Last Eden - I . | Lmh

last eden - i . | lmh

part i, ii, iii

only one thing has ever mattered to you, in this lifetime, and in all others : mark lee — even if he doesn't know yet, and even if he may never remember.

pairing: mark x reader verse: canon/idol!verse, soulmates trope rating: T warnings: none, possibly some mild language, like... one very tame mention of making love ig word count: 4.3k

A/N: yeah i have a lot of these fics that i'm repurposing that i desperately want to post so i can continue them so please look the other way at my random over enthusiasm i beg !! my only long-standing mark fic is actually gorgeous, and while we do love a good raunchy piece, i love mark way too much to keep it to just that. this was my first ever fic on my old blog, and i'm quite attached to the idea despite the fact that it's actually very difficult for me to write. i changed the name because i actually love this song by maktub (anything he puts out is gold to me), which i think generally fits the vibe of the story, so give it a listen if you're interested! so i hope you all enjoy this idol!verse soulmates fic! (help a gal out by reblogging, liking, and leaving a few kind words if you're so inclined!)

“This isn’t really your best idea.” 

You know this. You’re fully aware of the possible and endless risks as well as the minimal benefits. But you have to go. The thing that Heehyeon, your roommate, doesn’t fully understand is that this could be your one and only shot, and it could mean life or death. And you know that sounds pretty dramatic, but it really is. you don’t really have all the details (when, where, how, the important stuff) but that doesn’t matter to you right now. 

What really matters is that today is NCT’s comeback stage at M! Countdown, and you have to be there. 

Unfortunately, this isn’t one of those things you have to go to because your a die-hard fan and you just have to support the group and do all those fan chants and lie to your mom about going to the library when you’re really staying over outside a company building for hours just to wave those silly, expensive light sticks that look like they came out of the factory a bit funny. Sure, NCT’s music was nice (enough), but that isn’t really the reason why you told your mom not to come over this weekend because you would be out on a company team building retreat (as if they actually do that). More than anything, you knew you had to take this chance to see him. 

When you don’t respond, Heehyeon presses on with a firmer tone, as if she’s determined to convince you even though you both know nothing is really going to stop you at this point.

“Listen to me, _____________. You are going to a tightly-packed music show with at least a hundred other fans, and you are going to stand in the middle of that dense crowd and — and what? Stare up at him. That’s it. He’s not going to see you; that stage is so high up he’ll probably only catch a look at your forehead, and that’s if you make it up front. And since we both know you’re neither the tallest nor the luckiest person in the world, you know the odds are against you. You’re probably going to get pushed to the back, or stampeded, and it’s going to be messy, and you’re going to push, and they’re going to push you back, and your make-up is going to fall apart, or whatever. Is this really worth it?”

“I told you,” you try to sound patient, but the idea of being buffeted away from the stage by a large wave of sweaty bodies causes more discomfort than you had originally anticipated thanks to her colorful and supremely unhelpful description. “If being near the stage doesn’t work out, I’ll wait out back, near the exit, and —“

“Oh yeah, and ambush him. Because you’ll be the only one there, and because that’s totally safe.” She drops the slightly (well, pretty) judgmental tone when she sees your bottom lip quiver. “I’m not… I’m not saying you shouldn’t try to reach out to him. But this doesn’t sound like the best way, _____________. Security is so tight there, and NCT’s security is even more wary. Even if you do manage to get close, what in the world are you going to say?” 

“I— I’ll figure it out once I’m there.” You purse your lips; surely I love you; we’re meant to be together wouldn’t be that hard on your end, but the more important question is: did it sound sane? You didn’t express this doubt, though. Doing so would give your roommate more ammunition to turn back at you; you’d play it by ear when you actually got around to making eye contact with him (if that ever happened at all). And — well, maybe you wouldn’t have to say anything. Maybe, just maybe, this time, he’d remember you.

At that thought, you feel an initial wave of laughter, closely followed by a second, much more painful wave of nausea. Of all the absurd things you could think of, that was probably the most ridiculous. 

“This isn’t a good idea,” she recapitulates, shaking her head. “You know what they do to people who stalk idols and say they’re really going to get married to them, or whatever. You know what they’d call you.”

“But I’m not crazy like that,” you argue.

“I know that, but they don’t know anything about you! You’d be labeled a sasaeng. They’ll probably think you’re one of those girls that sneak into their dorms and sniff their underwear before selling them on the dark side of Taobao through a weird Chinese proxy or something.”

“Well, what am I supposed to do?” You ball your fists at your side, feeling a little betrayed. Heehyeon, of all people, should be able to understand why you had to do this, even if it was ludicrous. She had remembered you, reached out to you before you could even place her. She’d heard your story, understood that you had been waiting years for this moment, even stopped you on other occasions when you were about to do the same thing you were planning now, saying it wasn’t the right time. “I don’t have any other way of contacting him. I don’t even know if this is going to work, but you know I have to try, and I feel like this is the right time. I have to see him. I have to — I have to be with him. I don’t need your blessing to go, you know.”

There’s a palpable tension hanging over you now, and Heehyeon’s expression has gone mostly unreadable, save for that twinge of worry still present in her gaze. The soft sound of regular, heavy exhales punctuate every few seconds that pass, and you realize a little later that it’s your breathing, which has turned a bit heavy from the energy spent sort-of yelling at your roommate. 

“I know that,” she finally sighs. “I know that, _____________. I just wish you used a different way. Like, a safer, less crazy one.”

“I would use one if there were one.” You frown. “I’m not going to do anything stupid, like attack him. I would never do that.”

She doesn’t say much anymore, opting to watch you instead as you stuff a few more essential things in your bag. A hat. A fan. a bottle of water. Heehyeon had tried to coerce you to buy one of those cheering kits with those slogans, but you didn’t want to waste your money on it, and, truthfully, you didn’t want his name hanging on your walls like some sick reminder in case he rejected you.

“What did you tell your manager?” She asks in a clear attempt to lighten the mood. 

“I told her I was sick. You know she never really asks as long as I find someone to substitute for me,” you sling your bag over your shoulder, standing straighter. “How do I look?” 

“Pretty damn healthy,” she notes. “But also kind of crazy.” 

“I’ll see you tonight, Heehyeon,” you roll your eyes as you make your way out of the room. Before you close the door, she makes one last quick remark.

“Not if I see you on the evening news first!”

You have to take two buses to get to Sangamsan-ro. Even though the traffic is generally mild, the buses make too many stops and wait too long for old ladies with their fruit baskets and newspapers to get on. The wait is making you anxious, and you think about getting an orange to abate your growing hunger, but you’re also so nervous that you’re sure you’re going to spew it all out onto the bus floor anyway. So, you content yourself with listening to music and fiddling with your fingers in your lap. 

All you have in your phone is NCT’s music. The files were so large that you’d had to delete everything else you used to listen to and a handful of pictures too (mostly selfies that would have never seen the light of day, anyway) just to get them to fit. You used to only listen to the Korean versions, but you’d found all these little nuances in how Mark raps his lines depending on the language, so you’d started listening to the English and Japanese releases too, even though you can’t understand a lick of anything but ‘baby.’ Most of the time, you skip over to the relevant (see: Mark-filled) parts, already having memorized their timestamps to a kind of sick degree. 

It was kind of dumb, and sort of selfish, but you had never really identified yourself as an NCT fan anyway. If you had been an active part of the groups following, people would have probably called you an akgae. You were really only concerned with one member, and it was that member’s voice that filled your ears when you’d plugged your earbuds in and put the volume up.

The first time you’d seen him was in your last year of college. One of your college friends had asked you to accompany them to a Nature Republic outlet downtown. Despite your general lack of interest in make-up at that point in time, you’d gone because she’d promised to buy you a corndog. What you’d gotten instead was a large standee of a handsome guy smiling at you and holding out a pot of aloe vera gel. 

You knew his eyes. Even though his features changed a million times in your memory, you could never mistake his eyes for anyone else’s — soft, warm, brown eyes that you’d stared into for truly an eternity. His were eyes you could never forget, were never allowed to forget. You could remember the millions of times they’d smiled up at you in those past lives you were haunted with, twinkled with mischief and laughter in your presence, borne deep into yours on hot summer nights as you made love. Of all the uncertain things in all of the lives you remembered living, these eyes acted as your anchor. 

You’d almost forgotten you were there with a friend until she’d called out to you, telling you to step inside the shop. Trying to sound disinterested despite the fact that your heart was pounding, you asked who the guy in the standee was. Mark, she’d called him. Mark of NCT. He was an idol, a rapper in one of those up and coming groups that was starting to gain a lot of attention within the general public because of their ‘cool, chic concepts.’ At that information, your heart had fallen into a pool of acid in your stomach. 

