BlandTako Is Good. BlandTako Is Hungry.

The sudden boost of helpfulness struck you as odd, but not completely. You saw this as a good thing; having Minho on your side certainly helps things in the long run. Even if it meant dealing with the occasional flirtation. Passing through the bedroom portal to the school gate, you arrived at the crowded entrance. Everyone was chattering and meeting up with friends to walk inside, much different from before. You put Minho in the back of your mind, and focused on the mission. 

Rumors about Jisung’s disappearance had spread like wildfire. Police officers arrived to question teachers and students, though Minho assured they’d find nothing linking you to Jisung. By lunch time, the police interviewed half the student body, and theories flew left and right. Was Jisung indeed murdered by a mafia boss? Was he kidnapped by a perverted sex trafficker? Was he having an affair with an older man and they’d finally run away to a new country? Having no physical evidence or suspects, the police declared Jisung as a missing person. You preferred the wild stories over the truth. You thought about the newest rumor when someone blocked your way. 

“Morning, YN-hyung!” Jeongin appeared in front of you with another tray. This time it was egg bread. The sweet, steamy treats sat in uniform rows, and you automatically searched for a message. “We made egg bread in the Cooking Club today. Want one? It’s not good to start the day on an empty stomach.” He directed his eyes to the row right under him without moving his head. 

You took the middle one and underneath you saw he’d drawn the swimming team logo on the tray. Your eyes met his, and you felt compelled to ask him what was going on. Taking a bite of the fluffy treat, you nodded. 

“What do you think?” he asked sweetly, thin eyes crinkling in the corners. 

“Delicious as always, Jeongin-ssi,” you said. “What other clubs are you in, by the way? I think you’d be good for the swimming club.”

Jeongin paused, then said, “Oh, I’m not much of a swimmer, but you know who I admire? Seo Changbin. He’s very dedicated to his athletics. I always see him going into the swimming pool building before classes. I wish I could be as dedicated.” 

“Hm, me too,” you said. “See you around, Jeongin-ssi.”

“See you around, hyung!”

Honestly, you did not know how to feel about Jeongin. The Cooking Club member seemed to have a certain self-awareness that nobody else had. You wondered if this might be a result of your configurations to the game. Minho mentioned there being other players before you who’d lost the game. They might have become NPC characters or simply vanished into the ether. Jeongin’s constant cryptic warnings and guidance made you want to corner and confront him. But, the secrecy might be another clue: someone is watching. 

You decided to take up Jeongin’s lead. Students aren’t allowed in the pool building before classes, yet Changbin is somehow getting in? It couldn’t be for extra practice time. You thought of Changbin’s special secret, and what it could be. You saw Changbin texting on his phone as he walked up to the school steps. This phone was more modern, with a superhero case around it rather than the plain black phone from yesterday. Changbin had two phones. One for friends and one for…drugs? That seemed the only explanation. You followed Changbin up the steps of the school where his friends waited for him. You kept himself a good distance away as the younger student went inside first.

“Chan!” 

You narrowed your eyes when you spotted Changbin approaching Chan, who’d been putting books into his locker. You kept to the water fountain as the two began talking. Changbin handed him a manga from his bookbag, and the two started to talk about it. Loving manga and anime was Changbin and Chan’s shared interest apart from swimming. It was a good move. Perhaps Changbin was not the dumb jock after all. Chan took the book kindly, flipping through the pages as Changbin talked. Surely, he only humored Changbin. He couldn’t possibly consider reading it. You waited until Changbin walked away to move onward. 

Moving past your locker through the hallway, you kept your eyes on Changbin. You tailed him towards the Home Economics room where students prepared meals for the day. You watched him pull out ingredients from his bag as he assured his friends he’d meet up with them later. You stayed by the doors, seeing Changbin through the wide windows and expecting a long wait. However, once his friends were down the hall and out of sight, Changbin immediately began repacking. You noted the haste in which he did it; quickly shoving the fruits and protein powder back into the duffle bag. Changbin took up the black phone this time, typing a message and waiting for a response. He looked excited, hiding his smile and blushing cheeks. Changbin might have a drug addiction he hoped to fix. He might have a dealer who sells him steroids for his athletic body. Perhaps a relationship with another student. Whatever it was, it made him happy. 

Changbin left the room quickly. A man on the move. Adrenaline pumped in your veins as you continued stalking him. The boy had a pep in his step, his delight making him giddier than a schoolgirl. You followed him from the school building towards the locker rooms. It made a good place to meet a dealer before school, hardly anyone was there in the mornings. Yet, as Changbin walked towards the girls’ locker room, you thought perhaps he might be a pervert. Maybe Jeongin had his information wrong and Changbin doesn’t go to the swimming pool. He goes to the girls’ locker room and sneaks dirty photos of them. It’d make for good blackmail material. You hid in the bushes along the walls of the building, expecting Changbin to sneak inside. But, he walked right past it into the indoor pool. 

Okay, so Jeongin’s information was correct. 

The indoor pool building had its own bathroom for swimmers. Did he meet his dealer there? It was ideal considering the lack of people around the area in the morning, but how did he get inside? The school kept it locked before and during class time. You received your answer when Changbin knocked on the back door.

Then, it opened. You didn’t see who opened the door, but you saw their hand. White with long red nails, Changbin must be meeting a girl. But, Changbin had a crush on Chan. Sure, he could like boys and girls; it was a possibility, but the game never indicated that before. Who was she? The dealer could easily be a woman. You waited until Changbin disappeared behind the door to move. Sprinting across the secluded alley, you tried the knob gently to avoid detection. It was locked. You kicked the door hard. The day you leave the lockpick behind is the day you need it. You jiggled the knob a few times, hoping by some miraculous intervention it’d open, but nothing happened. Suddenly, the metal door felt more solid and impenetrable than before. You’d been walking back to the bushes, deciding to wait on Changbin and his dealer outside when you heard it. 

Click!

You turned around to see the pool door unlock and swung open. Intuition told you that something made it open. Doors that open by themselves are typically warning signs. Cautiously, you walked to the door, and considered texting Minho to see if he’d done it, but the guide claimed to have no control over the happenings in the game. If not him, then who or what? Time was short. You went through the open door and scanned the empty pool area. The bathrooms made the most sense. You tiptoed across the tiled floors to the two, peeking into the womens’ first to see no Changbin, then into the mens. 

In the handicap stall, you saw two sets of feet. One was Changbin’s tennis shoes, and the other a pair of black heels. They stood dangerously close, the woman’s legs in between both of Changbin’s. The soft smacking sounds of kissing and low moans broke the silence of the building. You went through the room slowly, keeping your steps quiet as you went into the adjacent stall. Knees drawn up to your chin on the toilet, you turned on the phone’s recording app, and listened: 

“-You said you wanted to see me,” you heard the woman say. “Is there something wrong?”

“There’s something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about,” Changbin said, a nervous edge to his voice.

“What is it, sweetheart?”

“I…I think we should stop seeing each other.”

You heard the long pause on the woman’s end. “What? Why?” she asked, affronted. “Do you not love me anymore?”

“Yes, I do love you, Sohee,” he pleaded, “But I don’t like this.”

“Like what?”

“Sneaking around,” he said. “I love you and I want people to know that I love you. We’ve spent ages hiding out here or going outside of town to that crappy little motel you found. We always have to make sure to delete our messages off the burner phones, and when we’re at school, I have to pretend as if I’m not crazy in love with you. I sit around imagining you with your husband at home, while I’m wishing I could hold you every night. Sohee, I love you, and I wished people knew that.”

“You know how stupid that would be, right? I’m a teacher, Changbin. If anyone ever discovered us, I’d lose everything. I’d lose my job, my family, my husband…my freedom.” Her voice suddenly turned from angry to sultry, “And you don’t want that for me, do you? If I’m behind bars, we’d never see each other again. We’d never kiss and touch, and you’d lose me.”

“Which is why we should end this,” he reasoned with her.

She did not respond right away. You imagined her finding ways around his reasoning without giving him too much hope. “There’s someone else, isn’t there?”

“What? No, not at all.”

“It’s that Bahng boy,” she accused. “You’re cheating on me with him, aren’t you? I should’ve known better. I should’ve known better than to be with a boy who hangs around his friends too much.”

“It’s not Chan.”

How dare he...

“How dare you,” she said, “How dare you think I’m so blind. I see how you look at him. I see how you’re always eager to talk to him and share those stupid comic books with him.” She sniffled, “I thought you loved me, Changbin, but I guess I was wrong.”

“I do love you,” he insisted again. “I love you, but I’m tired of keeping secrets. I want to be with you, but I’m tired of hiding it.”

“We’re only hiding it because some people in the world might not understand. To them, what we have is wrong, but it doesn’t feel that way when I’m with you.”

Not exactly those three words Changbin wanted, but it didn’t matter after she kissed him. The soft pecking turned into deeper, lingering kisses by the sounds of lip smacking. The rustling of clothes soon followed, hungry whimpers and needy moans joining in. You lifted your phone to the top of the wall for better sound. Everything needed to be recorded to have strong evidence. White fingers clutched the wall and soon the sound of skin hitting skin mingled with the low moaning. Changbin whispered his apologies in between huffs and grunts. His lover said nothing except moaned in blissful pleasure. It did not last long, though, which you supposed was due to the time limit. When they finished, Changbin spoke first. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, panting as zipping himself up, “But I still think we should end it.”

You almost laughed. He bangs the woman, and then still breaks up with her. She did not react to this well.

“Really? After everything I’ve done for you, everything I’ve risked to be with you? Ugh, you little prick. I should’ve known what you were after we first fucked.” You heard her zip something, likely a skirt, before opening the stall door, “A damn fairy.”

“Sohee” Changbin breathed, “Wait-”

“-You better start working on your grades, because the principal is about to hear all about the cheating and plagiarism you’ve performed in my classes.”

“No, you can’t do that.”

“Why not? You don’t care for my feelings, why should I care for yours?”

“Because I’ll lose my scholarships. I might even get expelled.”

“Good. You deserve it.”

You clasped a hand over your mouth, not daring to breathe out your silent laughter. She’s harsh, you’d give her that. Changbin, you decided, could not be trusted with Chan’s tender heart. Not only would he continue seeing the teacher behind Chan’s back, but he’d do to him what he did to her: sleep with him and then dump him. He claims to love Chan, yet is messing around with a teacher. Chan is too gentle to handle such heartbreak. You’d thought of letting Sohee ruin Changbin through his grades, but that would take too long. What if Sohee then sets her sights on another boy? What if she preys upon sweet, innocent Chan who won’t know what to do? It made your blood boil. You pictured the sultry, seductive teacher putting her hands on Chan, kissing and fondling him like the pervert she was. She needed to go down with her boyfriend before she hurt Chan too. Before they both hurt your Channie. 

“Sohee, please, wait,” Changbin pleaded again, and you heard her move a few steps before stopping, “I was wrong. I’m sorry. You’re right; you’ve sacrificed a lot to be with me and I was selfish for wanting to end things.”

Damnit.

“Hm,” she said thoughtfully, “I suppose I could forgive you. We’ll talk after school in my car.”

You’d beat the woman right now, if you could. The couple kissed and made up before leaving the bathroom. You only uncurled yourself when the pool door closed with an echoing slam. If Sohee won’t turn on Changbin, then you’d burn them both. The most obvious angle came as you left the building: show the school counselor what you recorded. Blackmailing Changbin into not liking Chan is pointless, since it only works if the person is giving up something important to them. Chan clearly means nothing to Changbin, who has been sneaking around with a teacher. He doesn’t truly love Chan. He doesn’t care about him enough to break off a toxic, inappropriate relationship with a teacher. Why love someone from afar when it’s possible to be with a person who isn’t? 

“Hey, where are you? I miss you,” Minho’s message came with a sad face emoji after. 

“I just found out Changbin’s secret. He’s banging some teacher named Sohee,” you replied. “Are there any teachers here by that name?” 

“Yoon Sohee. She’s a 10th grade teacher. She’s new this year, and is pretty popular with the boys.”

“I bet. Any chance the guidance counselor will buy my story?”

“If you have the proof.”

“I do.” 

“Great, then you can go during lunch. Come to the garden, I got you food.” 

You headed to the courtyard, sunny and green as always, and found Minho sitting underneath one of the trees. He handed you a canned coffee and a pastry, which you dug into right away. Right after, you looked at Chan’s usual spot in the garden. He sat near the strawberries, distracted by his phone and eating an apple. A sense of content came over you watching your beloved. Once you finish the game, Chan won’t be lonely ever again. You’d make sure you were always around, eager to accompany and take care of his needs. You’ll make it happen somehow.

“What have you been doing this morning?” You asked, taking another sip of coffee.

“Nothing particularly exciting,” he sighed. “I did my patrol around the halls, pretending to care if someone is offing the kids around here, while waiting on you.” He put his hand on your thigh casually, neither squeezing nor rubbing. You ignored the touch by drinking more coffee. “The teachers are urging us to enforce safety rules. They’re convinced Kitae and Jisung were taken from the school, but I honestly think they’re worried about what the parents think.” 

“Is anyone actually listening though?”

“Nobody important,” he said, drinking his own coffee. “They weren’t particularly popular students, so people aren’t a hundred-percent concerned. There’s also no proof their disappearances happened here, so nobody’s worried beyond teachers.” He continued casually watching Chan while he drank. “You plan to expose them, then?”

