please DO NOT copy, repost, or claim as yours.

CREDITS: divider above from @/pixopix, any and all photos from pinterest (excluding the tomodachi martin)

maia’s note: im back !!! ok but first of all, i am not a tomodachi life larper, i’ve loved it since it was released on the ds and the photos of martin’s mii is from my actual game. anyways, i really love how this work ended up turning out not only bc of the concept of it but bc i’m genuinely just happy i finally finished a work. yes, this smau is not my finest… and there could’ve been more development… but nonetheless i like it and i hope you all enjoy reading it too ! reblogs and feedback are always appreciated !! 🩶

TAGLISTS: @bambisnc @mungbeancoups @starriniqhts @lusayyawnn @chrrific @winteringdream @w3willris3 @rickyshensgirlfriend @kaiyunsim @missingsarinha @lefttrashstrawberry @lovemashu

Earlier in statistics class today, Ives told you to meet her at the library after school, but she didn’t tell you why. Your mom forbids you to do anything remotely fun, including staying back late after school, but something in your gut told you to see what Ives was up to. So now you are here…

Once you wave her down and she trots her way to your table, Ives excitedly slams two small pieces of paper on your book.

“Hey! I was reading that!” You frown as you bookmark the page you’re on to make proper space for what looks suspiciously like concert tickets.

“Oh my dog! YN, did you hear that CORTIS, the k-pop boy group, is coming to Tokyo, Japan and that’s where we live?!”

“CORTIS?” You respond with a sigh. “Is that the group you’ve been obsessed with lately? I’m not into them because I only listen to real music these days.”

“Yes that’s them, and that’s okay because after tonight you will finally realise that they ARE real music!” Ives says with a smug look. She picks up the concert tickets - CORTIS FRONT ROW SEATS SIX AND SEVEN - written in huge letters printed on them. 

This only confuses you more. You had plans tonight of studying as usual, because your mom needs you to become a pharmaceutical doctor madam president by the time you’re 25. 

“Oh no, no, no, no. Don’t even think about it girl. I’m not going to this concert! My mom would kill me if she found out. And more importantly I have nothing to wear.” You say immediately, rapidly turning your head in case Ives can’t hear you. 

Luckily she can hear you.

“You can wear what you’re wearing right now!” 

You look down at your outfit… your galaxy print leggings and Nike sweater look back up at you. It would be a shame to waste such a gorgeous outfit.

“Ok let’s go!” You sigh in defeat, but you are secretly intrigued on how tonight is going to go… 

“Yippie!” Ives cheers yippily. 

~30 min later~

You’ve been standing at the barricade for hours. 

At the concert, the crowd is buzzing in anticipation as you all await for the artists to take the stage. Typically, these kinds of events are anxiety-inducing for you because of how loud and overwhelming they can be… but seeing how connected and excited these girls around you are, form a sense of community you never expected to find. It’s endearing how much music can unite people, and your heart grows fond of how concerts have become youth’s third space to let go of societal expectations and be themselves again for a night. 

Then you suddenly remember you don’t speak Korean. “Oh no, Ives. I don’t speak Korean.” You whisper, just in case the other fans around you are judgemental.

“I will translate for you. They will come onto the stage in 2 minutes!” She reassures you. 

2 minutes. That’s heaps of time so you take out your book and open up to the chapter you were at before. 

As you reach page 420 of The Communist Manifesto by Karl Marx, suddenly a loud voice erupts in autotune. 

“COER! WHAT’S UP!” 

There are shrieks all around you, making you look up from your book to see an extremely vertically long blonde boy run onto the stage. 

“He said coer, what is up.” Ives translates for you. She’s not whispering though because with all the screaming going on around you, no one will hear. But you suddenly realise you don’t need her to interpret anymore because the boy on stage is speaking your language. Phew!

The speakers boom and a loud noise drones into your eardrums. 4 other boys run out and the cheers become impossibly louder. 

“Nae ti… five bucks.” One of them starts to sing, and they all start performing a synchronised dance. There are purple beam lights flashing across the stadium, which luckily lets you still see the pages of your book. 

You have to admit, the song is catchy, and its lyrics pair well with the anti-capitalist book you’re currently continuing to read. 

On the stage, Kim Juhoon is about to sing his “Dongmyo, wassup” line until he catches a glance at you in the crowd. Unlike everyone else who is singing along, you’re focused on what looks like a novel in front of you. He likes to read as well so he thinks you look like an angle. 

Luckily he doesn’t get too distracted to the point where he forgets his lines, so the song continues perfectly. Once it’s over Juhoon is out of breath from all the fast moves, even though they’re muscle memory to him at this point in his career. Finally, you finish the page you were on and you look up to see what all the commotion was about. Your eyes meet his, and Juhoon feels flustered all over again. 

You look so pretty in this light. Juhoon also really likes your outfit. FaSHioN indeed! 

Your eyes widen when you realise it’s been really long of playing eye tag and the boy you accidentally stared at hasn’t looked away. 

Suddenly, the tall blonde member gives the boy a teasing punch which knocks him out of his trance. You have scientifically detected the boy with the spikey hair is named Martin. 

“Ives, who is the boy standing next to Martin?” You ask your best friend, who is beaming at the stage. 

“Why, it's Juhoon of course!” She informs you. 

Juhoon.

What a beautiful name, you think to yourself. It rhymes with so many words, for example spoon and balloon.

The boy group sings six more songs, and each time Juhoon-Spoon-Balloon makes sure you’re always in his direct eyeline. For some reason he feels a connection between you two and really wants to impress you. It seems to be working because you have stopped reading entirely and actually paid attention to the show. You have to admit you found the song ‘Joyride’ lovely. 

Then the concert is over. 

“Wow! That was short.” You say as you make your way out with Ives.

“Yeah, they only have seven songs. Time to go home but wait! I need to go to the bathroom.”

“Ok. I will wait here for you.” You tell Ives, as you stand next to a plant. 

The hallway you are in is almost empty because everybody else went through the other exit. Because you think you’re alone you start to sing some of the songs you heard before because they got stuck in your head:

“Something something fried eggs, pancakes. Bloodshot eyes tonight…” 

“Wow.” A voice says from behind you, “You’re really good.”

You scream at the stranger. But then you realised it was one of the boys who was in the group. He’s not Martin or Juhoon, but he can’t stop smiling, so you realise it must be Keonho if you remember correctly from the lore Ives was telling you about. 

“I’m Keonho.” Keonho introduces himself to you. 

Yayy you guessed correctly! 

“What the fudge, dude?! You scared me!” You tell him.

His eyes widen at your words. Quickly, he puts his forefinger to his mouth as if warning you to be quiet. “We can’t say those words…” He whispers, eyes scanning the room to make sure no one could hear. 

“What word? Fudge?” You respond in confusion. 

Both his hands cover his mouth now in a gasp. He did not expect you to repeat it. Frantically nodding his head. At first you thought it was because the company was strict about swearing, but then Keonho says:

“They’ll hear you…” 

Who will? You two are the only ones there. Until you feel the vibration of heaps of footstomps coming your way.

“Oh no! The goonas!” Keonho screams in fear. He grabs your hand and pulls you behind him as he runs to the door. 

“Hey! STOP kidnapping me!” You shout in protest. 

“It’s for a good cause! We’re going to the van! Safer in there, trust me.” 

Getting dragged away to a vehicle turns out to be an extremely good choice once you see the crowd of women running in your direction. Eyes focused on their mission of getting a photo with the idol. So you hop in with no second thought.

“Hey, there you are.” A handsome, velvety, mature voice says. “Where did you go, Keonho? You need to stop wandering around after shows. Wait a second… you’re not Keonho!”

Inside the van, you are faced with what looks like the oldest member of the group. His hair falls perfectly on his face, and the way his dark eyes are set on you make his features look like they were sculptured by an artist. His cheekbones, nose, and dimples are all so entrancing. 

“It’s ok, James-hyung. I’m here. And she’s with me.” Keonho explains, climbing in after you. 

“And who is she?” The last member you now know, Seonghyeon, asks. 

You’re about to tell them your name, but you get interrupted.

“It’s you. My angle.” 

Everyone’s heads whips to the back, where Juhoon is sitting calmly. The seatbelt is already strapped in so he can’t move up to greet you properly, but he pats the empty seat next to him, inviting you to sit down. 

As Keonho takes the spot in between Seonghyeon and James, you have no choice but to go to Juhoon. 

“Hello…” He says, more gently to you when you’re next to him.

“Hi. You are Juhoon-Spoon-Balloon.” You answer, quietly, as if this moment is just between you and him.

He nods in confirmation, “But you can call me Jju if you like.”

“Okay, Jju. I am YN.” 

He repeats your name with a small smile on his face. It’s nice to finally know what he’s calling his dream girl. 

“Sorry about the fans, they can be crazy sometimes. We’ll take you home so that you get there safely.”

“Aw tysm.” Then you storytell your address to the driver, who happens to be Martin, and the van lurches forward. Maybe getting kidnapped by these guys isn’t so bad after all.

On the drive home, you talk to Juhoon as the others fall asleep because they’re tired from singing and dancing. He’s so easy to talk to and you feel like you’ve known him your entire life. You talk about everything and anything you could in the 10 minutes it takes to get to your place. 

As you pull up in front of your house, you start to feel a sadness take over your heart knowing that your time with Juhoon is over. The feeling is mutual for the boy sitting next to you, until an idea pops into his head. 

“Can we come inside?” Juhoon asks when you’re about to take your leave, “I’m thirsty.” 

You go over the logic in your head… even though they kidnapped you, they were kind enough to drive you home safely. So you agree. 

You brace yourself for what you’re going to say to your mom when you go in. Possibly a lie about cram school? You just hope she doesn’t yell at you in front of them, that would be so embarrassing. 

“I’ll be right back because I need to change clothes! The kitchen is that way,” you point across for Juhoon to see. You hope that the 5 of them can handle introducing themselves to your mom on their own, as you go to change out of your outside clothes and into comfortable pusheen pyjamas.  

Finally feeling fresh, and brave to face your mom, you put your hair up into a bun. Even though this was the first attempt, it falls in a perfect amount of messy and neat. Then you make your way down stairs.

You suddenly stop at the scene in front of you. You had expected the boys (Martin, James, Juhoon, Seonghyeon, and Keonho) to be standing in the living room about to make their leave after stealing some sips of tap water but instead… They're sitting down at the living table looking extremely serious. 

Your mom turns to you with a huge smile on her face. You see some paperwork in front of her and when you read what the contract says, there’s only one noise that can come out of your mouth.

“NOOOOOOOOO!” 

To be continued~~~~~~~

#🫖: cortis release greengreen early please im losing my mind 😭💧💧💧🙏🙏😭💧💧😭😭 BACK TO OUR FANFICTION ROOTS w this one because @bananagirl222 ‘s post last night had me on the floor 🫰 if you made it this far but are new to my account i’m sorry this is your first impression of me ipromise i have more normal works welcome to coerblr ☺️😊😁😁😁😁

You’re greeted by silence when you open the door to your apartment. Not the comfortable kind, rather, the kind that feels like something is missing. 

Shrugging your coat off slowly and slipping your shoes off near the door, you trudge past the doorway to the living room. Halfway there, the floor seems to tilt slightly beneath you. Instinctively, you press your palm briefly against the wall to steady yourself, the cool paint grounding against your skin. Your body feels off; your head is too light yet too heavy.  

Jihoon should have been home now. But it makes sense that he isn’t. 

There’s been a slight distance between the two of you lately. Not obvious enough to confront but noticeable enough for the two of you. Plus, you’ve only seen him in passing the past few days. Once in the morning and once again at night. Texts arrive delayed. Conversations are much shorter. But both of you blame it on busy schedules. It’ll pass soon. 

Still, the apartment feels colder because of it. 

You stand in the middle of the living room, hovering and unsure what to do next. Cooking feels impossible. Even changing clothes sounds exhausting. So you sink onto the couch instead. 

The cushions dip under your weight, and the moment you lean back, a chill crawls up your spine despite the warmth prickling at your skin. You pull the throw blanket across your shoulders and tuck it just beneath your chin. 

Just a few minutes, you tell yourself. Then you’ll get up. 

—

The sound of the door opening pulls you from your shallow, restless nap. Keys clink softly. Shoes slide off. A coat rustles. 

You don’t move at first. Your head throbs faintly, a dull pulse right behind your temples. You’re suspended somewhere between waking and dreaming, aware only of how wrong your body feels. Too hot, too cold, too tired. 

Footsteps stop at the doorway to the living room. 

“Hey,” Jihoon says quietly. 

You open your eyes and turn your head slightly toward him. His hair is slightly damp at the ends from the night air, and his expression is unreadable, distant. 

“Hi,” you croak, throat dry. 

“Did you fall asleep?”

“Yeah,” you reply, your voice low and sleepy. “Didn’t mean to.”

He nods once, slowly. Silence follows after. 

