a stammer in his speech.

“I might like them too much,” you admitted. “So pretty to look at. So irresistible to touch. So cute when I hold them down,” you mumbled the compliments between each kiss you peppered along his arm veins, protruding from his nervous hold on the sheets. “So strong, but so weak for me.”

Chan’s reaction didn’t disappoint, cheeks heating up instantly to match the burn of his ears, dimples making a timid appearance. Anything he attempted to say was lost in the shy, breathless laugh he sputtered out. You knew right about now that he was wishing he had some kind of cap, beanie—anything to pull over his face and hide away. To hear your doting words without having to face himself. Maybe then, he’d believe them.

“You work so hard, don’t you, Channie?” you cooed. “Such a strong, beautiful body for a strong, beautiful boy.”

“A-ah…please.” Chan fought back the impulse to cross his arms over his torso, solely because he didn’t want to lose the feeling of your mouth ravishing them. Instead, he squeezed his eyes closed, too flustered to bear. Your hands found his chest without warning, cupping his pecs and making him squeak. He sank his teeth into his bottom lip, a split second too late in trying to mask the pitiful noise.

“You have no idea what you do to me.” You dug your nails delicately into his chest, just enough to make him shudder. “I can’t believe you’re mine.”

To that, he didn’t object. “Yours, ‘m all yours.” It was eager, immediate, accompanied by a tilt of his head. Urging you to make it known, to leave marks of yourself all over his neck until it belonged just as much to you as it did him. 

“All mine.” You rolled his nipples delicately between your fingers, earning a broken whimper that made heat pool in your stomach. “My pretty boy.”

Chan jerked forward, every intoxicating word of praise, every drop of your attention making his arousal skyrocket. With his eyes still shut tight, all his other senses were on high alert. The serene sound of your voice reverberated all around him, the deliberate care of your touch sent tremors up his spine. You roamed further down his body, fingertips dancing over his lean abdomen, tracing the outlines of his muscles. His stomach clenched as you did; exhilarated, rising and falling with each rapid breath. He felt so vulnerable—all his pleasure, all his comfort, all his worth in the palm of your hand. More exposed than ever, yet somehow, safer than ever. He could stay blind through it all and trust you to guide him to the other side.

“Open your eyes for me, baby.”

He pressed his lips together, protest cut short when you inched dangerously close to where he needed you most.

“There,” he gasped out. “There, please.”

Mischievously, you pinched the skin right above his waistband, satisfaction rushing through you when he throbbed in the confines of his sweatpants. “Where?” you questioned, deceptively innocent. “You have to look and see.”

You drifted further down, skimming the softness of his hips and stroking his tensed thigh. “Here?”

“No,” he huffed, face scrunching in frustration. “Please, ‘s too embarrassing.”

Your hum was full of sympathy, but your hand said otherwise, moving along his inner thigh and giving it a light squeeze. “How about here?”

You knew what was coming by now. So, you snaked your legs around his waist from behind, prying his thighs apart before they could clamp together reflexively. The added contact only made Chan’s composure weaken further, a low groan spilling out of him. Practically every part of your body was pressed against his—head tucked into his neck, chest rubbing against his back, hands grasping him wherever they slid, thighs resting on his—but it wasn’t enough. He needed more before he crumbled completely against you. Or, rather, he needed more to crumble completely against you.

His eyes snapped open at last, hazy, disoriented. He blinked a few times to readjust his vision, taking in the view before him. His puffed, rosy cheeks, his neck, painted with deep, crimson marks, his arms and torso, lined with the faint drag of your nails. Every part of himself that he chose to focus on was evidence of you on his body.

“Beautiful,” you said firmly.

“Ah…th-thank you.”

His reflection peered back at him, nowhere to hide. But with it, he found his other reflection, one he could admire so wholeheartedly, one he could never run out of things to love about. When at your side, maybe he didn’t look so bad.

Your lips were by his ear again, he felt your breath fanning softly next to it, saw your mouth opening unexpectedly close to his piercing—so close that he thought you may take it between your teeth again. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to contain himself if you did.

“Where do you want me to touch you, Channie?” you whispered.

His stare dropped to your hand, more than ready for any excuse to redirect his attention from himself. You rubbed gentle circles into his thighs, traveling upwards at an agonizingly slow place. Chan sucked in through his teeth, a fresh wave of embarrassment passing over him when his dick twitched again, as if it was crying out the answer for him.

“My baby’s so shy,” you remarked playfully. “But your body isn't.”

He squirmed between your legs with a sound of pure helplessness, too worked up to handle your teasing properly—not that he ever really handled it well, in the first place. 

“P-please, need you so bad.”

You softened. “I’m here.”

His eyes followed your movements in a glimmer of hope, fixated on your hand like a puppy would with its favorite treat. When you came to brush over his bulge at last, his hips shot forward, pressing into your palm in a way that made your stomach flutter, and his twist with pleasure. He didn’t even have the chance to feel humiliated about it, not when you finally curled your fingers around him like he’d been longing for so intently, so fiercely that even thinking straight had become a challenge for him.

“Is this it?” you asked sweetly.

“Mmph, yes. There, please.”

You gave him a squeeze, feeling up the shape of his length through his sweatpants. So hard without a single touch to it, more than ready for you—desperate for you. It made the ache between your own legs take over in full. Restraint slipping, you dipped your fingers below his waistband to tug his sweatpants off. Chan reacted immediately, scrambling to raise himself from the mattress just enough for you to slide them down along with his underwear. You couldn’t even find the patience in you to remove the garments entirely, instead letting them rest halfway down his legs.

Chan’s gaze flickered back to you in the mirror, just in time to catch the way your eyes gleamed at the sight of his bare body. Length glistening with precum, pressed and dripping against his stomach. Milky thighs, dotted with delicate moles you could kiss endlessly. But you wanted to leave a different kind of mark on them, today. You ran your hands along his flesh—gentle, pacifying—then dragged your nails back up all at once, raking his skin and leaving a trail of pale lines that quickly deepened in shade. Chan inhaled sharply, throwing his head back against your shoulder, muscles constricting under your fingers.

“Pretty little thing,” you crooned. “You’re unreal.”

There was no time for him to recover—not from the delicious sting on his thighs, not from your doting words—before you took his cock into your hold at last. It sent a ripple of heat all throughout his body, almost enough to make him unravel right then and there.

You gave him a few careful pumps, delighted by the sheer amount of wetness that had dribbled from his tip, allowing you to move with ease. Using your free hand, you nudged his head from your shoulder to direct him back to the mirror. Despite knowing full well that the visual he’d be met with would turn his brain to mush, he obeyed. He would do anything you so much as suggested in that moment.

“You’re just like that moon you love so much,” you murmured. “You know that, Channie?”

It pierced through the lust occupying his thoughts, pulling him out from his haze just enough to string together a feeble response. “What—ah. What d’you mean?”

He tried not to let the sight of your fingers, sticky with his arousal, gliding up and down his most intimate spot, twisting and teasing in all the right ways like you knew his body better than he did, distract him from what you said next. If there was anything to focus on, it was you. 

“The moon can only see itself reflected in the water.” You swirled your thumb along his slit, using your other hand to run the pads of your fingers tenderly along his cheek. The combination was enough to make him dizzy. So much love, so much pleasure. He didn’t know how to handle it. He would never know how to handle it. “It doesn’t see its own beauty or light. Just the way it gets distorted by the ripples all around it.”

Before he could even fully process the comparison, Chan’s eyes began to water. This time, you knew without a shadow of a doubt that it was happiness imbued in those tears. A happiness the both of you still needed adjusting to.

“So, look at yourself clearly, now,” you encouraged, pressing a kiss to his temple. “Look at your reflection when it isn’t broken.”

It may have been too much for him at once; such adoration amidst everything else he was experiencing. The stimulation to every last one of his nerve endings, the bliss consuming his body and mind, robbing him of any coherent thought. But you needed to say it just as much as he needed to hear it. You wanted all the pleasure, all the love he felt in that moment to be associated with himself.

“O-oh, wow,” he choked out. “I…I don’t…”

I don’t deserve this. You could hear it on the tip of his tongue, clear as day. But he was too awestruck to protest, too awestruck to even speak. You felt a tinge of protectiveness—he was so far gone.

“D-dunno what to s-say,” he stammered. You knew it was taking every ounce of his strength not to bury his face into the crook of your neck, to let himself go completely and forget about anything that wasn’t you.

“It’s okay, Channie. You don’t have to say anything. Just look.”

You studied him in the mirror, nearly melting when you noticed him blinking the few, fragile droplets from his eyes—listening diligently to you, clearing his vision from any water that might distort it. He drank in his reflection in full, stiff, uneasy, but relaxing slightly between your legs when you pressed another kiss to his cheek.

“So pretty, every inch of you.” Your hand resumed its stroking, sliding down to the base of his length, cupping him gently. “Even prettier when you’re filling me up.”

“Oh my gosh,” he gasped, jerking in your grip. Even with the mirror there to guide him, he struggled to coordinate his hand movements, pawing aimlessly behind him to find some part of you to grab onto, some part of you to anchor himself with. “Please, please. Wanna feel you.”

“I know, baby boy,” you shushed him. “You’re dripping so much. Poor thing.”