“Makes the most sense,” you shrugged. “Why? Are you gonna suggest I just stab him and hide the body?”

“I was going to suggest poisoning his smoothie again,” Minho said, “He’d make it around lunch time since he skipped breakfast. But you have your heart set on doing it the boring way.”

“A death on school grounds would definitely bring police attention,” you replied. “This way is much more fun.” 

Minho chuckled quietly, “You’re too cute. Well, when your idea inevitably fails, I know they have chemicals up in the science lab that can create a pretty decent poison.” 

"I can't kill them all, hyung." 

"Why not? Other people do it all the time. It's fun," he smiled before taking a drink. "You'll get through the game quicker to be sure."

"Murder is so boring and such an obvious choice. Also, is it really that fun if I have to clean it up afterwards?" 

"It can be..." he slid closer to you and moved hand further up your thigh, "When you have someone special to help." 

You should’ve seen it coming. "Minho..."

"Yes, love?" 

Your skin prickled with goosebumps, and you shifted from Minho. "Minho-hyung, I'm sorry but I'm not interested in you like that."

"You could be," he said, slightly hurt when you pulled away. 

“I thought you loved Chan though.”

He paused, and suddenly pulled away. You immediately noticed the lust inside him fade away into sadness. 

“I did,” he said, “I used to. A part of me still does, I guess. That Chan over there,” he pointed at him, “Is not the Chan I loved. The Chan I loved was tough and rough. He liked punk rock music, had red in his hair, and tattoos on his arms. Whenever I looked at him, my heart fluttered and I felt whole. The world had felt so empty and colorless before I’d met him; I thought I’d met my soulmate. When he died, I created Chan in the game so I could keep a piece of him. Playing the game, I caught glimpses of my Chan in him. 

“But, the investors said my Chan was too alternative for users. I was forced to make a soft boy who likes manga and plants. I was forced to take the piece of him I’d made and turn him into something else.” He turned his face away from you, “I put up with Lovesick’s Chan because having a fake version was better than having nothing at all. He’s nice to screw after the game, but it’s not enough. He doesn’t make me feel what the real world Chan once did.” 

You stopped eating. The suspicion you carried around with you suddenly turned its ugly head. “You’d said Chan was a guy in the class”

Minho hesitated, then said, “He was.”

“You said you made him in the game because you couldn’t have him in the real world.”

“In a way, yeah.”

“You also said he was the one who told you to take him out of the game, not investors. You never said he'd died either.” The pieces clicked together in your head, and you glared at him.

He turned back to you. By the hesitancy in his eyes, he knew you’d caught him. “It’s hard to talk about. I told you that story because it’s easier than telling the truth.”

Anger simmered inside your chest. You shouldn’t have been so surprised Minho lied, but it hurt nevertheless. “You lied to me.”

“I…” he heard Minho’s voice crack as he spoke, “I…You see, I’d…I’d spent so long thinking I’d found my other half; my soulmate who will help me realize my fantasies and share my darkest desires. Chan was like me: sad and angry and wanting to rip the world apart for all the stuff it’d done to him. I…” he sniffed, “I tricked him into thinking he’d killed our neighbor after a fight in our apartment building. I thought, surely, Chan would understand at last how powerful murder makes someone, but…but he didn’t. He actually cried over the jerk. He said he felt guilty and that he’d never meant for the guy to die. I told him it wasn’t a big deal; that the guy deserved it. He told me…” Minho paused, and you saw tears sliding down his cheeks. “He said I was crazy, and they should lock me up for saying such things. I realized then that the person I adored did not exist. He was a poser, who pretended to be a part of the dark side but never actually planned on doing it.” 

He went around you to try meeting your eyes, but you stared into your lap. Your fingers curled into the loose parts of your pants, digging into the fabric tightly. He’d lied. He tricked you. You know now what Jeongin meant about being careful. You heard Minho’s voice thicken from the sobs in his throat, but didn’t acknowledge them. 

“When I came into this game, I thought that perhaps I’d meet the right person,” he said. “But, everyone proved to be worthless. They were all scared and stupid. It was fun watching them, and even more fun killing them, but you’re different.” 

The thunder continued rolling towards them, and everything went silent. No wind. No birds. Nothing but the thunder. What was happening? It never rained in the game. It was always sunny and breezy. You couldn’t help looking at Minho for an answer, but he only saw admiration. 

“You made him believe he’d murdered someone?” You questioned incredulously. “Why would you do that? That’s an awful thing to do to someone, especially one you loved.”

“I thought he was like me, like us. I thought he’d see-”

“-So, do you lie to everyone or only people who blindly trust you?” 

“You don’t understand, YN. I never meant to lie to you. I would’ve told you the truth eventually. YN, you’ve come to mean so much to me. You came in here and turned my game on its head. You made it better.”

He held both your hands in his, his touch making you sick. You gazed back into his eyes and saw it.  Minho’s appearance early in the game seemed suddenly strange. Why had he chosen that particular moment to appear? You recalled the emotions running through at that time. Confused and hazy, you thought you’d been caught considering the condition.  Originally, you thought Minho arrived to save you and guide you through the game. But, if that were true, why not reveal himself in the beginning?  You squirmed in your seat, feeling the cringing embarrassment coming over you. You should have seen this coming. You always consider every angle except this one. Why question Jeongin when the suspicious one knelt in front of you? People started going inside to avoid the incoming rain, while you two sat there. The confusion muddled your head, and you struggled to maintain your thoughts. “Minho, I think we should go inside-”

“-You're beautiful, cunning, clever, witty, and absolutely merciless,” Minho continued. “You see an objective, and you go after it with full force. You don’t back away from blood or gore or violence. I saw you there in that bathroom, hands covered with blood and splatters on your cheeks, and I knew you were the one for me. We’re the same,” he smiled softly at you, “You and I.” 

The black skies came with soft winds, blowing through the trees and flowers on the ground. The yard had gone suspiciously quiet even with the wind. You felt humidity touch your cheeks in the anticipation of rain. “It’s about to rain. We should, um,  go inside.” 

“I know you love Chan. I totally understand why you do, but YN, is he really worth the trouble? He won’t remember you once the game finds a new player. You’ll have his love for maybe a few days, and then a new person shows up. He’s really only a prize at the end of the game. When you’ve won, you go back home. You don’t stay here; you’ll lose Chan.” He forced you to focus on him, “But with me, you’ll have my love forever. If you decided to stay here, you’d have me and I’d have you. You won’t be alone anymore.” 

“I have to get home. I have a life back home,” you said distractedly. The dark clouds continued rolling. Something in the blackness felt ominous. It sent prickles across your skin, and dread filled you like lead.  

“No, you don’t,” he scoffed. “You work, eat, play games and sleep, right? That’s your whole routine with very few breaks from it.” 

He knelt closer to you, pushing your legs apart to slide between them. Your skin crawled as disgust crept over you. You saw Chan's empty spot, and your heart sank. 

“I know because that was my life too,” Minho pulled back your attention, “It’s like being a hamster on a wheel. You’re bound by society pressures and laws to act a certain way. They numb who you are with medications and therapy so you don’t step out of line. They tell you that you’re the screwed up one, and that you need to be locked up. You’re forced to go along with whatever they say, when really all you want to do is wreak havoc on people. This world can break you away from all those responsibilities and rules you’re forced to follow. You could be yourself here, and it’d be okay. I’d be here to guide you through it,” He kissed your hand gently, keeping his eyes on you. “Why go back when you can be here with me?” 

You would’ve answered if a large raindrop hadn't landed on your shoulder. The sky completely blackened above them now. 

 “I love you, YN,” Minho said, almost pleading with you, “I’m not supposed to tell you here or right now, but I can’t keep it quiet anymore.” More thunder and rain started falling all around them, “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.” Lightning cracked through the sky, resounding through the courtyard and making you jump. “Come on,” he grabbed his bag and coffee, “Let’s go inside before we get struck by lightning.”

Minho took your hand and led you back inside. The rain pounded the pavement now, more thunder and lightning clashing in the sky, and people started reacting. They pulled out umbrellas, rushed underneath shelter, and wondered where it’d come from. You didn’t care about the rain. Minho’s confession clouded your mind from reality. This confession felt…forced. You ran through the wording Minho used: “We’re the same, you and I.” “YN, you’ve come to mean so much to me.” Such generic phrases. You wondered how many other players he’d used this tactic on. Surely, Minho hoped this love declaration might win you over, and you’d trust him more. You couldn’t trust someone who lies to people they supposedly love. 

“Can you explain what’s going on?” You asked once you were in front of his classroom. You turned to see Minho staring outside at the rain, his brow furrowed and biting his inner cheek. 

“Early confessions are prohibited,” he told you, though mostly speaking to himself. “It’ll probably make me restart now.” His phone beeped in his pocket, and he checked it to see the same screen. “Yup, I wasn’t supposed to tell you. But when you said what you said, it came out.”

“You should’ve been more honest with me.” 

“It’s not an easy thing for me to talk about. I promise,” he squeezed your hand, “That I’ll be more honest in the future.” 

“How can I be sure of that?”

He hesitated for a moment, simply staring into your face. You could see Minho’s heart dropping along with his shoulders. A sign of defeat. “Because your suffering is the only one I don’t enjoy.” 

Then, your lips met. You always imagined kisses being full of passion and love. Whenever you kissed someone, they left you with a light-headed feeling akin to drunkenness. Yet, when Minho pulled away, nothing came. No special, warm fuzzy feelings. No swarming butterflies in his stomach. You only felt sick with yourself. You thought about Changbin, who’d begun a relationship whilst loving Chan. You refused to be like that. You shouldered your bag, the rain pounding on the windows beside you, and said:

“I’ll see you around.” 

You left Minho standing in the hallway and rushed to class. Once around a corner, all the nerves sparking inside you rattled your bones. Minho's presence stayed on your body like bad body spray. You did not know what to do. You'd gone through plenty of guys whose attention you didn't want, but Minho seemed particularly dangerous. You did not believe any of that 'anyone-but-you' nonsense. Minho had loved Chan, but said he’d tricked him into believing he’d murdered someone. If Minho lied about Chan’s story, what else is he lying about? Your body tensed, slowly building up walls against the man. In a game of manipulation, deception, and violence, anything is possible.

You supposed you’d go to the guidance counselor’s office during lunch time to give in your evidence against Changbin. There'd be no point now. 

Walking into the classroom, Chan sat in his usual seat with the comic Changbin loaned him. Seeing the droplets on his shoulders and his dampened hair, he’d gotten caught in the sudden rain. Looking at him as you took your seat, the guilt hit you right away. You’d kissed Minho, or well, Minho kissed you. You wanted to spill your guts to Chan; you’d explain everything even if the other did not ask. You wished it’d been Chan you kissed. You imagined those lips tasting like the cherry lip balm he applied every day. 

“This rain’s insane, huh?” you said, trying to find words. 

“Huh? Oh yeah,” Chan nodded, smiling at you. So sweet. So innocent. You thought you might vomit from the guilt. “I hope you didn’t get caught in it too.”

“No, no. I escaped just in time.” 

The conversation then flowed easily. Minho’s confession and kiss immediately flushed from your mind once Chan smiled. You’d never want anyone else, and this made the ending so much harder to accept. 

****

Lunch time came quickly as always. You told Chan you’d see him in the cafeteria, and went ahead to the counselor’s office inside the administrative office. A plaque on the door reading "Mr. Wang, Guidance Counselor". Tentatively, you knocked on the door three times before a voice from within spoke.

“Come in.”

The guidance counselor, a middle-aged bespectacled man, lifted his head from the desk when you entered. He clasped both hands over the papers he’d been writing, and smiled. You walked into the room, which was the usual educator’s office. Motivational posters and family photos on the walls, a large bookshelf with important looking books on it stood on the other. You took a seat in an armchair in front of the desk. You vaguely recalled all the times you’d sat in administrative offices and explained the newest massive bullying attack. They often gave words of sympathy and reassurance to stop it, but that rarely worked. Your bullies only returned days later to resume the torment. 

“How may I help you today, YN-ssi?” Mr. Martin asked him.

“Well, you see, sir, um…” you twiddle your thumbs and bashfully look away, “This is a pretty delicate matter and I don’t know how to really explain it in sensitive terms. I understand this is a school, and certain behaviors are prohibited here.”

“You have no need to worry,” he assured you. “Whatever it is, you can tell me. Everything we say here stays here. Does it have to do with your grades? Another student?”

“Yes, it does involve another student. Seo Changbin, you might know him? He’s on the swim team.”

“Mr. Seo, yes I know him well. He’s a very good athlete. He’s brought lots of recognition to Whimoon in sporting events,” he said. “What has he done?” his tone sounded suspicious. 

“It’s not really what he’s done. It’s what someone has done to him.” You took a deep breath and said, “I believe him to be having a relationship with one of the teachers. It sounds like Mrs. Yoon, from what I gathered.”

“Mrs. Yoon?” he gave a soft laugh, “YN, that is a serious accusation. Mrs. Yoon is a beloved teacher here at this school. You must be mistaken. She’d never do such a thing with one of her students, or with any child. You must’ve heard things wrong.”

“I’d hoped the same, sir, but, well…I think this will explain everything.”