Other times were hard, but not this hard. Most of the factors that had kept you or torn you apart were much larger in scale — war, famine, other natural disasters. This, out of all the other times, seemed to be the most difficult; he wasn’t an ordinary man anymore, but a god among men — a god you couldn’t be allowed to approach. You had ditched your friend the moment she’d gotten her change back at the counter, citing a sudden time of the month as the root cause, and dashed out and back to school, sparing only one last glance at the standee. 

You’d been waiting for him for years, carefully looking for any sign of him in the people around you, but you had grown tired and had come to believe that maybe, in this life, you had been set free — that he didn’t exist, and the curse would be over. However, as you pored over each and every teaser, music video, advertisement, and blurry, noise-heavy radio interview you could find even a sliver of his face in, you realized that the curse had come back, and in a much larger force than you could ever imagine. 

You’d stared at your desk for the longest time that day; the sun had dipped out of sight already when you’d sighed yourself out of your trance. It had never been this difficult. Having the Memory was mostly the worst thing ever, but its usual perk was that you could pick him out a little easier, and he was never too far away — nobody you ever knew in your first life ever was. They just kept coming up again and again, running around in little circles throughout time and space, and you recognized them in a way you’ve come to grow familiar with. It’s a tug, sort of like a tickle in your stomach, and you knew then that he was close by. The signal only stopped when you found him, and it usually wasn’t that hard. From there, you were responsible for weaving the same kind of story — one in which you would fall in love, be happy for a period of time, and then… well. 

Heehyeon has the Memory, too. She’d remembered you from a previous life, too, and picked you out of a packed line at a coffee shop, striking up one of the most awkward conversations you’d ever had the displeasure of being a part of because she hadn’t been sure if you remembered her. It was only when she mentioned that you seemed like someone she could be good friends with and that you also seemed like you just happened to like your coffee black with two sugars did you realize that her sudden onslaught of friendliness was a sign she might be like you: unable to forget. She’d actually once asked you if you’d tried just letting him go, and you’d responded with a resolute no. At this point, it was too hard to call him a lost cause, even if he really seemed it. How could you stop loving someone you know you’ve loved for millennia? 

He’s extremely handsome in this life, you’ve noted. Girls were falling all over him, which only made things ten times harder. A couple of years back, some rumors of him dating a labelmate had come up. Heehyeon had talked you through that long night of you clutching tissues in a fist and sobbing about how you didn’t want this anymore, how it was never fair, how every single time you had to find him was just growing more and more difficult until it seemed to reach an impossible arc. But, mostly, you’d cried because you hated the possibility — probably the confirmation — that he didn’t remember you at all. 

You didn’t really expect him to, but you always hoped. Every life, you would approach him, and he would be a clean slate. It was a tiring process, one you wished you weren’t constantly responsible for. Some days, you resented him; how could he live his life carefree, without even the notion that you two were meant to be together? Most days, though, you just longed for him. Him, and a happy ending. 

You let out a sigh as the track changes. His voice greets you again; over time, you’ve noticed it sounding even cooler, more impactful. He’s doing well for himself. And here you are, attempting to make yourself stand out in a pool of fans he probably can’t even see clearly. Nice.

You get to listen to about half of the newly released album before you realize you’re nearing your stop. Sidestepping a couple of baskets of oranges, you make it to the door and dash out. Heehyeon had drawn you a crude map to CJ E&M, and you’d been skeptical of it at first, but you realize now you would have gotten lost and missed the stage long before you got there if you had gone in blind. You’d make sure to thank her when you got back. If you did actually come back in one piece. 

Heehyeon also hadn’t been joking; the line outside looks like it would fill a whole section of Jamsil. You’d heard of the dedication of some of these fans, but you’d never seen it like this, nor had you ever actually been a part of it. Kids were really up at three in the morning in support of NCT. Many of them are probably here specifically in support of Mark, you think. Sure enough, the people you line up behind are holding holographic slogans with the print “Mark-yah!” You swallow hard, trying not to regret your decision not to partake in that. 

It feels like hours before you get even close to the door of the building. The chatter has died down a little, but not by much; even with less people ahead of you, the noise pollution increases in tandem with the excitement in the atmosphere. You’re not excited, though. You’re sick to your stomach, wishing you hadn’t come alone and wondering if you were going to regret this. Probably. Luckily, a couple of teenagers behind you strike up a casual conversation starting with “ah, it’s getting more humid now,” and you take turns complaining about what the weather would probably be like later on in the day before you start talking about NCT. They’re both Jaehyun fans, and you think about whether or not you remember meeting him in a past life. Nothing really rings a bell.

When you tell them you’re here for Mark, they giggle. 

“We know,” they chime. “You’re wearing blue.” 

“It’s his favorite color,” you say, a little defensively. 

“Everyone knows that. Everyone here wearing that ocean blue is a Mark fan. Didn’t he say so once?” They dissolve into laughter again, but you say nothing. Maybe he had said that recently. Then again, his favorite color has always been blue — the color of the sky and the sea he seems to love so much. 

The line grows shorter and shorter, and your ankles feel like they’re starting to swell. You’ve been standing for a good two hours now, and you regret not having bought one of those NCT membership cards that get you up to the front of the line. It’s really no surprise that you, the two Jaehyun fans, and the others in the line behind you are all squished in the back, just like Heehyeon had said you would be. It takes a good twenty minutes before the lights dim down and the stage lights start up, and you hear the buzz that increases in volume right before it becomes a collective deafening shriek from the crowd. The light sticks go up, and you’re momentarily blinded by the large stars that blink NCT in some weird logo form before you get your bearings again. By that time, the members have begun trooping onto the stage in a single file, and you forget your swollen ankles as you tiptoe and crane your head for a better view. 

He’s there, your mind screams. He’s right there. You’ve got a whole crowd in front of you, but he’s right there. 

The Jaehyun fans are losing their mind too; he’s talking, asking them how they found the album and encouraging them to keep supporting it. Typical idol stuff, you assume, but the fans go wild in an attempt to reassure him that they will. They all speak in a line, and you note Mark will be last. When the mic is handed over to him, the fans start screaming again. You feel like you want to yell as well, except you’re not sure if you’ll say something actually coherent that other people will hear. Instead, you tiptoe a little higher, fixing your pretty bad eyesight on his face and perking your ears up. 

“You’re all here so early,” he starts. “How long have you been waiting for us?” 

A flurry of numbers fly across the room. He smiles in this genuinely affectionate way even though his eyes can’t focus on a single person in the dark, and your heart stutters at the sight.

“Do your mothers know you’re here?” He’s teasing now. “You can’t tell them that NCT is the reason you’re not sleeping well, you know. Everyone, make sure that you eat breakfast and rest well before school today, okay?” 

While the crowd screams in response, you let out a little whimper. It’s a weak, pathetic sound, but it essentially sums up how you feel, seeing him like this from so far away. 

The pre-recording starts, but you barely catch anything. You’re too small for this kind of life, and you get so tired of tiptoeing that you actually do try to push your way through the crowd. Of course, this is fruitless, and you end up squatting by the back wall of the room, sipping on your water conservatively and listening to the Jaehyun fans do the chant religiously. 

NCT performs the song two more times before they’re saying their goodbyes. You muster up the energy to stand again and make a beeline for the exit before everyone else can smash their way through. The sun is almost up now; beads of sweat form on the nape of your neck as you round the building, trying to find the indicated spot that Heehyeon had marked as the back exit of CJ E&M. You worry about how you’re in the wrong place for about ten minutes until you see the two Jaehyun fans turning the corner quickly, obviously with the same goal as you: to catch NCT as they leave the building. 

In no time, the fans have gathered at the spot again, and it seems like they’ve multiplied tenfold; the chants are louder and there are girls with gigantic cameras trying to shove you away from the spot. Security from the company camps out in front of you, their gazes shifting from the door to the crowd and back again. 

People around you roar the moment the doorknob turns. Nine of them file out, now in regular clothing, surrounded by their own security. You feel a surge of force behind you, trying to push forward, and someone’s camera lens hits you hard in the side of the face. You barely have time to cry out in surprise, caught in what would have been a scream of pain, when you see him. 

In the growing light, Mark looks like a king. No — like a god, actually. Everything on his face shines even when minimal sunlight strikes it; his teeth help, too, brightening his face as his mouth hangs open in an easy laugh. He’s talking to Doyoung and has to face him, his sharp jawline being the first thing anyone can see from that perspective, and it’s that angle that creates all these alarms in your head. 

For some reason, you’ve blocked out the noise around you. Even the pain from the camera lens attack isn’t bothering you as much anymore; you feel like you’re in an aquarium, and all the screams are on the other side of the glass. Your vision tunnels; all you can see is him. 

You’d promised Heehyeon you wouldn’t do anything stupid. Again and again, she’d asked you and drilled you and reminded you that you weren’t supposed to do anything that would get you into trouble. Even with those promises you’d made, she’d still doubted you. Later, when you’d tell her this story, she’d roll her eyes and yell I told you so!, because, well, she did tell you. And, when you’d look at it in retrospect, you’d see that you should have listened. 