You dragged your index finger along the underside of his cock one last time before pulling away with a light flick. Chan barely stopped himself from surging forward, chasing your hand like an instinct. That, coupled with the mewl he let out when he registered the sudden loss of your body heat around him, tugged at your heart just as much as it spiked your adrenaline. You made quick work of removing your clothes, well aware of his eyes, wide as moons, watching you undress through the mirror, waiting for you to return to him. Restless, yearning, but obedient above all else.

He reached for you the instant you settled back in his lap, hovering over your waist for just a second before ultimately latching on, skin on skin, a whole new layer of heat. You took his length back into your grasp, turning your body so that you were both facing your dresser mirror. You could hear Chan’s breathing pick up behind you, feel his chest expanding against your back.

“See that, Channie?” You dragged the head of his dick along your folds, coating it with your own wetness. “Just looking at you gets me like this.”

If all you’d said wasn’t enough, maybe the physical proof of his effects on you would help do the trick. A sweet, desperate vocalization, so rife with need that you could practically taste it, was all he could manage. It morphed into a moan as you sank down on him all at once—loud, absolutely shameless. You would never think it came from the boy who couldn’t even catch a glimpse of himself without being reduced to a flustered wreck. Just as your heat engulfed him, his engulfed you. It came more intensely than ever before, more staggering than even your first time together, bolting through your veins and making you suppress a gasp. You clenched around his cock, relishing in the feeling of him pressed so snugly inside you, as close as physically possible. So comforting in its familiarity, so exhilarating in its return. It was something you could only describe as relief, relief in the warmth, the fullness, the completion you brought to each other.

Chan’s head fell forward with a whimper, chin resting against your shoulder, clinging to you so tightly that it was difficult to move. You weren’t even sure if he was aware of it, a subconscious desire to stay buried inside you, not wanting to lose the security of your walls wrapped around him for even a second. 

“Missed you so much,” he slurred into your skin. “W-wanna stay like this forever.”

You reached back to cradle his head, running your fingers through his hair. “I missed you too, angel. Missed the way you fill me up so perfectly.”

You lifted yourself until just the head of his cock was left pulsing inside you. When you noticed Chan’s blissed out expression in the mirror—eyes fluttered shut, lips swollen against your shoulder, eyebrows knitted together—a golden opportunity presented itself. It took him a second or two to realize that you weren’t sliding back down, another soft plea rumbling in his throat, vibrating into your skin. You gave his scalp an affectionate scratch, prompting him to look. This time, he listened without question, driven solely by the need to feel your wet heat around him again.

“Good boy.” You took him back inside immediately, not keen on being apart for much longer, either. He gritted his teeth as you did, trying his best to keep his gaze leveled with his reflection for you, for your satisfaction, for your approval. But nothing could’ve prepared him for what came out of your mouth next. 

“See how perfect you look when you’re inside me, Channie? See all the pretty faces you make? My pretty baby, feeling so good. Making me feel so good.”

At that, the precious little that had remained of Chan’s composure fizzled out completely. His hands flew up to cover his face, hot with shame, burning with arousal. The filthy sight of him pushing in and out of you, the wet sounds filling his ears, the teasing lilt of your voice. It was all too much. He shoved his nose into his palms, letting out a cute, mortified wail that echoed throughout the bedroom, mixing with your breathless giggles. 

Even as you continued riding him, he stayed hidden behind the safety net of his fingers, shyness turned back up to full blast with no signs of disappearing. It only added to the pressure building up inside your abdomen to see him so overwhelmed, each muffled grunt and soft whimper of his spurring you on. Your words from earlier rang truer than ever—he was so weak for you.

You allowed him to stay that way for the sake of his sanity, petting his head with a gentleness that contrasted the steady pace of your bouncing. It wasn’t until you felt his cock begin to jerk inside you that he pulled his hands away from his face with a choked noise, reaching out for you once more.

“Can’t take it—mmph—‘m getting close! ‘M s-sorry!”

His fingers dug deep into your flesh, igniting heat at every point of contact. You basked in the feeling for as long as you could, then halted your movements altogether, pulling off of him in one fell swoop. The loss made both of your bodies cry out in protest. Chan hiccuped pathetically, mouth falling open, confused blinks reflecting in the mirror when your softness, your warmth, escaped him without warning.

He trembled underneath you, tugging at your waist as he tried to get a handle on his voice. With care, you turned in his lap to come face to face with him again, moving slowly enough as not to break his hold on you, not even for a moment.

“Did I…” he panted. “Did I do something wrong?”

You brushed your thumb over his forehead, wiping away the beads of sweat that had begun to accumulate. “No, baby. You’re doing so well for me,” you assured him. “But you wanna finish together, don’t you?”

It was almost funny, in a sense, how the way Chan’s face lit up—how his features flooded with pure delight—made your heart flutter more than anything else. More than any irresistible sound he let out, more than any way he let you use his body to your heart’s content. You were just as captivated, just as endeared, just as hopelessly taken with him as that night in May, walking home alongside him under the moonlight and knowing your fate was sealed.

“Y-yeah, together. Together, please.” He leaned forward, nose finding your neck, taking in your scent. “Can we stay like this? Wanna see you.”

Your hand found his length again, wrapping just tight enough around it to make him jolt. “Hm…you can see me in the mirror though, can’t you?”

“Please,” he repeated, pouty lips brushing against your skin. “Only wanna see you. Need you.”

You relented. Regardless of how badly you wanted to get the message across to him, regardless of how addictive you found the sight of him on display in ways you’d never seen before, you knew he’d just about reached his limit. And, well, maybe you needed him too. Needed to watch him fall apart right before your very eyes, needed to have every bit of your skin pressed against his, needed to kiss him when it all became too much for his foggy mind.

“You’re so cute. I’ve got you, baby.” You tilted his chin up with your free hand, half-lidded doe eyes finding yours. Knowing him, the eye contact wouldn’t last long before he was ducking away again. So, you took advantage of it, realigning him with you and watching his features flood with pleasure as you sank down on him once more. He had to stop himself from bucking up into you, body stiffening with effort, a breathy, grateful moan, nothing short of angelic, slipping past his lips.

“You’ve gotta hold on for a bit, alright?” You gave his shoulders a squeeze. “Let me know when you’re close. Can you do that for me, Channie?”

His arms wrapped around you in full, no longer content with just his hands on your waist. “Mhm.” He barely mustered up a nod, pulling himself closer to you in a way that burrowed his cock impossibly deeper inside. “Promise. W-wanna make you feel good, too. Wanna be a good boy for you.”

“My good boy,” you cooed. “See how well you fit inside me? See how good you make me feel?” You clenched around him as you dragged yourself up his length, snapping back down with a delicious speed. “You were made for me.”

“M-made for you,” he agreed, head falling forward to nestle into your chest. “Ah—fuck! You’re so warm. Feels s-so good.”

You dug your nails into his muscles, using your grip on him for leverage as you began working your way up to a pace even more vigorous than before. Immediately, the new angle took a toll on Chan. It allowed the head of his length to rub directly against your sweet spot with each rock of your hips, making the both of you shudder. You could feel his mouth fall open against you to let out an especially sharp cry, nibbling mindlessly at your flesh, matching your rhythm.

“You’re mine, t-too, right? Gonna stay with me?” he babbled into your skin. “Please, tell me you’ll stay. I’ll be good for you. P-please.”

The coil in your chest twisted just as tight as the one in your abdomen. You knew his thoughts were muddled, ridding him of any filter and making him ramble in the heat of the moment. But you also knew it stemmed from a very real fear, one that you would never feed into again.

“You’re already so good for me, Channie. You’re perfect. My perfect boy,” you spoke as steadily as your erratic movements and shaky breath would allow, ensuring that each reassurance found him. “I’m not going anywhere, okay? I’m here ‘cause I love you.”

Chan whined, ringing out loud and clear even through the softness of your chest. “Love you. I love you so much.” He nuzzled further into you, strengthening his hold around you, hands pawing at your sides. The words seemed to have opened the floodgates within him, like he’d been waiting to hear them—the catalyst for him to lose himself in you completely. “Love you, love you, love you. ‘M almost th-there.”

This time, there was a short delay before you could bring yourself to stop. You didn’t want to let go of him again, no amount of time would be tolerable enough. So, you stayed perfectly still, indulging selfishly in the feeling of him inside you without snapping the final thread just yet. Chan lifted his head, disoriented, biting down on his bottom lip to fight back a pathetic groan as his climax was denied once more. You could feel his thighs quivering under yours, his arms flexing around you, his cock twitching wildly against your walls. Every bit of his energy was being expended to hold himself together, to endure it however many times you saw fit.

“You’re doing so well, baby boy. Lasting so long for me.” You twirled a lock of his damp curls around your finger, hoping to keep him grounded enough to hang on just a bit more. 

“Y-yeah? ‘M doing okay?” He brushed his nose against yours, a silent plea that you understood all too well by now. “Making you feel good?”

“So good, Channie. I’m getting close, too.” You closed the gap between you and him before his wordless request became another whine, taking his swollen lips between yours. They were hot, pillowy, unbelievably wet. You tried your best not to flutter around him, but it was impossible not to when he was humming so eagerly into your mouth, kissing without an ounce of self-control left in his system. His movements were sloppy, uncoordinated, but each messy slide of his lips sent another jolt through your senses. The hug he’d enveloped you in loosened at last, hands wandering obsessively over your body until he found your chest. He paused for a moment, mumbling out something that made drool drip from the corner of his mouth.