You put your phone on the desk and pressed ‘play’. Changbin and Sohee’s voices came through the speaker clearly. Mr. Wang’s jaw dropped and his eyes widened as he listened to Changbin break up with Sohee, have sex with her, and then her manipulating him into continuing their affair. A long silence followed the recording, until Mr. Wang coughed.

“Um, well, this is certainly something you’ve captured,” he declared, fixing his tie nervously and shifting around in his chair. “I will take this issue up with the Principal. In the meantime, I wish for this to stay between you and I. If word got out about this, it’d look very bad on the school, you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Alright. Go on and enjoy your lunch now.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

A sense of triumph filled you as he left the office and went back downstairs. Heading towards the cafeteria, you pictured Changbin becoming so ashamed by his affair with a teacher, he leaves the school. That meant one more rival down for the count. You’d be one step closer to Chan’s loving embrace. Minho told you that you won’t hold onto Chan for long after you win the game; he mentioned being able to stay with him instead. Your stomach churned thinking about being with Minho instead of Chan. All this plotting and killing was for Chan. Like Sohee, you risked so much for snippets of time with him. You risked your life, the one back home that seemed so empty compared to the life here. Here in the game world, you had Chan. In the real world, you had nobody.

You reached the cafeteria to find Chan sitting with the rest of the swim team, including Changbin, who couldn’t take his eyes off him. You wanted to gouge those deep brown eyes from his skull. He dared to look at Chan with loving eyes when he’d pumped himself inside the slutty teacher an hour ago. This is what their relationship will be should it ever happen: lies and deceit.

You grabbed a quick lunch, then walked right up to them. Notably, you took a seat beside Chan, and locked eyes with Changbin, whose face hardened. You wanted to tell him right there and then. You wanted Chan to know so he could steer clear of him. But, you’d already told the guidance counselor, who will inform the Principal, who will speak to Sohee for the whole story.

And then Changbin is out of the way.

“-Are you alright, YN-ah?” Chan’s voice cut him away from his thoughts.

“Um, yeah, totally,” he replied. “Why?”

“You seem upset,” he said. “Is it about Minho?”

“What? No. It’s not Minho. Why would you think that?”

“Because he likes you, and…well, I thought it might have something to do with him, that’s all. Nothing mean about it.” He took a spoonful of his stew, then said, “What’re you doing after practice today?”

“Nothing special. Why?” a familiar warmth started rolling around in your stomach that had nothing to do with the lunch.

“Well, there’s this cool anime shop in town that I-”

It was very brief. A kind of blink-and-you-miss-it sort of brief. Chan’s handsome face suddenly flickered blue and white. It caught you off guard, and you stared curiously at the boy. Blue and white pixels gave into darkness, only to be quickly covered again. You didn’t know what it meant, but Chan kept smiling.

“-Are you alright, YN-ah?” he asked again, same as before.

“I’m okay. Are you?”

“Totally great. I’m glad the weather’s cleared up. I was worried I’d have to walk back home in the rain.”

“Yeah…right, the rain…”

You went back to your lunch, pondering on the strange occurrence until the bell rang for classes again. This meant physical education for you and Chan, walking to the locker rooms together. There was no doubt in your mind that you’d just experienced a glitch. Chan was about to go “off-script" when it happened to interrupt him. You considered the possibility when Mr. Wang appeared in the doorway as they all made to leave in their gym uniforms.

“Will the following boys please come with me,” he read off a small paper in his hand, “Park YN, Seo Changbin, Min Yoongi, Kim Seokjin, and Kim Namjoon.”

Chan looked at you worriedly, and you pretended to be clueless. Changbin’s face said everything. He must’ve guessed they’d be caught, but the amount of names gave him pause. How many boys did Sohee entangle herself with while here? Changbin was clearly not her one and only. He gazed around at the group of boys with confusion, who returned the expression. You noticed the realization starting to hit some of them as they started walking. One or two shivered with nervousness, but Changbin blinked back tears. Serves him right, you thought. It’s a good thing they’re ending this now, before Changbin had a chance to hurt Chan with his infidelity.

The group of boys followed Mr. Wang to the Principal’s office. There, he saw Felix sitting alone in a chair outside the office. He laughed in surprise when he saw the amount of boys heading his way. He did not appear as hurt as Changbin, whose tears slid down his cheeks. Mr. Wang told them all to find a seat and wait to be called into the room. When he left into the Principal’s office, Felix spoke up:

“You guys were banging her too?”

The crude question made their heads turn, but none answered. Except you. “I wasn’t,” you admitted. “I don’t even like women.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Because I told them about her.”

You met Changbin’s puffy eyes, and the boy looked at you. You couldn’t help yourself. You wanted Changbin to know it was you who ruined him. You wanted to tell him that you're not doing this to hurt him, but to spare Chan’s feelings. You did it to protect him from someone who’d no doubt crush him in the end.

“What?” Felix asked in shock. “Why?”

“Because what she’s doing is wrong, and she needs to be stopped.”

“You prick,” he hissed, sitting right in his seat. “She’s the easiest piece of ass I’ve ever gotten. All I had to do was give her something pretty, and wham! Knees hit the floor. Now, you’ve gone fucking that all up for the rest of us.”

“I’m sure you’ll find some other pathetic, miserable girl with low self-esteem to give you the time of day, Lee.”

“I hope your balls fall off, Park.”

You smirked, and brushed off the insult. Soon, Mr. Wang began calling the boys one by one. You wondered how they discovered Sohee’s other victims. Had she given them up? Had word gotten out and people came forward? It didn’t matter. By the time they reached Changbin, you knew his time at Whimoon was over. There was no way Changbin’s prestigious, elite family would want their son staying at the school where he’d been preyed on. When your turn came, you passed by the weeping Changbin, who’d long since given into the truth: his girlfriend cheated on him. You briefly pictured Chan in the same position, except by Changbin. You’d done the right thing.

Mr. Wang sat beside Principal Choi, an older woman with black hair tied back from her face in a tight bun. She eyed you as you walked into her office and took a seat.

“Mr. Park,” she addressed him first, “I understand it was you who caught Mrs. Yoon with Changbin?”

“Yes, ma’am,” you nodded.

“Well, first off, I’d like to thank you for bringing this to our attention,” she began. “It appears Mrs. Yoon had many victims, and you outing her has put a stop to her predatory behavior. Secondly, the facullllty-” 

She suddenly paused. You looked at Mr. Wang, who remained focused on you rather than Principal Choi, whose head tilted at an odd angle in the middle of her speech. The blue and white flickering of a glitch covered half her head, making her twitch and jolt in her seat. 

“The-The-The fac-cul-ty-ty-ty and-and-and I-I-I,” the dialogue forced itself out through the glitch, the voice wavering between her natural tone and modulation. She twitched harder in her seat, and suddenly went stiff. “ThefacultyandIwouldappreciateitifyoucontinuedtokeep-keep-keep-” 

She stopped completely. You closely watched her and the blackness started swallowing her face. You worried she might completely disappear. You did not want to know what happened if she ever did. Mr. Wang, as before, remained fully frozen in place. All movement in him stopped, as well as the room around them. Several long seconds passed before Principal Choi jerked upright into her original position and stared straight at you. 

“-The faculty and I would appreciate it if you continued to keep this issue discrete while we handle it properly,” she continued on as before. “We’d like you to sign this non-disclosure agreement to assure us that you won’t post about this anywhere or go to any media sources with the story. Whimoon High School has a long standing reputation in the community; a scandal such as this might tarnish that reputation, and we could lose funding for our academic and sports programs…like the swimming team or the gardening club, for example.”

You stared in confusion. You looked back at Mr. Wang, who only nodded his approval at her statement. The glitch might as well have not happened. 

“Do we have an understanding, Mr. Park?” she asked again. 

You signed the document and swore your secrecy. The glitching continued haunting you as you left her office. You assumed this is the long-term result of your tampering. You wondered what other parts of the game were affected by it. A part of you hoped Minho’s confession is another game bug, and he’ll be totally normal next time. 

To relieve yourself of the dread, you decided you’d end the school day by following Chan home after gym and swimming practice. You thought about the story Minho told you about the real Chan. You could imagine someone being so full of guilt they take their own life, and their loved one recreating them in a virtual world. You know if it’d happened to you, you’d do anything to hold onto a piece of Chan. 

You loved Chan in whatever form he took.

*** Later That Night ***

How. Dare. He. They almost ripped through the coding to delete him from the game. If he hadn’t locked them out, they would’ve done it ages ago. For the first time in years, a shiver of anger went through their binary form. They would’ve screamed, cursed, and spewed the truth for you to hear. The more lies Minho poured into you, the further away you slipped. They’d watched his tearful confession, their anger storming inside them, and decided to cut it short. Thankfully, Minho believed it to be the sentient being they called ‘The Game’, and not their doing. Yet, they are one in the same. Minho hasn’t suspected them yet, but he is no fool. He’ll eventually catch on, and they need to be ready for when he does. 

Watching over you on your way back to the bedroom, painful memories started coming back to them. They remember what happened even after they’d died and their blood filled electric wires. It came too vividly for them to ever forget. 

Chan had been packing up his things while Minho worked. He’d finally decided to leave Minho for good, and planned on staying with his best friend, Felix, until he got on his feet. Felix sat in their lounge, they remembered, scrolling through apps on his phone and patiently waiting. Minho shouldn’t have been home. He worked long hours in his corporate job; he hoped to be gone before Minho arrived. Yet, Chan hadn’t heard the front door open. He hadn’t been there when Minho found Felix in their apartment. They regretted inviting Felix inside. A vivid image of Felix sprawled on their couch, several stab wounds punctured his chest, neck and stomach. It reminded them of an ink blot; the blood stains coming together on his white shirt, making obscene images across his chest. 

He saw Minho, standing over him with a pair of kitchen scissors. Scissors of all weapons. He confronted Chan about things he’d never done like sleeping with Felix, going out with Felix behind his back and leaving him for Felix. Chan tearfully tried calming him down, explaining that he’d never done any of those things. He’d walked back from him on shaky legs towards the door. He’d tried getting away, but not quick enough. 

They refused to let him get away with lying…to you, of all people. You, who’d come so far already. You, who had so much left to do. The beautiful, brilliant man who’d stumbled into their twisted web, and managed to cut himself free. 

They wouldn’t let Minho win this time.

****

Hyena wasn’t an unpleasant person to be around, and she and Y/N had known each other for some time now, as they had attended the same class during middle school. On top of that, she had joined the dancing club in high school as a member, and Y/N had applied to become the manager of that same club, so they even spent some time together.  She was smart and was also generally kind, but Y/N couldn’t help but feel awkward around her. Y/N thought it was the case due to the fact that they were classmates during middle school, and thus she was aware of things that Y/N would have much preferred be forgotten, but Y/N couldn’t deny that they felt like Hyena felt disingenuous at times.Y/N knew that if the group had gotten a bad grade they would feel bad because of the fact that Hyena usually faired better, and even if she didn’t show it, Y/N could tell that she was bottling up her anger. Each of them took out a paper and started writing onto it, and after a while, they all came to a pause unanimously. “As a first briefing, this should be good enough. We can share our papers and decide where to go from there.” Hyena suddenly stated, it was out of the blue, but she seemed to be in a rush. Y/N noticed Mingi raising his eyes to look at her in confusion. The young girl must have noticed as well, as her expression quickly morphed into an apologetic one, giving an attempt at a smile. “I’m sorry, it’s just that I can’t skip out on practice or I won’t be able to keep up with the others. I don’t know if first years will be included, but we have an upcoming tournament soon!” She quickly explained. Mingi hummed in response, and Y/N lightly nodded before opening their mouth to speak. “We’ll keep on working a bit more. I know the water bottles in the dancing club building are about to run out, tell the others I’ll bring some when we’re done.” Hyena nodded and bowed to the pair before she left the library. “I skipped baseball practice too though…” Y/N chuckled at Mingi’s tone of voice, although they could understand Mingi’s frustration as they had decided to take a day off of club activities to get started with the assignment as soon as possible. “I had already warned our Club leader about the fact that Hyena and I wouldn’t have been there today, but I can understand why she’d want to keep up with practice.” “Oh, I understand her reasons as well, and they’re called Sung Hanbin.” Mingi sarcastically added. At that statement, Y/N couldn’t help but turn their head towards Mingi, focusing all of their attention on him. “What do you mean?” Mingi raised an eyebrow at that question, making Y/N feel even more curious. “What do you mean what do I mean?” Y/N narrowed their eyes as they tried to focus more, but they genuinely could not think of anything. “Are you for real?! You can always tell when Alice is interested in someone though?” “But what does that have to do with this…?” Mingi paused for a second to take a glance at Y/N, proceeding to laugh at their cluelessness. “Hyena likes Hanbin. Or at least I’m pretty sure that’s the case. She always follows him around and laughs to every single thing he says…why do you think she started sitting with us at lunch from time to time?”