Right now, though, you’re walking. Somehow, the camera lens that had attacked you had turned its gaze onto much more important targets; the guard stationed in front of you grunted in pain and reflexively retracted his hand after the lens made contact with it. It wasn’t a long movement, but it was enough for you to be pushed forward by the crowd. Enough to get your feet moving. 

Other fans had stopped trying to break through; though many were still hysterical, most were trying to take pictures of the members as they climbed into the van. One by one, they were disappearing before your eyes. No, you thought to yourself. Your chest tightened. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you think that the noise behind you has gotten much louder. Not now. He hasn’t seen me yet. Not yet, please. 

You don’t realize that your feet have picked up the pace, and you’ve broken into a short sprint before the building security could catch you. It’s too late; he can’t leave his post, and he only has to hope that NCT’s staff are well-equipped to fend off a running girl. They are, but they’re too busy helping the members that they’re caught unaware — just long enough for you to be within an arm’s reach of them. 

Mark is almost in the van; he’s caught off-guard, too, and he doesn’t realize that something’s not right until you’re already there. Security grabs his arm and tries to tug him out of your reach and into the van at the same time that a strong hand grapples at the back of your shirt. Doyoung, who had been by Mark’s side, tries to use his arms to shield you from his friend when he realizes who you are targeting, yelling out something you can’t really understand. 

It’s a ten-second long struggle of limbs in which you hear your own “Let go of me!” harmonize perfectly with Mark’s frantic “What the —?” Somehow, though, you’re able to fight through Doyoung’s arms and grip Mark’s wrist with a sweaty palm. The contact causes him to turn back reflexively, eyes wide in shock. 

His eyes. God, please, won’t he recognize me? Your fingers close around his wrist a little more tightly. Your mouth is dry, and your throat is on fire. You’re wasting precious time. You only manage out a weak, “Please, Mark, it’s me,” before he’s twisting his wrist away. The arm that gripped your shirt moves to lock around your waist, and you’re hauled, empty-handed, away from the van. Awareness you’d lost slowly trickles back into you. The crowd isn’t screaming at the members now; they’re screaming at you. They’re angry. As you’re dragged away, you vaguely note that the Jaehyun fans you were with are fuming behind the security guards still keeping them in place. 

The security guard that carried you off like a rag doll plants you in front of him, and he lets go of your waist but still keeps his grip tight around both your forearms, which have been twisted behind you. You have no choice but to watch from afar as the members drag Mark into the van, looks of concern etched across their faces. They ask him if he’s hurt, and he shakes his head. Right before the door closes, he quickly glances back at you. Your heart sinks for the second time today as you see something in his eyes you’d never seen before. 

Fear. Mark is afraid of you.

a lesson on style - vi . [ ljn | njm ]

pt. i, pt. ii, pt. iii, pt. iv., pt. v, pt. vi

you’ve always been content with being associated with one word and one word only: average. average in looks, academics and social skills, you’re just looking to graduate high school without causing disasters you’ll have to live with until you kick the bucket. when you’re paired with school king lee jeno for the semester-long physics thesis, you can’t help but think the entire situation has pretty much set itself up for failure. that is, until you strike a deal with your partner. 

alternatively: an au tale involving lessons in popularity, eleven consecutive B­ minuses, a secretly sensitive, chess­-loving jock, and an amateur sex tape.

pairing: jeno x fem!reader, jaemin x fem!reader verse: high school au { jocks!nomin ft. a super cute whiny ap physics genius renjun } rating: M chapter warnings: none word count: 8.1k

author’s note: this was actually supposed to go on for a lot longer but... it might've reached a solid 13-15k and i just thought it would be better to split it into half-ish, so nothing major happens, although i definitely enjoyed yet another mc/jaemin real talk session that i also hope you enjoy! :^)

tagging: @justalildumpling, @spiderrenjunfics (no longer available, please give me your new url if you're still interested!)

You think now is as good a time as any for you to say something that’ll easily impact the trajectory of your life forever; after all, Jeno’s essentially given you the floor after such a strange and honestly shocking turn of events. You’re aware of the fact that his thumb is still traveling across your cheek, more idle as an action than anything else, but you seem to be experiencing the feeling as something closer to an out-of-body experience than an actual first-hand one; the tingles they send to your heart are weird and blurry, like your body can’t process his touch well enough to understand it fully. You suppose it’s because of your confusion at what he’s saying, which leads to your second option: asking him what he means. 

There’s little to interpret at face value, but what his words do is essentially unlock a torrent of other weird questions in your head. For instance: how long had he known that you liked him? Had he known this entire time? Did something you did make it painfully obvious? If he wants you to like him — and, as he says, only him — does that mean he’s essentially accepting your feelings? Does this mean… he likes you back? 

You assume this is one of those moments where, because your mind is going a million miles a minute, a lot of time feels like it’s passed even though it’s just been a small handful of seconds. This assumption is quickly broken by Jeno’s expression of concern. 

“_______________? Say… something.”

“Um,” you start before you can even figure out what you want to say. The easiest answer comes to mind: It’s always only been you. But that’s weird, and this isn’t a 90’s Western movie, and if it were, you certainly wouldn’t be the eloquent main romance interest, even if Jeno’s gaze could easily fool you into thinking that. You think about making a joke, but you’re befuddled and also fresh from tears that — if Jeno’s abrupt story is actually true — were totally useless and unfounded in nature. 

Also, you’re really not that funny to begin with.  

“I just…” you try again, and his eyebrows raise slightly in anticipation for your next words. Nothing else comes out after a few seconds, though, and he realizes this is just another false start, his hand falling onto your shoulder (maybe he’s tired of trying to coax it out of you with the thumb-on-cheek method, which admittedly had you clamping up more than anything else). 

“You can just tell me how you really f—”

“I think I have to go.” 

No. No. Why would you say that? The surprise on his face quickly morphs into something that looks almost crestfallen, an expression you’d never imagine seeing on bright, confident Lee Jeno, let alone ever be the cause of. His hand slips from your shoulder quickly, like he’s now worried touching you will electrocute him. 

“Oh. I’m sorry — I didn’t… mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“I’m… I’m not.” You’re not, are you? “Maybe a little, but it isn’t really you —”

“Something I said, then—?”

“No, I…” Your fingernail digs into the pad of your thumb, with you trying to use the sting of the pain to jolt you out of this nervous, inarticulate state. “I just don’t think… I have anything of value to say right now.”

“What makes you think that?” 

“Because…” Grappling for words is like trying to break through the surface of water; you’re almost there, but somehow you’re still floundering, and that only seems to be making it much worse. “Because I never really thought about what I’d do… if you really found out I liked you.” 

When you say it, it suddenly makes sense. For some reason, you’d always lived your life shuttling between point A (liking Jeno quietly in the comfort of your own mind palace) and point Z (fantasizing about your life with him where you live in a quaint townhouse with a cute mailbox and three kids), but you’d never really given much thought to all the points in between, especially not one that contains a scenario in which he’d find out and seemingly be okay with it, which, based on the current conversation, somehow seems like a reasonable thing to assume about him. 

You’ve always wanted it — him knowing, him accepting it, maybe even him liking you back —  but it kind of felt like, deep down, you hadn’t really believed it would ever happen. 

And you were kind of content with that, because you wouldn’t ever really have to deal with the complications of it. Right now, you’re feeling unprepared and a little exposed, weirdly vulnerable to his gaze. It once again, for the hundredth time tonight, it seems, triggers some kind of flight instinct in you that has you looking anywhere but at him all of a sudden. 

“You can think about it… now,” he suggests carefully. Being put on the spot doesn’t really ever bring out the best in you — a fact that might be known to people who were actually paying attention to your failed impromptu speech about whale hunting in your sixth grade English class — so you just pretend that the silhouette of Jaemin’s front yard tree is supremely interesting to you all of a sudden, never mind the fact that it’s about a few inches from Jeno’s ear from your vantage point. You don’t really want to see his expression right now, especially if that means it’ll only fluster you back into speechlessness. 

“I don’t really know if I can,” you admit. From your peripheral vision, you see what seems like a flash of discomfort pass across Jeno’s face; you’re sure you just imagined it, considering you’ve never imagined cool, aloof, king of your heart Lee Jeno as exuding anything other than utmost confidence. Still, his next words do make you question that notion twice over. 

“Did I… misunderstand something? Is it that you don’t have feelings for me?” 

“No, I… you know. I… yeah, I do, but I just —”

“You’re seeing someone else?” 

“No,” you say more fiercely, and for a brief moment, you’re so appalled at the thought that your eyes flicker to his, which ends up being a terrible mistake because the confusion in his gaze is so profound that the guilt in you swells tenfold. 

“Because I thought… maybe the reason Renjun and you —”

“He’s — honest to God — he’s just my friend.” 