“Mmph, c-can I? Wanna touch, please.”

Even now, he was clinging to the last few shreds of his rationality for you, thinking of you above all else when the promise of his climax was dangling right in front of his face. It took the arousal coursing through your veins to a whole new degree, so intensely that you had to stop yourself from sinking your teeth into his lips out of raw affection. 

“Go ahead, baby,” you murmured.

Chan cupped the soft flesh in an instant, sighing like he was slipping into a dream. His kisses became near-frantic, so drunk on you that he had trouble staying confined to just your lips, landing on the corner of your mouth, all over your cheeks, pecking and sucking any spot he could. Despite that, his hands were gentle, kneading at your flesh in a delicate back and forth pattern that calmed him and kindled a fresh warmth in your body. He was doing so well for you, trying his absolute best for you. You wanted to give him everything. You wanted to take his heart that he offered up to you so willingly, and give him yours in return.

“Ready to keep going, Channie? Can you take it?”

“Y-yeah. Yes, please,” he breathed. “Gonna do it for you. I’ll do anything.”

“My sweet boy.” You cupped his cheeks, steadying his clumsy kisses, but holding him just close enough to keep him content. He hissed softly as you began moving again, rolling your hips down so that his length grinded against your walls, stimulating every nerve-ending inside you. The heat building between your bodies became much harder to ignore, filling the air around you and seeping into your skin. It was heavy, thick, but it made you feel lighter than ever. Your high was drawing near, and, judging by the way Chan’s hips stuttered with less and less restraint, you knew he wouldn’t be able to hold back for much longer either.

The pads of his fingers dug into your breasts just as he let out a warning moan. “Oh God, ‘m sorry. Please, don’t wanna finish without you. So—ngh—close.”

You grinded down against him, spine tingling when Chan yelped in response, so sharp it almost sounded like he was in pain. “Mm, just a little more, baby boy. You can do that for me, can’t you?”

“I-I…oh, please,” he swallowed hard, eyebrows scrunching together as you dragged yourself all the way up his length, mind-numbingly slow. “Yeah, I can do it. I’ll be g-good.”

Your hands traveled up to his hair, tangling in his curls and pulling at them just hard enough to make goosebumps rise at his nape. “Channie listens so well,” you purred. “You were made to please, hm? Good boy, good boy.”

If your honeyed praises weren’t enough to push him alarmingly close to the edge, the way you squeezed around him as you sank back down, wrapping him in your heat all the way to his base surely was. Chan surged forward with a sob, head falling into your shoulder, fingers grasping at you helplessly.

“Your good boy,” he whimpered. “Please, please, ‘m not gonna l-last.”

You cradled the back of his head. “It’s too much, huh angel?” you pouted. “You can let it all out, now.”

“Together?” You could hear the strain in his voice, mere seconds away from losing it completely. “Together—ah—right?”

“Together.”

At that, you gave one last sloppy glide along his length, snapping the tension in both of you at once. Chan cried out, teeth grazing against your shoulder, hips surging up to push as far into you as your bodies would allow. A delicious heat seared through your senses, only amplified by the flood of his release coating your insides, stronger than ever from how long he’d been holding back. You tried to keep your own sounds under control, far more entranced by the ones slipping from his trembling lips. Mewls of your name, slurring out how much he loved you, chanting his gratitude like a mantra as you guided him through your shared high.

Minutes or hours could’ve passed and you wouldn’t have known the difference—you wouldn’t have minded either way. Eventually, the shivers in Chan’s body faded out, his panting evened into softer, more peaceful breaths. When he finally found it in him to pull his head from the comfort of your neck, droplets had begun to form in his eyes again. Not enough to spill down his cheeks quite yet, just enough to glaze his pupils over with happy tears, just enough to make them shine.

Your fingers danced absentmindedly in his hair, serving as a different pleasure from the kind that had just rocked your bodies. “You did so well for me, Channie. I’m proud of you.”

He blinked up at you. Slow, lazy, a dreamy smile tugging at his lips. “You’re s’ beautiful.”

“Sweet baby,” you murmured. “I hope you think the same when you see yourself.”

Anything he planned to say trailed off when you reached down for his hand, bringing it up to your lips. He was still buried deep inside you, hypersensitive to every little movement, every little touch, but he did his best not to squirm as you pressed kisses to his fingertips, paying extra attention to the fading cut on his thumb. The pain was long gone, now. Still, it made a few glistening tears trickle out delicately. You kissed them away, too.

“You’re still my favorite reflection.”

Shy, barely audible, but spoken with all the sincerity in the world. Butterflies erupted in your stomach. It was a start, at least. Maybe the parts of yourselves that you loved in each other, you could eventually come to love in yourselves.

“Can we—?”

“Stay like this?” you finished for him, a smile creeping up on your lips. “Yeah, we can.”

He bumped his forehead against yours, letting out an exhausted giggle, eyes crinkling and dimples flashing. He was glazed with sweat, skin sticky, damp curls pressed to his forehead, but he shone with every ray of light that slipped through your blinds.

The urge to check on him, to fuss over him, to care for him, still nagged at your mind. That was something that would never change. You wanted to clean him up, wash away the soreness and soothe the marks all over his body. But he didn’t need any of that right now. He just needed you. That was it. From day one, it had been as simple as that. You didn’t need to do anything. You didn’t need to prove anything. You just needed each other. Maybe, you could stay wrapped up in the mess you’d left on each other’s bodies for a while—bask in it, even. 

Chan’s innocent nuzzles inevitably led to another kiss. Soft, but just as hungry for you, just as desperate to stay immersed in this moment. You shifted slightly on his lap, making your heart jump and making him jolt against you. The poorly concealed sound that built up in his throat might’ve made you giggle if you didn’t need him just as much. No more limits. No more restraint. You didn’t have to worry about taking him in moderation.

You wanted each other endlessly. You fell into each other again and again.

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

A sudden buzz against your nightstand cut through the tranquil rhythm of breath that filled your bedroom, pulling you from the haze of sleep that had been pricking at your mind’s edges. It was a brief, low vibration, but still loud enough for you to worry that it may wake the boy in your arms. For once, you allowed yourself to be unavailable, not daring to disturb his peace for even a moment to roll over and read the notification. You already had a good idea of who it might be, anyway: Changbin, triple checking what time you’d all be meeting up for jjajangmyeon on Friday. The thought alone made fondness bubble up inside you, lips curling into a private smile. After four years of tardiness, absences, and missed deadlines, this was the one thing he was determined to be on time for.

Graduation was two days away. You and Changbin’s class ceremony would take place in the early morning, while Chan’s was scheduled for later that same night. Timed seamlessly with the rise of the sun and the moon. The finish line that you’d been terrified of for so long was a mere few steps away, but when viewed up close, it wasn’t quite so daunting anymore. Even if the path you walked next was still unfamiliar, uncarved by anyone before you to clear the way, you knew who you’d be walking it with, and you knew where it would lead you. You’d walk side by side with Chan, towards something better.

His family had flown in from Australia earlier in the week to visit, to attend his ceremony—to celebrate him. An occasion that was just as precious to them even with the bitter memories that surrounded it, even in its delay, even if Chan had spent the past two years convincing himself otherwise. He’d been a nervous wreck before leaving to meet with them when they first arrived, you could see it in every awkward shift of his feet, every subconscious rub of his neck, every unnecessary adjustment of his clothes. However much you’d tried to comfort him beforehand, however many grateful smiles he’d given you, you’d known that there was no real way to ease his apprehension. He hadn’t seen them in person for over a year, and, even prior to that, it’d been two years since he’d had an interaction with them that wasn’t engulfed in shame.

But when he’d returned, he had a smile that almost reached his eyes; hopeful. It hadn’t been perfect, everything wasn’t okay yet, but the seed had at least been planted for it to blossom one day. He’d missed them so much. It made your heart sing and ache at the same time. You only wished that he’d believed he deserved to see them before now—to stand in front of them as the son and brother that they loved, not as the collection of faults and disappointments he saw himself as. 

Though, you supposed you weren’t exactly one to talk. Your family would be coming into the city on the day of your ceremony as well, a very blatant reminder that you had yet to visit your hometown again like you’d promised them over the summer.

You weren’t quite ready to return yet. But just like Chan, you would be, one day. And you would try again. Of all the things you’d come to learn in your time with him, the value of upholding a promise was undoubtedly the most important one. You weren’t going to run. You would try as many times as it took until your home felt like home again, until you remembered all the good times, until the memories laced in every crack and crevice didn’t add to the sting in your skin, but eased it. 

You eyed Chan’s form through the darkness, nestled against you with his head buried in the softness of your chest—sound asleep, for once. 

Your arm was still draped over his waist, lingering at the small of his back where you’d been rubbing as he drifted off. In turn, his muscular arm was wrapped securely around you. Holding each other, protecting each other. An endless cycle of drawing strength from one another without growing any weaker in the process. You could give him everything, and not lose a single drop of yourself.