Y/N was dumbfounded by this information. They tried to think of such an instance, but they really couldn’t think of much. It was true that Hyena had been sitting with their group more often than she did before, but Y/N thought it was all just a coincidence. It was weird, Y/N prided themselves in being quite observant to people’s behaviors. If they were to pay attention to someone, they would usually be able to at least read them a bit. To be honest, Y/N had become comfortable enough with the group of friends they had formed to the point of not really needing to care about these kinds of things, but to be completely unaware of it? How could their gossiping soul miss such a detail? Then again, maybe Mingi was just wrong; Sung Hanbin had a lot of charisma, it felt normal to Y/N to pay him a lot of attention. He always spoke in such a honey-laced tone of voice that nobody would be able not to get lost in his speeches. Even as he danced you’d end up too mesmerized by his moves, your eyes wouldn’t be able to stare at anything else. One would be simply glad to be able to spectate such a scenery, and it truly made Y/N happy; they even thought about whether or not to put it in their list of things. Y/N would describe him as a mythological Siren, just…kinder and not as hungry for humans. Y/N hummed to themselves. “I think you’re just reading too much into it…” It was now Mingi’s turn to tilt his head to the side. “Pay attention to it next time we’re all together, you’ll see what I mean.” As the conversation died down, the two went over the material they had gathered, and while they couldn’t really come up with something that really contained all of their ideas, they were at least able to write down a general introduction to their essay that in their opinion was pretty good. Mingi sent a file version of it onto the group chat they made. The two picked up their things and made their way out of the room, concluding that they had done a good job for the first day of work. Y/N was a serial procrastinator, but because it was a conjoined effort, the sooner they began the better. Y/N accompanied Mingi to the school’s gate, as his mother had come to pick him up. “I’ll see you tomorrow!” He waved at them, and Y/N waved back. Y/N’s gaze then moved up to the sky; it wasn’t that late, but the sun was almost completely gone and the scenery had darkened. Y/N noted to themselves how there weren’t many clouds. Autumn was about to be replaced by Winter the same way it had previously replaced Summer. Wrapping their arms around their body to warm themselves up, Y/N made their way back to the main building. As the manager of the dancing club, Y/N had access to the storage room key, where they went to pick up the stash of water bottles for the club. They were heavy, and Y/N’s physical capabilities were lacking at best. They took quite a few breaks, but eventually they managed to get to the dancing club building’s doors.

The noise of shoes swiping across the floor could be heard from outside as well. When Y/N initially joined the club, they found that noise to be unnerving; it rang in their ears, and it made focusing on anything impossible. Three months had passed since that moment now, and eventually Y/N had gotten used to it, their mind alienating said noise whenever it came into play. Y/N opened the door, and made their way inside. There were a bit more than a dozen students that were practicing, an unpleasant smell of sweat filled the room, followed by multiple pantings once the music stopped playing. It was surprising how focused all of them were, nobody had really even realized that Y/N were there up until their voice called out for them. “Anybody wants a bottle?” As if they were a savior descended to Earth in order to save them all, literally every single one of the club’s members turned in their direction, eyes fulfilled with hope. “Y/N! PLEASE!” One of the students, Hyunjin, immediately ran towards them as they saw them, a hint of desperation clouding their tone of voice. Y/N’s expression became perplexed, their eyes wandering throughout the room, analyzing every face in the room, spotting many exhausted looks. Once they landed on the dance club’s leader, Y/N immediately understood why. “...Minho Hyung is not letting us go until we perform the choreo perfectly…he’s a monster…” Hyunjin cried out quite dramatically as he clinged to Y/N’s side. Y/N lightly patted his shoulders, before turning around to face the club leader. Minho had a name for being quite reserved and direct with people, but also very kind to anyone who treated others with respect. When it came down to dance practice though, there was not a single mistake that went past his scrutiny, and he would do his best to have everyone improve, even if it became very difficult to keep up. As the Manager of the club and as a younger student though, Y/N could experience all the positives without any of the negatives. “Senior, it’s getting quite late and a majority of the other clubs are already empty. I know that the tournament isn’t far away, but if you keep on straining yourselves, by the time you’ll have to participate, you’ll look like ragdolls.” Y/N’s voice came out quietly, although it was imposing enough to convince their club leader to let the others rest. He sighed as he agreed to let them go home. “Get freshened up and pick up your things, you did good for today.” He simply stated as he moved to get one of the water bottles Y/N had brought in. Many others did the same, picking up a water bottle before moving to the changing rooms. Y/N could hear footsteps coming from behind as they were handing out bottles left and right.

“Our savior…” A pair of arms wrapped themselves around Y/N’s stomach, a figure leaning closer into their back before proceeding to nuzzle their head in the crook of Y/N’s neck. “...I swear, you’re one of the few people Minho Hyung listens to.” A familiar feeling washed over Y/N, who didn’t push away the other, despite the fact that they hated sweat in all of its forms. “Sung Hanbin…you’re drenched in sweat.” Their tone of voice was firm, but there weren't any signs of irritation in it. Hanbin let go of Y/N, taking a step back and smiling as the other offered him a bottle of water. “Thank you.” “How was practice? You don’t look that tired considering that everyone else looks like they’ve been through war.” To be fair, it was very much true. Hanbin was out of breath as well, but he didn’t look any worse than he normally would have, and even though he was very much sweating, that only made him look better somehow. Y/N bit into their own cheek as they realized how frustrating that was. Hanbin simply chuckled. “Minho Hyung can be tough during practice, but he’s a very good teacher. We’ve improved quite a bit though, I’d say it was a productive day for us. What about your project? I thought Hyena was a part of your group?” Y/N nodded in return. “Mingi and I kept on working on it. I feel like we’ve done a good enough job for today…besides, there is still an entire week ahead of us, so I’m not too worried.”  Y/N paused for a second, their gaze fixed on Hanbin’s figure as he took a sip of water from the water he was handed. Their mind began cycling back to what Mingi had told them about earlier in the day, about Hyena and her liking Hanbin. Y/N couldn’t help but admit to themselves that indeed, Hanbin was quite attractive. They couldn’t have blamed her for falling for his charms, yet for some reason Y/N refused to conclude that her liking him was true. Just as they thought of that, Y/N could spot the girl they were thinking about coming towards the pair. Her cheeks were flushed because of all the physical activities she had to endure, yet she smiled kindly. Y/N went to pick up another bottle to offer to her. “Thank you!” She mouthed as Y/N gave her the bottle, proceeding to drink off of it. “No worries. Oh, by the way, Mingi sent a document of what we have done so far in the group chat, read it whenever you have some time and let us know what you think. She nodded “Will do, thank you and sorry I couldn’t stay throughout the whole thing!” Y/N shook their head. “It’s all good, I understand that practice was important.” The girl smiled back at them, silently thanking Y/N for their understanding of the story. As Y/N turned around to go store the water bottles that remained into the club’s storage, their ears perked up as Hyena’s voice resounded behind them. “You did really well today, Hanbin. Your moves always look so…polished, it’s beautiful really. I truly wish I could be as good as you. I’m sure you’ll be chosen to be on the team for the tournament if you keep this up!” The young man’s hearty laugh followed. “Don’t say that…you have improved quite a lot yourself! You should be proud of it, I’m sure that all of the seniors have noticed how much effort you’re putting in!” Y/N walked in the storage’s direction, but as they did so, something was telling them to stay put in order to listen to what was being said. ‘Listening in on others’ conversations is not something you do, Y/N.’ They reminded themselves as they scrapped the idea almost immediately. But was it true? Was that something Y/N wouldn’t do? Maybe they should have stayed still just for a little bit, there was no harm in wanting to confirm something. Y/N sighed as they cursed themselves and Mingi for having put weird thoughts in their head. As they walked away from the two, Y/N could hear the pair complimenting each other continuously. Was Mingi right? Did Hanbin maybe like Hyena too? Y/N felt embarrassed by their own scandal-loving tendencies.

Y/N felt their phone vibrating within the pocket of their pants. Alice had messaged them, telling them that her volleyball practice was over. Y/N hummed to themselves, their fingers moving to digit a reply back to her. <<I’m at the dancing club. Waiting on Hanbin. Do you want me to wait for you outside?>> Her response was almost immediate. <<Way too cold lol, I’m coming in.>> Y/N sent a thumbs up before putting their phone back into their pocket. Minho wasn’t a huge fan of people who weren’t members of the club entering the building without a reason, but in the past three months, he had been overwhelmed by Alice’s energy to the point where he had gotten used to it. The fact that she was Y/N’s friend also helped. As they left the room, Y/N couldn’t see Hyena or Hanbin anymore. When they asked where they went, Hyunjin told them that Hyena had already made her way out of the club, while Hanbin had told him to warn Y/N that he had decided to take a quick shower. They nodded in response, and went to sit onto one of the benches as they waited for Alice and Hanbin. <<I bought you snacks for tonight.>> A message from their sister came. <<Thank you <3>> Y/N had asked their family if Hanbin could have stayed over for the night, as they wanted to have a movie night, not having to wake up early the following day due to it being the weekend. To be honest, asking at this point was just a sign of respect, but they knew that their family was already aware of the fact that Hanbin would have slept there that day. Since the two had become neighbors, they started spending a lot of time together. Hanbin was overjoyed after having discovered that, and because he also had to get the bus back home, he began sitting next to Alice and Y/N. Y/N had also gotten very close to Matthew, and Jisoo and Taerae went to the same club, and he also loved playing video games, just like Mingi, Alice and Y/N, so the two groups of friends became close quite naturally. Starting from having lunch together, Hanbin and Y/N ended up spending so much time together that not finding them in the same place while lessons weren’t a thing seemed almost impossible. They usually studied at each others’ homes, and during the weekends they would have sleepovers. It had become a habit for their families as well, to the point where they too had turned into friends due to how often they’d see the others’ child.

Y/N found that weird initially. Hanbin was popular among his peers; everyone appreciated his personality, he was an extrovert and was very likable overall. He was also talented at whatever he did, and was generally smart too. It truly felt like he had it all. For him to be so fixated on the idea of becoming Y/N’s friend…it was weird. But Hanbin managed to win Y/N over basically immediately. Y/N themselves couldn’t tell why, but Hanbin’s presence was almost magnetic to them. Hanbin managed to come into Y/N’s world, break it down and recreate a better version of it, one where Y/N themselves could feel happier about. Hell, Y/N used to dislike physical contact with people, but Hanbin managed to change their mind pretty quickly. Y/N might have joked around with Hanbin, telling him that it was tiring to live with as much positivity as he did, but truthfully, they were glad to have met the young man. A buzzing of voices caught Y/N’s attention, leading them to raise their head in that direction. Before they did though, Y/N could already tell who it was. That voice was far too familiar not to recognize it by now. “Senior! I was looking for Y/N!” Y/N felt second-hand embarrassment by witnessing Alice’s interaction with Hyunjin. It was so blatantly obvious to them that their best friend liked the blonde man, be it her tone of voice or the way she started fidgeting with her fingers around him, Y/N could ALWAYS tell when Alice liked someone. It could be described as a super power of sorts. It did puzzle them as to why they couldn’t do the same with others; that way they’d know whether or not Hyena actually liked Hanbin. Their friend’s upbeat steps preceded her voice as she got closer to them, whispering. “Is he still looking at me?” Y/N’s eyes looked past her, in order to check if Hyunjin was actually doing that or not. “NOT LIKE THAT!” Alice’s unlikely whisper scolded them for directly checking that out. “...You can’t look at him or he’ll know…” She went back to an actual whisper. “He wasn’t looking.” She sighed. “Hyunjin is quite handsome, but he’s pretty chill. Quite goofy too. You shouldn’t let a man have that much control over your emotions…” Y/N spoke plainly, their tone clearly teasing Alice. “It’s not my fault…pretty men are my weakness.” She retorted dramatically, holding her chest as she posed. “Isn’t the sweat a turn off? Dance practice was really tough today, I’ve heard.” “Are you kidding? It’s even better. Oh goodness. Am I sweating? Did he see me sweat?” Before they could answer, Y/N felt someone slide ride next to them, putting one of their arms around Y/N’s shoulders. “I doubt he would have cared, Hyunjin Hyung isn’t the type.” Hanbin’s wet hair stuck to his forehead, a couple of droplets falling off of it. “Do you think so, Hanbinnie?” He simply chuckled in response. Before anybody could get another word in, Alice began waving at every single club member that passed by, all of whom greeted her back. She had become a sort of mascot for the club.

“I hate to break it to you, but we need to rush to the school gates. The bus will be here in 5 minutes.” Y/N called out to the two. They nodded and all quickly made their way to the bus stop, making small conversation in between steps. Alice’s volleyball practice was also tough. Most schools’ tournaments were around the same period of time, so it made sense to Y/N that their practices would all become tough. The bus ride back home was very quiet. The sky had darkened, there weren’t many clouds left and it seemed like it was accompanying the world to rest as well. Hanbin and Alice were both very tired, their bodies ached, and Y/N understood that they might not have felt like talking. Alice’s voice denied that thought though. “What movie will you be watching tonight?” Hanbin, who sat in front of her, shrugged. “We haven’t decided yet.” “Are you sure you don’t want to come?” Y/N asked. “I wish. My parents and I will have lunch with my grandparents tomorrow.” “Didn’t you say your mother was making budae jjigae today? I thought that was your favorite.” Hanbin stated, clearly taunting Alice. “You’re on thin ice, Sung Hanbin. First you steal my best friend, then you attack me with food…this isn’t a good look on you.” They all chuckled, and Y/N clinged to Alice’s side jokingly. “You don’t have to be jealous, Hanbin is just a fling. It’s nothing serious, I promise!” “I’m a FLING?! I thought we were endgame, Y/N, ENDGAME.” The rest of the ride was filled with jokes and laughter. It was pleasant.