You push yourself upright. The room swims. Tiny sparks flicker across your vision before dissipating. The blanket slips from your shoulders as you swing your feet to the floor. The cold hits immediately and burns into your bones. You suppress a shiver. 

Jihoon notices, but he hesitates to speak. Instead, he makes his way to the kitchen. You hear the faucet run. Cabinet doors open and close. The mundane sounds ring strangely loud in your ears. 

You press your fingertips to your temple. Your head feels like it’s full of cotton. 

Jihoon returns just as your hand moves back with a glass of water, setting it in front of you. 

“For the headache,” he says simply. 

When you don’t respond, he adds, “You keep pressing here,” gesturing lightly toward his own temple. You hadn’t even realized. 

You purse your lips slightly as the warmth suddenly beneath your ribs is chased away by the throbbing behind your eyes. 

“Thanks,” you murmur, reaching to grab the glass. Your fingers brush his as you pick it up, and he looks away immediately, clearing his throat slightly. 

You’re aware of the way he’s observing you silently. Normally, you wouldn’t bat an eye, but his presence feels familiar and unfamiliar all at once after not seeing him lately. 

“You look tired,” he says. 

“Yeah,” you respond, “a little.”

The room tilts again as your gaze unfocuses. You set the glass down quickly. 

“You’re shivering,” he says. 

“I’m not – ”

Another tremor runs through you, cutting you off. 

Jihoon’s hand lifts instinctively, pausing just before it reaches your forehead, hesitating as if asking permission. 

His palm presses gently against your skin, catching your forehead as it dips slightly in a nod. The coolness of his skin is apparent against the burning of your forehead. You lean on it without thinking. His expression changes immediately. 

“You’re burning up.”

His hand slides from your forehead to the side of your neck, checking again, more certain this time.

“You have a fever.”

Before you can argue, he takes your hand and helps you stand. Carefully, he guides you down the hallway and into the bedroom. 

“Rest here,” he says, pulling the blankets back and sitting you down. He tucks it around you neatly. Then, he steps out of the room. As his footsteps retreat, your mind wanders back to two days ago. 

The apartment had been too bright. Jihoon moved through the living room with restless energy, shrugging off his jacket with one hand while scrolling through his phone with the other. 

“You won’t believe what happened at work today,” he said, already immersed in the story. 

You’re nodding from the couch, curled horizontally while hugging a pillow. The television was playing on mute in front of you. Work had never felt more busy, loud, chaotic, and at home, you wanted nothing more than silence. 

“Mhm,” you murmured. He didn’t notice the way your eyes stay closed. 

He paced as he talked, the momentum of the day still humming through him. His animated voice filled the room and bounced off the walls. 

“And then my boss had to tell her to come to his office, and it turned into this whole – ”

“Jihoon.”

He stopped mid-sentence. You opened your eyes slowly. 

“Can you turn off some of the lights?”

“Oh. Yeah,” he said immediately. He flicked off the overhead light, leaving only the lamp in the corner near the couch. 

“Better?” he asked. 

“Yeah. Thanks.”

He sat on the opposite end of the couch, but the energy in him was still vibrant. His knee bounced faintly. His fingers tapped against the arm of the couch. 

“So anyway,” he resumed, his voice quieter now but still charged with leftover adrenaline, “our entire department thinks he’s finally snapped, so we’re all just – ”

You rub your eyes in an attempt to wake yourself up. He noticed. 

“You’ve been tired all week,” he said, shifting toward you as mild concern flitted across his face. 

“Just a busy time of year. You know how it is.”

“That’s true,” he said, remembering.

The room remained silent for a few seconds. Then his phone buzzed. He glanced down, typed a quick reply, and set it aside. Only for it to buzz again. 

You close your eyes again, but the soft tap of his thumbs against the screen sounded amplified in the quiet. 

He exhaled sharply. “Our boss apparently left the office looking rather moody."

“That sucks,” you murmured, though the words slurred slightly with exhaustion. 

He leaned back, dragging a hand through his hair. 

“Can we sit in silence for a bit?” you asked. 

“Oh,” he said. “Yeah. Of course.” 

He set his phone face down on the table. For a few minutes, it was silent again. Then his knee began bouncing again. 

You opened one eye. 

“Are you restless?”

“A little.”

Despite the faint annoyance brewing that you tried so hard to ignore, a faint smile crept onto your face. He was still endearing like this. 

“I can tell,” you reply. But Jihoon didn’t realize your relaxed demeanor. 

He stilled his leg immediately. Guilt was evident on his face, but you didn’t notice. 

“Sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” you said softly. “You’ve had a long day.”

“So have you.”

Silence again. 

After a moment, he shifted. 

“We could watch something?”

“Maybe. I don’t know if I can process anything right now, to be honest,” you said. “I just need quiet.”

“Okay,” he replied. And that was it. 

“Sorry. I just need quiet right now.”

“I know. I wasn’t trying to be loud,” he said. 

“I didn’t mean it like that,” you replied instantly, trying to reassure him. 

Your eyes were rimmed red with exhaustion. His were equally tired. 

“I missed you,” you admitted softly, fingers reaching out to his. 

He linked his hands with yours immediately. 

“Yeah. Me too.”

Neither of you had the energy for anything else. You fell asleep before making it to the bedroom. And the next day, neither of you spoke of it, though the lingering feelings didn’t exactly disappear either. 

—

Your eyes blink open to the darkness of your bedroom. Something warm presses against you. You lift your head. 

Jihoon. He’s sitting upright, his head bent forward slightly as he dozes. His hand still rests in your hair. At some point, he must have fallen asleep like that. Your arm is wrapped around his waist. You don’t remember reaching for him. Carefully, you try to lift your arm without waking him. He shifts reflexively, and your throat tightens. You bring your arm back down. 

You watch the slow rise and fall of his shoulders. He must have stayed here the entire time. A thermometer rests on the nightstand beside neatly arranged medicine tablets and a fresh glass of warm water. 

“Hey,” he whispers, voice rough with sleep. 

“Hey.”

He sits up fully, wincing slightly as he rolls his stiff neck. His hand reaches to cover yours. 

“How do you feel?”

“A lot better,” you reply. “The headache’s still there, but it’s definitely less than before.”

He nods in relief. 

“You kept reaching for me,” he says softly. 

Heat blooms across your face. 

“I did not.”

A smile lifts at the corner of his mouth. 

“You did.”

You try to move your arm away. His fingers tighten around yours instinctively, preventing you. 

“You wouldn’t let go,” he continues. 

Your eyes move away, embarrassed. He slides a bit lower on the bed so he’s closer to your height. His thumb brushes across your knuckles. 

“I feel bad,” you say after a moment. “I was being harsh the other night.”

“It’s understandable,” he replies immediately, his fingers tightening around yours in reassurance. “You were really tired. I shouldn’t have pushed it.” 

Your chest aches.

“Yeah, but I don’t mind when you’re energetic. I was just snappy. It’s not your fault. It wasn’t like that,” you say. 

“I know. Next time I’ll read the room better, though.”

You huff a weak laugh. You shift so you’re fully hugging him now. His other arm comes around you without hesitation, drawing you closer. For a while, neither of you speak. Your fingers curl unconsciously into the fabric of his sweatshirt. His hand moves slowly up and down your back. 

The campus cafe is loud and crowded, and amid the chaos, you’ve already given up in trying to pay attention to everyone’s conversations. Shinyu is aggressively arguing with Dohoon over something objectively pointless. Youngjae is laughing too hard at something Jihoon just did with a straw wrapper. Kyungmin has given up entirely, half-asleep with his cheek against the table. 

Saebi is mid-story beside you. Her animated hands and bright voice accompany whatever campus drama she’s recounting. You’re nodding at the appropriate intervals and laughing at her jokes. Briefly, your phone screen lights up in your hand. 

4%. 

“Wait,” you mutter to yourself, “my phone’s gonna die soon.”

Before you can even set your phone to low power mode, 

“You can use my charger,” Hanjin says, already reaching over to place his portable charger in your hand. 

Yet when everyone gets up to leave, you notice him tapping his phone screen, which remains black in his hand. You don’t mention it. 

Hanjin has always been like this. He saves you seats in lecture halls. Hands you napkins when you spill something. Walks slightly slower to match your pace when you’re tired, even if you don’t say so. 

You assume that’s just who he is. 

—

“Don’t you think she’s a little too oblivious?” Shinyu asks, not even bothering to lower his voice. Him, along with Youngjae, Dohoon, Hanjin, you, and your best friend, Saebi, were all gathered in his dorm to study, which really means no one is studying. Except for you, that is. 

Hanjin shrugs from his spot on the bed. His fingers keep spinning his pen in circles, over and over. 

“She’s not oblivious,” he says. 

Dohoon squints at him in confusion. “So she knows and is just ignoring you? Isn’t that worse?”

“I think a part of her knows, she just hasn’t realized it fully yet,” Hanjin says softly. “She doesn’t believe in it.”

Youngjae props himself up on his elbows from the floor. “In what? You?”

“In love,” Hanjin corrects, voice neutral. 

“That sounds fake. Who doesn’t believe in love?”

“She knows Hanjin cares about her. She just doesn’t interpret it in that way,” Saebi clarifies. “She doesn’t really let people in like that.”

“So what, you’re just going to hover around her forever?” Youngjae asks Hanjin. 

“Not forever, I guess. Just until she realizes, or until she doesn’t need me anymore.”

That earns him a chorus of groans. 

“That is the most pathetic thing I’ve ever heard,” Dohoon declares, flopping back onto his pillow. “Stand up, man.”

Hanjin doesn’t respond. His eyes find you instead. 

Across the room, you pause mid-typing. You didn’t hear them, not through your noise-cancelling headphones and music, but you feel it, and you glance up without thinking. Hanjin is already looking at you, and he doesn’t pretend otherwise. He just gives you a small, absent smile, and gestures vaguely at your laptop screen. 

You slide one side of your headphones off. “What?”

“Nothing,” he says. “You’ve just been frowning at your laptop for the past five minutes.”

“I have not.”

“Yes, you were. You do this thing when your eyebrows move closer together, right here,” he continues, touching the space between his own brows. 

From the beds, the others are silently watching. You narrow your eyes at him. “Why are you paying attention to my face?”

“It’s there,” Hanjin says, shrugging. 

Dohoon coughs violently into his sleeve to hide a laugh. 

You scan the room, taking in their stares. “You’re being weird.”

“We’re always weird,” Youngjae replies immediately. 

“Yeah,” Saebi continues. “This is normal. We’re just too tired to work.”

You hold their gazes for a second longer before sliding your headphones back on. 

Across the room, Hanjin finally looks away, but not before the others catch the unmistakable expression on his face.

Shinyu sighs. “You’re doomed.”

Hanjin doesn’t deny it. He just twirls his pen again, his gaze drifting back to you like gravity. 

—

It happens on a Tuesday. You’re packing up after your econ class when someone steps into your peripheral vision. 

“Hey, uh, excuse me?”

You look up. It takes you a second to remember him. Vaguely, at least. He’s in the same class. Sits in the fourth row. 

“Yes?”

He adjusts his backpack on his shoulder. You could tell he trying to cover up his nervousness. 

“You’re in Professor Kim’s section too, right?”

“Yeah, I am.”

“Your notes are really good,” he stammers. “You answered that elasticity question last week, right? It made a lot of sense.” 

You nod once. “Thanks.”

He pauses. Then, in one breath, he says, “Would you maybe want to get coffee sometime? Like, outside of class?”

You assess him automatically. He seems decent. Polite. Academically aligned. No obvious red flags. Plus, coffee seems low commitment and socially normal.

“Sure,” you agree. “I’m free on Thursday after four.”

Relief floods his face. “Oh… okay. Great. I’ll text you? Actually, can I get your number?”

You exchange numbers and leave the classroom without much thought. 

—

At dinner in the cafeteria, you bring it up casually among the chatter and noise of hungry students bouncing off the walls. 

“I might be late Thursday,” you say, checking your calendar app. “I have coffee with someone from econ.”

Shinyu pauses mid-bite. “Is this like coffee or coffee coffee?”

You tilt your head slightly. There’s a difference?

“What do you mean?”

“He means like is this coffee for academic purposes or romantically?” Youngjae clarifies. 

Dohoon leans across the table, his eyes wide with curiosity. “Describe. Now. Who is this man who managed to gain your interest?”

“He sits in the front sometimes. Brown hair,” you offer.

“That is quite literally zero information. Do you even know his name?” Shinyu says, exasperated. 

“James, I think,” you respond. “I don’t know, he just came up to me and asked, so I said yes.”

Saebi’s eyes shift briefly to Hanjin before she smiles at you. “That’s good! Getting to know more people, I mean.”

Hanjin’s reaction is small. So small no one would notice if they weren’t watching him. He nods once, then turns his attention back to his food. 

“If you like him, you should go,” he says with a smile, but his voice is tiny. 

“Yeah,” you reply. And that was it. 