For the first time, you could hold someone in your arms without that underlying sense of dread spreading its roots in your mind. For the first time, your heart was still. A calm and clear surface of a lake, one that you hoped could reflect Chan’s light in its truest, most unbroken form.

You were no longer held together by a butterfly bandage, an ill-fitted adhesive, forcibly closing your wounds without giving them the chance to heal properly. At last, you were stitched up. Stitched up by the very same thread of fate that had brought you and Chan together. 

You didn’t have to ask to know that he felt the same. You could feel his emotions like they were your own, after all.

spots on!

THIRTY-EIGHT / i should have known

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warnings: mentions of violence/murder, mention of cheating kinda, that’s it afaik

word count: 4.5k (sorry)

THE LAST FEW DAYS HAD BEEN A WHIRLWIND OF EMOTIONS. Not only were you still trying to decide how to proceed on your Chat Noir issue, you were also battling a never ending wave of anxiety. 

You had never been invited to a fancy event before—and definitely not a fashion event. You still couldn’t believe you had gotten an invitation to the Choi Designs launch party. For the last few weeks you had known about it, you’d spent every second you weren’t thinking about Chat Noir trying to plan the perfect outfit. You needed to prove you knew a thing or two about fashion before you attempted to network with the other attendees. 

The fashion world was extremely daunting, but you were confident in your abilities. Even though yes, you were wracked with nerves, you also knew you would be able to pull out on top alright. Design was in your blood, and today was the day you would get to prove that. 

Today was not going to be about Yeonjun, or Chat Noir, or any man for that matter. 

“Okay, Jeongin just texted me to tell me he, Gyu and Heeseung are on their way.” Sieun announced as she walked into your room. After lots of convincing, you had finally agreed to let Heeseung drive the five of you to the event, so long as he dropped you off a block away. Apparently Beomgyu had gotten the okay from Yeonjun to take Jeongin and Heeseung, so now you were all going. 

You nodded, while you smoothed your hands over the bottom of your dress. You had decided on a mini dress inspired by vintage Chanel you made recently, and a long black ribbon tied around your neck that trailed down your back. To top it all off, you wore your most expensive pair of black heels, courtesy of Choi Designs themselves. It was elegant, but also cute. 

“Ahh, Y/N! You look so good!” Sieun sang, running up to hug you from behind. You giggled and looked away to try to hide your embarrassment. “You’re going to knock the socks off of everyone there!” 

“Yeah, I hope so.” You said quietly, your eyes trained on yourself in the mirror. “Sie… Can you tell me that I’m a good designer? That I’m going to make it? I’m just really nervous.” It was an embarrassing thing to ask her, but she was your closest friend. If anyone was going to ease your nerves, it was Sieun. 

She smiled at you through the mirror, then gently spun you around to face her. “Y/N. I’m not just saying this because you asked me to. You are seriously one of the most talented people I know. I mean, you designed your own Ladybug suit, and you designed this gorgeous dress… You’re going to get offered internships to all of the best fashion companies in this city.” 

Her hands gripped onto you tightly, and you could feel your nerves slowly melting away. “Just… If you end up becoming a rich and famous designer, you can’t forget about me, okay? We still need to start our magazine together one day.” With that, she pulled you in for a tight hug, burying her face in your neck. 

You hugged her back, smiling into her long, blonde hair. “Thank you. And don’t worry, I don’t think I could ever forget you.” 

A loud, horrible noise filled the space outside your apartment, and unfortunately you recognized that song. “Jesus, Hee has got to get a new horn for that thing.” Sieun muttered, pulling away from the hug with a quiet sniffle. 

You giggled. “He needs to get a whole new car is what he really needs.” 

The two of you left your apartment, and wandered down to the street to see that Heeseung had actually parked semi-normally (his front tire was up on the curb). Even more surprising, it looked like he had taken Dongshik through a car wash. 

“Ladies!” Heeseung greeted you, sticking his head out the car window. “You both look great, especially you, Sieun. Y/N, you look okay.” 

As Jeongin pulled open the van door, you frowned. “So, we don’t both look great?” 

Heeseung hummed. “I guess not. Just Sieun.” 

You rolled your eyes. His attempt at flirting was pathetic, really.

As you got into the van, Jeongin stared at you with wide eyes. “Wow, Y/N. You look pretty. I mean, not pretty pretty. Nice, I mean. You look nice. Just normal. I haven’t ever considered you attractive. That would be weird. You’re my friend.” He started to ramble. 

“Why are you acting like a freak?” You asked, sitting down next to Beomgyu in the backseat. 

“I’m not! Stop looking at me!” Jeongin cried out, and turned to rest his head against his window. 

Beomgyu nudged you. “Did you make that dress?” He asked. 

You nodded. “Yep. Just finished it a few nights ago.” 

“Cool. It looks really nice. Like something Yeonjun’s dad would make.” He told you encouragingly, and you couldn’t help flushing at the comment. 

“Thank you, Gyu. That means a lot coming from someone who barely knows anything about fashion.”

He frowned. “Hey! What’s that even supposed to mean?” 

“It’s not a bad thing! It just means if you think it’s good, then maybe it is good!” You insisted, grabbing onto his arm to reassure him. 

He glared at you, but still smiled. “Don’t worry. Yeonjun’s dad will offer you a job on the spot. We all know it’s true.”

“Yeah, he would be crazy not to.” Jeongin added.

God, you hoped so.

IT TOOK YOU A WHOLE TWO SECONDS TO SPOT HIM. Even though he was just in a sleek, black suit, and seemed to blend in with the crowd, he still managed to stick out like a sore thumb. No matter how hard you were trying to move on from him, you would always be able to pick him out even in a crowd of a million people. 

There was just something about Choi Yeonjun that would forever draw you to him. 

You were standing by the entrance of the event with your friends, getting a good look at all the guests. You recognized quite a few designers, as well as some models and journalists. The guest list was as if someone had taken all of your favorite inspirations, and sent them all invitations. Intimidated wasn't a big enough word to describe how you were feeling. 

And then you saw him. He was talking to some people, laughing as though he didn’t have a single care in the world. His dark hair was slicked back, with a few strands strategically pulled out to fall in front of his eyes. He clearly wasn’t wearing a shirt under his suit jacket, as his bare chest was exposed all the way to the third button. Choi Yeonjun looked beautiful. 

For a second, you felt the river of your feelings beating against the dam you’d built to hold them back, creating cracks and threatening to break through. But, then you saw her. Choi Yena, with her arm looped around his own, looking up at him with eyes full of adoration. 

The river started to still. 

“Y/N? Are you okay?” Sieun asked, appearing at your side. She looped her arm through yours, the same way Yena had to Yeonjun. 

You glanced over at her, and nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine. Don’t worry about it.” When she didn’t seem convinced, you flashed her the most genuine smile you could muster up. 

“Come on, let’s go say hi to people!” Beomgyu shouted, squishing in between you and Sieun to throw his arms around the two of you. 

Just as you were about to ask what people?, he started leading you in the direction of the last person you wanted to talk to. “What? No, Beomgyu. I don’t wanna talk to him.” You said quickly. You tried your best to stop him, but your heels were making that a bit difficult. 

“Come on, just for two seconds! And his dad is over there, you wanna talk to him, right?” He whined into your ear. He was right, unfortunately. You were most looking forward to talking to Mr. Choi, and he was standing near Yeonjun and his girlfriend. You supposed this was the best time to introduce yourself. 

“Hey! Jun!” Yeonjun’s attention to whatever conversation he was in was lost when Beomgyu called out his name, and that was when his dark eyes landed on you for the first time that day. You should have looked away, and avoided his gaze, but you couldn’t. You were like a moth, and Yeonjun’s eyes were made up of flames. There was also something so familiar in them, something so…

A thought appeared in your head. A terrible, almost invasive thought. It couldn’t be true, though. That would be crazy, insane even. It would mean you were an absolute idiot. Worst of all, it would mean…

Your fingers drifted up to your lips, and you found yourself avoiding looking at Yeonjun. 

“Oh, babe! Are these your friends?” A feminine voice cooed, and you felt yourself grow nauseous.

“Y-Yeah, some of them. Yena, this is Beomgyu, Sieun, Heeseung, Jeongin, and…” He paused, swallowing hard. “…Y/N.” 

“Oh, Y/N! She’s the designer, right?” Yena practically gushed, and you nodded weakly. “Did you design that dress? It’s seriously gorgeous, I need one of those! It’s gorgeous, right, Yeonjun?” You glanced up to see Yeonjun staring at you, his eyes still widened like he had seen a ghost.

“Yeah. Gorgeous.” He replied, without ever looking down at the dress. 

You glanced away, hoping to find some sort of way to escape this conversation. By this point, you were sure your embarrassment was becoming visible, and if you stood there any longer, you thought your head might end up exploding. 

“You know, Y/N actually designed both Chat Noir and Ladybug’s suits.” Sieun randomly decided to inform the couple, and you practically snapped your neck to stare at her incredulously. 

Yeonjun, who had just taken a sip of his champagne glass, started choking. 

“Wow, really? I mean, I had heard about Chat Noir, but I didn’t know she did Ladybug’s too.” Yena continued the conversation casually, her gloved hand gently patting Yeonjun’s back as he coughed into a napkin. 

“Most people don’t.” You said through gritted teeth. 