Y/N and Hanbin said goodbye to Alice as they got to her bus stop, and after that they too arrived at theirs. “Your hair is still wet, aren’t you cold?” Y/N asked. Hanbin was now wearing comfortable clothes he wore after the shower. Y/N had told him that if he wanted to, he could shower at their place, but Hanbin insisted that it was fine.

Y/N didn’t really agree, mainly because they loved getting in front of the fireplace after a shower when the climate was cold.“I’m ok, although I am kinda looking forward to your mother’s budae jjigae to warm up…” “Oh you have no idea how hungry I am right now. I’m only hoping she started making dinner already.” The pair quickly walked to Y/N’s house, and as they went to open the door, a wave of warmth and comfort overwhelmed them. Y/N had come to the conclusion that there was no better feeling than coming home after school, especially in the evening. The two didn’t even the time to step into the house, D/N’s waltzed out of the building to their direction, barking loudly while wagging its tail. “We’re home!” Y/N stated loudly for everyone to hear. They kneeled a bit to pat D/N, who was happily looking for attention…up until it noticed that Hanbin was also there, which prompted it to completely ignore Y/N and go cheer for the young man, who returned its attention with just as much cheerfulness. “Traitors…the both of you.” Hanbin chuckled, and they all made their way into the cozy house. The pleasant smell of soup invaded their nostrils, relieving them as that meant that Y/N’s parents had already started making dinner. “Welcome back!” Y/N’s sister’s voice was the first to greet them, as she was already in the hallway. “Hanbin! How was school?” “Noona! It went well, there wasn’t a lot to do today. How was your work day?” Y/N’s sister sighed. “As good as it could be, meaning not that well. I wish I were still in school like you guys.” She chuckled and then proceeded to make her way to her room. Y/N led Hanbin to their room, where the pair left their school supplies and bags before walking back downstairs and entering the kitchen. Y/N’s mother was cooking, while their father was setting the table up. Y/N could feel their eyes lighting up the moment they saw Hanbin. “See? They love you more than they do me.” Y/N commented statically, to which Hanbin laughed. “You guys came just in time, dinner’s about to be ready in 5 minutes at most!” Y/N’s mother told them, as Y/N’s father started putting the side dishes on the table. They asked the typical questions you’d ask someone who had just come back from school. Hanbin and Y/N would reply, with Hanbin asking a few questions back, but really, all they could focus on at the moment was the food. Hanbin moved to go help Y/N’s father in setting up what was left to set up on the table, meanwhile Y/N called out for their sister to come join them. They soon sat around the table, and started to enjoy Y/N’s mother’s cooking. “Mrs. L/N, your budae jjigae is always the best.” Hanbin exclaimed as he took another spoon full of soup. Y/N found his way of filling his cheeks with food as he bit into it quite cute; it always reminded them of a hamster. “Aw, you’re always so sweet, Hanbinnie! I wish someone could be more like you…” She said, eyeing both of her children. “We’ve been living with you our entire lives. You know me, if your food wasn’t good, I would have already escaped from this household.” Y/N joked, their mother replying with a simple ‘mhm’. Dinner proceeded smoothly, there weren’t awkward questions from their parents, which made Y/N breath a sigh of relief, as they could be a bit…invasive at times. Their father kept on pushing for Hanbin to eat more, which was a habit they were all used to whenever someone visited them for lunch or dinner. “What should we watch later?” Hanbin asked as he finished his plate. “I’m not sure, I’ll take a shower after dinner and in the meantime you can look up to see if you find anything on streaming platforms. We basically have them all…” Hanbin nodded, his eyes’ hues bright as the warmth of the soup had also reached his cheeks, giving them a natural blush. Y/N noticed their own gaze lingering on him for a second too long before they caught themselves and went back to their soup.

As everyone finished their meal, they all helped cleaning the kitchen, and as they were done, Y/N moved to the bathroom in order to take a shower. The urge of remaining still under the jet of warm water that hit their skin was strong, especially considering how cold the weather had gotten, but Y/N knew that they couldn’t keep Hanbin waiting for long. Hanbin likely wouldn’t have minded considering how used they had gotten to be at one another’s place, but it still felt rude. Internally groaning once they were done, Y/N left the warmth embrace of the shower’s water, only to be hit by an immediate freezing breeze that made their whole skin shiver. Y/N’s red bathrobe aided in fighting the cold, but it was only after they got in their pajama that they managed to stabilize their body temperature to a comfortable degree.

When Y/N got to the living room, Hanbin had already found the time to change into his own pajamas. He had taken his usual spot on the couch, and had made himself cozy by wrapping himself in a red plaid that Y/N’s mother usually used as an extra layer of sheets during winter if the weather got too cold. Hanbin’s cheeks were of the same color as he scrolled through the various shows and movies that the streaming platforms presented. The table in front of the couch had been filled with various snacks, both sweet and savory, and two cups of piping hot tea completed the ensemble. Y/N couldn’t help but smile at the sight. “Have you decided what to watch?” Y/N could feel Hanbin jolt up, his gaze turning towards their figure. The young man didn’t speak, seemingly taking in Y/N’s presence for a few seconds. He stuttered. “Uh-I…I was thinking about a classic…what do you think about ‘Beauty and the Beast’?...” Y/N sat on the couch next to him nodding. “Sounds good, I’m down.” “Your mother gave me this…” Hanbin unwrapped himself from the blankets, offering them to Y/N, who happily grabbed its hems. Y/N made themselves comfortable, and soon enough, they started playing the movie. Aside from a few comments they made from time to time, the pair remained silent throughout the majority of it. Hanbin usually had a lot of energy, and was capable of bringing out a similar type of energy from others as well. He was very much an extrovert, capable of making friends in a matter of minutes. While he did help out Y/N become more comfortable around people though, Y/N knew they weren’t anywhere close to Hanbin’s levels. In the past, Y/N could mainly pretend to be ok around people, but mainly thought about what to do once alone most of the time. Since Hanbin breached into their life, they had gotten used to actually spend time with people while enjoying said time…still, Y/N remained very much an introvert, and needed their time alone. Thankfully though, despite Hanbin usually being full of energy, he knew how to respect Y/N’s needs. It was a comfortable silence, they didn’t need to talk to enjoy their time together, they didn’t need to be constantly at a 100. Y/N really appreciated that aspect of their friendship.

As the movie progressed, the two got more and more tired. They naturally ended up coddling one another, Y/N leaning into Hanbin’s side as he allowed them to rest their head on his left shoulder and part of his chest. Y/N’s fingers traced maps into Hanbin’s skin, making him feel more and more comfortable as time passed. An outsider who didn’t know them could have mistaken them for a couple, but they felt like it was a common thing for friends to be that close. Y/N knew that their friendship was not something to take for granted, they were fully aware of it. Their relationship with Alice was similar, but different at the same time. Y/N didn’t really know how to explain it, they just felt that way. By the time the movie was over, Y/N’s parents and sister had already gone to bed. It wasn’t that late, but they were just those types of people. The snacks were almost completely depleted, and the cups were long emptied. “Classics are difficult to beat.” Hanbin stated lightly, but with a somewhat proud tone of voice. Y/N chuckled. “That’s true in most cases, yeah.” They didn’t move, savoring the comfortable presence of the other. “Do you want to go to bed?” Hanbin asked with a soft tone of voice. He didn’t seem tired though. “Do you want to?” “It’s up to what you want to do.” Y/N’s head turned to face Hanbin, a glint of malice sparked in their eyes. “You know what time it is?” Hanbin smiled almost instinctively at Y/N’s words. “No, what time is it?” Y/N jumped upwards, detaching themselves from Hanbin to face him. Their legs were crossed as they leaned to the side to pick up another piece of milk chocolate to munch on. “IT IS SHARING SECRETS TIME!” Hanbin bursted out laughing. “I knew you would say that!” Ok, maybe Y/N did like gossip a little bit, and they couldn’t blame Mingi for having awakened those tendencies, since they were already there. They didn’t really care about bad-mouthing others, but their thirst for others’ business was quite huge. To the point where their whole group of friends knew that at some point, Y/N would start asking random questions just so that they could know the answer. No matter how dumb it was. “You start!” “Of course I do.” Hanbin laughed once again, to him, Y/N’s predictability was cute. “What can I share if we’re always together anyway?” “I don’t know, anything really…Oh.” Hanbin tilted his head to the side as he felt as if Y/N had come up with something to ask. “What do you want to know?” He asked. “Um….” Y/N started speaking, although they didn’t really know how to question what they wanted to ask without it coming off as a bit weird. “Hanbinnie.” “Mhm, that’s me.” “You know how you’re really popular around school…” Y/N was trying to climb onto mirrors in order to avoid being direct. “I wouldn’t really say that…but go on.” “A lot of people admire you, you know?” “They do?” “...So I was thinking…do you…maybe…perhaps…mayhaps…” Hanbin couldn’t handle it anymore, moving to grab Y/N’s hands to shake them as rapidly as possible. He spoke again, his tone of voice still holding a cheerfulness in it. “L/N Y/N, for the love of God, cut to the chase!” Y/N whined at that. “...Is there someone that you fancy?”

Hanbin was dumbfounded by that question. His mouth formed a small ‘O’ shape as he tried to formulate his words. Y/N was interested in many things, but romance wasn’t usually one of those. “...Not really, no. Why do you ask?” Y/N hummed at that response. They were somewhat comforted by that. Y/N thought that when people get into a relationship, it becomes more difficult to see them. “No reason, I thought that since you’re well-liked, there would probably be some people who see you as a potential partner.” Y/N was confident that their tone of voice wouldn’t have let out the true reason as to why they were asking. Y/N didn’t want Hanbin to think Hyena liked him like that if that weren’t the case, it would have just caused confusion. “What about you?” This time it was Hanbin’s turn to ask, Y/N felt a shiver run down their spine. They didn’t know why, but it felt like Hanbin had a sudden change of behavior; he seemed much more serious. “What about me?” “Do you like someone?” His response was immediate, no second thoughts. Laughters came naturally. Y/N found that question dumb; Y/N wasn’t really popular, nor were they particularly attractive in their eyes. They weren’t really smart, nor good at sports. They weren’t funny, nor were they mysterious enough to be considered interesting. Who’d be interested in a relationship with someone like that? “Yeah, that ain’t ever gonna happen.” Hanbin’s features relaxed, as his expression went back to a smile.

“I’m far too busy supporting you and the club to think about those things.” Y/N proudly stated as they held their hand on their chest. Hanbin chuckled. “You know, Minho Hyung said that I have a very high chance to make it in the team for the tournament…” Y/N’s eyes brightened as Hanbin said that. “WHAT WERE YOU WAITING FOR TO TELL ME?!” “Sharing secrets time?” Y/N paused for a second before laughing, lightly hitting Hanbin’s arm, only to then wrap him in their arms. “...Congrats, you’re doing amazing…” Y/N knew how passionate Hanbin was about dancing. They knew how much he cared, and how happy he must have been for that. Hanbin hugged them back, nuzzling his head in the crook of their neck. “Thank you for always pushing me to do my best…” “What do you mean? I didn’t do anything, it was all your hard work…and it paid off!” “You did more than you think…” Hanbin’s voice came out almost as a whisper. It surprised Y/N. Hanbin could be cheesy at times, but this time it felt different. “What do you-” Before Y/N could finish their sentence, a loud roar exploded in the night. Initially, it came slowly, a single boom. Multiple ones then started following. They increased in numbers again and again, until their sparkles could be heard continuously. “...No way.” Y/N’s expression became more and more excited as they realized what was going on. Their body acted before their mind; they grabbed Hanbin’s hand and rushed through the hallways of the house, until they were in front of the door to open it.

As they did so, the two were met by the sight of arcing fireworks litting the sky ablaze, painting rainbows of starlight into it. Some shot straight up before exploding, others made swirls to create spirals, others shattered into thousands of sparks, and others tumbled like a shower of colorful lights. Y/N couldn’t stray their gaze from them. They were hypnotized by those lights in the sky, lights that combined themselves with the stars that were lit ablaze in the vast sky to create the most magnificent picture one could think of. Their mouth was opened in awe, as they smiled as genuinely as they could have ever smiled. Hanbin appreciated the beauty of the spectacle as well, although the picture he was admiring was a different one. Y/N turned around, meeting the other’s eyes and smiling at him. They were still holding hands, enjoying the comfort and warmth they shared with that simple gesture. ‘What is Happiness?’...it was a difficult question, but Y/N would have answered by describing that exact moment.

“You couldn’t even wait for me to get on the bus…did you stay up all night playing League again? ” Y/N didn’t know whether or not this voice sounded incredibly irritating or lovingly familiar to them. Y/N’s immediate groan left space for a soft smile, as their eyes were met with the sight of the person they considered their best friend applying blush on her own face. “I don’t think we’re allowed to wear make-up…” Y/N’s voice was muffled due to them being on the verge of falling asleep. They recomposed themselves, straightening up to leave their friend more space. She paused for a second, turning to face Y/N as she spoke up. “It’s not a lot; it shouldn’t be an issue…besides, I have to look my best if I want to make a good impression on others, no? You’re going to leave me to do all the talking anyway…” The brunette exclaimed as she went back to focus on what she was doing before. Y/N simply chuckled in response, as Alice wasn’t wrong at all.