—

Later that night, you’re walking back from the library when you see him hovering near the vending machines, hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands as he studies the snack options in deep concentration. 

“You’re still up,” you say.

He looks over and brightens immediately. “You too.” He steps aside so you can join him.

“So,” he says casually. “Thursday.”

You glance at him. “What about it?”

“The coffee thing.”

You feel oddly compelled to clarify. “I don’t even know if I like him.”

“Then you’ll find out,” he says.

“Are you… okay with it?” The question slips out before you could think twice.

Hanjin pauses. “Yeah,” he says gently. “Why not?”

“Okay,” you respond.

“Goodnight, (Name).”

“Night.”

—

You meet James outside a small café just off campus. You had been there a few times before, and it was just as you remembered. Quiet, practical, not overly crowded. Good choice. 

He waves when he sees you with a smile. 

“Hey! You found it okay?”

“Yeah, it’s not far,” you reply

“Cool, cool.”

Inside, you order first. Iced americano, light ice. James hesitates at the counter and eventually orders a caramel latte. 

The two of you are sitting at a small table near the windows. You had expected the conversation to flow naturally. Sure, you didn’t even know of his existence really until two days ago, but still. It doesn’t. And it wasn’t bad. It was okay. Average. Not something you wanted to do again. 

“So,” he says, leaning forward. “What made you pick econ?”

You answer easily. Career stability. Versatility.

He nods, impressed. “That’s smart. I’m still figuring stuff out.”

“That’s cool. Were you ever scared of taking that risk?” you ask.

“Yeah, but life’s more fun that way, right? No point overthinking everything.”

You hum, but you don’t agree. 

More silence.

He tries again. “Do you, like… have hobbies?”

You think for a second. “I go to the gym. I read. I journal”

“Oh. What do you read?”

“Whatever’s useful.”

“…Like self-help?”

“Sometimes.”

He laughs a little. You only offer a chuckle after he does.

“You’re really… put together,” he says. “Like, you always seem like you have everything handled.”

“Yeah, it’s kind of how I operate.”

“Must be kinda exhausting though,” he says with a half-smile. “Don’t you ever just want to, I don’t know, stop being so serious?”

It’s said lightly. Like teasing. But it didn’t quite land. 

“I wouldn’t say I’m serious,” you reply carefully. “I just tend to think practically.”

“Same thing,” he jokes, taking a sip of his drink. 

You don’t argue. You don’t explain that structure makes it easier for you to think. That planning is how you stay steady. It’s not worth the energy.

He keeps talking. But you had already checked out of the conversation after that.

James tells you about his life. His high school friends, a professor he hates, a group project gone wrong. You listen. And you respond when needed. But that was it. 

At one point, he makes a joke.

“That’s unfortunate,” you offer.

He laughs again, though a little too loud this time.

Now James is talking about an intramural soccer game.

You nod at the right times.

You don’t check your phone; that would be rude. But your mind has already drifted off to other things. What you’re going to have for dinner tonight. Your schedule tomorrow. 

“So, what do you usually do for fun?” he asks eventually.

You consider lying. Something more socially acceptable.

“I usually hang out with my friends.” And it’s not like you don’t. You do, and you love it. It’s just not as frequent as you make it seem.

“Oh, nice. Big group?”

“Yeah.”

“Anyone I know?”

“Probably not.”

When the drinks are empty, there’s a mutual sense of completion. Not excitement. Not anticipation. Which is definitely not how these kinds of hangouts are supposed to feel. 

“This was nice,” James says, standing.

“Yeah, thank you for the coffee.”

“Maybe we can do it again sometime?”

You pause just a second too long. He notices.

But you nod anyway. Out of politeness. 

—

You walk back toward campus alone and pass the convenience store near your dorm.

Through the window, you spot a familiar figure struggling with the self-checkout machine. Hanjin. He looks up suddenly, face lighting up instantly when he sees you. 

“Hey,” he says when you step inside. “You’re back.”

“Yeah.”

“How was it?”

You think, trying to figure out how to describe whatever it was that you just had. You settle on something simple. 

“He was nice.”

“That’s good.”

You watch him try to scan the bag of chips again. Except he holds it out at a wrong angle. You reach over to turn the bag slightly so the barcode faces down directly. 

Beep. 

He grins at you like you just performed a miracle.

“See? I knew bringing you would help.”

“You didn’t bring me. I walked in.”

“Still. You get my point.”

You roll your eyes. But you’re smiling. It’s probably the most genuine emotion you’ve shown all day that didn’t feel practiced or forced.

—

You haven’t even gotten past noon the next day, yet you felt like you had already gone through three days of school. 

Back-to-back classes. A pop quiz you didn’t expect. The gym too crowded for your liking. Yes, it wasn’t the worst day that could ever happen, but everything just felt too overstimulating and disruptive.

By the time you reach your next lecture, your patience is thinner than ever. You drop into your seat. Almost immediately, a drink is placed in front of your notebook. 

“Iced americano. Light ice.”

You don’t even have to look up.

“Hanjin.”

“It was perfect timing, too,” he offers. “The line was really short.”

You stare at the cup. On any other day, you’d complain a little, but you’d accept it gratefully and move on. This time, however, it’s what tips you over. 

“You don’t have to keep doing this,” you say.

“I know.”

“Then why?”

“Because I want to?” he replies, a little caught off guard by your tone. 

You shake your head, pushing the cup slightly back toward him. “It doesn’t make sense. You’re spending money for no reason.”

“It’s not no reason.”

“I can buy my own coffee,” you say. “I don’t need someone doing things for me all the time.”

The words come out sharper than you intend. 

Hanjin’s fingers still on the cup lid. 

“I didn’t say you couldn’t,” he says quietly.

“I’m just saying,” you add, already turning back to your laptop. “You don’t need to.”

“Okay,” he says simply and takes the drink back, setting it beside his own notebook. He knows you well enough to know that explaining himself to you would be futile.

The rest of the lecture continues without another word.

—

At lunch, everyone squeezes around one table. Saebi slides into the seat beside you in the middle of Dohoon’s story about his annoying professor. It’s like any other day, really. 

Except Hanjin is sitting across from you. Not next to you like he usually does. 

You try to ignore it, turning to Saebi instead to listen to her rant about a group project and her useless group mates. You agree with her and offer practical suggestions. 

Everything is normal. Uncomplicated.

Yet your chest feels empty inside. And you hate that you don’t have a logical explanation for why.

Later, when the group splits off, you and Hanjin end up walking in the same direction by coincidence.

“I didn’t mean it like… a bad thing,” you say after a minute.

“Mean what?”

“This morning.”

“I know.”

“But it’s just more practical if we don’t – ”

“I get it,” he says gently. “You don’t want to feel like you owe anyone.”

You frown. But you don’t argue back. Because he isn’t wrong. Yet somehow, it feels like you crossed a line somewhere. 

—

The next morning , you wake up with your body feeling much heavier than normal. Your head pounds with the dullness of a growing headache, pulsating behind your eyes at your temple. Your throat burns every time you swallow. 

You stare groggily at the ceiling, your vision swimming. You really don’t want to go to class. But it’s only an hour long, and you know missing one lecture tends to snowball into more work you’ll have to finish later. You’ll just push through it, you tell yourself. So you sit up anyway. 

You barely make it through your first class. The headache has now spread across your entire head, and if anything, the constant drone of your professor’s monotonous voice only made it worse. By the time you get back to your dorm, you’re curled on top of your comforter. Instead of taking a nap, however, your laptop is open so that you could still at least get some work done. 

Saebi’s messages quickly distract you from your assignment, though. 

saebi: you alive? i saw you leave early

You type back. 

you: yeah i think i’m sick but i’ll probably be fine by tomorrow

saebi: nooo girl get well soon :( 

saebi: text me if you need anything okay?

You heart the message and return your attention to the screen, the words blurring together in your eyes.  You reread the same sentence three times before realizing you haven’t processed any of it. 

There’s a knock on your door twenty minutes later. You consider ignoring it – whoever it is will probably just leave – but it knocks again.

You drag yourself up to open the door. 

Hanjin is standing there with a plastic bag in one hand with a slightly worried expression, though you’re too out of it to notice. His eyes travel to your face, which is paler than usual. You shiver without realizing. 

“You’re sick,” he says immediately.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re swaying.”

“Barely,” you argue, though you step aside to let him in. “Just for five minutes. You don’t have to stay long.”

Hanjin knows better than to argue. Instead, he walks to the table and sets the plastic bag onto it, pulling out medicine, an electrolyte drink, and warm soup. 

You trail after him. “Did Saebi tell you?”

“She told me you said you were fine, which according to her, meant you most likely weren’t and that you were just stubborn.”

You sit back on the bed, and the room tilts slightly at the sudden movement. 

“It’s really not as bad as she made it seem,” you respond, trying to keep your posture straight. But your head is pounding. Your eyes burn from the dryness. 

He notices everything. 

“Did you eat?”

“I didn’t feel like moving.”

He doesn’t wait for your response before opening up the container of soup and turning around to hand you a spoon. 

“Thanks. You didn’t have to come over,” you say. Yet no matter how many times you tell him that, it doesn’t matter. He always somehow finds a way to be there right when you need it. 

You take a few bites just so he’ll stop watching you like that.

After a while, you lie back down. He sits on the floor beside your bed with his back against the frame as he scrolls quietly on his phone.

“You can go,” you mumble. “I’ll just be sleeping anyway.”

“Okay.” 

You close your eyes. He doesn’t move. 

You crack one eye open. “Why are you still here?”

“Don’t worry about me. Just get some rest.”

Your throat tightens, but it has nothing to do with being sick. Lucky for him, you don’t have the energy to think oo much about it or argue. 

—

You wake up later, disoriented. Your head hurts less, but you still feel sluggish. Looking down, you notice that your blanket is tucked more securely around you. Your cup is also refilled with water. Medicine sits next to it neatly on top of a folded napkin.

Hanjin’s still there, though his head is now tipped back against the bed, eyes closed. You watch him for a moment.

You don’t understand. There’s no obligation. No benefit. No logical reason. 

Yet he stayed anyway. And you don’t know how to feel about it.

“…Hanjin,” you say quietly.

He opens his eyes immediately. “Yeah?”

You hesitate. Then you pat the space beside you. 

“You can lie down. If you want.”

“Okay,” he responds as he shifts to lie carefully on the edge of the bed. 

And you pretend like this doesn’t change anything at all. 

—

You wake first from your nap. For a second, you don’t realize anything out of the ordinary. Then you turn your head, and your eyes land on him. 

Hanjin is half on the mattress, half off it, as if he was almost pulled to the ground. His arm is still loosely across your blanket. His jacket is gone; you realize it’s because it’s draped across you instead. You pull it closer around you instinctively. 

His neck looks uncomfortable. His shoulder’s pressed at an awkward angle against the bedframe. You should wake him and tell him to go back to his own dorm so he can sleep properly there. Instead, you just watch him breathe.

You sit up a little, and the mattress dips. His eyes open immediately.

“You okay?” he asks, voice thick with sleep, already trying to sit up. 

“I’m fine,” you say quickly. “Go back to sleep.”

He blinks, processing, then relaxes slightly. But he doesn’t close his eyes just yet. He’s looking at you, quietly, as if trying to figure something out. You notice.

“About the coffee,” you say quietly.

“You were right,” you continue. Your voice is slightly scratchy from being sick but much better than before. 

“It wasn’t about the money. I just don’t like feeling like I owe people. If someone does things for me, I feel like I have to return the favor. But you weren’t doing that. I know you didn’t want me to feel like I owed you either.”

“I never thought you owed me,” he says. “I just wanted to take care of you a little. That’s all.”

“I know,” you murmur. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just didn’t know how to react.”

He smiles and nods, understanding. You shift so you’re lying down again. 

“Your neck’s going to hurt,” you mumble.

“Yeah, probably.”

“Sleep properly,” you say, lifting the blanket slightly.

He hesitates for a second, like he’s making sure it’s really okay, before sliding closer, though making sure to leave enough space between you. 

Within minutes, his breathing evens out again. But you stay awake a little longer, the sleepiness from early completely gone now. 

Suddenly, the door swings open without a knock.

“Hey, I brought – ”

Saebi stops. You turn your head. She’s frozen in the doorway, holding a bag of snacks, eyes wide as she takes everything in: 

You. In bed. Hanjin. Half under your blanket. Both of you very clearly having fallen asleep there.

Her gaze slowly reaches your eyes again. You stare back, knowing exactly what was coming. Expecting her to squeal and make a big deal, you move to shush her.

Instead, before you can do anything, she presses her hands to her lips in silent shock, shaking her head with a surprised expression in her eyes. Silently, she sets the bag down, backs out, and shuts the door.

You drop your face into your pillow. There was no way she was going to let this go.

Hanjin shifts slightly in his sleep, mumbling something incoherent. You don’t push him away. You don’t go back to the far edge of the bed either.