“And Jaemin is…?”

“My… next door neighbor?” You blink rapidly at the lights still coming from his house, wondering now what Jaemin has to do with all of this in the first place. For someone who seems like he would be extremely uninvolved in this general progress of events, he seems to crop up time and again, weirdly always around when you need someone. Maybe it’s a neighbor thing, or maybe he’s a little nosier than you thought. But thinking about another element in this situation is starting to give you a headache, and you’re way past the time you’re usually already in bed avoiding homework and watching shitty dating reality shows instead. “I don’t really understand what he has to do with this either. I just don’t think I’m prepared to have this conversation at all.”

“But you like me, don’t you?” 

It’s weird, actually, now that you think about it — why does he have to confirm the fact time and time again? It’s almost like he’s worried, although you can’t imagine why he would be. More than anything, you’d kind of assumed that he would find that information pretty repellent, but with the way he’s asking in earnest, it almost seems like he wants to keep the knowledge of that like a talisman. 

“I do,” you admit, mostly because it’s out in the open, but also partially because you’ve made the mistake of looking at him again, and you start wondering how he could even wonder when everyone seems to like him (you, perhaps, to a somewhat unhealthy degree). 

“More than them?” 

“I—” Your brow furrows, another wave of confusion washing over you. But his eyes are much too honest in their questioning, and you speak before anything else can come to mind. “More than anyone, Jeno.”

What looks oddly like relief settles on his face, and you notice only then that his shoulders have been tensed up because he seems to relax them all of a sudden. “Oh. Good. Great. So listen, now that we’re on the same page, I—”

Jeno’s interrupted by one of the guys in a university sweater calling out to him from across the two lawns, voice booming to a degree that sets off a few annoyed dogs in your area. Jeno raises a hand to signal him to wait, his mouth still open on whatever words he wanted to complete his sentence with, but the sounds he was trying to make quickly die into silence anyway, drowned out by a huge crash inside Jaemin’s house. 

You’re not entirely certain of what he wants to say — on the bright side, he could have been ramping up to a point that could easily make all your dreams from middle school to now a perfect reality, but he also could have been setting you up for some kind of grand, embarrassing failure — not by his design or by malice but just by the pointing out of the fact that you two lead different lives and things would likely never work out, anyway, but it’d be cool that you liked him in your own time, and he’d allow it as long as you didn’t get drool all over his notebook in class. 

Either way, you don’t think now, with a bunch of inebriated college people shouting profanities on Jaemin’s lawn and a gaggle of high school kids panicking about what sounds to be a broken table and a whole bunch of pizza on the floor, is the best time to be processing those things.

“I actually,” Jeno turns his gaze to you again, strangely alert, like you’d just whistled for a dog’s attention. You’ve never seen him like this, and it’s weird to think that, at this awkward moment, you can still find him painfully endearing. You have to shake yourself out of the grip of the already beckoning force that tells you to sigh dreamily about how adorable he is. “Think I should really be heading inside. Looks like they also need you for some kind of damage control, anyway.”

The same college kid calls for Jeno again, dragging out the vowels of his name kind of annoyingly. Jeno sighs, nodding slowly enough for you to know he’s caught on — this probably isn’t the right time to have such a weirdly heavy conversation.

“Yeah. I probably need to help clean up, anyway. No one’s going to want to do it, and Jaemin’s already chewed me out for bailing on mop duty a few times.”

“Why’d you bail?” 

“Just… got busy, personally.” He looks sheepish, and it doesn’t take a bunch of lightbulbs going off for you to cotton on as well. Now, you’re just wishing you hadn’t asked, so you didn’t ever have to imagine it. Still, what’s done is done. You have to focus on keeping the discomfort out of your face this time. “Um… that’s not important, though. Anyway —I’ll talk to you soon, okay, ________________? Like… maybe we can catch up at school? You know, talk about our thing — the project, I mean — and like… et cetera?”

“Yeah, for sure.” Your smile’s weak, and so is your joke, but you should at least try to hold up casual pretenses as much as he does, even though he’s obviously much better at it. “I’ll tell on you to Hwang if you don’t, you know.” 

His laugh is soft, but it at least sounds genuine; his smile still reaches his eyes, which already makes your heart feel a little lighter. But instead of trekking off immediately, he lingers, strangely, until his grin winnows down into just the ghost of a smile on his lips. Even weirder are his hands, slightly outstretched towards your waist, like he’s trying to cross the gap between you (even if it’s admittedly very minimal) but suddenly decides not to. The result is him looking strangely stiff and uncharacteristically hesitant, but you chalk it up to him simply not knowing how to end such a weirdly situated conversation. You know you’d have an even worse time doing it if it were up to you, so you can’t really blame him. 

In the end, he closes the dialogue with ‘see you around, ________________,’ and a quick pat on the shoulder, which, if you think about it, seems a little disappointingly different from when he’d had his hand against your cheek a few minutes ago. Then again, you’re not sure you could handle something like that again, anyway. 

You watch him walk off back towards Jaemin’s house, and some pitiful, pathetic part of you is expecting him to look back, say one last goodbye to you, or something, but the university guy that had belted his name out so vigilantly just swings an arm around Jeno’s neck and drags him to a corner where a bunch of other similarly dressed people, to whom Jeno starts talking to almost immediately. 

Cutting this conversation short was probably for the best, anyway; you have no idea what he would have said, but you’re very sure you wouldn’t have been prepared for it either way. You trudge into your house and up into your room, already mentally prepared to spend the rest of the night obsessively mulling over what it all meant and what he had really been planning to say at the end. The process starts some time in the shower, while you’re shampooing your hair and you embarrassingly remember the feeling of Jeno’s hand tangled in it. The moony expression that the thought of it leaves on your face is present up until you see how stupid it looks in the fogged up bathroom mirror. 

Renjun still hasn’t texted you, which is honestly starting to be a source of mild anxiety because you can’t be sure if he’s dead in a ditch somewhere or just ignoring you for some unknown reason. Whatever it is, you leave like three messages wondering where he’s at and asking him to call you. You’re on your fourth message, which is asking to confirm about tomorrow’s movie (something you’d almost forgotten about save for the fact that you’d remembered this would be a point of argument for you both once again if you spaced on it) when a notification pops up that once again gives you a heart attack. 

Lee Jeno: u looked pretty tonight, btw :) 

You: oh!! thank you…!

You: you looked great tonight too…! :) 

Lee Jeno: haha… cute :) 

Lee Jeno: goodnight, ____________ :) 

This is the most emojis you’ve ever seen used in a single brief conversation, and you can’t help but feel like it might be a little juvenile, but it doesn’t even matter because Lee freaking Jeno called you pretty and cute in the span of five minutes. Your thumbs are shaking as you type back a typo-laden goodnight that takes you a full other minute just to edit before waiting a little more, but nothing else comes. Maybe he’s driving home, or something. You toss your phone onto your bed, away from easy reach, before you can start overthinking what this silence means again. 

Your reflection in your window mirrors the same scene you’d encountered in the bathroom: you, hair bundled up in a wet towel, bare-faced with a stupid grin across it. You’re so caught up in the act of reeling from Jeno’s three texts that you belatedly notice a square of light beyond your bedroom window. You almost duck out of sight when you see a shadow there, thinking about crying bloody murder, until you realize it’s Jaemin, who’s watching the ridiculous expression on your face with a curious gaze from a distance. He’s still in the same clothes he’d worn to the party, but you can see, even from this far away, that there’s this dark patch on it that looks suspiciously close to the way your shirt had on the day his coke had emptied itself out on your back. That must’ve been from the crash earlier, you deduce. 

You think he’s just zoning out facing in your direction, and you find there’s no need to meet his gaze, but there’s still something a little unsettling about having someone spacing out in your general direction, so you reach up to pull your blinds down. Your hand almost reaches the string, but Jaemin’s hand suddenly starts going up too, like it’s trying to follow you, and you freeze in your movements. His keeps going, though, up until it’s close to his face, and suddenly, he’s moving it side to side, in some weird regular pattern.

He’s waving, your tired, overworked brain tells you belatedly. The string of your blinds tickles the tip of your fingers. 

Unsure and a little self-conscious, you wave back, hoping he doesn’t notice that you were about two strong pulls away from drawing yourself out of sight. This is clearly the right response, because even from this distance, you can see the brilliant white of his teeth as he smiles, fully and unabashedly, at you. 

The first thing you do when you wake up the following morning is check your phone. You’re not even really sure what you’re looking for — maybe a text from Jeno, who, if you think about it now, probably has nothing to say in response to your boring ‘goodnight’ anyway (but you can still dream), or maybe a missed call or two from Renjun, who should at least be offering you some explanation as to why he was completely out of sight after parting ways with you and Mark Lee last night. 

Unfortunately, there’s nothing on your screen, apart from the stupid 번장 notification that tells you the pocket punch board you’ve been wanting for no good reason has been discounted by the seller to a price you still can’t reasonably afford anyway. 