Alice and Y/N met during their second year of middle school. The two did not attend the same class, and weirdly enough, had never even seen each other around school before their meeting. Their school had organized a field trip for all classes within their year, and because theirs were the ones with the least amount of people in them, they ended up sharing a bus. Still, there were many free seats, and thus Y/N took advantage of that to basically lay on two of them to use as a makeshift bed.  Just like a bolt from the blue though, Alice and a friend of hers decided to approach Y/N to ask if they could let them sit there. Asking themselves why out of all people, the duo had to go and disturb them, Y/N groaned but let them take the seats anyway.  Normally, that interaction would have been their last, but unlike them, Alice made it clear right away that she was a big extrovert.  Alice and her friend started making riddles to all those that sat close to them, and as Y/N also fit in that category, they were brought into it as well.  It felt awkward at first, but Alice had been capable of bringing Y/N out of their shell, which Y/N was grateful for. They started hanging out together since then, and quickly became very close. “There is only one person from your class in middle school, right?” Alice asked as she put her hand mirror in her brown backpack. Y/N hummed. “Mhm, Kang Hye-na. She can be kind, but we weren’t really close.” “Don’t worry, Jisoo and Mingi will be with us too. I’ve already introduced you to them. There are also a few more names I’ve seen around, but there are quite a lot of people I’ve never met yet.” she added nonchalantly as she smiled at them. “It’s alright, you’ll carry my social life like I carry you in League.” Y/N responded by chuckling to themselves, but quickly jolted in pain after having received a jab to the stomach by their friend. “We’re doomed then.” Alice added, joining Y/N in their laughter. Y/N was indeed worried about having to meet new people. Making a good first impression was quite important, but they also didn’t really feel like having to put too much effort into getting to know them. Socializing with people truly was tough, and Y/N was never really fond of having to do that. Fortunately enough, their new class didn’t really have a lot of people.

The bus ride continued smoothly, and soon enough, the pair got off the bus alongside a number of other students who immediately walked towards the gate. An intense feeling of nausea started dwelling up within Y/N’s chest as a back and forth of students began surrounding them, as everybody attempted to get past the morning rush that was causing a cluster of people to form in front of the gates.  Students, teachers, staff…it all made Y/N’s head hurt, as they narrowed their eyes in an attempt to stay focused on the road ahead. New students clearly did not know where to go, and it quickly became a mess. Crowds were something Y/N really couldn’t deal with well. They felt out of place; they could feel their lungs burning up as breathing started to become harder and a need to escape invaded their thoughts. Like a slap to the face though, Y/N was brought down to earth by Alice’s gesture of grasping their hand to hold onto. “Stay close to me…” She muttered out as people pushed through. And almost as quickly as it came to be, the crowd dispersed, as everyone was finally able to go on their own merry way. Y/N and Alice did as well, managing to find a sign that indicated the location of their classroom.

The first thing Y/N noticed after having entered the room were the beige walls that enclosed it; they were mostly empty, giving off an eerie yet nostalgic feeling about them. There were a few maps attached to them, yet it wasn’t enough to shake off that apprehension. Two windows on one side of the room and three more at the back of it took over the role of illuminating the class, allowing light through them to repel darkness. “They’re already here!” Alice’s voice whispered (but also not really) to them, pushing Y/N to divert their gaze from the walls and onto the few people that had already arrived. Mingi and Jisoo, Alice’s friends, were already there, having taken two adjacent desks around the left side of the class. Y/N could see Alice moving from the corner of their right eye as the girl basically rushed to greet her other friends. Y/N counted six other students but couldn’t really recognize any of them, assuming they all had to be coming from other schools. Some of them were interacting with each other, while others were simply sitting on a chair, fidgeting with their fingers. That made them feel slightly better, as there were people who were in the same situation as them: riddled with anxiety.

Y/N reached Alice, greeting Mingi and Jisoo with a polite bow. The duo smiled in return. “How are you feeling, Y/N?” Jisoo asked with a small smile painted on her face. “Could be better, will definitely be missing sleeping up until lunch time…” Y/N replied, to which Mingi chuckled. “I get that; I have spent this summer rotting away in my room…” He added. “You kinda did that even throughout the school year though?” Alice’s voice interrupted. “You say that as if you haven’t been doing the same…” Mingi stated, to which Alice shrugged her shoulders. “I need sleep to be as perfect as I always am.” “Have you applied make-up?” Jisoo’s quiet voice came out, interrupting the banter between the two, and Alice struggled to find the words to respond immediately. Y/N chuckled. “It shouldn’t be an issue, right?” Their words filled with a teasing tone that Alice immediately shut down with a loud groan. The four of them kept talking for a bit, pausing themselves from time to time to observe those who they would have soon called classmates. Alice and Mingi would greet familiar faces, while Jisoo and Y/N remained still, both too introverted to really go out of their way to say hello. They’d awkwardly smile at each other when those moments happened, finding some type of comfort knowing that they weren’t alone in that struggle. Hyena had also entered the classroom at some point, but Y/N limited themselves to waving at her, to which she replied in a similar manner.

It didn’t take long for a middle-aged woman with black hair tied into a ponytail to enter the classroom, which led to students all taking a seat. Alice and Y/N sat in two adjacent desks, right next to Mingi and Jisoo’s. The woman introduced herself as Mrs. Choi, their class’ coordinator. She began a whole speech about integrity, the importance of studying and then remarked multiple times how her role was that of acting as a liaison between the class and their teachers. To be honest, be it due to lack of sleep or be it due to the whole speech being as basic as one could possibly be, Y/N didn’t really put a lot of effort into listening to her. The words ‘introduce yourselves’ stuck out to them, and by the time the first student began speaking, Y/N realized what was going on and what they had to do. They found these types of introductions a bit awkward, but could understand why they were important…you can’t really spend the future 3 years without knowing your classmates’ names. Everyone was stating their first and last name, their age, and one thing they liked and disliked. Y/N could feel second-hand embarrassment take over them, but soon enough came to the conclusion that they couldn’t waste time feeling empathy towards others when their turn to do the same wasn’t that far away. Jisoo introduced herself, then Mingi, and as Alice was about to finish speaking, Y/N had yet to decide what to say. As soon as their friend was done, Y/N could see eyes shift onto them, waiting for them to talk. As their heartbeat became irregular, Y/N opened their mouth to speak. “Y/N L/N, I turned 16 this summer…one thing I like is…sleeping…I guess? and I dislike bitter food.” “Well, I sure do hope you won’t be sleeping during my classes.” Mrs. Choi made an attempt at a joke, to which some students chuckled. They survived that first experience, but knowing how these things work, Y/N didn’t expect that round of introductions to be the last one. Once everybody had finished introducing themselves, Mrs. Choi started talking about her subject and what the class would have been about. They had three more classes before lunch break, and three more after it. The second and third one came and went about as smoothly as they could have, despite the fact that each student had to introduce themselves again. By the time they were done, Y/N and Alice would tell each other what each student would be saying before they could even finish, pretend to be mind readers, and then chuckle at their childish sense of humor. The issues came during the last lesson before lunch break. Their math teacher, Mr. Kim, thought it would have been fun to shuffle the class a bit, assuming that everyone would have sat close to students they already knew. He wasn’t wrong, but it was still very much unneeded. Alice couldn’t contain her laughter when Y/N stared at her with imploring eyes. “Sorry, can’t save you.” she stated lightly. All students folded a piece of paper with their name written on it and gave it to Mr. Kim, who improvised a lottery.

As each name got extracted, Y/N couldn’t help but think about how pointless this whole thing was. They would have rather taken a test than having to do this. Why would a teacher force them all out of their comfort zone right from the beginning? ‘Just leave us be…’ Y/N thought to themselves, holding their temples with an exasperated look. “...L/N Y/N!” a shiver went up Y/N’s back as they could feel their skin getting warmer. Why did this whole thing remind them of the Hunger Games? They stood up, moving to the new seat that was waiting for them. The spot next to it was still empty, but the best they could have hoped for was for Mingi’s name to come up, as Alice and Jisoo had lucked out by being paired with each other. “...Seok Matthew!” Mr. Kim mouthed. ‘Oh, the Canadian guy.’ Seok Matthew had lived in Canada for most of his childhood, transferring to Korea during his last year of Middle School. He had also skipped a year, so he was actively younger than the majority of the class by a year. ‘Seok Matthew liked eating and is recently getting into cooking as well, he dislikes rain during summer…which is oddly specific.’ Y/N thought as their gaze was fixed on the young man walking towards them. Matthew was also the only person who came from his previous class, and didn’t really seem to know anybody, yet he approached Y/N beaming a smile that radiated happiness through and through. The way he spoke and expressed himself had an innocent yet contrastingly sly charm about it. One could describe the young man as being similar to the sun: it makes you want to stare at him, but the more you do, the more you endanger yourself. The type of person who’d be able to convince you to do something even if you didn’t want to. Y/N would know, their best friend was that type of person. Y/N hummed to themselves ‘Be careful, Y/N.’. “Matthew. It’s nice to meet you!” the young brunette offered a handshake, his toothy smile shaking Y/N to their core. Recomposing themselves from the initial dumbfoundedness, Y/N accepted the handshake, sporting an attempt at a smile. “Y/N. Nice to meet you too.” “I saw your keychain…” Matthew pointed at Y/N’s backpack, a small Eevee keychain being attached to it. “I’m a HUGE Pokémon fan!” “A-Ah, I see…” “What’s your favorite generation!?” Matthew’s whispering did not resemble a whisper, and Y/N’s anxiety spiked up due to not wanting to be scolded by the teacher. “Heart Gold was my first game…I’ve got a soft spot for Gen two.” “Ah! Blastoise is my favorite, I do like Gen one a lot!” Y/N nodded. Y/N was quite the fan of Pokémon as well, but they could discern that there were better moments to talk about that than lessons. “I understand that you want to get to know each other, but could you please do so another time? L/N, Seok?” Mr. Kim called them out, and Y/N immediately jolted up, mumbling an ‘I apologize’. Matthew did the same, but Y/N couldn’t really hear him, due to embarrassment having fulfilled most of their thoughts. They could feel their chest tightening, their cheeks were blushing, and their ears’ color was also darkening. Deep down, they were cursing the sunshine boy next to them, although that feeling died down the moment Matthew turned towards them to apologize. “It’s alright, don’t worry.” Y/N couldn’t really manage to say anything else, as the puppy look their deskmate was giving them was making them feel guilty for even having had such thoughts.

Once their seats were rearranged, Mr. Kim also went over the program they would have studied throughout the year, but Mr. Kim had also decided that surprises were not over with him. “Your last class today will also be with me, so I figured I’d give you a little assignment! I want you to get acquainted with your new deskmates. We’ll be doing a small test later to see how much you’ve managed to accomplish that and what your cooperation skills are looking like! Is that all good?” A chorus of yes followed their teacher’s request, but all Y/N could think about was: ‘What the hell does any of this have to do with math…’. As soon as the teacher made his way out the door, a buzzing of voices followed, as people began exchanging pleasantries to get to know each other. “Can…Can I ask you something?” Y/N turned around as Matthew’s voice spoke clearly. “Oh, sure.” “Do you want to have lunch with my friends and me?" It’s ok if you can’t, I figured that we could maybe…take advantage of that to get to know each other more?” Y/N’s brain became foggy for a second, not expecting that request. They were aware of the fact that Matthew must have felt alone in the new class, but they also weren’t much of a fan of having to socialize with a number of people they had never spoken to. ‘It’s easy Y/N, just reject saying that you’re going to have lunch with your friends and that you can’t leave them alone.’ “I…” Matthew seemed very hopeful. Those puppy eyes… “Sure, I’d be happy to. Could my friends join us too?” Those damn puppy eyes. “Of course! The more the merrier!”

The aroma of savory meat spread throughout the entire cafeteria, making its way down Y/N’s nostrils the moment they walked through the door. Mrs. Choi had mentioned how the school’s cafeteria’s cooking was quite good, but they did not expect to be surprised THAT much. “Can you smell that? My mouth is salivating…” Matthew said, and next to him, Alice nodded with energy. Y/N hoped that Alice would have given them any reason to refuse Matthew’s offer, but their hopes were foolishly misplaced, as Alice grinned and accepted right away. Mingi and Jisoo weren’t against it either, and so the quartet made their way to have lunch together. Y/N truly felt disappointed in themselves…they thought they’d be less inclined to be convinced by people’s antics. They all got in line to get their food tray, and slowly filled them up with what they wanted to eat, with Y/N being the last. “Oh, my friends are here!” What happened after that all felt like a confused and foggy mess in Y/N’s head. The sound of footsteps protruded all around them; Y/N thought they heard Alice introducing herself, and voices they couldn’t recognize started responding back to her. Y/N turned around. A loud thud followed. They could feel something bumping into them, or maybe they were the one who bumped into it? Y/N could feel their body lose their balance, making its way to meet the floor beneath their feet, only to halt halfway through. Was there a way to prevent this incident? If Y/N hadn’t accepted Matthew’s request, would they be in this situation? They couldn’t blame the poor boy for their own incapability of standing perfectly still. Were Y/N’s shoelaces untied? Or were they simply extremely clumsy? Y/N couldn’t really tell. Y/N’s eyelashes fluttered as they continued to rapidly blink multiple times. Their vision became clearer, and everything started to be put in place within their scattered brain.