Yeonjun finished coughing after a minute, and flashed you all an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I don’t know what just happened. Um, Y/N, I didn’t know you knew Ladybug.” He tilted his head at you curiously. 

“Oh. Umm, no, I wouldn’t say I know her. It was actually Sieun who set it all up! Yes, Sieun! You know, she’s good friends with Ladybug, so when she mentioned needing a new suit, Sieun recommended me!” You were impressed by how quickly you made up the lie, and Yeonjun seemed convinced enough as he nodded slowly. 

Beomgyu, Heeseung and Jeongin had seemingly checked out of the conversation a long time ago, and you noticed a slight redness to their eyes as they took turns investigating a centerpiece. You couldn’t believe you had let Heeseung drive you there when he had obviously smoked something. 

You glanced around the crowd of people, until your eyes finally fell on the person you wanted to talk to: Mr. Choi. And luckily for you, it looked like he was about to wrap up his conversation, which meant there was an opening for you. 

“Um, it’s been really nice meeting you, Yena, but I’m hoping to go get a word in with Mr. Choi, so I’m going to head over.” You gave the girl a polite smile, and were starting to walk away when you felt her grab your wrist. 

“Wait! You should have Yeonjun go and introduce you! It’s his dad, after all!” She suggested, an almost crazed smile playing on her lips. 

“What a good idea!” Sieun added in. You sent her a you-told-me-you-would-keep-me-away-from-him glare, but she feigned innocence as she grinned at Yena. 

You awkwardly glanced up at Yeonjun, who seemed just as unnerved about the idea as you. “Oh, I’m not sure—I mean, if you want me to, that’s fine, but—if you’d rather go alone—“

“Nonsense! Of course she wants you to go with her, babe!” Yena practically shoved him in your direction. 

The last thing you wanted was to introduce yourself to one of your icons, and make yourself look like a fool due to your crush on his son. The darned haired boy looked down at you, smiling apologetically. And in that moment, it hit you:

You’re totally not over Yeonjun.

“Um, then, shall we?” He asked. 

“O-Okay.” You stammered out. 

You shot Sieun one last glare as you and Yeonjun started to walk off in the direction of his father, and then the two of you were alone together. As you walked, you had to keep your arms folded across your stomach, too scared of the possibility of your hand brushing against his. You couldn’t believe yourself. Just a few days earlier, you were making out with Chat Noir on your sofa, and here you were, freaking out over the same crush you thought you were through with. 

A small part of you wished the cat man was there. He had always been good at relaxing your nerves. 

“I’m sorry about Yena. She can be a little… Pushy sometimes.” Yeonjun randomly spoke up. 

You laughed. “Yeah, I can see that.” 

He laughed as well, and if you could bottle up the sound of his laughter and keep it forever, you would. For a minute, the space between the two of you grew quiet, and even though the thought of talking to him terrified you, you also hated the silence. 

“Yeonjun?” You called out his name quietly, and he looked down at you with curious eyes. You swallowed hard, your hands becoming clammy. “I—you don’t have to do this. I don’t want…” Your voice trailed off as you tried to find the right words. 

“You don’t want…?”

“I don’t want you to think I’m only friends with you so I can get close to your dad.” You finally said. 

The space became quiet again. 

He sucked in a breath. “So, we’re friends?” He asked, a hint of doubt in his voice, and you felt yourself start to panic. 

“Oh! I mean, I think we’re friends, but if you don’t consider us friends, then that’s okay. I don’t want to overstep and be weird or anything, I just thought—“

“Y/N, relax.” You watched as he rested one of his hands on your shoulder, your eyes growing wide. “I think we’re friends. It’s just nice to hear it from you.” He spoke quietly, and you felt your face become warm. 

When you finally gained the courage to look up, you were surprised to see how close the two of you were now. His dark eyes were gazing into your own, flickering between them as though he was looking for something. Then, they dipped down to look at your lips. 

“Yeonjun! Y/N! Yeonjun quickly retracted his hand when a voice called out to the two of you, and you turned around to see Kai running up to the two of you. “It’s Beomgyu! He’s in the bathroom, throwing up, and he keeps asking for you guys!” 

You furrowed your eyebrows, looking over at Yeonjun to exchange a confused look with him. That didn’t exactly sound like Beomgyu. But, there was really no reason you could think of that Kai would be lying to you, so you let out a sigh. “Okay, take us to him.”

IN HINDSIGHT, YOU DEFINITELY SHOULD HAVE KNOWN KAI WAS MAKING THINGS UP. But, it seemed like being in Yeonjun’s proximity was enough to cloud your judgment, like his presence was intoxicating to you or something. You weren’t thinking very clearly as you trailed behind Kai towards the bathrooms, instead you were mostly focusing on how good Yeonjun’s suit made his back look. 

You were a bit confused when you made it to the room Kai was claiming to be the bathroom, and found not only all of your friends, but most of Yeonjun’s as well. 

“He’s in there!” Sieun exclaimed dramatically, pointing a finger at the door. “One second he was fine, talking to Jeongin and Heeseung about the tablecloths being used, and the next, he said he felt like his stomach was going to explode, and he ran into the bathroom!”

“Okay, but why does he want us?” Yeonjun asked. 

“I don’t know, he said he wanted his two closest friends!”

You looked over at Sieun, looking for any sign of a lie in her face, but saw nothing. Either she was a really great liar, or something was actually wrong with Beomgyu. You let out a frustrated sigh, looking down at your white dress. 

“I swear to god, if he gets vomit all over this dress, you’re all paying for it.” You snapped, making sure to point at Soobin specifically. 

With that, you opened the door, Yeonjun standing close behind you. But, when you peered inside the room, it was very obviously not a bathroom. Instead, it looked more like some kind of supply closet. There were some folded chairs lined against the wall, and some shelves that looked like they held some cleaning supplies. 

“This isn’t a bathroom…? Where’s Gyu--?”

Before there was even time for the question to leave your lips, Yeonjun was stumbling into you as though someone had shoved him from behind, forcing the two of you into the room. 

“Sorry, guys!” You heard Beomgyu yell, before the door was slammed shut in your face and locked.

You couldn’t believe it. Your stupid friends who knew you were trying to get over Yeonjun decided to lock you into a room with him! Apparently you were friends with a group of sick and twisted individuals. An angry growl ripped through your throat, and the next thing you knew, you started pounding your fist against the door.

“Choi-Fucking-Beomgyu, you open this fucking door right now!” You screamed, and swore you could hear his muffled giggles from the other side of the door. You tried slamming your fist against the thick wooden door a few times, but one particular strike caused you to hiss in pain and forced you to stop. 

“Shit, are you okay?” Yeonjun asked quickly, rushing over and cradling your hand gently. 

You nodded. You were still seething with rage at the fact you were cooped up in here with him, but could feel it slowly dissipating. “I’m so sorry. My friends--our friends are so dumb. I-I don’t even know why they would lock us up in here together.” You muttered, glancing over at the door. That was a lie, you definitely knew why they would do that.

Yeonjun let out a bitter laugh. “Yeah, I have a few ideas.” 

“What do you mean?” You asked, looking up at him suspiciously. Did he know about your crush on him? Had Beomgyu told him? Oh, you were totally going to beat the shit out of him when you got out of there.

“Oh… Nothing…” He let go of your hand, and instead reached up to rub the back of his neck awkwardly. 

You nodded slowly, and leaned back against the wall. He was pressed against the one opposite of you, taking an interest in his dress shoes that he lazily clicked together. You weren’t sure what your friends were trying to accomplish, since there was no way you were going to confess to Yeonjun any time soon, especially not in some supply closet at his father’s party. 

Speaking of his father, he cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. I know you wanted to meet my dad, and some of the other people here.” He spoke quietly.

You shrugged, pressing your lips together. “It’s fine. I guess I can always meet them some other time, right?” You smiled at him weakly, and he nodded. “I still have time… I think.” 

“You’re going to be fine, Y/N. You know, I meet a lot of young designers who come and do work for my dad and whatnot, and I don’t think any of them hold a candle to you.” 

You met his gaze with wide eyes. “Really?” You asked. 

Suddenly, you were hit with a wave of deja vu. This was exactly like your conversation you’d had with Chat Noir a few days ago, where he was comforting you about the exact guy you were talking to now. The guy who you thought had never really noticed you before. But, also the guy with a girlfriend. You had almost forgotten all about her, which you felt like made you a horrible person. 

“Um, Yena, she’s nice.” You said. 

“Yena. Yeah, she is. She’s very nice.”

The atmosphere had become so awkward, you wanted to scream. 

“About Yena… I’m not sure why I’m telling you this, but--”

Once again, just when the conversation was starting to get somewhere, you were interrupted by the feeling of your phone buzzing. You held up a finger, indicating for Yeonjun to pause, and dug your phone out of your small bag to see a text from Sieun. 

so… lol we messed up and the lock on the door is broken…

and

please don’t hate me

someone at the party just got akumatized

You gaped at your phone with wide eyes. “Shit…” You mumbled on your breath, wandering over to the door to give the handle a wiggle. You weren’t sure why you were expecting anything to happen. You were about to just transform into Ladybug right there, then remembered that Yeonjun was stuck in the room with you. “Shit!”

“What is it?” The man in question queried. 