You certainly can’t do anything about Jeno’s lack of contact, and to be completely honest with yourself, you’re not even really that sure if you want to. Something about yesterday’s conversation, while not exactly a train wreck, makes you very nervous to have a full conversation with him, and you’d much rather it stick to very basic, kindergarten-level things, like ‘you look cute’ and ‘haha’ and ‘:)’, but since that isn’t completely in your control, you decide you simply don’t want to do anything about it.

Renjun, however, is a completely different matter. You don’t understand why he’s ignoring you if he is, considering you had spent the better part of the night (at least, the parts during which you weren’t crying on your lawn) looking for him, so this silence, if deliberate, doesn’t seem fair or even reasonable. You decide that it’s much too early to be getting an earful from you in the end, so you just send a very emphatic ‘WRU?????????????????’ through both text message, KakaoTalk, and Facebook Messenger to him, hoping the repetition of both sentiment and punctuation mark through multiple platforms is enough to faux-yell to him what you’d otherwise be real-yelling to him over the line. You can’t tell if it gives you any sense of comfort to see he hasn’t been online and active for the last 15 hours. 

All the tossing and turning of last night, courtesy of the endless loop replay of “I want you to like me — just me” Lee Jeno edition, had consequently left you worse for wear; you’d gotten up at the rising of the sun (something you’d sworn never to do during the weekend) and had opted to just stay in bed for another hour, trying so hard to get over the feeling of his fingers against your skin that you end up committing it to long-term memory. The sunlight peeking through your blinds is what gets you to throw off your covers and admit defeat to the fact that sleep would never come back at this rate, and you decide to just head down, rubbing the lethargy out of your eyes before you make a poor man’s breakfast. You’re halfway through the jelly slice of your sandwich when your sister comes through the doorway, yawning loud to announce her presence. 

“G’morning, bedhead baby,” she greets, and you use the non-knife-holding hand you have free to rake through your hair. “Big rager last night, huh?” 

“Yeah — wait, how’d you know?” 

“We live a door down from Jaemin oppa’s house? Na Jaemin? Our next door neighbor and his whole family? We can see out the window into his lawn? Sometimes we get our sidewalk trash cans mixed up with theirs? Hello?” Sooyeon smirks, albeit a little sluggishly, as you wave her grating words away. “I saw you out there with him, you know.”

“With who? Where? Who?” You demand, your jelly-laden knife freezing in mid-air, the grape blobs slipping dangerously off the edge onto the middle of your bread.

“You. And Jaemin oppa,” she says each syllable slowly. “In front of our house.” 

“Oh.” 

“So usually how these conversations go is: I bring up a juicy piece of information pertaining to you, and because you experienced it first hand, you have to then expound on the piece of information, thereby making it juicier. ‘Oh’ doesn’t cut it. Not by a long shot.” 

“There’s not much to tell.” You wonder, briefly, if you’re now obligated to bring up the Jeno aspect of the night — which, for all intents and purposes, honestly felt like more of a big deal than anything else — but you quickly decide against it, chickening out when she approaches you at the counter and starts unscrewing the lid of the peanut butter jar. That might be giving too much away, considering she didn’t even seem to notice that you’d been bawling when you’d crossed the property line. “He just walked me back here.”

“Oh, yeah, because that’s what people who live next to each other in a not-so-close-knit community do: walk each other two steps home, to keep the baddies away.” 

“He’s just a naturally nice person, I think. Most people are, aren’t they?”

“I thought you guys were close. Didn’t he give you his varsity jacket? That sounds like a closeness thing.” She knots her index and middle finger together, and you slap it away. 

“We’re close only in the same way as you are.” When she gives you a quizzical look, you sigh. “Proximity-wise.” 

“Still doesn’t explain why he was out there, caressing your hair lovingly.”

You freeze, as opposed to Sooyeon’s comically relaxed posture as she scrapes the peanut butter across your other slice of bread. “He… was not. Caressing me. My hair. Lovingly.”

“I have eyes for the sake of seeing.”

“There was just something in it. In my hair. A leaf.” 

You’re not sure why you lie; the largest part of the reason is that you don’t want to have to go into the horrifyingly awkward details of your emotional state last night, but there’s something oddly nagging at you that you can’t quite place. It takes a minute of staring at your sister spreading the peanut butter evenly across the bread and humming to herself while closing the sandwich up that you realize that you don’t want her getting the wrong impression about anything.

Which is weird, because there’s nothing to misunderstand. 

Jaemin, albeit the fact that he’s been chattier to you as of late, more so than any other time in your life, is still just your neighbor. Maybe he’s graduated from being your sort-of acquaintance to something that vaguely resembles an arm-distance-ish friend, but the notion that you’re anything closer than that makes you feel a bit strange — almost like it… scares you, which is extra weird to think about, because there’s actually nothing inherently harmful about being casual buddies with some guy who lives close enough to wave at you from his window. 

Maybe it’s because it’s Jaemin, and that’s what might be tripping you up the most. He’s not just Jeno’s friend; he’s practically some kind of counterpart to him, and it feels weirdly like a line you can’t cross. Or maybe it’s because… Jeno had asked you about him last night, which had made you feel even stranger. Like he’d been worried about something — like Jaemin was a no-go zone for him, specifically. 

As you dully watch your sister take a bite off of your breakfast, it dawns on you: maybe you just don’t want people to think you like anyone other than Jeno. 

“Okay, well, you know better than I do,” she singsongs in a tone that tells you that you actually don’t. Sooyeon doesn’t press, but she also doesn’t make you feel like the conversation is over — even if she trills I’m going back up; thanks for the sandwich in that same voice before leaving you alone in the kitchen with half of it on the plate. 

Because the truth is that you don’t really know; you don’t know what’s so unsettling about being associated with Jaemin. Your sister’s not aware of the intricate ins and outs of your (delusional) relationship with Jeno, apart from your (apparently evident to everyone) crush on him, but you also know she’s not really deeply invested in where your heart lies; all she does is make conversation, as is her personality, as a form of bonding you’ve never really quite been able to navigate well. 

You just don’t get why the mention of Jaemin, now, makes you feel… something. What that is, you’d rather not dwell on. So you just won’t. 

You’re walking out of the kitchen, cheeks filled with peanut butter and jelly, when you see block letters on cloth, spelling out a familiar last name: Na. 

You still haven’t given back Jaemin’s stupid jacket. 

Today is the day, you decide. This seems to have started the whole conversation to begin with: the jacket that somehow brought Jaemin two steps closer into your life, the article of clothing that had opened the door to what shouldn’t even be a talking point between you and anyone else. 

This should be the proverbial swan song for this whole topic; you snatch up his jacket (and immediately regret doing so in such a brutish manner, noticing you’ve got a few specks of breadcrumbs on the lettering) and head out of your house, your bedroom slippers absorbing morning dew as you march yourself over to your neighbor’s. You should’ve done this earlier, really; there was no reason for you to hold on to it. 

Honestly, you’d just forgotten, given that you were more preoccupied with things that started with L and ended with ee Jeno, but you’d rather not extend any more misunderstandings. 

And even if Jeno isn’t here to see this grand closing gesture, maybe, just maybe, this will help you stop feeling so cagey about everything he’d asked last night. 

I want you to like me — just me. 

Because why would he even think you liked Jaemin at all? Or make it sound like he thought you did? Ridiculous. Unfounded. Kind of alarming. 

There’s noise in the air the closer you get to the Na household porch; it sounds a bit muffled, like it’s fighting the breeze, but you realize thereafter that it’s music coming from a tiny speaker sitting on the hand railing. It’s playing Dongbangshinki’s Here I Am, and something about that song stirs your stomach into swooping ten miles down as you approach. 

Your initial plan was to ring the doorbell and pray that Jaemin was still knocked out cold on a Saturday morning so you could pass the jacket off to one of his parents and be done with it, but you’ve no such luck; it seems like he’s an early riser, considering how he’s seated right there, on a wicker chair by his door, hunched over a half-played chess board. There’s no one across him to block his view of you coming up the steps, and he looks up the moment he hears the creaks of the wood under your feet. 

“Hey, ______________,” he doesn’t look surprised; in fact, he looks a bit relieved, for some inexplicable reason. “Didn’t think you’d be up so early.”

“Could say the same for you.” You have no idea what causes heat to flush across your cheeks; has Na Jaemin’s gaze always been this intense? “Um. Good morning?”

“Morning.” His laugh is an easy one; it always has been, and it kind of suits him, you note, before you realize how weird it is to think that. “What’ve you got there? Gift for me?” 

“Wha — oh, yeah, I mean — no, but it is for you.” You hold up his jacket, hooked on your forefinger, to reveal it to him. “Sorry it took so long to give it back.”

This time, he actually looks a bit taken aback. “Did you stop needing it?” 