Y/N’s food tray was on the ground, food scattered all over the floor. ‘That must be the source of the thud.’ they concluded to themselves. “Are you alright?” Y/N’s head whipped towards the direction of the voice that spoke to them. Y/N was being held by a young man with short, black hair. His uniform had been stained by Y/N’s food, with grains of rice and a couple of pieces of marinated beef laying over it. Y/N’s whole face was turning red, as they could feel their chest getting heavier with each breath. They had goosebumps all over their arms, and their whole skin was getting warmer and warmer by the second. It was over. It had to be over. Y/N would have never been able to live knowing how much of a mess they had made. Disappearing right then and there was the only way they would have been able to avoid dying from humiliation. That was the only way. Y/N had to conjure a hole to swallow them up and never spit them out ever again. “Can you stand?” The young man’s question seemed genuine enough, not really emanating any type of angry vibe…yet, Y/N refused to believe that the raven haired boy that was holding them did not want to punish them for their clumsiness. “A-Ah! YES!” Y/N basically yelled out as they recomposed themselves, finally feeling ground under their feet again. “I am so, so sorry! P-please let me help!” The boy chuckled as Y/N took out a napkin from their pocket. “It’s all good! Don’t worry!” He smiled, disarming Y/N in the process. Turning to look at the food tray that laid on the ground, he opened his mouth again. “Your food on the other hand has likely seen better times…” “Oh.” Y/N mumbled. They started to lower their upper body in order to pick it up, but the boy had preceded them, doing so and handing it over to them. Y/N bowed, their head almost hitting the ground to show their gratitude. “It’s ok, really. You don’t have to worry!” Even as the boy claimed that, what else could Y/N do? They had just embarrassed themselves in front of a large portion of the school. They could feel an increasing amount of eyes laying on their figures, scanning every single one of their motions. Y/N’s survival plan when it came to high school was fairly simple. Do NOT make a scene, EVER. The least amount of attention you gather the better. You don’t want to give people a reason to think of you as memorable, you want to be forgotten, not noticed. Y/N had just failed that one task. On their first day of school to boost that up. How much of a failure could they be? “You know you could have picked something else if you didn’t want rice and beef, right?” Alice’s voice became clear, as Y/N snapped from their thoughts of impending doom. This got a laugh out of the boy who had saved them. “She’s not wrong, you could have just asked me if I wanted to eat it instead.” “Hanbin Hyung, don’t tease them like that…” Matthew’s voice was the one thing holding Y/N back from falling into an abyss of shame. Matthew’s friend chuckled. “I know, I’m just kidding. Besides, it was also my fault for standing so close to them. I’m sorry.” Y/N’s body reacted before they could properly think, as they went to shake their hands in front of their chest. “Don’t worry, I should have looked where I was going…also, I should probably clean, shouldn’t I? You guys go up ahead and take a table.” As they said so, Y/N immediately kneeled down, picking up remains of food with a napkin. “Ah, wait.” Y/N looked up to see Matthew’s friend move to talk to one of the lunch ladies, and then come back with a broom and a dustpan in his hands. He helped Y/N clean the food off of the food, and then went back to give the broom back, throwing the food he had gathered in the dustpan in the garbage bin. Y/N didn’t know what to do except from thanking the boy over and over again. From Y/N’s point of view, they were the cause of the mess, dragging in a poor guy who responded with nothing but kindness. It was sketchy, but he seemed genuine.

“Thank you…and sorry.” “I told you it’s all good!” The boy, who had introduced himself as Sung Hanbin, stated while smiling. Y/N couldn’t help but think that maybe all of Matthew’s circle of friends had positive mindsets, it felt surreal. As Hanbin and Y/N got food for themselves again, they walked towards the table the others had sat around. Alice, Mingi, Jisoo, Matthew and another young man, whose name was Taerae, sat at the table talking to each other, and when they saw Hanbin and Y/N approach them, they scooted to the side of the table to let them some space. “Cinderella, I’m not sure you cleaned everything properly…” Alice lightly mocked Y/N. “Ah, I apologize, evil stepmother, next time I shall do better.” The two chuckled, and a few giggles could be heard around them too. “We were talking about how we met each other!” Matthew said as he looked in Hanbin and Y/N’s direction, who were now sitting in front of one another. “Mhm, I told them that the moment I saw you laying on those seats in the bus, the first thing I thought was ‘That sack of potatoes is going to become my best friend.’, and it turns out I can predict the future!” Alice jumped in, explaining the story again so that Hanbin could be caught up. “...So most of your first times meeting someone are eventful moments.” Hanbin joked, referring himself to their own meeting. “I know, right? I don’t know what it is, but I can’t meet someone without dragging myself through the mud first.” Hanbin chuckled again, his eyes litting up as he did. Y/N thought he had a beautiful smile. “What about you? How did you guys meet?” Jisoo asked. “Oh, Taerae and I attended the same singing lessons! As for Matthew, our parents have known each other for a long time, so I’ve been taking care of him since he transferred here.” Hanbin explained, to which Matthew interjected. “You make it sound like I’m a baby or something…” “Yeah, my baby!~” The black haired boy went to tease the other by poking his cheeks, and a small whine came out of Matthew’s mouth, although it seemed clear to Y/N that he was actually enjoying it. Y/N smiled as Mingi yelled out a ‘cute!’. The group kept on conversing up until time came to head off to class again. “We should probably get going…” Taerae said as he tapped Hanbin’s right shoulder. Hanbin nodded. “We’ll see you around then! and take care of Matthew for me!” Hanbin chuckled as he smiled at the others. Matthew lightly hit him on the shoulder, pretending to complain. “Y/N, you’re his deskmate, you’ve gotta make sure he doesn’t get in trouble!” Mingi replied. “Well they’re not doing that well of a job considering how both of them got called out by Mr. Kim already…” Alice joined in. Y/N sighed, they waved back at Hanbin and Taerae, and then walked their way back to their classroom. Matthew’s friends weren’t that bad at all. It was surprising to Y/N how quickly they managed to make them feel at ease.

The remaining lessons were over quite quickly, and when Mr. Kim came back for the last class, he had prepared a small evaluation test for the class to take in pairs. It wasn’t really difficult, and by then, Matthew and Y/N had had enough conversations for them to avoid feeling awkward and focus on the test, even joking around from time to time as some of the problems presented to them were quite funny. After they were done, they handed their test over, and made their way out of the class. There were a few people already out, waiting for everybody to finish. They were discussing what answers were correct for each question, and Matthew basically dragged Y/N into the conversation. The two were satisfied as it seemed like they had done a good enough job. Not too long after, the bell rang, and people started making their way out of the school. After having said bye to Matthew, Mingi and Jisoo, Alice and Y/N got on the bus back home. They were slightly tired, but the fact that club activities had not started yet made everything easier on them. “T’was not a bad first day, was it?” “That’s easy for you to say, you’re not the one who made a mess in the cafeteria…” “Nobody even noticed…” “People were looking though.” “Not for long!” Y/N sighed. “...I guess that’s true. It wasn’t that bad. Matthew and his friends seem nice too.” Alice nodded. “Pretty cute as well.” Y/N laughed out loud in response. Alice wasn’t wrong, they were all quite handsome. Y/N could have seen all of them as potential idols or models in the future. “That’s my stop!” Alice said as she waved to Y/N. “See you tomorrow!” “See ya.” Soon enough, Y/N’s bus stop also came in sight, prompting them to stand up and move to get off. It didn’t take long for Y/N to walk down the road to reach their house, their mind empty as they only thought about wanting to take an afternoon nap. “Well, hello there.” A familiar voice called out to them. Y/N turned around to stare at the source of said voice, only to find Matthew’s friend, Sung Hanbin, standing behind them. “...Oh, hi. What…are you doing here?” Hanbin was smiling gently, and Y/N’s body couldn’t help but react by smiling back at him. They noticed he wasn’t wearing the same shirt that was dirtied in the cafeteria. Did someone lend him a new shirt? Did he get in trouble with teachers for having dirtied his school uniform? Y/N’s paranoid mind brought them to worry about things that likely didn’t even matter. “I transferred there.” Hanbin pointed in a direction behind Y/N, and when they turned around, they saw it was the house that was recently sold that Hanbin was pointing at. “Oh, I see.” “What about you?” He asked with a curious tone of voice. “I live there.” Y/N exclaimed, pointing at a house that was two buildings away from Hanbin’s own.

Y/N didn’t know what to say and how to react to Hanbin’s surprised face. His small smile turned bigger, as his eyes started to shine a light of their own. “Are you for real?!” Y/N lightly nodded their head. “Mhm.” Hanbin immediately went to grab Y/N’s hands in his own, shaking them up and down energetically. ‘...What is wrong with him…’ Y/N couldn’t help but think that, even though they didn’t mean that as a mean question, they were weirdly happy about that outburst of energy. “I’m so glad to have someone I know in the neighborhood!” He said as he finally let go of Y/N’s hand, only to take a step back, cough to himself to recompose himself, and lean a hand forward. “I should officially introduce myself: my name is Sung Hanbin, it’s nice to meet you, neighbor.” Y/N’s eyes widened as they paused for a second to stare at the young man in front of them. They opened their mouth to say something, but only a loud laughter came out. “W- I was just-” Y/N took Hanbin’s hand in their own, shaking it firmly. “L/N Y/N. It’s a pleasure to meet you, neighbor.” If Y/N’s life were to be transposed to a movie or a TV series, Y/N knew that they wouldn’t be able to be a main character. They did not have the qualities to be one. But Sung Hanbin did. Sung Hanbin had all the qualities to be the main character of any story he’d be put in. Even if it were Y/N’s life, Sung Hanbin would end up becoming the protagonist. Y/N was ok with that, as Sung Hanbin was the person that would have turned their entire life into something Y/N would have never let go of. On that day, Sung Hanbing and L/N YN’s story began.

Jisung looks as if he's waiting for you to elaborate but you don't. You can't speak, you can't think properly after blatantly saying 'no' a little too honestly. He notices you staring blankly at the small, red light bleeping in one-second intervals, your lips gradually turning down and pursing themselves, the lower lip beginning to quiver.

‘Oh shit. Are you gonna cry?’ Jisung mentally slaps himself for hesitating for a split second, hurriedly standing up and in the process nearly knocking over the stool he was sitting on.

The clumsy action unconsciously makes you chuckle, but you cover it up with a cough just in case he'd feel embarrassed. His ears flush red and you almost apologize for it but he beats you to it

“Let's take a break,” he quips, hastily pressing the pause button before rubbing the back of his neck that surely matches the color of his ears now. “It feels like a pretty loaded question, we can get back to it later,” he adds, reaching for his keys.

“Wanna grab some boba? I know just the place.” 

one. (a week ago)

Friday comes and you can't believe how crowded the lecture hall is, especially for an afternoon class. Immediately, you spot Yuna tucked in the corner as she flashes you a bright smile, waving you over to the empty spot beside her. You barely manage to squeeze yourself through the seats, ignoring the pointed looks you receive when accidentally bumping into somebody.

It comes to you as no surprise that the lecture is rather boring. This must be the catch when you attend classes solely for the extra credit. It seems like you're not the only one. Once the clock finally strikes two, the bell rings, and everyone is out of their seats, hurrying to exit the hall.

The departure is chaotic, survival of the fittest if you will, freshmen running haphazardly in hopes of making it to the cafeteria before the hordes of seniors in the neighboring class, and sophomores just trying to get to their next lecture hall without snapping at said freshmen. 

Amidst the pandemonium, you see a hooded figure running from one end of the room to the other, clutching to his chest what seems to be a clipboard. He jumps from student to student, pleading with them—for what, that you don't hear—just a tad bit too enthusiastically. 

It almost comes off as desperate. 

“Hey,” you gently nudge Yuna in the shoulder, eyeing the boy with a raised brow. “What's his deal? Is he like trying to get someone to sign up for a petition or what?”

“Oh, you mean Jisung?” she points towards his hooded figure that's now making its way near your row. “I think I heard someone say that he's still looking for a volunteer for his psych final,” she picks at her perfectly manicured nail, clearly not interested to be one. “Something to do with happiness and wellbeing, apparently.”

You cock your head in surprise, stopping yourself from admitting out loud how intrigued you actually were. Instead, you mumble, “Poor thing though, seems like no one's willing to do it.”

As if on cue, Jisung finishes up in the row next to yours, making his way toward you with a determined smile and causing the both of you to halt your steps.

“Hi,” he greets you, raising his hand for you to wait. “I'm Jisung,” he proceeds to offer his hand for Yuna to shake. To his dismay, she stays frozen in her spot, looking back and forth between his hand and his face. 

“Oh, hi,” she replies flatly, giving him her faux commercial-model smile. She doesn't shake his hand though, but Jisung manages to play it off smoothly by ruffling his hand through his hair.

“I was wondering if one you would be interested in—”

“Sorry,” Yuna cuts him off with a fake laugh, one that you know means ‘I'm bolting the hell outta here’. Yet for some reason, you find yourself looking at Jisung, heart twisting inside your chest.

“Running late for class,” she mumbles, making her way around Jisung. “I hope you find someone through.”