You let out a frustrated sigh. “Um… Our friends broke the door… And apparently someone got Akumatized out there.” 

Yeonjun’s dark eyes widened. “Are you serious?” He demanded, and you nodded feverishly. 

“Yes!” You groaned. Then, an idea struck you. “Wait! I think I know somebody who can help! Hold on…” You opened up the Twitter app, thumb darting around to open up your direct messages. 

“Wait, it’s okay! I’ll get my dad to send someone over and fix the door!” Yeonjun tried to assure you, but you ignored him, opening up your messages with Chat Noir. 

s.o.s i’m locked in a room at this party and someone got akumatized 

You sent him the message, and less than ten seconds after you sent it, you heard Yeonjun’s phone go off. 

Oh.

The room became silent, as the two of you stared at the phone in his hands. Just to test it out, you sent another message, and his phone went off again. 

Oh.

“Y/N, I can explain--”

Your head was spinning. Of course, the possibility of Yeonjun being Chat Noir had crossed your mind a few times before, but you had never actually seriously considered that it could be true. The possibility of your annoying partner being the boy you had been crushing on for years? Yeah, okay. It sounded like some sort of sick joke. Truthfully, Yeonjun was the last person you had realistically thought could be Chat Noir. Or, maybe you’d just been so in denial about the possibility, you had missed all the signs. 

The universe was playing a sick joke on you. 

“So… You’re telling me… You are Chat Noir?” You whispered. 

There was no use in denying it. Instead, he nodded slowly. 

You felt dizzy. “But—you—“ It felt like the air was being stolen from your lungs, so you decided to pause for a moment, leaning up against the door for support. 

He said nothing. Instead, he stared at you with wide eyes, like he was carefully surveying you for each and every reaction you were having. 

“Have you just been playing me this whole time?” You whispered. He sucked in a breath, like he was ready to start denying it, but you jumped to cut him off. “Because I thought you liked me, really liked me, but you have a whole girlfriend. Oh God, and she’s so sweet, does she know you’re Chat Noir? Does she know you’ve been coming to my apartment at night to see me?” 

“No! No, it’s not like that! Yena and I aren’t even really dating!” He assured you quickly, speeding across the room to pull your hands into his own. 

As he did so, you gazed down, imagining his gloved hands being the ones to hold you. He wasn’t dating Yena. Well, that was good to know. Still, it didn’t make the situation any better. It didn’t change the fact that Choi Yeonjun was Chat Noir, and you had no clue. 

 “I can’t believe I didn’t realize it sooner. I was too blinded by my crush on you, I should have been able to figure this out sooner.” 

Yeonjun paled. “You have a crush on me?” 

“Yes, you idiot!” You exclaimed, snatching your hands away from him. “I have for a long time, and everyone knows except for you, apparently! But that’s not the point, the point is, I should have known!” 

“How could you have known?” He was trying to comfort you, but instead it was just ushering a confession out of you, those little words that would change everything between the two of you more than it already had. “Honestly, Y/N, the thought of telling you crossed my mind, but… Ladybug would have killed me.” 

“I should have figured it out because I am Ladybug!” 

The words slipped through your lips before you had the chance to think them over and stop yourself. Your hands darted up to your mouth to cover it, as though it would be able to take it back. 

It couldn’t. 

Yeonjun looked like he was about to tip over and pass out. 

There was a creaking sound behind you, and you slowly turned to see the door to the supply closet being peeled open by a cringing Soobin. The rest of your friends were gathered around, peering at the two of you with wide, curious eyes. 

You had a sneaking feeling that the door was never broken, and there was never an Akuma. Your friends had made it all up to get you and Yeonjun to confess your alternate identities to each other. Oh, you were going to kill them all. 

“So… Did you guys talk?” Jeongin asked, flashing his cute bread smile at you as if it might make you forget what they did. 

It did not, in fact, make you forget. No, you were so consumed with rage, you wouldn’t be surprised if you got Akumatized right then and there. Not even Jeongin’s sweet smile could calm you down now. 

Before you were able to stop yourself, an angry scream ripped through your throat, and you launched yourself at your so-called “friends”. 

Discussing your true identities with Yeonjun could wait. Now, your top priority was going to be murdering all of your stupid friends. 

authors note: so… yeah… it happened 😅😅 surprise!!! i wonder how they are going to react now that they know this….

tag list: (closed) @therealhyunjingf @jakeshands @impureperhaps @mazeinthemoon @tyunlatte @loveliii @exohclipse @17szn @txtbrainrot @bubblytaetae @serafilms @iirene304 @snowfalltxt @choistick @lost-leopard-beanie @taekwondoes @captivq @aestheticsluut @suburbiataehyung @cecedrake2217 @omiomipepperoni @ttyunz @stellz581 @cher-bears @tyunner @eggomi @rikismiel @vianna99 @certainyouthpeanut @cookiehaos @90sni-ki @http-gyu @iad0ru @viagumi @reverbtunes @fatoompie @ka143 @sserafimez @hoonjjun @ahnneyong @cutiespaghetti @wonioml @emohazuzworld @taylvvrr @cowsmicwu

spots on!

THIRTY-FIVE / i’m not lying

prev | masterlist | next

warnings: slightly suggestive, idk you’ll see

word count: 1.6k

IF YOU TOLD YOUR SEVENTEEN YEAR OLD SELF THAT YOU WOULD BE CURLED UP ON YOUR COUCH watching a movie with Chat Noir, you would have assumed you were making things up. But here you were anyway, against all the odds. It really made you wonder, if you hadn’t been so hung up on Yeonjun, and if Chat wasn’t so obsessed with your alter ego, would it have taken so long for you to realize how much you like spending time with him?

“Okay, so it’s a movie about singing? Like, Glee the movie?”

You narrowed your eyes over at him. Honestly, it was amusing seeing his leather clad body sprawled out across your couch, like it was the most normal thing in the world. A part of you wondered how long this would last before you would get too curious about his true identity. But, you knew better than anyone that you could never know.

Ladybug and Chat Noir’s identities had to remain secret.

“Pitch Perfect is not just a movie about singing.” You told him with a scoff. “It is also about sisterhood, and growing up, and finding the people who care about you.”

“I don’t know, it sounds a lot like Glee to me.” He shrugged, and you threw a piece of popcorn at him.

“Just shut up and watch it!” You scolded him, and he grinned at you as he picked up the popcorn and put it into his mouth. The feeling of your heart skipping a beat at the sight was so foreign, it scared you at first. But… You also kind of liked it.

The movie started, opening with a performance by the Treblemakers, and when Bumper appeared on the screen, you couldn’t help but think back to your friends saying he reminded them of Yeonjun.

Yeonjun. You were happy to say it had been a few days since he had crossed your mind. Moving on was hard, that was just a fact, but it wasn’t impossible. Once a week, you were forced to see him in the class you shared together, but you were no longer as hyper aware of his presence as you once were. You had even found yourself able to go a whole class period without even glancing in his direction.

Hard, but not impossible.

When your friends had first made the connection between Yeonjun and Bumper, you had leapt to his defense, just like you always did. But, now that you were watching it, you couldn’t help but giggle as the character danced across the screen. You weren’t sure exactly what the connection was, but there was one there.

Chat Noir looked over at you with an arched eyebrow. “What? What’s so funny?”

“Oh, nothing. Just thinking about how my friends said that Bumper reminded them of Yeon—a guy I used to like.” You were quick to catch yourself, side eyeing him as you prayed he didn’t catch that.

It looked like he didn’t, as he just blinked back at you. “Oh? You liked a guy before me? Was it that Mark guy? I always see him in your mentions.”

You let out a soft laugh at the assumption. “First of all, you’re assuming I like you. Second of all, no it wasn’t Mark.”

He nodded. “Good. Because that guy is a complete loser.”

“He is not a loser! He’s actually really nice and helped me through a rough time.” You rushed to your friend’s defense, and he rolled his eyes.

“So you do like him.”

“No, I don’t like Mark!” You huffed, and leaned back into the couch. “I… It doesn’t matter who it was, because I don’t like him anymore. He got a girlfriend.”

You held your gaze on the TV, the atmosphere suddenly becoming tense. You could see Chat shifting out of the corner of your eye, but didn’t dare look over to see what in the world he was doing. But, when you felt the cushion shift next to you, it became clear he had scooched closer to you.

“Y/N~” He sang your name in his usual sing-song tone, but you kept your attention on the screen.

“You’re gonna miss the best part!” You tried to distract him, as the Braden Bella’s were finishing up their song. You really weren’t in the mood to have some deep talk about your failed crush on Yeonjun, and hoped he would just drop it. He didn’t. Of course he didn’t.

“Whoever that guy was is an idiot. I mean, he’d have to be absolutely brain dead to pass on someone like you.” He ignored you.

You groaned, burying your face into your hands and rolling away from him. “Ugh, don’t do that!”

“Do what?” He sounded confused, and you peeked through your fingers to see him gazing down at you with furrowed brows.

“Lie to me.” You grumbled, and rolled onto your side.

He went quiet for a minute, and you thought maybe he had given up and decided to just watch the movie. “Y/N…” He spoke slowly, his voice much lower, and lacking the mischief it had when he called your name before.

You didn’t respond.