—

You should’ve known Saebi wasn’t going to keep it to herself.

You walk into the campus café the next afternoon, feeling mostly better, though still a little tired. The group is already there. Shinyu spots you first. Immediately, his expression shifts to one of interest. 

“Well look who survived,” he says.

Youngjae glances over too. “You look a lot less like death today. Feeling better?”

“Yeah, definitely a lot better today,” you reply, dropping into the empty seat.

Dohoon leans forward with his elbows on the table and chin in his hands, suddenly very interested as well.

Shinyu points at Saebi. “You wanna tell her or should I?”

“I think you should,” Saebi smiles, a hint of mischief in her eyes. 

Your eyes narrow. “Tell me what?”

Dohoon gasps suddenly like he just remembered something tragic. 

“Oh my god, Hanjin, your neck,” he exclaims.

Hanjin stops to look at him, slightly startled. 

“What about it?”

“Must’ve hurt,” Dohoon continues, an overly innocent look in his eyes. “Sleeping at that angle.”

You go still and look between them. “What are you talking about?”

They all look at you. Then at Hanjin. Then back at you.

Shinyu leans back in his chair. “So we’re pretending she doesn’t know.”

“I don’t know because no one has said anything,” you say flatly. Though you’re starting to have an idea based on their reactions. 

Saebi taps her hand on the table excitedly. 

“You literally invited him into your bed!” she exclaims.

“I did not – ”

“Right next to you!” she adds.

Hanjin covers his face with one hand. “Guys,” he starts.

You give Saebi a look of betrayal. 

“I told them you were alive,” she defends. “The rest was just context.”

Kyungmin nods. “Important context.”

Your face is burning now. “He was sleeping on the floor!”

“Was,” Shinyu echoes.

Youngjae squints. “Wait. So he ended up in the bed?”

Hanjin groans softly. “I hate all of you.”

“It was just sleeping,” you defend.

“Yeah,” Shinyu says. “That’s how it starts.”

You glare. “Nothing started.”

“Sure,” Saebi adds, giving you a knowing look. 

You turn to Hanjin, expecting him to deny it. He doesn’t. He’s staring at the table, ears red, but there’s a small smile he can’t hide. Which somehow makes it worse.

You sink lower into your seat. “You’re all being weird.”

Dohoon claps once. “Anyway. When’s the wedding?”

You throw a napkin at him. Hanjin laughs quietly beside you.

And suddenly, a wave of realization washes over you. You could get used to this. 

—

Shinyu’s roommate is gone for the weekend, so Dohoon declares it the perfect hangout spot. Inside, he and Shinyu are arguing over whether pineapple belongs on pizza like this is a global crisis. Youngjae is trying to do actual work and failing due to Kyungmin and Saebi’s gaming on their Nintendo Switch.

You’re sitting on the floor with your back against the side of the bed and knees drawn up slightly. Your phone is in your hand, but you’re not really looking at it. You’re not really looking at the race Saebi and Kyungmin are having either, even though it’s right in front of you. You glance at the door when it opens in the hallway outside. Not him. You look back down.

He said he was coming, right?” Dohoon asks, glancing at the time.

“Yeah,” Saebi says. “He had something before.”

You nod faintly. That makes sense. Delays happen. .

But your eyes keep drifting toward the door every time you hear the sound of footsteps. You don’t even realize you’re listening for them until Shinyu laughs loudly and it startles you, distracting you from the door.

Ten minutes go by.

Then fifteen.

Shinyu has switched arguments; now he’s roasting Dohoon’s taste in music.

You laugh at the right times and add a comment here and there. But you’re not really paying attention. 

Youngjae closes his laptop, officially accepting defeat. “He better not flake.”

“He won’t,” Kyungmin says automatically.

You don’t say anything. You just hope Kyungmin’s as right about him as you are.

—

The door opens. You look up automatically.

Hanjin stands there, slightly out of breath, hair falling into his eyes from the wind. 

“Sorry, sorry,” he says when he reaches the table. “Took longer than I thought.”

“It’s been ages,” Dohoon complains.

“Twenty minutes,” Youngjae corrects. Hanjin laughs, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Hi,” Saebi waves dramatically before turning her attention back to the TV.

Hanjin’s gaze moves across the room. It pauses when it reaches you. Just for a moment. Your eyes meet.

You give a small nod. “Hey.”

“Sorry,” he says, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him. “That thing took longer than I thought.”

“You’re good,” you reassure. Delays are normal, you tell yourself. What’s there to be worked up about?

He laughs softly and looks around for somewhere to sit. There’s a space on the bed. A corner of the desk. Floor space near Shinyu. Instead, he walks over and lowers himself onto the floor beside you, close enough that your shoulders almost touch. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world. You freeze for a second, immediately noticing the space between the two of you, or rather, the lack thereof. But you don’t move away.

“Cold?” he asks quietly, noticing how your arms are tucked close to yourself.

“A little.”

He immediately takes off his hoodie and hands it to you. 

“Here,” he offers. 

Your fingers wrap themselves around the warm fabric. Across the room, Saebi sees. She says nothing, but her smile is hidden behind her drink. It should feel like the strange distance from the past few days was something of the past, but instead, it’s replaced with a feeling even weirder and harder for you to decipher. 

—

It happens two days later. On the campus courtyard, everyone’s sprawled out on the low steps because the weather’s nice for a change. You sit beside Saebi as the two of you listen to Dohoon ranting about an assignment his professor just had to assign alongside the two major assessments he had to complete in that class. It sounded horrible. You locate where Hanjin is in your head: a little farther down the steps, but not too far away.

A girl from one of his classes walks up. You recognize her vaguely. She smiles at him, exuding a palpable bright energy. You can’t help but notice her beauty and the way she carries herself so effortlessly.

“Hey, Hanjin, did you end up understanding that lab thing?”

He sits up straighter. “Oh, yeah. It wasn’t too bad actually.”

He starts explaining the intricacies of the experiment. It’s nothing weird, and definitely nothing flirty. It’s just a normal conversation. So why are you hyper aware of it?

You tune out of Dohoon’s constant complaining as your eyes remain staring at their interaction. She laughs at something he says. He laughs too.

Saebi notices your silence and follows your line of sight. A flash of recognition appears on her face as she smiles knowingly. 

“Are you cold?” she asks innocently, noticing your crossed arms. 

“No,” you say, immediately uncrossing them, You hadn’t even noticed.

“You look cold.”

“I’m not.”

“Then why do you look like you want to fight someone,” she asks cheekily.

You don’t answer. Across the steps, the girl lightly taps Hanjin’s arm before she gets up to leave. You look away immediately, a spike of jealousy rushing through your head. You hate how unreasonable it seems. 

For the first time, you realize that you really care. And beyond reason, at that. 

—

You didn’t mean to go outside today; Saebi practically had to drag you out of the dorms. 

“It’s sunny, you’re not sick anymore, and you look like you’ve been having a lot on your mind,” she declared, already halfway out the door.

So now you’re walking side by side through a small outdoor shopping street near campus where there’s thrift stores, overexpensive cafes, and random boutiques. 

Saebi is holding up a pair of sunglasses that look objectively ridiculous.

“Be honest. These make me look mysterious, right?”

“They make you look like you’re about to steal something,” you reply.

“Hey!” she complains. 

You crack a small smile. She sets the sunglasses back down and moves to match your pace, her hands in her pockets.

“You’ve been quiet since the courtyard,” she says lightly.

“I’m always quiet.”

“But not like this. You clearly have something that’s on your mind.”

You keep walking, so she doesn’t push right away. 

A few steps later, she says, “You didn’t like seeing that girl talk to him.”

It’s not a question but a statement. You don’t know how to answer, which is answer enough.

Saebi glances sideways. “You were glaring at them.”

“I was not.”

“You looked like you were trying to telepathically push her away.”

You exhale through your nose. 

“It was just, I don’t know, annoying, I guess.”

“Mm.”

“She was standing too close.”

“Mhm.”

“And touching his arm wasn’t necessary, to be honest.”

“Right.”

You stop walking. Saebi stops too.

“I don’t get why it bothered me,” you say. “He talks to people all the time. That’s normal. That’s not…”

You trail off, frustrated by the lack of logical explanation. Saebi waits.

Your voice drops. “I just didn’t like it. I don’t know why.”

There it is.

“Because he’s not just a friend to you anymore.” she states plainly, as if it wasn’t something out of the ordinary.

You swallow.

“I… I guess. I don’t really know when it changed,” you admit.

“I’m sure it was more than just one moment,” Saebi replies, smiling.

You think about it. 

The iced coffee.

The soup on your desk

The jacket he tucked around you.

But there was more. 

The way he stayed without you asking when you weren’t feeling well. 

The way he sat right next to you as if it was the only option – one that he wanted the most – at Shinyu’s dorm. 

Saebi watches the way your eyes change as you replay the memories. 

“This is bad. I don’t think this is a good idea at all,” you admit. 

“But why? It’s not like you don’t know if he likes you or not,” Saebi questions. “It’s clear as day how he feels about you.”

“But I don’t think I trust myself to be with him if I don’t even believe in love in the first place. I feel like he deserves someone who can give back the same love he has for them.”

It makes so much sense to you. But Saebi shakes her head. 

“I bet Hanjin can change that,” she says confidently, looping her arm through yours. “Good thing he’s a patient person.”

You’re not convinced. But time has proven again and again that Hanjin isn’t someone to be underestimated. So you let her pull you toward the next shop.

—

Hanjin doesn’t show up to your shared morning lecture. You assume he overslept. It was rare, but not impossible. He could’ve slept through his alarm. 

Yet he doesn’t show up to lunch either. You notice immediately, but no one else brings it up, so you stay silent. 

The second day, you open your messages with him without really thinking. It’s a habit, formed subconsciously over time, though you hate to admit it. Your thumb scrolls up instinctively. The last text is from your conversation two days ago. 

It isn’t until the third day that you find out. You’re sitting with Saebi in the library with your laptop open, trying to be productive. She’s talking while highlighting a paragraph in her textbook.  

“I can’t believe their competition is this week,” she says absentmindedly.

You pause in the middle of typing your sentence. “What competition?”

She stares at you, confused. “Hanjin’s?”

“Huh? What are you talking about?” 

“The intercollegiate one? He left yesterday morning.”

“He left?” Your fingers still against the keyboard, your attention fully diverted from your assignment at this point.

“Yeah. It’s like a three-day thing,” Saebi continues, then stops when she sees your face. “Wait. He didn’t tell you?”

You shake your head once, still processing the information. 

“Oh. He didn’t tell me directly either,” she reassures quickly. “I only heard from Shinyu”

You nod. 

“He must have just been busy preparing,” she adds. 

“Yeah,” you say. You look back at your screen. It’s no big deal. It makes a lot of sense, you suppose. But somehow, you find yourself wishing he had told you himself. And you hate how crazy it makes you seem. 

—

Hanjin finally returns on Thursday. You know because Saebi notifies you in passing while you’re packing up your belongings after class. 

“He’s back, by the way.”

“Okay.” 

Just like that. 

You see him later that afternoon when everyone gathers in the student lounge. He spots you immediately. 

“Hey,” he says, walking over right away. 

You look up from your phone, careful that your expression remains neutral. 

“Hey. How was the trip?”

“It was good! We placed second.”

“That’s great. Congratulations,” you respond with a small smile. Then, your eyes drop back down to your screen. 

Hanjin stays standing next to you, unsure what to do. Normally, you’d ask more. You’d lean forward and demand details and tease him for being nervous and dramatic. You’d ask for pictures. This time, you don’t. 

The others trickle in. Shinyu immediately interrogates him about the competition. You listen, and you laugh a little too. But you don’t look at him much. 

Coincidentally, you don’t sit next to him either. When everyone decides to sit down around the couch, Dohoon flops down between you and Hanjin without noticing anything. 

He tries again later. 

“Did you finish the econ assignment?” Hanjin asks, deliberately angling his body toward you. 

“Yeah.”

“Was it bad?”

“Not really.” And that’s all you offer, leaving him no way of continuing the conversation.

Jihoon turns to you seconds later, and you shift your attention to him easily, grateful for a distraction. Hanjin watches the way your shoulders relax and the way you lean slightly to hear better, internally baffled at your indifference towards only him. 

When everyone decides to call it a night, Hanjin lingers, waiting for you. You sling your bag over your shoulder, trying to act busy. 

“Heading out?” he asks. 

“Yeah. I have an early lecture tomorrow morning.”

“Want me to walk with you?”

You hesitate slightly. Barely. 

“I’m okay. Thanks though.”

But he’s faster. His fingers wrap gently around your wrist before you fully turn around to leave. 

“Wait.”

You turn back. 

“Why are you talking to me like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like… I don’t know, you’re done with me?” His eyebrows knit together in confusion. “But you’re normal around everyone else. I don’t understand.”

“I asked how your trip was. I congratulated you. I don’t know what else you want me to say,” you reply simply. But inside, you’re panicking, unsure what more to say if he keeps pushing.