“Um… I haven’t really used it, if I’m being honest.”

“Oh. Well, there wasn’t any rush. You could’ve kept it for as long as you needed. No pressure, or anything. I’ve got others.”

“You don’t need it at practice, or anything like that?”

“No; most guys don’t even keep theirs. They give them away, for… you know. So it’s no big deal.”

You fall silent; for some reason, his tone makes it seem like he wants you to keep it, which is just preposterous. You instead hang the jacket onto the back of the wicker chair opposite him and step back, like you’ve just set up a land mine you’re afraid of detonating. 

“Well, thank you all the same. I really… appreciate your help. That day. You know.” You’re not sure why you can’t form any sentences long enough to signify you do actually belong in the same year level as him, but he at least doesn’t comment on your ineloquence.

Instead, he just stares for a bit, at the jacket and your retreating hand, before piping up over his music. 

“You wanna play a round?” 

“What? Oh, I’m…” You wave your hands aimlessly. “I’m not good at chess. Actually, I barely know the rules. Plus, you seem kind of busy playing against… your imaginary friend?”

He chuckles again. “Just playing myself.”

“Trying to outfox the old fox?”

“Sometimes it helps to know how you’d get out of a sticky situation you made by your own doing. Helps you see what your opponent sees when it all boils down to it.” He gestures again at the chair across him. “Humor me a little. It’s not as fun just talking to yourself.”

You hesitate for a second; you came here to return the jacket, and that much was done easily, albeit a little more awkwardly than you ever wanted to. Jaemin’s aura is laid back and friendly, but you’re not sure why you’re teetering on the edge of panic again. Jeno’s words seem to be echoing in your head.

And Jaemin is…?

Jaemin is your next-door neighbor, it’s true, but you can’t say that’s really your only point of connection; if it were, he wouldn’t be expectantly waiting for you to take the seat across from him. And when you look at his hand now, idle against the chessboard, you can’t say you aren’t thinking of the way it patted your hair soothingly the night before. All that does is make you wonder the exact same thing Jeno asked you. 

What is Jaemin to you? A friend, perhaps, and definitely a nice person — nice enough to help you out, keep you company during a few low points. He’s a person willing to listen to you, funny enough to lift your spirits, and genial enough to not break your fingers for returning his things way too late (a low bar, but a good one nonetheless). Na Jaemin is a good individual, with pretty good music taste (based on the fact that his playlist, trudging on next to him, is now playing H.O.T.’s Happiness), and a good disposition about him that seems to make no small amount of people gravitate towards him. 

But you don’t really want to dwell on what Jaemin is to you; more than that, you can only really be reminded of what he isn’t. 

He isn’t Jeno. 

And Jeno knows you like him; he’s not only noticed it but confirmed it multiple times in a single conversation. Surely, then, nothing else should matter to him — or, for that matter, to you. 

You swallow down the refusal and nod, trying not to read into the fact that Jaemin’s face lights up when you pull the chair back and settle down on it. 

“So let me get this straight; you don’t know how to play chess?”

“I know a couple of pieces go in weird directions,” you admit. “That’s about it.” 

“Perfect.” His long fingers drum against the wood of the table. “I’m going to whip you into competitive chess-playing shape, my young pupil.” 

What starts off as a casual, humor-filled lesson on the roles of each chess piece suddenly becomes an actual lecture; you’re not sure if Jaemin is getting a kick out of instructing a rookie like you on the different plays — which are infinite, a fact he’s drilled into you several times — or if he’s really just enthusiastic about the game (no, sorry, sport, since he’s chastised you about three times on this terminology already), but whatever the reason is, you have chess pounded into your brain for the better part of an hour. By the time he asks you to actually start playing against him, the sun’s fully up in the air and you’ve had to tie your hair up to keep it from sticking to your neck. 

“I’m glad you got home safe last night,” he hums, pushing his black pawn to meet yours in the middle of the board. The Italian Game, he called it — not to be confused with serenading someone over pasta, a different kind of Italian game. That had gotten a long laugh out of you. Your hands flit over the white pieces, unsure of your memory. You only respond when you’ve moved your bishop to the same row. 

“Well, it was a very long and tumultuous journey, but I managed, with some help.” 

His knight comes out next, smoothly and quickly; you pause, rubbing the back of your neck. Surely, there was something else he’d taught you? 

“What a chivalrous, ah, knight, that person must’ve been.” He raps a knuckle onto the table, starting you out of the act of racking your brain. “Perfect joke. Well-timed. Excellent chess pun. I think I deserve an award.”

“Does whooping my ass two moves into the game count as a prize?”

“I don’t want to rob you of the feeling of hope this early in the match. Take your time,” he chuckles, leaning back against the throw cushion behind him. He fiddles with the speaker, and the songs skip one by one, until he lands on a song you don’t know — some Japanese track that sounds suspiciously like an animation opening. It’s lively and admittedly a bit loud, and Jaemin hums to the guitar riffs with surprising accuracy. “Anything interesting happen when I left?”

You freeze for a moment, your fingers still hovering over your own knight in hesitation. You know what he’s asking, and for some reason, you’re tempted to tell him — then you remember that it actually isn’t really his business, and you don’t want to embarrass yourself. 

“Not really.” You feign casual disinterest as you move your knight above your pawn line; from here on out, you have no clue what to do. Jaemin, on the other hand, is so sure-footed about his own skills (which are infinitely more advanced than yours) that he doesn’t even take his eyes off you to look at the board as he moves his next piece. You’re stuck thinking about what to do again — in the game, that is. Not about his gaze, which you try to avoid. “Just, you know. Talked with Jeno for a bit. Nothing major.”

Nothing major to him, you remind yourself. To you, your entire world had just been flipped over onto its belly.

Jaemin hums again, this time in understanding, but you notice (from your very surreptitious glances of him) that this time, it seems like he’s choosing what to do. You think it’s for the game, but when he counteracts your own (poorly planned) move with a swift response from his own pieces, you get the odd feeling he’s trying to choose his words carefully. 

“Was it a conversation where you all got along?”

You hadn’t argued, but you’d never really thought about the whole stint long enough to classify it as good or bad. You supposed it wasn’t anything horrible in the end, although the fact that it had robbed you of precious hours of sleep wasn’t exactly the best outcome. But Jaemin’s not watching your expression now; he’s intently looking at the board, even if he’s not the one about to make the next move. 

You get the feeling he’s suddenly avoiding eye contact too, which is weird, because he’s never been one to shy away from looking you straight in the eye. For some reason, that makes you feel like he doesn’t want to hear an answer. 

“It was fine. Nothing… bad happened.” You know that’s true, but somehow you feel like it’s still not truth. “He explained… stuff. Who she was. Why it happened. Totally understandable stuff, I think.” 

You choose not to mention anything apart from that — that he’d asked you to like him, nor that he’d asked you about your relationship with Jaemin. More than deciding it wasn’t going to be anything contributive to the conversation at hand, you also just didn’t want to. 

Jaemin stays silent for a while; he moves his piece, then taps his queen — for some reason, he’s letting you know something about his next move. What it is, you haven’t puzzled out; it’s not like you know which direction he’d be taking, and even if you did, you’d surely not know how to respond to it, anyway. You guess he’s just throwing you a bone, but why he would, you also just don’t see the reason for. 

You’re pushing your pawn hesitantly diagonal to capture one of his when he speaks up again. 

“Did he tell you how it ended? With the two of them, I mean.”

He says it so calmly, capturing your bishop with his queen in the process, that you feel like you’re just talking about the weather and who won yesterday’s league basketball match. You shift uncomfortably in your seat, clearing your throat, but you only actually manage to shake your head. 

“She cheated on him. Some college guy that she met during her orientation; you know she’s older than him, right? He’s never dated seriously since then. I think he was really hung up on her for a while — until recently, that is. I think. He hasn’t been that close to many girls.” 

“That’s… that’s awful.” You’re not sure why Jaemin’s telling you this; it honestly feels illegal to know. “I didn’t think… anyone would. Cheat on him, I mean.” 

“Even good-looking bastards like him can have rotten luck.” Jaemin’s smile borders on wry. “I don’t know why she showed up, honestly. Word probably got around… but she probably just wanted to know what would happen if she stirred something up with him one last time. He likely didn’t see it coming.” 

You stare at the board, unsure of what to say. It makes sense, but something doesn’t really sit right with you either — why Jeno would let her come close to him at all, let alone allow her to completely eliminate the distance between his mouth and hers for longer than a second. Even thinking about it makes you want to throw up all over again. 

“But deep down, I don’t know if Jeno completely got over her.” Jaemin continues, snapping you out of your short trance. “For a while after, they kept in touch. I think they even tried to work it out, but… obviously, it wasn’t easy. Until now… I’m not really sure.” 