“I’m serious. I think you’re amazing, and I think that guy’s a moron. You’re smart, you’re talented, you’re funny, not to mention gorgeous. I’m not lying when I tell you that.”

Your cheeks were practically on fire. You had heard confessions from Chat Noir before, back when he was obsessed with your superhero alter ego, but not one like this. You didn’t want to, but you genuinely believed the words you were hearing to be true. He thought you were amazing.

“Really?” You breathed out, rolling back over so you were on your back, and could get a good look at him.

He nodded, and the level of seriousness he wore on his face caught you off guard. “I’m serious, Y/N. You’re amazing.”

Before you could fully grasp what was happening, he was leaning down, and propping himself up on his elbow so his face was inches from your own. You could hear your heartbeat in your ear as you simply stared at him, chest heaving with every nervous, heavy breath. His electric green eyes searched your own, and you wondered if they were naturally that bright, or if the mask made them look that way.

“Y/N?” For the third time, he called you out, and this time it was in a tone you didn’t recognize. You couldn’t find it in yourself to speak, too out of breath from the sudden proximity. Instead, you nodded a bit more frantically than you would have liked.

“Can I kiss you?”

You answered by curling your fingers underneath the collar of his suit, and jerked him down to connect his lips to your own. He didn’t hesitate even for a second when you kissed him, instead he almost immediately kissed you back with just as much passion. His lips fit perfectly against your own, as though they were made for one another.

Without thinking, you split your legs apart so he could slot himself between them, and get even closer to you. There was something about the superhero that was so addicting, like you couldn’t get enough of him. Even though you were out of breath, when he pulled away to breathe, you found yourself chasing after his lips.

“So,” he started, his broad chest heaving. “What was that you said, about me assuming you like me?” He smirked down at you, and you slapped his bicep out of annoyance.

“Shut up.” You breathed out, before pulling him down by his neck to kiss you again. He didn’t protest, and went back to hungrily making out with you. As embarrassing as your desire for him was, it was clear he wanted you just as bad, maybe even more so. What had you done to get Chat Noir so wrapped around your finger?

You felt like you were in heaven, with his hot lips melding against your own, and his gloved hand gliding up and down your side. That’s why you didn’t even think twice when your hand slid up the side of his face, and subconsciously tried to push his mask off.

Immediately he pulled away and sat up, hand darting up to his face to make sure you hadn’t moved it too much.

Your eyes widened in horror as you realized what you had just done—or at least what you had tried to do. “Oh, God, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—“

“No-no-no, it’s fine, it’s just, um…” He laughed nervously, and started to back away to the other end of the couch. “Maybe we should slow down… You wanted to watch this movie, yeah? So let’s watch it.”

You wanted so badly to protest, but you knew he was right. You had gotten way too sucked into the moment, you had almost made him break the number one rule of being a superhero. So, you nodded instead, and sat back up to face the TV.

You barely watched the movie, though. Instead, there were a plethora of questions occupying your mind. Were you making a mistake, by letting yourself fall for him? It wasn’t going to be possible for you to be in a functioning relationship with him, not as long as he had to stay behind the mask. And you could never, ever ask him to take it off. That would be going against the rule you had always been so adamant about.

You couldn’t break that rule just because you had developed a crush on your partner.

So, what in the world you were you supposed to do now?

authors note: hey… hey! how y’all doooooin? so so sorry this update took a million years i was going through one of the top 3 writers blocks of my Life but that’s ok we’re here now right!!! i hope this funny cutesy little chapter was worth the wait :3 enjoy!

tag list: (closed) @therealhyunjingf @jakeshands @impureperhaps @mazeinthemoon @tyunlatte @loveliii @exohclipse @17szn @txtbrainrot @bubblytaetae @serafilms @iirene304 @snowfalltxt @choistick @lost-leopard-beanie @taekwondoes @captivq @aestheticsluut @suburbiataehyung @cecedrake2217 @omiomipepperoni @ttyunz @stellz581 @cher-bears @tyunner @eggomi @rikismiel @vianna99 @certainyouthpeanut @cookiehaos @90sni-ki @http-gyu @iad0ru @viagumi @reverbtunes @fatoompie @ka143 @sserafimez @hoonjjun @ahnneyong @cutiespaghetti @wonioml @emohazuzworld @taylvvrr @cowsmicwu

the boy is bad news | h.hj smau

ch 32 - something’s changed

genre: angst, smut, social media au (with written parts), college au, enemies to lovers

summary: An aspiring journalist, you are the news editor for The Uni Chronicles; the campus newspaper, popular for delivering breaking news at the drop of a hat and providing detailed articles about the various happenings around your university. You think you’ve covered every story there was to cover before you’re tasked with producing an in-depth editorial on a student whose name is on everyone’s lips—Hwang Hyunjin.

wc: 2.9k

masterlist

He didn’t think much before grabbing his keys to leave after he read the messages from Chan. Seungmin, the man you’ve been madly in love with for over a year, is in a relationship with someone else. Hyunjin should be happy about this—he can finally make his move now that his competition is out of the picture. He can finally go all in and prove to you that he’s the one you should be with instead. He should be ecstatic at this chance to win your affections—but he isn’t.

His stomach is in knots as he approaches your door. From the moment he heard the news, Hyunjin’s mind went into a frenzy worrying about you. How will you take this? Will you be sad? Angry? He’s scared about you getting hurt, fearing the look you’ll give him when he tells you the news, the tears that may come, and most of all, how much it’ll crush him to watch your heart break.

The mere thought of your pained expression sends a pang to his chest. How should he comfort you? What could he do to alleviate the wound? Hyunjin jumps ahead of himself, contemplating how to handle the aftermath before he’s even sorted out a plan to reveal the news to you. His mind is racing almost as fast as his heart. He paces back and forth on the sidewalk in front of your apartment, hands making a mess of his hair as he struggles to formulate the right words to tell you.

What am I even doing here? Hyunjin thinks, hesitating to knock on the door. He shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath, filling his lungs with cold air to cool his nerves. Slowly, he opens them again, nearly leaping in shock when he sees you appear before him, your head poking out from the side of the door.

“I saw you from the window, do you want to come in?” You ask, brows furrowed in curiosity.

Hyunjin’s mind blanks for a moment as he processes your words and waits for the surprise from your sudden presence to wear off.

“Y-yeah. Thanks.” He mumbles. The uneasiness he feels from what he’s about to say, the flutter that thrills his heart upon seeing you in your adorably oversized pajama shirt, it all leaves him in a daze.

You lead Hyunjin to your living room, expecting him to take a seat on the couch, but he remains standing, so you stay standing as well.

“So, what did you need to tell me?” Your voice quivers as you speak.

Hyunjin looks anxious, fidgeting with his rings and combing his fingers through his hair repeatedly. You also start to feel jittery as you try to predict what it was that brought him to your doorstep tonight. Could it possibly be a confession, or was that just wishful thinking? The anticipation was killing you, and his nervous demeanor wasn’t doing anything to help you calm down.

“So…” Hyunjin clears his throat. “I just found something out that I think you’d be interested in knowing.” He slaps a hand to his head. “Ugh, interested is the wrong word, I don’t know how to explain this—“

He sighs and tries to start again. “What I’m trying to say is, I’m telling you this because I think you deserve to know sooner than later.”

“Damn it Hyunjin, can you just spit it out already? I have no idea what you’re talking about but you’re making me nervous.” You groan.

“I know, I’m sorry, I’m bad at explaining.” He pauses to look at you, his anxiety shooting through the roof.

“Seungmin is dating someone.”

Silence fills the room as you digest his words. Seungmin is dating someone. Your unrequited love story has finally come to an end. Deep down, you knew this day would come eventually. All the years you spent silently crushing on him, admiring him from afar and never daring to express your feelings—you knew it was a hopeless infatuation, a one-sided love affair. Is that why, in this moment of clarity, you don’t feel sad? You had prepared yourself for this outcome, and never really considered the possibility of your feelings ever being returned. Maybe that’s what made the blow less painful, easier to accept.

“Who is he dating?” You finally break the silence.

Hyunjin meets your gaze with apprehension, before hesitantly answering. “Yoona.”

Damn. You had a feeling there was something going on between them and your suspicions were right. It all made a lot of sense. They were two people on the same level—intelligent, ambitious, successful. Of course they make a perfect match, it would be naive to think that either of them would settle for anything less. But this realization couldn’t stop you from feeling a bit foolish. How humiliating is it to have ever believed you stood a chance against her? It’s obvious that she surpasses you in every imaginable category. You lost a battle you clearly weren’t qualified for, and to be told all of this by Hyunjin, who knows how much you’ve struggled to prove yourself to Seungmin and Yoona, was an even bigger embarrassment.

You’re frustrated with yourself for once again letting your ignorant fantasies get the best of you. You feel stupid. Realizing how pitiful you must look in front of Hyunjin, your eyes begin to sting with tears. He probably thinks you’re such a fool. He always teased you about your crush on Seungmin, and he must feel smug seeing how it played out in the end. Hyunjin sees the tears about to fall from your eyes and reaches a hand towards you, but you back away.

“Did you tell me this to rub it in my face?” You mutter, wiping your eyes with your T-shirt sleeve.

“What? No! Why would I do that?” Hyunjin retorts.

“I don’t know. You must think I look pathetic right now.” You sniffle.