“You used to ask more,” he says quietly. “Are you mad at me?”

“No,” you say. It’s not a lie – you’re not mad. You’re hurt. There’s a difference. 

You gently pull your wrist free. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You walk away before he can stop you again. 

—

You avoid him the next day. But you don’t make it obvious. You still answer when he talks, and you still sit with the group. But you don’t look for him when you’re on campus. You don’t text him that random thought you would’ve sent before in a heartbeat. You don’t send him a picture of the sunset you took. 

By evening, Hanjin’s done pretending. He catches you outside your dorm room. You almost make it inside. 

“Can we talk?”

You pause, hand still on the doorknob. 

“Okay.”

“Did I do something?” he asks. 

You shake your head.

“No.”

“Then why does it feel like I did?”

“You’re being dramatic,” you deflect; you don’t really know how to explain it otherwise. 

“I didn’t tell you about the trip,” he says. “I forgot.”

“I know.”

“That’s it?” he asks.

“What do you want me to say, Hanjin?”

“I told everyone else.”

You stay silent and look away. He watches the way you don’t deny it. 

“You were waiting, right? For me to tell you. Or at least for an explanation.”

You look back at him. 

“I thought you didn’t care about that stuff,” Hanjin continues gently. “You’re always so, I don’t know, realistic?”

You don’t know how to respond. Because it’s true, you are usually like that. 

“I am,” you say.

“You’re hurt.”

“No I’m not – ”

“Yes, you are,” he continues. “You’re hurt because you care.” 

You shake your head instinctively, but deep down, you know it’s true. You clearly reacted, which means you’re clearly attached.

“Don’t pretend this is nothing,” he pleads. 

You’re cornered by the truth, the weight of what he’s saying. 

He runs a hand through his hair, disappointed in himself. 

“You know, even when I was surrounded by everyone else, I kept thinking about you while I was there. About what you could be up to. I wanted to text you first. I just assumed – I assumed you didn’t need it”

“I thought I didn’t, but clearly I was wrong. And I hate how suddenly I do,” you explain. It’s so unlike me, you think. You hate how your uncertainty makes you look. 

“But it’s not a bad thing to have wanted it,” he says. 

You exhale shakily. 

“I missed you,” you admit. 

He closes his eyes briefly, a flash of relief appearing on his face. 

“I missed you too,” he says. 

“I just don’t like that this, all of this mattered to me,” you continue. 

“But I do. Because it means I matter to you,” he concludes. 

He steps forward slowly, giving you the space to pull away. But when you don’t, his arms wrap around you carefully. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” Hanjin says, his voice warm near your ear. “I should’ve.”

“It’s really okay,” you reply. Because now he understands, and you have nothing anymore to hide. 

—

With finals season just around the corner, your econ class, the one that you share with Hanjin, becomes your first final. 

Your phone vibrates against your nightstand. Still half-asleep, you reach for it.

hanjin: good luck in econ! try not to fall asleep this time :)

You stare at it for a moment. He used to send things like this all the time. Somewhere along the way, you told yourself he was just being nice. Consistent friendliness, but nothing more.

you: hey I only fell asleep once! and i would never do that for an exam

you: in my defense, the lecture was genuinely SO boring

Three dots appear almost instantly.

hanjin: twice, actually. you drooled too

You sit up a little straighter in bed, blinking the sleepiness away from your eyes. 

you: you’re exaggerating.

hanjin: i have witnesses

You roll your eyes, but a smile creeps onto your face. Usually, you would just leave it at that. This time, though, 

you: good luck today too. don’t forget your notebook like last time.

There’s a longer pause before he replies.

hanjin: i can’t believe you still remember that 

Of course you did.

—

The two of you scramble to lunch right after the final, eager to recharge with food. At some point, Saebi steals a sip from your water bottle. You reach for it back, but Hanjin sits in between the two of you.

“Hanjin, can you pass it back?” you ask. 

He hands it to you without looking, already twisting the cap open before placing it in your palm.

“Thanks,” you grin in appreciation. 

You thought nothing of it, but across the table, Shinyu squints at the interaction. Youngjae leans back in his chair. 

Dohoon declares, “They’re being weird again.”

“We’re always like this,” you reply. 

Jihoon shakes his head immediately. “No, this is definitely different.”

You ignore him. Hanjin does too. 

But later, when you’re studying in the student center, Hanjin overhears you whispering to Kyungmin about dinner. 

He’s already reaching into his bag. 

“I have snacks, if you want something right now,” he offers. 

This time, you don’t protest or refuse. 

Everyone exchanges looks of confusion. 

And after dinner, you fall into step with Hanjin when walking back to campus. Your hands are tucked into your sleeves, and your shoulders are slightly hunched against the wind. He notices immediately.

“You didn’t bring a jacket?”

“It was quite warm during the day so I didn’t think it’d be this cold,” you respond. 

He hesitates. His hand twitches at his side like he’s debating something. You don’t do anything at first. Then, after a few seconds, you shift slightly closer and slide your hand into his. 

He freezes subtly, but you still notice. You squeeze his hand wordlessly once, and his fingers clasp against yours. Neither of you say anything after that.

Up ahead, Dohoon turns around to say something, but he stops mid-sentence when he sees your hands. Saebi shushes him before he makes a scene. He slowly turns back around, mouth open in shock. 

“Did I miss a chapter?” he exclaims. 

Shinyu leans toward him. “What?”

“Hanjin’s been promoted. Oh my god,” Jihoon declares. 

“Finally,” Youngjae says, laughing a little. 

You pretend not to hear. Hanjin does too. But your hand doesn’t let go.

—

The two of you are sitting on the low stone wall outside one of the campus buildings, waiting for the others to finish their classes. It’s peaceful outside, with the cold driving away the majority of students from staying outside. Your breath comes out in small wisps of fog before disappearing into the atmosphere. Hanjin is beside you, shoulders slightly hunched, hands tucked into his sleeves. You’re practically touching each other. 

“Ugh, they’re so lucky we actually care about them enough to wait in the freezing weather for them,” you joke sarcastically. 

He just laughs a little. He’s been like this all week. Hovering around you more than usual but holding back enough so as to not cross some invisible line. You may be oblivious at times, but you’re not blind. And you know Hanjin well enough to know nothing’s really going to happen if you don’t initiate. 

“Can I ask you something?” you start, making sure to keep your voice steady and as normal as possible. 

He glances over but looks away immediately. “Yeah?”

You tilt your head slightly. “Are you going to ask me out, or should I?”

His head whips to look at you. You keep looking forward, making sure to keep a composed expression, as if you didn’t just drop the last thing he thought you were going to say. 

He just stares. 

“You – You like me?” he asks out of pure shock. 

You give him a look. “Obviously.”

His face does about five emotions in two seconds: confusion, disbelief, relief, mild panic, confusion again. 

“I thought you were just being friendly. How did I become more oblivious than you?” he exclaims. “I always thought I’d be the one to make the first move.”

“You took too long,” you deadpan. “Though I must say you did most of the work. I can’t take all of the credit.”

He lets out a breathless laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Okay. Okay, wait.”

He turns toward you fully now, suddenly serious.

“I like you,” Hanjin says, voice firm. “I’m not sure when it first started. Maybe it was the time when you put those bullies in their place when Saebi was having a hard time back in our first year. No one had even noticed anything was going on except for you. Maybe it was the time you defended me against the professor who thought I had slacked off. I don’t know. But what I do know is how I feel about you. There isn’t a single part of you that I don’t like. In fact, I like you so much I don’t even know how to put it into words.”

You stay silent, holding your breath as he continues. 

“So, will you go out with me?” he asks. “Officially. As boyfriend and girlfriend.”

“Of course,” you say, heart beating so fast you swear he could hear it. 

His smile spreads slowly, like he’s afraid it’s not real. You hold your arms out, and he practically melts into your embrace. Finally, you’re right where you want to be.

—

The sun is warm against your skin as the sea breeze blows steadily across the shore. The group has claimed a stretch of sand close enough to the water but far enough to not get splashed by the cool waves. Umbrellas are planted firmly, and towels lie sprawled across the sand. You and Saebi are setting up your spot under a smaller umbrella when Hanjin ambles over, holding a cooler and a small towel slung over his shoulder. He drops the cooler gently beside you.

“Here,” he says. “Ice-cold water and your green tea drink for when you get tired later.”

You glance up at him, and even in the bright sunlight, you notice the way his hair sticks slightly to his forehead. 

“Thanks,” you say, taking a bottle from the cooler. You twist the cap and take a sip, then hand him a towel and another drink. “Here’s yours.”

“Don’t forget to put on sunscreen when you play volleyball with the others,” he reminds. “And duck when you see Dohoon has the ball.”

“Of course. I wouldn’t want to get hit from his terrible serves,” you laugh. 

He snorts. “Exactly that.”

“Hey! I heard that,” Dohoon yells. “You’re just jealous because I’m actually better than you.”

“In your dreams,” you call back, moving to help set up the net. “There’s no way I’m losing to you.”

Hanjin settles onto the soft sand as he watches you and the others play round after round of beach volleyball. When everyone collapses from exhaustion, you move to sit beside Hanjin without a second thought. 

“That was so good,” he praises. “You totally destroyed them.”

“What can I say?” you boast. “I’m a woman of my word.”

Dohoon can only surrender in laughter. 

Fluorescent lights buzz overhead as the automatic doors slide shut behind you and Dohoon. Soft music plays in the background as you and Dohoon browse the shelves. Pretty soon, the both of you stock up on a good amount of snacks. Gummy worms. Chocolate. Then, for some reason, gummy eyebrows. 

You stare at the last item. 

“Why on earth – ” you start, knowing it’s going to taste disgustingly artificial. 

“They fit the theme,” Dohoon says, holding them up defensively. 

“You’re going to be too scared to eat those.”

“I’m not going to be scared,” he says for the tenth time tonight. “I’ve evolved.”

“Oh?”

“I’ve built tolerance. Mental resilience. It’s character development,” he claims, gesturing to his head. 

You shake your head, smiling as you walk toward the register. He was the one who begged for a horror movie date, but you’re almost certain he once said he’s terrified of them. Still, no amount of convincing made him budge. So here you are. You already know he’s going to go back on his words the second the movie actually starts, but for now, you let him believe otherwise. 

—

The lights are turned off, and the darkness envelops around you and Dohoon. A single lamp glows in the corner, but the weak light barely dissipates the eerie mood settling over the room. 

“We can watch it with the lights on, if you want,” you offer, grabbing the remote from the table to press start. 

Dohoon scoffs beside you and leans back with confidence. 

“Why would we do that? It ruins the atmosphere,” he responds.

You give him a look. 

“Having the lights on would make it less scary,” you try to reason. 

“I’m not scared. And neither are you, so we’re fine.” A pause. “Unless you are?” he concludes suddenly. He straightens a little. “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you.”

You bite back a laugh. 

“No, silly, I won’t be scared, I just have a feeling you will be. But whatever you say – ”

“Shh, it’s starting!”

Creepy music fills the room as the opening scene plays, the anticipation already building. You relax into the couch with your legs stretched out and popcorn in hand. Dohoon, meanwhile, sits suspiciously upright. 

A ghost flashes across the screen. His hand lands on your arm instantly. 

“You good?” you ask, glancing down. 

“Yeah,” he says quickly. “Just a reflex.”

“Mhm.”

Soon, the main character is walking down a dark hallway. The perfect setup for a jumpscare. You feel him inch closer and closer. First, his knee bumps yours. Then, his shoulder. Then, his entire side is pressed against you like he’s being pulled by gravity toward you. His fingers curl automatically into your sleeve. 

“I’m pretty sure something’s about to happen,” you offer casually. “You might want to look away.” 

“I know,” he replies, though his voice sounds tight. “I won’t look away.”

Right on cue, a horrifying figure suddenly slams squarely into the middle of the screen, blood dripping down his face and a glistening knife in his hand. Dohoon doesn’t even get a chance to scream before his face is buried in your shoulder, a strangled noise coming out instead. 

You shift your head slightly to look at him. 

“Dohoon.”

“I’m not looking,” he mumbles into your hoodie. 

“You said you wouldn’t be scared.”

“I’m not scared,” he insists. “I’m just temporarily choosing not to see. Resting my eyes.”

“Right.”

On the TV, the main character continues to run for her life from the scary figure, who can apparently teleport as well. Coupled along with the scary music and chaos, it makes for quite a thrilling watch. You’re completely unfazed. 

Dohoon, on the other hand, flinches so hard the couch cushions shift. His other arm is now resting around you too. 

“When is the scene going to be over? It’s so long,” he whispers urgently. 

You laugh. You decide not to mention that that’s the whole point of the horror movie – to scare whoever’s watching. “You’re the one who wanted a horror movie.”

“People can change their minds, you know,” he mutters. “Plus, I liked the idea of it.”