“Why,” you swallow hard. “Why… are you… why should I…”

“It’s not easy to be a player when you don’t know much about the game, is it?” He’s still staring at the board, but you get the sense that he isn’t just talking about chess. “Like I said, Jeno’s a pretty complicated guy. It’s not really my place to say anything, but…” Jaemin’s eyes flit upward for a second, and he offers you a small, almost pitying smile. “I think you need to know anyway.” 

“But it has nothing to do with me. His life… I mean, his ex, and stuff.”

“I’m not too sure about that. If you like him that much… doesn’t that just mean you want to be part of his life?” He topples a pawn of yours, but you barely register the clattering noise or the fact that he drags it unceremoniously off the board. “I think you should at least know what you’re getting into. Jeno hasn’t liked someone seriously for a while, but you seem… to be the opposite. How much do you actually know about what he’s like?”

You don’t know why that kind of hurts your feelings; maybe it’s just because you have to face some kind of truth about how you don’t know much about Jeno’s private life, as badly as you want to. You even have to hear about it from someone else — someone easily kicking your ass in a dumb chess match. 

“I think everyone has baggage,” you say slowly, pushing your rook forward. You realize it’s trapped behind two different pawns, so you’ve essentially backed the piece into its own corner. Jaemin doesn’t seem to care; he’s too busy executing what clearly is a ten-stage strategic win on the other side of the board. You don’t really care.

“That’s true,” he concedes, toppling your knight. “But some more than others, I think.” 

“If he wanted me to know, he would’ve told me, right? Yesterday, I mean.”

“That’s may also be true, although I can’t say that with absolute certainty.” He looks thoughtful, and the pause gives you a bit of reprieve — enough to make a bad move that you instantly regret the moment you put your one remaining bishop on a square. Something like amusement flickers across Jaemin’s face, but he doesn’t make a move immediately. “Do you know what makes chess such a great game? In my opinion, anyway.” 

“No?” The uncertainty in your voice is from a lack of understanding at the sudden shift in topic. 

“Whenever you play someone, you get to see what they’re like — what their priorities are, you know?” His finger lands on a rook, inching it back and forth with idle intent. “You see how their mind works, what they’re like when they’re winning or losing, and what they think of you. Check, by the way.” 

You’re silent as his rook captures your bishop, and he picks your fallen piece up and sets it aside with his growing pile of white. 

“I’ve actually asked Jeno to play with me a few times, just for the fun of it. Sore loser,” he laughs lightly, one hand reaching out to lower the volume of his music. You notice the opening bars of Winner’s Really Really come through moments before it’s toned down. “Doesn’t really know or care about the rules, but he really likes to win. That’s kind of what makes him the star player on the team, actually. He really hates being backed into a corner, but all that focus on winning kind of tunnels his vision sometimes. Leaves him open to some attacks from another angle. He really hates that — which is probably why we barely play chess together in the first place. Apart from the fact that he thinks it’s boring.” 

You’re staring at your pieces, now very pitifully winnowed down in number, and you feel stuck. You’re not sure what to do, but you’re pretty sure any move is going to make you look dumb in front of Jaemin, who’s clearly a pro — so much so that he seems to know what you’re going to do before you even decide yourself. 

“You know what I like about your playing style, though?” He interrupts your train of thought again. You look up from the board, bemused; you’ve just been struggling to humor him since your first move, and it obviously isn’t working, since he seems more invested in the conversation than in the game. “You’re just trying your best, even if you’re new at this — even if you think you’re going to lose.” 

“I just don’t want you to think I’ve forgotten everything you just said,” you respond, smiling weakly. 

“You can’t always predict what’s going to happen in a game, even if you know the pattern anyway. Isn’t that just natural about anything in life?”

“You seem to know, though,” you grumble, tugging on your ponytail. You throw in the only option you have left: pushing your queen in front of your king as a last line of defense. “You’re barely paying attention to the board.”

“It’s just constant practice — a lot of hard work on my part. I don’t mind the grind of it, if it gets me somewhere good in the end.” 

“So is that the kind of player you are? Just… a hard worker?” 

“Maybe. I like to look at things from every possible angle. I guess that’s why I like chess when most people find it a headache.” He picks up his queen, rolling it in his palm. “Although, I guess Jeno and I have one thing in common — as players, that is.”

“What’s that?”

“I also really hate to lose.” 

His queen knocks over your own with a pitiful clatter, taking its place on the board. When he picks up your piece, instead of adding it to his knockout count, he offers it to you. You take it gingerly, opting to focus more on it than on the soft smile that’s now playing on Jaemin’s lips. 

“Checkmate,” he announces lightly. “Good game, _____________. You’ve got the makings of a star player.” 

“You’re patronizing me, aren’t you?” You sigh as the two of you start resetting the board; you have to watch Jaemin’s pieces get rearranged to position your own. 

“Only a little bit. I see a lot of quiet drive in you.” 

You place the last of your pawns in a neat row; the board looks like it hadn’t even been touched. “Jaemin, how did you and Jeno become this close? You seem… I don’t know.”

“Yeah, we’ve definitely got our unique quirks,” he chuckles softly. “But Jeno and I… we just go way back, I think. When you’re friends with someone from a young age, you tend to grow with them. He’s a good dude, really, even if our personalities are different, and it’s always a fun event so long as he’s around. Well — mostly. I’d say a good ninety-nine percent of the time.” 

You pointedly ignore the sheepish smile he throws your way. 

“You said before that you’re not the type to… you know, share your feelings, and all that. Then how do you… like what do you guys even talk about?”

“What do you and Renjun usually talk about?” Jaemin grins. “Anything and everything, really. Movies, games, why the jerk from Yongsan International gets on our nerves when he chews his gum. We just… have a tendency to be interested in the same things, no matter if our perspectives are different.” 

While talking to Jaemin is fun, you can’t help but feel like he has a tendency to speak in riddles. You still don’t really see any strong similarities in their approaches to their interests, similar as they may be, but what do you know, anyway? It isn’t like you and Renjun are exactly peas in a pod on paper.

His eyes lose focus for a second, hitting somewhere behind your ear before they quickly turn back to you. You have no idea why this makes you feel a little put on the spot. 

“Hey, you want to have brunch here? My mom makes a mean soybean paste stew.”

“Oh,” you press your hand against your stomach, wondering if the swooping feeling in it is from hunger or something unrelated. “No, I actually just ha—”

“_____________?” 

You swivel around in the chair, and your heart stops; you're not the least bit prepared to see Lee Jeno standing at the foot of Jaemin’s porch steps, a quizzical look very clearly etched on his sharp features.

so glad to hear from you! i hope u enjoy ur creative writing class and write to ur heart’s content! wishing you the best <3 im so excited and happy for u :)

thank you sm! i’m super nervous and excited but really hoping for the best / really looking forward to getting better and honing the craft 🥹

Haloo, just dropping by to ask if you were the one who wrote that Baekhyun One Shot where he and his girlfriend is kind of on the rocks because of his schedule? The one where he fell asleep on the Ferris wheel? :) I love that story, it’s very well written. Is there any chance that you will upload it again? :) Thank you!🙏🏽

hello !! yes that was me 🥹🥹 i’m not entirely sure about uploading it as a baekhyun one shot, but i do love that fic and want to upload it again somehow if i have a chance. i’m not sure if there’s a demand for it to be a baekhyun fic but !! if there is, then i’ll certainly keep it as is and re-upload it; otherwise, i might have to tweak it! 💕

Fic recs! (Mostly NCT)

I’m finally making a fic rec post! Most of the time I read a good fic, I don’t save it which I then regret if I want to come back to it so here we are.

Mostly NCT Dream and mostly smut. I’ll put the fic description and my own opinions for each one, but I don’t read for all members so sorry about that haha. Hopefully I can build it up and add more people as we go.

I added genre and descriptions too, hopefully its helpful to others even if I added it for my memory’s sake!

NCT

이마크 - Mark Lee

Delphinium. @ncteez Part one (16.3k), part two (23k) 

Genre: Smut, angst, some fluff in pt1, lots in 2. virgin religious mark, pagan reader, mentions of questioning faith, un-holy behavior, coming to terms, making out, holding hands, mark’s first ever orgasm ect….

Description: It wasn’t intentional. You don’t even know why you cared that he didn’t believe in pre-marital sex, but it didn’t stop you from arguing with him about it. You didn’t intend to win the argument either. Then again, he kind of let you.

My notes: Basically Mark who's done nothing - never even kissed a girl - fighting and questioning his own morals regarding religion. I was so hooked, once I started I could not stop and I’ve read both parts more than once since. The smut is sensual and the feelings are displayed well. Very well written, but anything from this author is honestly her whole masterlist is worth checking out.

Watch Me. (14.6k) @sluttyten​ 

Genre:  non-idol au, voyeurism, masturbation, snowballing, squirting, blowjobs

Description: you pick up the voyeuristic habit of watching your neighbor that never closes his curtains and whose face you never see. on an unrelated note, you start dating the cute barista from down the street that also happens to live in the building across from yours. what could happen?