“God, you’re so frustrating sometimes.” Hyunjin sighs. “I was worried about you this whole time…but now you’re somehow more upset at me than you are about the news.”

He plops down with a huff and leans his head back on the couch.

“I’m not upset at you…” You cautiously take a seat beside him. “I just feel a little embarrassed about the whole thing.”

“Embarrassed? What do you have to be embarrassed about?” Hyunjin questions. “Seungmin is the one who made a mistake, shouldn’t you be disappointed?”

“I don’t know, not really.”

Hyunjin looks at you with wide eyes. “So you’re okay with this?”

“I think so. I kind of expected this to happen for a while now, so I’m not as hurt by it.” You lean back on the couch next to him. “In a way, it’s a bit of a relief to finally let go of that part of my life. But I just feel stupid for holding on to that hopeless crush for so long.”

“I don’t think it was stupid.”

“I do.” You chuckle. “But I guess everyone’s a little stupid when they’ve caught feelings for someone else.”

“You can say that again.” He mutters. “But you can’t help who you fall for, so you shouldn’t feel embarrassed about what happened. Just because Seungmin didn’t feel the same doesn’t mean someone else won’t.”

You softly smile at his words. “I know, you’re right. I have a bad habit of looking down on myself. It just kind of sucks when the girl he ended up with is better than me on so many levels.”

“Y/N, stop comparing yourself to other people.” Hyunjin huffs. “Because there’s no one in the world who’s like you.”

Hearing him say that makes your heart jump and effectively shuts you up. “I’m sorry, I’m doing it again.” You mumble. “I’ll try to stop thinking like that.”

“Good, because I don’t like when you belittle yourself.” He frowns. “It makes me mad.”

You and Hyunjin sit side by side, gazing up at the ceiling. Your hands are tucked in your lap but your shoulders are touching. This simple physical contact somehow calms you down and you turn your head to look up at him. “Were you really worried about me?”

Still looking up at the ceiling, he answers. “I was.”

You lean your head into the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent. “Thank you, Hyunjin.”

“For telling you? Chan warned me against it, but I figured you’d want to know as soon as possible.”

“No, for worrying about me.”

Chuckling, he rests his head on yours. “I don’t think I have a choice.”

“Did you think I was going to take it badly?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t think much to be honest. I just felt like I needed to tell you right away, and I was scared it would hurt you.”

You shift your head to sneak a glance at him and notice a light blush across his cheeks which brings a fuzzy feeling to your stomach.

“You’re sweet, Jinnie. I’m glad you came tonight.” You smile and snuggle into his side.

Hyunjin’s stomach erupts with butterflies. He stiffens momentarily at your touch before relinquishing his guard and melting into your embrace. Never did he think he’d find himself rushing to comfort a girl while she’s heartbroken over another guy, yet here he was, racing to be by your side. Everyone’s a little stupid when they’ve caught feelings, huh? Hyunjin knows he has affection for you, but he hadn’t realized how bad it really was until it was too late.

This is much worse than he ever imagined. Because presently, all he can think about is the touch of your head resting on his shoulder, the dizzying smell of your shampoo, the sound of your breathy laugh, and how desperate he is to hear it again. Hyunjin has already surrendered all of his pride, the ego he’s built for years now, never before losing to another man—to be beside the one girl who chose somebody else over him. But no matter how much it’s a jab to his pride, it hurts him more to see you sad. That’s why he’s here, and that’s why he’ll never leave, not until you ask him to.

Tonight, your smile was enough. Hyunjin is content knowing that you’ve taken the news well and that you’re okay. But he’d be lying if he said his impulsive decision to come over wasn’t slightly self-indulgent. After all, he wants you to be his, and hearing that you’re able to move on from your old crush is making him dangerously excited.

But his excitement will have to wait. Now is not the time to make any reckless moves. Hyunjin reminds himself to be patient, just like Chan told him. He already made a rash decision to come here and shouldn’t test his luck any further.

“I’m glad you’re okay.” Hyunjin caresses your cheek before sitting up straight, causing you to shift your weight off his shoulder. “I’m sorry for barging in so suddenly tonight, I should probably leave.”

“But I don’t want you to go.” You speak without thinking. “I mean, I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

Hyunjin swallows his saliva, nervously avoiding your gaze. Yet, against his better judgement, he concedes. “Okay, I’ll stay with you.”

You immediately grin at his words, then blush in embarrassment at your giddy reaction.

“I’ll um, sleep on the couch then.”

“Are you sure? My bed is more comfortable though.” Hearing yourself turns you even redder. You can’t believe the words coming out of your mouth right now, yet you don’t take them back.

Hyunjin’s eyes widen at your suggestion. “I, uh, I don’t think I should.” He clears his throat. “I don’t want to intrude on your private space.”

Truthfully, Hyunjin would love nothing more than to spend the night in your bed—every night, for that matter. But he knows he’d be setting himself up for failure if he agrees to sleep beside you. There’s no chance in the world that he’d be able to hold back, no amount of self-control that could keep him from giving in to his true desires. You are much too tempting, even without trying, and Hyunjin fears he might end up doing something he’ll regret.

“I’ll sleep on the couch with you then.”

The words fall from your mouth before you could stop them. You’re as equally shocked as Hyunjin to hear yourself. You don’t know what’s come over you, but you just want to be close to him, as close as possible. Being around Hyunjin makes you feel safe. His presence brings you a special comfort that only he is capable of giving, and maybe you’re seeking solace from the hurt you’re feeling tonight. Or maybe you simply want to be close to him.

Regardless of the reason behind your insistence on spending the night together, your heart is dead-set on it. And after trying his best to maneuver out of this situation, Hyunjin’s defenses are down. He doesn’t have the will to say no to you, not when you’re looking at him with those irresistible pleading eyes, and especially not when his heart is screaming that he wants it too.

So you find yourselves laying together on the sofa. It’s silly really, choosing to sleep on this cramped piece of furniture over your much more spacious bed somehow makes you feel less uncomfortable, less…questionable.

Because beds are the place for intimate moments and sinful acts. Couches are more neutral, not as suggestive, friendly even. Nothing provocative could take place on a dingy couch. Then why is it so difficult for you to fall asleep? Why does it feel like your heart is beating out of your chest?

“You can lay on me if you want.” Hyunjin mentally curses at himself because he knows this is going to make things even more challenging for him, but you look so miserable trying to find a comfortable position to sleep in, he couldn’t stay silent.

Flustered realizing that Hyunjin noticed your restlessness, you silently take him up on his offer. When your head meets his chest, his arm swings around your shoulder and you both release a relieved sigh. You’re instantly relaxed, as if his arms were made to lull you to sleep. The touch of his silken skin against yours, the rhythmic raising and dropping his chest, his warm breath brushing past your cheek, it all felt too perfect.

You lift you head, greedy to catch a glimpse of him while he’s asleep. His eyelashes flutter with dreams and his lips were parted, releasing shallow pants. He’s too perfect. You think to yourself as you study his features. His plush lips always mesmerized you with how lush and rosy they always appear, not to mention how lavish they feel.

You’re entranced by him, his presence pulling you closer. Before you know it, you’re mere inches from his face, you can feel his breath on your lips, drawing you in.

As if he felt your gaze, Hyunjin slowly opens his eyes. You’re startled to be caught staring at him, your faces almost touching, his eyes fixed on yours. But he doesn’t question it, he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he closes the distance, grazing his lips against yours before locking them in a kiss.

You’re both frozen, unmoving for a moment when your lips connect, as if teetering on the edge of a cliff, unsure if you’ll stay grounded or fall. The warmth from his lips sends a jolt of electricity through you, throwing you completely off-balance, and you take the plunge.

Hyunjin kisses you with restraint. His soft pecks lingering a bit too long, but never daring to cross the border of lust and sexual desire. He stays within the realm of unadulterated intimacy, though he struggles to withhold his passion. He doesn’t know how else to tell you—he was never any good with words—so instead he shows you, hoping you will understand by the way his lips move against yours, leisurely, savoring every moment, yet unsatisfied and longing for more.

He’s never kissed you like this. Or maybe, you’ve never kissed him like this. Hyunjin’s lips are firm in their movement, yet graze yours ever so delicately. You hope this is a lucid dream that you could take control of. You’d stop time and kiss him forever.

The illusion is broken when your humanity takes over, the need to fill your lungs causing you to release and gasp for air. Was it the lack of oxygen or the kiss itself that was making you lightheaded?

Hyunjin strokes your hair, lightly patting your head back down to his chest. You lay down, the sound of your racing pulse blasting in your ears.

“Good night, Y/N.” He whispers, choosing not to acknowledge what just happened.

“Good night, Hyunjin.” You reply, following along in his feigned ignorance.

You close your eyes and try to numb the adrenaline in your system. Resuming your position beside him, you can’t help but feel like something’s changed. The comfort that Hyunjin’s presence normally brings you is now replaced with intoxicating tension that you can’t ignore. You try your best to calm your heart, but to no avail—it was going to be a restless night.

a/n: some rare fluff for y’all~ you’re welcome 😇 I hope you guys enjoy this one! their dynamics are changing~~~ alas, we’re approaching the last arch of this series 😪 but i still have plenty in store for you guys! lemme know whatcha think, thanks for all the feedback 🫶

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