Another jump scare fills the screen. 

He doesn’t waste a second and ends up half on top of you with his forehead pressed against your collarbone. You freeze slightly, very aware of how close he is.

“You know it’s fake, right?” you say. 

“Still,” he whines, complaining dramatically. 

You roll your eyes, but your hand comes up anyways to pat his back absentmindedly. 

“You’re literally shaking.”

“I’m not,” he argues. “You’re mistaken.”

He risks a glance at the screen. Big mistake. He yelps and immediately hides again, his grip on you tightening. 

“Oh my god why does it look like that??”

Your shoulders shake with laughter. 

“Are you laughing at me?” he accuses, his head lifting to look at you. 

You can’t stop laughing. 

“You’re so mean,” he complains, but he stays exactly where he is. 

You glance at him again, then at the screen, and a mischievous thought crosses your mind. 

“Oh,” you say lightly. “The creature isn’t chasing her anymore.”

Dohoon lifts his head a little again, though still wary. “It’s over?”

“No,” you continue calmly. “He’s just standing behind the door. Waiting for her to walk through.”

His eyes widen. “Why would you tell me that??”

“I’m being helpful.”

“I think I’m good, actually.”

Grin. “Okay, okay. Wait… he’s chasing her through the walls now.”

“I didn’t need that information!”

Another loud crash blasts from the speakers and he screams in shock. 

You’re laughing now. 

“You’re missing the best parts!” you exclaim.

“I don’t want to know!”

“Okay wait,” you start, clearly enjoying this now. “She’s about to turn around and — ”

“Stop narrating!” he whines before squealing as the next jumpscare hits. 

The rest of the movie continues like this, with him clinging onto you harder every time a scary noise sounds from the screen. By the time the credits roll, he’s basically melted into your side, a blanket now wrapped around the two of you. 

You nudge him gently. “It’s over. You survived.”

He lifts his head slowly, hair sticking to his forehead from his head facing down for so long. 

“That was so traumatic,” he admits. “Never again.”

“You watched like, maybe 5% of it.”

“It doesn’t matter. I experienced it emotionally. Physically," he insists. 

“Still think you’re not scared?”

He opens his mouth to deny it, but instead, he signs and leans back into you. “How were you not terrified at all?”

“I don’t know, I’m just not,” you shrug. “But next time we can just watch something else. I’m not really a big fan of horror movies anyway,” you say. 

“Yeah, that’s probably better. Something less life-threatening.”

“Scaredy cat,” you tease, laughing again. You still remember the way he was hiding on top of you. 

You don’t remember falling asleep, but you wake to the distant sound of cars passing outside and the rustling of takeout containers. One minute you’d been sitting on the couch, telling yourself you’d just rest your eyes while you waited for Youngjae to get off work. The next thing you know, you were out. 

Your eyes adjust to the dim light. When you glance down, you notice a blanket tucked snugly around you. His, probably. 

You shift, and that’s when you see him. He’s sitting on the floor with his back against the couch as he took out his takeout dinner. Kimchi jeon, this time. The overhead lights are off and replaced by the soft glow of a lamp close by. He must’ve changed it so it wouldn’t bother you. 

You push yourself up on your elbows, and the blanket slips a little. Youngjae looks back immediately as if he’s been tuned to you even in the background.

“Oh sorry,” he says gently. “Did I wake you?” 

You shake your head, still hazy.  “What time is it?”

“It’s late,” he responds with a small smile. “You were out cold. I didn’t have the heart to wake you.” 

You sit up properly and tuck your legs under the blanket. 

“You should’ve,” you mumble. “I probably drooled on your couch.”

He lets out a quiet huff of laughter. “You did.”

“I’m kidding,” he says after seeing your expression. “You looked peaceful.” He reaches over to ruffle your hair and up close, you notice the faint tiredness under his eyes. 

“Do you need help?” you ask automatically.

“I’d much rather you sleep, you workaholic,” he laughs. 

You snort. “I’m literally not.”

“I know,” he says, but in that tone that clearly means I know it’s not true. 

“Come here,” he adds, patting the spot beside him on the floor. 

You slide off the couch and settle next to him, wrapping your blanket around your shoulders. Filling the quiet is second nature at this point, and you start rambling about your day. Like always, he listens. 

—

You wake up somewhere unfamiliar, or at least your brain thinks so for half a second. Sunlight filters through the curtains, and the warmth radiates into the room. You blink as your eyes try to adjust to the light. It takes you a second, but you sit right up. 

Hold on. Why am I still at Youngjae’s? 

You groan, flopping back onto the couch. Right. You must have fallen asleep again when you were sitting with Youngjae. You rub your eyes in embarrassment, then glance at the clock. 

8:45 am.

Shoot. You were so going to be late for work. You kick off the blanket and rush to the bathroom as you brush your hair with your fingers. You splashed cold water on your face in an attempt to wake up. You don’t even fully process your reflection before you’re back out, speed-walking into the living room. 

“Hey, sorry for crashing the night,” you say when you see Youngjae walking out of his room. 

“All good, don’t even worry,” he responds. You nod, but in your head, you’re already going through a mental checklist of your schedule for the day as you grab your bag. 

Okay, so meeting at ten, I have to send that doc first, Yoonchae’s going to forget the file so I need to remind her, and I still haven’t – 

Youngjae’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts. “Don’t forget to eat something,” he reminds you as you put on your coat. 

“I will.”

You most likely won’t.

He knows that too, but pushing just makes you deflect harder, so he doesn’t argue. 

“You’re the best, bye! Don’t be late for your thing either!” you yell as you rush out the door. 

He watches you go with a soft shake of his head. 

—

By noon, you’ve already lived three days’ worth of work. You finally collapse into a chair in the break room and open your phone to text Youngjae. 

you: BRO today is insane i’ve basically walked the entirety of this building and it’s only noon

yoje: have you eaten

you: does an iced coffee count

A second later, he sends a photo. A full meal with rice, protein, and vegetables. Probably his. You roll your eyes but smile. 

you: okay, okay, i got it

You actually take up his advice for once and make your way to grab something to eat. 

—

The afternoon drags. You’re running on caffeine and adrenaline when your phone screen lights up

yoje: practice is almost finished wanna come by for a sec if ur free?

You stare at the screen. You’re exhausted. You still have things to do, and putting them off only meant more work for tomorrow, which was already packed. Still.

you: on my way

Twenty minutes later, you’re pushing open the practice room door, slightly out of breath but smiling anyway. 

Youngjae’s finishing the last run-through, chest rising and falling as the music cuts. He looks wiped, but when he sees you, his face brightens. 

“Hey,” he says between breaths. “I didn’t expect you to actually show up.”

“Who said I’m here for you?” you tease. “I haven’t seen your members in forever. Obviously I came to say hi.” 

Before he can respond, 

“(Name)!!” Jihoon calls, jogging over from the other side of the practice room, where he was conversing with the choreographer. “You finally remembered we exist?” 

You gasp dramatically. “Excuse you, I’m booked and busy, okay?” 

Hanjin bursts out into laughter, and the other members gravitate over. They ask you about your life, your job, how you’ve been. You ask about their comeback and how they’ve been managing the chaos of idol life. Through Youngjae, you met and became pretty close with the members as well, especially Hanjin, who was your age, which made it easy to get along. Youngjae watches from the back, smiling and shaking his head at his members’ antics. He notices your mannerisms. The way you roll your shoulders when you think no one’s looking. How your laugh sounds slightly more tired and breathless than usual. But he lets you have this. 

Eventually, everyone heads out as their voices fade down the hall until it’s just the two of you. 

“Aren’t you tired?” Youngjae asks lightly. “I thought you were probably too busy to come.” 

You shrug. “I had time. And plus, I’m always busy anyway. It keeps me occupied. I thought it’d be nice to stop by, even if it’s just for a bit.”

He nods at you and glances away for a second. “You should at least spend some time for yourself,” he says quietly. You don’t catch it. You’re already talking about something else. 

You walk together to the convenience store, share snacks, and sit outside for a bit. When it’s time to split, he watches until you turn the corner. 

Your phone buzzes as you unlock your apartment door. 

yoje: text me when you get home

You type back immediately. 

you: home

A small smile tugs at your lips, and you put your phone away. 

—

A few days later, you wake up to chaos. Your bag’s half open, and your hair is still damp from the shower you barely had time for. You’re rushing across your room while your phone rings for the fifth time on your desk. 

You already know who it is. Yoonchae. 

The ringtone stops. A second later, your screen lights up with a message. 

yoonchip: Unnie where are you? I’m covering for you rn but idk when boss will realize

yoonchip: Come quick!!

You wince. You’re late. Again. Which makes sense, considering you had stayed up to finish some work. 

And somehow, that’s not even the worst of it. You miss the bus and have to wait for the next one to arrive, and once it does, you stand pressed between strangers while your boss’s disappointed look replays in your head on loop. You spill coffee on your sleeve ten minutes before a meeting. A project you stayed up late finishing gets sent back with red comments all over it. 

Tasks keep piling up faster than you can finish them. By lunch, you’re too stressed to eat. But you still smile and joke with coworkers. “I got it, don’t worry.” you say, even when you’re not sure if you do. By evening, you’re too drained to feel anything but exhaustion. 

You don’t check your phone until you’re finally leaving, and that’s when you see Youngjae’s text. 

yoje: do u wanna get dinner tgt after work

You stare at it for a second, then type back. 

you: sure

His response comes minutes later.

yoje: same place as usual?

you hearted the message

—

The bell jingles when you push the door open. You and Youngjae always go to this restaurant when neither of you has the energy to plan. 

Youngjae looks up the second you step inside. He’s already sitting with two glasses of water on the table. You slide into the seat and drop your bag beside you with less grace than usual. 

He takes one look at you and nudges the water to you. “Drink first.”

Wordlessly, you obey. That’s how he knows. He could tell you were tired. Overworked, most likely.

“Long day?” he asks. 

You shrug. “It’s fine.”

As if he knew you so well, he asks, “Did you eat today?”

You hesitate half a second too long. 

He just nods once, waves for the server, and orders your usual for you. 

Your brain couldn’t help but replay everything that happened. The words spill out eventually, and you retell what happened during the day. Missing the bus. The coffee accident. How embarrassed you felt looking at the comments on your project. You laugh once or twice like it’s not bothering you at all. 

“That sounds exhausting,” he replies gently.

The food finally arrives, with the steam curling into the air. He slides the bowl closer to you. You take a bite, and the warmth settles into you. 

“You care a lot,” he says after a moment. “That’s why days like this hit harder for you.” 

You stare at your spoon. “I just don’t want to seem annoying about it.”

“You’re not,” he says simply. “And our brains are bad at perspective when we’re tired. Everything feels bigger than it actually is.”

You nod, focusing on eating. Soon after, he changes the topic to something lighter.

When you step outside into the cool evening air, he shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over your shoulders before you can protest. And for the first time all day, the pressure feels lifted off of your shoulders, at least for now. 

—

The night air is cooler by the time you two walk home, and you shiver, instinctively tugging his jacket closer around yourself. 

You and him talked the whole way, though it was mostly you. About having to do damage control for a coworker who almost sent an email to the wrong client. About him filming extra content for TWS to prepare for comeback promotions. About anything and everything on both of your minds. 

At one point, you step off the curb too early and wobble from exhaustion more than clumsiness. His hand is on your arm instantly, steadying you. 

“Careful,” he says, fingers pressing briefly against your sleeve before he lets go.

You grin like it’s nothing. “It’s okay, I’m good.”

But you’re suddenly very aware of where he touched you. How warm his fingers were. How fast he had reached out to grab you. How natural it felt. How you kind of wish he hadn’t let go so fast. 

You paused for less than a second, just enough to register the thought. Youngjae doesn’t notice. But your heart is beating faster than ever. 

—

You don’t even remember agreeing to come over, but somehow, you’re unlocking his door ten minutes later like it’s muscle memory. 

“Make yourself at home,” he says as he takes off his shoes. 

“I basically live here at this point,” you joke. 

You follow Youngjae into the living room, and you both settle on the couch. The TV is on, but neither of you are really watching. Some low-stakes variety show plays in the background, and their laughter fills the spaces between your words. You’re curled on one end of the couch with your legs tucked under you. He’s on the other hand, facing you. 

At some point, your words start to slow. Not because you’re done talking, but because you’re genuinely so exhausted your body starts conserving energy on autopilot.

He glances over. “Battery died?”

“Just a little tired.” 

“Mhm,” he says. “I’d be surprised if you weren’t.” 

Silence settles as you both direct your attention back to the screen. Out of the corner of your eye, you watch him without meaning to. He doesn’t notice.

When the episode finishes, you both agree to turn the TV off. Youngjae leans his head back against the couch and stares up at the ceiling. You’re close enough now that your shoulders are almost touching. 

“You know,” he says quietly. “I like days when you end up here.”

You blink, but you recover quickly, taking it as an opportunity to tease him. “That’s because I’m so entertaining.” 