My notes: Pretty self explanatory but two horny people who live across from each other and Mark who doesn’t know how to shut curtains. The tension is immaculate. Another author with a top tier masterlist to look at too.

Gorgeous @lucyandthepen​ Part one (12.4k), part two (16.6k) 

Genre: college / football au, romance, humor, smut.

Description: you don’t know what in the football uniform mark is wearing is so attractive. maybe it’s how broad is shoulders always look in that jersey. maybe it’s how nicely accentuated his ass is when he’s running. or, maybe, just maybe, it’s how painfully conspicuous the outline of his cock is through those pants.  or, you know. all of the above.  

My notes: Best friends to lovers with jock Mark! I prefer part one, but I thought I’d add part two in there since it’s still very good (I just don’t like daddy/mummy kinks). Part one is shower sex with Mark (soososososo good) and part two is a threesome with left out, best friend Hyuck. I loved the writing of emotions, such as nerves, arousal, fluster and admiration throughout both parts. Honestly when an author makes the feelings tangible it just adds so much dimension to writing.

황런쥔 - Huang Renjun

Art Of Innocence (11.8k) @jenonctcity​ 

Genre: Fluff, smut, angst, loss of virginity.

Description: Art and gaming. That’s all Renjun found himself doing. Of course he spent time with his friends, but he had to be dragged away from his games console or easel first. Renjun had been brought up around art, his mother being an artist and his father being a drama teacher. So it wasn’t a shock to anyone when he decided to study art at university. His quiet, shy, nerdy nature meant that he didn’t get much attention when walking around campus, which is just how he liked it. You however, had found him on your first day of university and had stuck to him like glue. He pretended as if you didn’t mean that much to him, but you and him both knew he would be lost without you. Only, you didn’t know he was a virgin. So after you found out about the pact from one of the other boys, you couldn’t wait to intercept his gaming session and quiz him on his innocence. You couldn’t help it, but you suddenly saw him in a different light, one that had your fingers tingling and stomach flipping. The same way Renjun had felt looking at you since the first day he’d met you.

My notes: Description sums it up. I have read this an ABSURD amount of times. I want this fr omg its so <3. There is a Jeno instalment to the series (The Virgin Diaries) too, also recommended!

50 Shades of Paint (17.3k) @sparklysung​ 

Genre: smut, fluffish, angsty, a bit of crack | non-idol!au, best friends!au

Description: teaming up for an artsy tiktok trend with your best friend should be a fun and wholesome experience. but when it quickly turns into paint wars, you and renjun find yourselves involved in a rather messy situation, especially if your innocent video turns out going viral for all the wrong reasons.

My notes: Fucking in Taeil’s art studio (poor Taeil) after Renjun can’t hide his attraction for you… Very hot and I love how Renjun’s portrayed in this (I also just love Renjun)

이동혁 - Lee Haechan

Swallow Your Words (6k) @sparklysung​ 

Genre: enemies to lovers!au, smut, switch!donghyuck, switch!reader.

Description:  it only took a couple of words to make the blood boil in your veins and being the competitive individual you are, you had to prove lee donghyuck, your all-time enemy, wrong.

My notes: Well my original description in my notes app was “FVGBHJKEVYWGGYEFTGRWYTFGYWRGYFRGVFRVWVQEVRGYRW” if that explains how I felt about this in any way. I come back to this fic frequently, it has to be the best written lap dance I’ve ever read.

Pussy Fiend @domjaehyun​ Part one (28.2k), part two (40.7k)

Genre: smut, humor, fluff; college au, enemies to fuckbuddies to lovers, roommate au.

Description: uhhh he likes you and is a fiend for pussy idk bestie. 

My notes: Such a small summary for such a long fic, but definitely one of the best smuts I’ve ever read. Basically roommate Haechan and you are always bickering, and he’s always making sexual jokes until one day, you fuck. I really love cocky Haechan. Part 2 is pretty much 40k of pure smut like holy shit, consider donating to the writer because nearly 70k of writing so well is truly amazing. 

Hot & Cold (36k) @ddeonuism​ 

Genre: childhood best friends to lovers, fluff, comedy (crack treated seriously), mild angst, “opposites attract” kinda trope, non-linear narrative, slice of life (kind of), no smut but suggestive.

Description: Donghyuck and Y/N, Y/N and Donghyuck. Whatever the order was, everyone knew it wasn’t the same without the other; everyone knew that you two would end up together, one way or another. Only, no one ever told Donghyuck that it would take this long. It took an unnecessary long time for him to get where he wanted you to be, but it was worth all the years if it meant he’d get you in the end. After all, he wouldn’t spend all of his time and effort to plan on confessing with an old pink Nintendo DS Lite and a Pokémon Pearl cartridge.

My notes: Made me feel so loved. Shed a tear. Made me delusionally in love with an unobtainable person. When will it be MY TURN?!!! I loved how Hyuck was portrayed, it was just so <3.

I’d Like To See You Try (6.7k) @yutasbellybuttonpiercing M, A. 

Genre: non idol!AU, smut, enemies to lovers, switch!Haechan, switch!reader

Description: Once Donghyuck shows up in your Discord to game with you and your friends, a dispute arises quickly. Donghyuck gets on your nerves, though he’s hot as fuck, and you wonder how far you can push him until he breaks.

My notes: Gamer Hyuck fucks you in front of yours and his friends (dream) who are watching via stream. Holy mf shit. Oh my god. What the fuck. 

Started With a Kiss (10k) @sundaysundaes

Genre: protected sex, oral sex, crude humor, swearing, literally 10k of sex with very little plot, a lot of playful banters between sassy!hyuck and equally sassy!Y/N

Description: Rookie actor, Lee Haechan, desperately wants to get the lead role in the highly anticipated upcoming TV drama. He’s sure he has what it takes to fill the part. Acting as a hero? No problem. Pretending to overcome his traumatic experience? Consider it done. A bed scene? Easy—wait, no. That might be a problem. But he should be fine as long as he gets to rehearse, right?

My notes: “practicing” sex always does well. Lighthearted smut scene, just fun to read!

나재민 - Na Jaemin

Cherry Girl! (16.7k) @tyonfs

Genre: smut, fluff, crack, college au, gamer au (twitch streamer!jaemin), friends to lovers, fuckboy au, friends with benefits au, a little bit of angst

Description: virginity is a social construct, so it’s not like na jaemin had to know you were a pure, untouched maiden. okay, so maybe you should’ve told him that before he was knuckles-deep inside you. or, in which progressing from best friends to best friends with benefits is hard, especially when you both have feelings for each other.

My notes: One day I’ll experience head as good as it was written in this. 

EXO

도경수 - Do Kyungsoo (D.O)

Across the Way (10k) @kpopfanfictrash​

Genre: Voyeurism, semi-public sex, masturbation, dirty talk, kyungsoo in glasses.

Description: Kyungsoo has always been a guy who abides by the rules. He makes decisions based on logic, not impulse; he is the type of guy who wears a suit to work and plans his meals out for each week. Which is why it’s so strange, when Kyungsoo’s neighbor moves in and, rather than be turned off by her games, he finds he can’t look away. Worse, sometimes he even plays along. (Loosely inspired by EXO’s 24/7).

My notes: I think I just really like the idea of having a hot neighbour idk… but uh yeah Kyungsoo gets off by seeing you across from his window but he doesn’t know you see him, so naturally you keep riling him up until you’re together in person. I love this fic, the internal battle Kyungsoo faces and the smut is really good.

BTS

김태형 - Kim Taehyung (V)

Heatwave (12k) @curly-bangtan

Genre: roommate au, friends to lovers au (f2l), smut, angst if you squint, attempt at sparse crack

Description: When your town is hit with a heatwave, and the air conditioning at your shared place coincidentally malfunctions, you start to go a little crazy at your shit luck because there’s nothing you hate more than clammy pits, while Taehyung goes a little crazy thinking you’re trying to seduce him with your tiny shorts and popsicle-sucking skills.

My notes: Ah the very first fic that made it onto my notes app ‘top tier’ list because it really is top tier. Its hot, clothes come off, popsicles are consumed and then its another type of hot, clothes continue coming off and popsicles start being used for more than just consumption. The desperation was so gtrefjue I could overlook my dislike for daddy kinks. Its a shame, because I used to read lots of BTS smut as there’s so much of it and its so good, but I never saved any… maybe its time to go back for a second. 

Hope u can have a good valentines withsomeone special or not!! Spending it alone is a good time to rest and relax too!

i actually spent this time packing HAHA i just left korea to go back to the philippines, where i'm now trying to apply for a phd/different master's degree. so it was a hectic period, and i'm sorry that i never got to reply then! but i hope that you also had a wonderful valentine's, either with someone special or with your own special self (equally important, i think!) <3