“That’s not what I meant.”

You look at him then. 

“It’s just, I don’t know, easier when you’re around. Feels normal.” 

Normal. He means well. He’s saying he’s comfortable around you. Because it doesn’t feel casual to you. It feels big. It feels like a line being crossed without either of you meaning to. Your stomach feels like it’s falling.

You try to laugh. “Wow, I didn’t know my chatter was therapeutic.”

He lets out a laugh, but he doesn’t take it back. “You know what I mean.” 

And the scary thing is, you do. You don’t think Youngjae knows the effect his words have on you. 

For once, your chest tightens in a way that has nothing to do with exhaustion or work. Slowly, you realize that this is starting to feel like something you could get used to. Like something you want. And that never ends well for you.

You push yourself up too fast. “I should probably go home before I fully move in.”

Youngjae tilts his head, frowning slightly. “You can stay if you want. I don’t mind.”

I know. That’s what makes it dangerous. 

You grab your bag, already halfway to the door and plastering a smile back onto your face. 

“It’s really okay. I have to head in for work tomorrow anyways. You have practice.”

He doesn’t stop you, but he does follow you to the door like always. 

As you leave, a million thoughts run through your head. But for the first time, it became clear as ever. You like him. And that terrifies you more than anything. 

—

The next weekend, the TWS members somehow convinced you to go to karaoke with Youngjae and them. Shinyu and Dohoon are in the middle of simultaneously belting and acting out some dramatic ballad. You sit beside Youngjae as you watch the others make absolute fools of themselves. 

“How was your day?” he asks. 

You launch into a story about running into an old friend while stopping by the post office. Then how your favorite snack was sold out when you stopped at a convenience store. You wait for him to continue the conversation. A joke, maybe. But when you glance over, he’s just looking at you. 

“What?” you ask defensively. “Do I have something on my face?”

He shakes his head. “No, I was just thinking.”

“That’s dangerous,” you say sarcastically. 

“You know you can drop the act around me, right?”

You pause. “What do you mean?”

“Like, I don’t know, I just feel like, even when you’re tired or stressed, you still do this.” He gestures vaguely toward you. “The jokes, the stories, the ‘I’m fine’ front you keep putting up.”

You force your smile to stay. “I am fine.”

Youngjae doesn’t argue. He just nods once, like he expected that answer. 

“I know you can handle things,” he says. “I just don’t want you to feel like you have to handle everything alone. Not with me, especially since we’ve known each other for so long.” 

Your breath catches in your throat, but you swallow it down. He looks back toward the others, where Kyungmin is now dancing wildly to Girls Generation. 

“Just saying,” he adds.

The room erupts into laughter at Kyungmin’s performance, but the noise sounds distant, as if you were underwater while everyone else floated above the surface. 

Because he’s right. He sees you more clearly than you let anyone else. That should feel comforting; he’s always been someone you could rely on. Instead, it feels terrifying. On instinct, you open your mouth to start another conversation to fill up the space. But the words die in your throat because you realize you’re about to prove his point. And you don’t know what to do. 

So you pull back. Because of course, it’s easier to avoid and suffer than it is to face the issue head-on. 

— 

Monday. Youngjae texts you while you’re finishing lunch. You stare at his name longer than you should. Your thumb hovers over the screen as you type a reply, delete it, then type it again. Eventually, you respond. 

you: sorry, busy today and didn’t get a chance to check my phone

You hit send. It’s not really a lie. You are busy. But that doesn’t stop the guilt from creeping in anyway.

.

A few minutes later, his reply came.

yoje: okay, don’t forget to take a break

Of course, that’s al he says. He didn’t mean to, but it makes you feel worse. You weren’t supposed to feel bad. It’s just a text. But still, you do.

Tuesday. You cancel dinner plans. Just once. And for a valid reason, too. Your boss had invited you to a work dinner with a client. 

you: can’t make it tonight, sorry. my boss invited me to dinner with that client i told you about. wish i could cancel but my boss will actually kill me this time

yoje: all good, have fun!

He sounds genuinely supportive, but you hate disappointing him all the same. 

Wednesday. He texts to see if you want to grab coffee after work. You’re swamped, but normally, you’d find a way. You always used to. Not this time. You hesitate, then hit send. 

you: maybe another time, sorry! super swamped rn

yoje: haha dw. don’t forget to rest

You wish you could rest. But for his sake, you don’t say anything back. 

Thursday. 

yoje: hanjin says we’re preparing for shinyu’s bday surprise if u wanna stop by dorms later tonight. shinyu has a schedule so he won’t be there

You stare at the message for a full minute. It’s been almost a week since you saw him in person, and you’re running out of excuses to avoid him. Your fingers move before you can overthink it.  

you: sure, i’ll be there!

Any message from you feels like it’s revealing more than you’re ready to admit. You wonder if he notices the difference. How you initiate texts a lot less than before. How your replies sound more cheerful and polished than usual. To anyone else, it would pass as normal. But Youngjae has never been just anyone. And even though you rarely contacted him all week, he’s all that’s on your mind. 

—

The dorm is louder than you expected. Before you even knock, you can hear Hanjin’s laugh through the door, something clattering against a table, someone loudly shushing someone else. You take a deep breath. You’re afraid. Afraid that letting yourself get any closer to him will change everything. But the noise distracts you, and you step inside. 

“(Name)!” Kyungmin pops up from behind the kitchen counter like he’s been waiting. “Finally, we were about to start without you.”

“Start what? Burning the place down?” you ask as you slip off your shoes. 

“Hey!” Hanjin protests from the stove. “I’m supervising, so that won’t happen.” 

“That’s probably worse,” you respond with a laugh. 

The dorm smells faintly like chocolate and something burnt. Balloons are half-blown and spread out across the couch. A banner that says HAPPY BIRTHDAY SHINYU is draped along the ground half-strung. 

Youngjae’s sitting at the dining table with Kyungmin and decorating the cake with candles. He looks up at the sound of your voice, and your eyes meet for half a second. 

His face softens instantly. “Hey,” he says. 

You plaster a smile on your face. “Hey.” you echo. 

There’s the tiniest pause before he looks back down at the cake. It’s nothing. You tell yourself it’s normal. 

Jihoon’s voice interrupts the moment. “Can you tie these?” he asks as he hands you some string and a few balloons. Grateful for a distraction, you busy yourself with the balloons, twisting and knotting them together. 

“Can you hand me the lighter?” Youngjae asks. Jihoon reaches for it, but you’re closer. You step forward and hand it to him. Your fingers brush when he takes it. It’s barely a touch. Still, your stomach drops like you missed a step on the stairs. 

“Thanks,” he says softly. 

You nod, already turning away. “Yeah. No problem.”

You end up at the counter next to Hanjin as you pretend to be very invested in arranging strawberries on a plate. But your heart is being way too fast for someone just helping arrange some fruit. 

“(Name), you and Youngjae are being weird. Did something happen?” Hanjin whispers to you. You whip around, making sure no one else heard it. 

“Huh, what do you mean?” 

“Dude, anyone can tell you’re acting strange around him. DId he say something weird?”

“No, why would he say something weird?”

“Nevermind. But if anything happens let me know, okay?”

You nod. Maybe you’ll tell Hanjin later. Across the room, Youngjae laughs at something Kyungmin says. Everything looks as it's always been. So why does it feel different today?

“(Name), does this look okay?” Jihoon asks as he holds up a few balloons he tied on his own. You walk over, assessing them. 

“Yeah, probably. If they pop, just blame Hanjin.” 

“I heard that!” he yells from the kitchen. Everyone laughs. You laugh too. It’s probably the first real laugh you’ve let out in a while. 

From the corner of your eye, you see Youngjae watching you again. Just observing. You flash him a quick grin. He smiles back. It should make you feel better. Instead, guilt flashes through you. Because he’s being the same as always. And you’re the one who isn’t. 

—

The studio hallway is louder than usual. You’ve been to his company so many times it’s a habit at this point. On the way over after work, you happened to pass by a bakery and spotted a fresh batch of those Dubai chewy cookies they’d been obsessed with. As you step inside, a small paper bag filled with the dessert hangs from your hand. You walk in to see the members groan and collapse dramatically onto the floor. 

Youngjae spots you immediately, and his whole face lights up. 

“There you are,” he breathes. Before you can walk over, a staff member calls his name. 

“Youngjae, we need you for monitoring.”

“Two minutes,” he tells them automatically as he turns back to you. “Did you come from work?”

“Yeah, and I brought sustenance!” 

“No way, (Name)! You’re actually a lifesaver” Dohoon exclaims. He’s already reaching for the bag like he hasn’t eaten in days. 

Hanjin sits up and wiggles his eyebrows at you from the side. “You know, he asked about you three times today. Three times!” 

Youngjae shoots him a look and says, “Ignore him.”

“Youngjae!” Another staff member calls, more urgently this time. 

He gives you an apologetic smile. “I’ll be fast, I promise.”

“Go right ahead, don’t worry about me,” you respond, letting him go. The staff show him something on a monitor and he leans in, listening carefully and nodding along. 

You sit on the bench along the far wall of the practice room as you watch Youngjae and the boys continue their practice. And all of a sudden, you feel naive. Embarrassed. Childish. His days are scheduled down to the minute. His world doesn’t slow down. And even if he did feel the same about, you’ll only make things harder for him – you’d be another person to worry about. Another responsibility. Wanting him starts to feel selfish. You feel sick. Your gaze drops to your hands as you wring your fingers together. Sure, liking him was one thing. But that was all you could afford to do. 

—

That weekend, you make plans to hang out with Hanjin. It had been ages since you two actually hung out, and you figured you needed a break – and to tell someone about everything you’ve been keeping in the past few days. 

han zhen: a new hot pot spot opened, do u wanna go this wknd?

you: wait yes!

han zhen: is 7 good? 

you: yup, see you there

Now, you’re sitting across from him at the table as the raw smell of tomato broth fills the air, waiting to boil. You push around the dipping sauce with your chopsticks, trying to form words for the feelings marinating within you for the past few days. 

“Can I… talk to you about something?” you finally ask, voice quieter than usual. 

Hanjin leans forward suddenly, his eyes sparkling with curiosity. “Yes, oh my god! Wait… is this about what I was asking at the dorm the other day?”

“Um, yeah. You were right. It’s Youngjae,” you pause, chewing on the inside of your cheek. 

“I knew it!”

You take a deep breath. “Well, I think I like him. But I’m not supposed to! We’re literally friends. And to be honest, I don’t really want to figure out what happens when I ruin our friendship. So now I’ve been avoiding him, even when I don’t want to. I canceled on him twice. Twice! And I know I shouldn’t feel this way. I’m not supposed to like him, but I don’t know how to stop feeling this way. And I know avoiding him is going to hurt him in the end anyway. I just… I don’t know what to do.”

Hanjin leans back and nods slowly. “Okay, first, it’s not wrong to feel like that. It’s not a crime to like someone. You’re avoiding him out of fear, which is normal, but to be honest, it isn’t really helping either of you. Avoiding him doesn’t protect him, it just makes it harder on you.”

“But if I tell him… I don’t know. I feel like that’s too risky. It’s going to make everything so weird.”

Hanjin shakes his head. “What’s more risky is saying nothing. That’s going to make it weird, and messy, and hurtful for both of you. If you don’t say anything, you’re going to continue feeling guilty every time you hang out with him. And he’s going to feel hurt because he doesn’t even know if he’s done anything wrong.”

“Since when did you become so good at giving advice?” you let out a laugh. 

Hanjin gasps, clearly offended. “What do you mean? I’m literally the best person to come to for advice.”

“I see that now.” You think for a bit as you let his words sink in. “So, you’re saying I have to say something?”

“I’m saying,” he leans forward again and rests his elbows on the table, “that keeping it in isn’t going to help you figure anything out. Plus, the worst thing he could say is no. There’s no way he’s going to make things awkward, if anything it would be you. And even if that happens, I know Youngjae – he cares about you too much to let things get awkward.” 

“Yeah, I guess. Although I should probably speak to him soon before he starts figuring things out himself, which is ten times more awkward,” you respond, grateful for the clarity Hanjin somehow always brings. 

“Okay, enough talking about depressing stuff. Let’s eat!” Hanjin says cheerfully as the hot pot comes to a boil. 

You giggle as you pick up your chopsticks, ready to dig in. 

—

“Wow, I’m actually so full,” you groan as you watch Hanjin slide yet another plate of lamb into the bubbling pot. You lean back in your chair, stretching your arms slightly with a satisfied sigh. Then, your phone lights up. 

Hanjin notices immediately. “Who is it?”

You already know. Youngjae. 

Your stomach twists so fast it’s like the food you just ate turned into mush. You flip the phone over.

yoje: hey r u busy tonight?

yoje: if not, do you wanna come over for a bit?

There’s a pause. The little typing bubble pops up, but it goes away after a while. Then, 

yoje: feels like we haven’t hung out properly in forever

Hanjin watches your expression change. “Is that him?”

You nod. 

Hanjin reaches for his wallet. “What are you waiting for? We’re basically finished anyways,” he responds. He motions for the server to grab the check as your eyes make their way back to his text. It’s now or never, I guess. You type back almost immediately.

you: yeah, i can come by

The reply comes almost instantly. 

yoje: okay

yoje: text me when you’re close

—

You’re standing outside his place, waiting for Hanjin to unlock the door. The sound of the keys clinking fills up the space, echoing loudly. You feel your pulse everywhere, in your chest, in your throat, in your wrists, in your fingers. 

He’s already sitting on the couch in the living room when you step inside. The TV is on with its volume low, but he’s not really watching. He looks up the second he hears you. 

“There you are.”

You slip your shoes off. “Yeah. Sorry, I kind of smell like hot pot. Hanjin dragged me to that new place that opened downstairs.” 

“It’s okay,” he replies. You can feel his eyes on you, studying you for half a second longer than usual. 

You sit on the opposite end of the couch, facing him. You always sit like this, but this time, the gap between the two of you feels bigger, more noticeable. He notices it too. He unpauses the TV, and for a minute, it’s just background noise neither of you are following. 

“Did I do something?”

Your heart drops so fast it almost makes you dizzy. How did he find out?

You stare at your hands. “No, I’ve just been busy.” You hate how automatic it sounds. Like a broken record. 

He turns his head to look at you, really look at you. 

“You can be honest with me, you know.”

And suddenly, Hanjin’s words from earlier feel so far away. All the courage you thought you built up earlier disappears, and you feel the familiar urge to shut everything down before it spills out, before you can’t control what you say anymore. 

“I’m fine. Really.”

You don’t look up. You want to disappear. 

“Do you want me to leave?” you ask suddenly, the words falling out so fast you couldn’t stop it. Your hands reach for your jacket that’s draped over the arm of the couch, and your fingers shake as it touches the fabric. 

This is better. Leaving is easier. Distance is safer. Clearly, Hanjin’s words went in one ear and out the other. 

“No, wait, don’t go. Why would you leave? I feel like every time we hang out lately, you’re already halfway out the door. And even if you’re not, it doesn’t feel the same, and we barely interact.” He sounds calm, but you could feel the unease from the stillness in his posture, almost like one wrong move would make you disappear. 

“That’s not –” you try to deny, but you realize that he’s right. 

Youngjae swallows. His eyes remain on yours, and you resist the urge to look away in shame. “If I did something, I want to fix it. Don’t shut me out without telling me anything. Please.”

Please. 

“I’m sorry, I’ll stay,” you respond. There’s nowhere for you to run. It’s really now or never. 

As if sensing your thoughts, he suggests, “We can go to my room if you want.”

Thankful for his offer, you follow him to his room, which was empty to your relief. You sit on the side of his bed with your back against the wall and knees drawn to your chest. He’s on the other end, sitting patiently and waiting for you to speak. 

You open your mouth. Nothing comes out. You try again. 

“I guess I owe you an explanation for how I’ve been feeling these past few days. To be honest, I didn’t really understand it at first, let alone realize that you noticed as well. And I really, really didn’t want to make things weird..”

He tilts his head slightly in confusion. “Make what weird?”

“I don’t know, this, I guess. Everything,” you confess, gesturing between the two of you. And before you could stop yourself, 

“I like you,” you blurt out. You keep going. You’re afraid that if you did so much as stop and take a breath, you’ll lose the nerve to keep going. 

“Not in a friend way. And I didn’t mean to, and I tried to ignore it, but it just kept getting worse, and I thought if I pulled away it would go back to normal but it didn’t and now everything feels wrong and I don’t know how to fix it. That’s the reason why I’ve been acting the way I did. I was trying to just get over it on my own.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. The room was so incredibly still. You finally look at him. He’s silent, staring. 

You panic again, worried you said the wrong thing, so you continue, “And I know your life is already insane, and you’re so busy all the time, and you have so much on your plate, and the last thing you need is me making things complicated, and I know it’s really selfish for me to feel this way, so I thought if I just created some space –”

“Hey.”

You stop. 

“I’m not upset, I’m just trying to catch up because you dropped that on me like, all of a sudden and I was surprised,” he reassures. 

“Sorry.” It comes out shaky, like a laugh. 

“No, don’t apologize. So this is why you were avoiding me?”

“I thought it was for the best.”

“By disappearing?” he asks softly. 

“Well, we’ve been friends for so long, and I would hate myself forever if I ruined that. More than anything, I didn’t want to lose you,” you whisper, afraid of saying it any louder. “But being around you started to feel dangerous. It reminded me that if I didn’t keep myself in check, I could mess it up for both of us. And that, to be honest, scared me. So I figured if I stepped back first, it wouldn’t hurt as much.”

He continues to stare at you. Then, he leans back against the bed, running a hand through his hair. 

“You really think you’re just another burden to me?” he asks. “I thought you knew me better than that. I thought I made it clear you could trust me more than that.” 

Your vision blurs before you even realize your eyes are filling. You don’t trust yourself to answer without your voice giving it away. 

Youngjae exhales. “You know what’s been stressing me out lately? You pulling away. Not schedules. Not practice. Not our upcoming performance. You.”

Your eyes burn.

“I kept thinking I messed up, you know. That I said something wrong to hurt you. I kept running through everything in my head, trying to figure out where I went wrong. At first, I thought I had done something to offend you. But I know you, you would’ve called me out if I had said something out of line. I guess I should’ve known that it was something you felt like you needed to keep to yourself. God, I was so scared I was going to lose you.”

A tear slips down your cheek. You hope he doesn’t notice. You know he did. 

“You don’t get to decide what’s considered ‘too much’ for me,” he continues. “If you’re in my life, it’s because I want you there. And that’s the truth.”

You could barely see through your eyes. He moves closer immediately, and his hands gently wipe away the tears you didn’t even realize were falling. You’re shoulder-to-shoulder now with your backs against the wall. He puts an arm around you and presses your face to his shoulder. You let out a breath, which comes out shaky. 

“Look at you, you’ve always been such a crybaby.” he jokes. You huff out the smallest laugh. Of course he’d say that. 

He takes a breath, as if steadying himself. 

“Can I say something without you panicking and trying to run away again?” Youngjae asks. 

You sniff, “No promises, but I’ll try.”

He shifts so you’re now looking right into his eyes. 

“I didn’t say anything before because I thought I had time. I figured, whatever this is between us, it would just keep going the way it always has. But when you started pulling away, I realized I don’t feel neutral about you either.” 

Your fingers clutch the inside of your sleeves. 

“I look for you. Everywhere I go. In everything I see. In every little thing I want to tell someone. When something good happens, you’re the first person I think of. When things go wrong, you’re the one I’m willing to open myself up to. That’s not just a “friend” to me,” he confesses. 

“I guess, I didn’t say this before because I didn’t want to pressure you. And because… yeah, my life is messy. It’s public. It’s busy. But none of that makes me want less of you. I don’t want you shrinking yourself or disappearing because you think it’s better for us. You don’t have to deal with these decisions by yourself. And I’ve known you long enough to know that this is your habit, it’s a part of who you are, keeping all of these vulnerable thoughts to yourself. But I want you to know that even if you want to be strong around everyone else, I want to be the person you don’t have to be strong around.”

“I – wow, I didn’t – ,” you let out. You were crying again. You’ve never felt more seen.

“(Name), I like you. A lot. But you deserve more than being confessed to in my dorm room. I want to do this properly and take you somewhere that isn’t my bedroom. And then, I’m going to ask you out the way you deserve. That is, if you’d like that,” he explains gently. 

“I would. I really would,” you reply without hesitation. His fingers are laced between yours now. 

This time, neither of you pulls away. 

—

You almost don’t recognize the feeling in your chest while you wait outside. You’re nervous, not in fear, but from anticipation. You chalk it off to adrenaline. 

A car pulls up. It’s Youngjae, dressed simply in a hoodie and jeans. He rolls down the window and waves. 

“Hi,” he greets. 

You smile before you can stop yourself and wave, greeting him back. You get in and close the door. There’s a half-second pause where you’re unsure whether or not you’re supposed to hug him. You do it anyway. 

“I wasn’t sure if traffic would be bad, so I left early. But it wasn’t, so I’ve just been driving around for like fifteen minutes,” he admits. 

You let out a giggle before you could stop yourself. “Oh my god, you were nervous!” you exclaim.

“I was not.”

“You literally circled the block multiple times.”

He gives up in defending himself, and you laugh. 

He had picked a simple cafe with lots of greenery. It wasn’t crowded, as it was tucked into the corner of a lesser-known plaza. You love it. 

You catch him watching you when you’re not looking. Your hands brush as he hands you the menu. Your heart skips a beat when he orders for you together. 

You never really got nervous around Youngjae when you were still friends. But every time you went on dates with other guys, you were always so self-conscious of the way they perceived you. It was suffocating. You didn’t ever feel like yourself. Yet halfway through your date, you realize that it seemed like forever since the last time you felt that way. 

“You’re smiling,” he says suddenly. 

Your head jerks up mid-bite. You chew before answering. “Really, am I?”

“You’re literally glowing. Radiating,” he insists. His eyes were soft and filled with adoration. “Of course, you’re always smiling.” But this time it’s because of me. 

Your cheeks were warm. You loved it – being with him. Like always, you talked, and he filled the space in between. It felt just right. 

—

It happens by accident. That’s what you tell yourself. 

You’re in their practice room and curled into the corner of the couch while everyone argues over what to order for dinner. Hanjin and Kyungmin are sitting in front of you while Dohoon and Jihoon are busy bickering while lying on the floor. Shinyu is leaning against the wall. Youngjae sits next to you, making sure to keep some distance between the two of you. 

The members didn’t know about the two of you yet. And it wasn’t on purpose. Both of you just weren’t sure how to break the news to them yet. 

You don’t notice when it happens. You don’t notice when his fingers slid over yours in between the two of you. It was so natural you didn’t even bat an eye. Which is why you don’t pull away. 

“... Wait,” Hanjin suddenly says. “Wait, wait, wait.” The room goes quiet. 

You look up from your phone. Five pairs of eyes. All staring at your hands. You freeze. Youngjae doesn’t notice. He just glances down, then back up at the others, like he didn’t even care. 

“HELLO???” Jihoon yells, sitting up as fast as he can. 

“Are you guys –” Kyungmin exclaims before cutting himself off. 

Your brain completely shuts off. You had no idea how to respond. 

“I – we – it’s not –” you start, but you don't know what to say. 

“It’s recent,” Youngjae says calmly, squeezing your hand once. 

The room explodes. 

Dohoon jumps up from where he was lying down. 

“RECENT?!”

“And you didn’t think to tell us?”

“I knew it!” Hanjin screams. 

“No you didn’t!” Jihoon counters. 

“I literally did! It was so obvious!” Hanjin yells back. 

Your face is quite literally on fire. “We didn’t mean to hide it, we just didn’t know when would be a good time to say it.”

You glance at him, and the moment your eyes meet, you were brought back to the day it happened. 

The park was mostly empty, but not completely. Streetlights spill warm pools of light across the path as you and Youngjae walked along it.

His hand was in yours as you reached a bench near the river. Then you noticed it. A bouquet of flowers sitting on the bench. Your breath caught. Oh. 

He looked at you and laughed under his breath. “You’re so nervous. I can feel it in your hand.”

“Do you remember what happened at the dorm?” he asked gently. 

You nodded as your eyes met his. “Yeah. How could I forget? I wanted to disappear so badly that day. But it was the most honest I’ve ever been.”

Youngjae laughed slightly. “I was so terrified I’d say the wrong thing and you’d be gone.”

“I’m glad you didn’t let me,” you said. 

He reached for the bouquet and holds it out to you. Peonies. Your favorite. You stared at them, stunned. 

“How did you know?”

A small, knowing smile spread across his face. “I have my ways,” he responded. 

“To this day, I feel like the luckiest person in the world for meeting you. Being with you feels like the greatest gift. I want to be with you, I want to learn everything about you – what you love, what you hate, and everything else in between. More than anything else, I want to keep choosing you everyday.”

“Youngjae…” you exhaled. 

“(Name), will you give me the honor of being your boyfriend?” he asked. His eyes are wide and round and full of hope. 

You didn’t even hesitate.  

“Yes,” you responded immediately. “I’d love nothing more.”

Shinyu points between you. “So this is like, official?” You’re brought back to the practice room. 

You look at Youngjae and nod as he says, “Yeah, it is.”

Kyungmin groans and collapses again. “Great. Now he’s going to be even more insufferable. Who knew he would be the first one to get cuffed?”

“Hey, what does that even mean?” Youngjae complains. 

You’re hiding now, behind your hands. Youngjae looks over and sees your expression, bursting out into laughter. 

He leans back and whispers, “Told you I’d do it right.”