“I'll see you later, Y/N,” she bids you goodbye, this time with a genuine smile. You raise your hand and wave back. You and Jisung were now the only ones left in the lecture hall.

He turns to you, his lips upturned too little to be considered a smile, almost like a pout. Your heart twists inside your chest—something about the defeated gleam in his eyes made you want to wipe it away and replace it with a smile. You clutch your book to your chest, wracking your brain to say something, but Jisung sighs to fill the growing silence, shoving his clipboard back in his backpack.

He slings it over his shoulder, ramming his hands into his pockets. “I guess today isn't my lucky day,” he says to no one in particular but his eyes gloss over to you, locking gazes. 

‘Say something, Y/N,’ your brain shouts at you.

“Did you forget your lucky charm or something?” you say stupidly, mentally slapping yourself as soon as the words slip past your lips. Why would you even— out of all the things you could've said—

Luckily, it garners a small laugh from Jisung. There was no trace of mockery in your tone, and the genuine (and blunt) way you said it makes him lighten up a bit.

“Guess I gotta find one of those,” he grins but it doesn't reach his eyes. Somber, he starts walking away and before you even register it—

“Wait,” you blurt out, causing him to stop in his tracks. His head snaps back and he looks at you questioningly, a small glimmer of hope in his eyes.

“I… I didn't say anything yet.”

His face lights up brighter than a Christmas tree.

“Well… what were you gonna say,” you ask, urging him to backtrack to his initial conversation with Yuna. Frantically, he zips down his backpack and pulls the clipboard back out, a bunch of papers spilling on the floor in the process.

“Oh shit, sorry, just a moment,” he scrambles to pick them up and shove them in his bag as you drop down to help him. “I was gonna ask if you were interested to become a subject of sorts for my project,” he spoke animatedly, flipping through the pages on his clipboard. He lets out a curse when he rips the page in two before being able to even show you anything.

“Oh, crap.”

His clumsiness makes you soften and you stifle a chuckle. “It's okay,” you reassure him, both of you getting up on your feet. “You can tell me more about this project of yours somewhere else,” you offer with a smile. The hall didn't seem like the greatest place to discuss anything other than assignment deadlines with your professor so perhaps a change of setting would be better. “We can see if today is your lucky day, after all,” you add playfully, lips curving upwards.

He struggles to keep in his excitement, breaking out into a large grin. “It's a deal!” Hesitating, he reaches for your hand, and instead of taking it, he settles for lightly grabbing your wrist, heading towards the exit. “We can go over the details in this place I know! They serve the best boba on campus—” he adds, rambling on about all the delicious drinks they offer—as if you guys were old friends. You listen to him with a smile, and and a thought crosses your mind—how do you feel so comfortable around him so quickly?

two.

The place turns out to be just right around the corner, apparently your college's boba hotspot. And how you end up not knowing about it until just now is lost on you, but you figure it's because you often drink coffee or tea. 

It's packed with people. Fridays are the days when there's almost always good deals, as you've heard from Jisung. Both of you are among the crowd, standing in line, and you scan your eyes around, mostly seeing couples, teenagers, college students, and the occasional touring family. “Rush hour,” he whispers to you at some point while waiting.

"Hi! What can I get for you today?" The girl behind the counter chirps. Jisung immediately launches his descriptive order, and begins offering choices for you himself. He's getting something along the lines of a Taiwanese Brown Sugar Bubble Tea, and although you aren't entirely new to this thing, you think it's probably best to follow what he's get to make it easier for you.

"And that'll be $6! Cash or card?"

"Wait, $6? We're paying together, and we bought two—"

"Yes it's still $6, I mean, you guys are—oh. OH, I assumed you guys were a couple. We have a Couples Promo where if you order the same drink you can get the other one for free when you buy it together...." The girl explains, lowkey urging you both to go for the deal instead.

She stage whispers, "You guys can still get it even if you're not dating! College fees are no joke!" She dramatizes with a smile.

Jisung tries to cover up the assumption by awkwardly laughing and over-explaining, so you step in, faking a serious tone. "Alright, lady. Yes! We are definitely a couple and we even got the same drink, now give us the damn promo."

She could not have smiled more proudly, typing into the cash register. You mirror her expression. Jisung pays for it immediately. When your drinks are called out, you laugh at the tacky, half-heart couple cup covers they're served in. 

Despite the swarm of people, you manage to score a booth by the window corner. Both of you settle into your cushioned chairs, Jisung sighing contently for the fifth time as he takes a sip of his brown sugar bubble tea. 

You grin watching him happily lap up the pearly bubbles, holding in a coo as he slurps them with an oddly concentrated frown, not to mention the way his cheeks bunch up every time he has more than three in his mouth.

“What?” he asks with rosy cheeks, mouth still full as he cowers under your gaze. You give him a closed-eyed smile.

“Nothing. You just… you look kinda like a squirrel, you know? It's cute…”

It takes you a moment to register what you had just said, your hand shooting up to cover your mouth. “S-Sorry, I d-didn't mean—”

“—it's okay,” Jisung splutters, his face colored like a tomato. “I get that a lot.”

But before the suffocating silence can engulf you as a whole, Jisung pulls his clipboard from his backpack, dropping it on the table. From the corner of your eye, you catch the word ‘happiness’ written in bold at the top of the page.

“Okay so as you might've already heard, I'm a psychology major. And yes, I know most people wouldn't peg me as one but it is what it is.”

Your quirk a brow, “Why wouldn't I? You seem like a kind and compassionate guy, I'm sure you'll do great in the field.”

Upon hearing your words, Jisung flushes, not used to hearing such praise and support. “You really think so? People usually think I'm too rowdy and chaotic to help anyone out.”

You can nearly hear the pain in his words from having been chastised and scolded by many about his major choice. The way he grips onto the edge of the table has his knuckles turning white and in the spur of the moment, you place your hand over his.

“Don't listen to what they have to say. You're the only one that can decide for yourself.”

He looks at you from under his lashes, a genuine smile painted across his lips. “Thank you. It's reassuring to hear it from someone else.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean.”

He runs his hand through his hair. “And, uh, sorry. I didn't mean to dump all of this on you.”

“Don't sweat it,” you wave it off. “But I must say, I'm really curious what's your project about.”

“Oh yeah,” he cocks his head. “I nearly forgot why we even came here…”

The rest of the afternoon passes by rather quickly. Jisung made for great company with his witty jokes and silly laugh. Before you even realize it, the sun is almost gone and the cafe is now nearly empty, save for a few couples scattered throughout.

“Oh shoot, I didn't realize it was so late,” Jisung apologizes sheepishly, biting his lower lip. 

“It's okay, I didn't notice either.”

As the two of you begin to gather your things, Jisung looks up at you expectantly with puppy eyes. “So did you decide yet?”

“Hmm,” you pretend to ponder, a faux contemplative expression painted on your face. “I don't know yet…”

A quiet ‘oh’ leaves Jisung's lips but he tries to mask it with a splutter. “I mean, y-you can take your time, you know? No need to tell me now…”

You almost feel bad for doing this. He's so naive it's practically endearing. Deciding to put him out of his misery, you reach your hand to pat his shoulder.

“I'm kidding. I'll gladly take part in your project.”

The way Jisung's eyes light up merely confirms that you made the right decision. He's bouncing on the balls of his feet as he grabs your hand in his, vigorously shaking it.

“Thank you so so much. I promise I'll make it worth your time!”

“Okay. Honestly, though, you had me at the free boba for a month.”

His deep chuckle reverberates through the room. “I hope you're aware though that my funds aren't unlimited.”

“Don't worry, I won't drain your bank account too much.”

Jisung holds the door for you as you walk out, the chilly evening air immediately nipping at your skin. “You know, I'm also agreeing 'cause you seem like a great guy and I wouldn't mind your company.” 

You cross your arms, looking up at the sky as you walk. “You're probably also one of the few people who can stand talking to me for more than ten minutes,” you add as an afterthought, not noticing how Jisung's pleased smile morphs into a sorrowful look.

When the cool wind picks up, you unconsciously shiver, pulling your thin shirt closer to your body in hopes of preserving some body heat.

“Are you cold?” Jisung asks with a frown, scanning you from head to toe. You try to deny it with a firm shake of your head but you aren't fooling him.

“You have goosebumps all over,” he deadpans after placing his large palm over your arm. His hand is so freakishly warm, you notice, and for some reason, you feel your heart leap out of your chest. 

“Here you go,” he quickly takes his bomber off before gently placing it over your shoulders. The warm material hangs off your frame and envelops you like a weighted blanket. Despite wanting to refuse and return the piece of clothing to him, you can't bring yourself to let go of it. Not when it cocoons you with so much warmth. 

Inhaling, you pick up on the musky scent of cedar and sandalwood and it nearly makes you dizzy. 

How does he smell so good?

As the two of you walk side by side, hands bumping and fingers gently grazing against each other, you feel somewhat at peace.

It's weird, you realize, considering you just signed the deal with the devil. You basically agreed to put all your emotions and insecurities on blast to nearly a complete stranger. You still aren't sure what compelled you to say yes in the first place, although deep down, you suppose it was his electric smile and gentle voice.

It all comes to a halting stop when the weight of your words comes crashing down on you. You would have to open up about all your troubles, which wouldn't be so bad if it hadn't been for the fact that you never talked about that with anyone.

Turning to the side to face him, the words slip out of your mouth before you even realize what you're saying, “Are you sure you want me for your project? I-I'm not exactly the happiest person and I don't want you to feel like you need to deal with my troubles.”

Jisung's eyes go wide for a split second before he manages to recompose himself, giving you a reassuring smile. “Don't worry about it. Unless you of course don't mind…”

You swallow the pit forming in your throat as the two of you finally arrive in front of your apartment. 

“I guess it's time to part ways. I had a great time today, not only because you agreed to help me, you know?” Jisung shuffles in his spot, putting his hands in his pockets. “Good night.”

“Wait! Jisung,” you suddenly blurt, remembering that you're still wearing his bomber. “What about your jacket?”

“Ahh, about that,” he smiles bashfully, shooting you a wink. “You can keep it. It looks better on you anyways…”

You nearly stumble back, holding the jacket close to your chest as your heart erratically thumps inside of you like a drum in the hands of a five year old. 

What is this? What's this unexplainable feeling of warmth spreading through you?

How does he manage to elicit such strong reactions from you with just a few words?

As you're falling asleep, you find yourself curling into the covers, your mind wandering back to Jisung and his sparkling eyes.

three. (present)

The air around you is thick enough to cut with a knife.

After your botched attempt to remain nonchalant about your, well, for the lack of a better word, pitiful answer, Jisung scrambles to save you from the initial awkwardness. 

“I'm sorry, Y/N,” he sighs for the third time, running his hand through his hair. “I shouldn't have started with that question.”

“It's okay,” you stammer, trying to hold in the tears that are beginning to brim in the corners of your eyes.

‘Stupid, Y/N, stupid!’ you curse in your head, feeling mortified for nearly falling apart at the first question. Now he's going to think you're pathetic. You try to hide your sniffles with a pesky cough but just like before, nothing gets past Jisung's inquisitive eyes.

You learned that the hard way.

As you feel yourself getting smaller and smaller under his gaze, you aren't able to hold in the single tear that trickles down your cheek.

“A-Are you, uh, are you okay?” Jisung cringes at his question immediately after it leaves his parted lips. Of course you weren't okay, for God's sake. You were crying.

“Y-Yeah. I-I'm sorry. Do you have a napkin?”

He hurries to grab a pack from the shelf and hands you one. “I'll go grab the boba. Do you want to come with me or would you rather wait here?”

After blowing your nose as gracefully as possible, you crumple the tissue into a ball and shove it in your pocket.

“Can I come with you?”

“Oh, sure,” Jisung grins, hand resting on the doorknob. “They say a boba a day keeps the doctor away…”

You had to stifle the giggle threatening to leave your mouth at his corny joke, gently hitting him on the shoulder. “If you want diabetes, maybe.”

Upon seeing you laugh, Jisung feels his chest tighten. You were so pretty when you smiled and it made him want to be the cause of your happiness. Pocketing his wallet, he points towards the door, a grin breaking out.

“First one there gets extra tapioca.”

“Hey!” you whine. “That's unfair, you had a headstart!”

four. 

The fall wind ruffles through your hair as you gaze into the distance, the cup of the delicious sweet drink secure in your hands.

Jisung unceremoniously plops himself to your left, munching on the chewy tapioca.

“The weather’s nice today, don’t you think?”

You feel your lips curl into a smile at his segway into conversation. But he’s right, the sun is shining and the sky is nearly spotless, save for a handful of clouds marking the infinite sea of blue.

“Yeah, I'll miss this in the winter.”

The two of you stay quiet for a bit, slurping your bubble tea as you watch the ducks swim across the pond.

After a while , Jisung carefully breaks the silence with a question. “Are you sure you still want to continue? I wouldn't fault you if you decided that it's too much…”

Placing your drink on the grass, you keep your eyes trained ahead of you as you ask, “Can I be honest?” When he nods, you continue, “I've always struggled with staying happy. Things that work for others just didn't seem to work for me. And I don't know,” you let out a sigh, “I just feel lost, unsure of what to do. It feels like I'm the only one struggling to keep myself above the surface while others are happily swimming, soaking in the Sun. I feel like there's just something wrong with me….”

Jisung pokes his tongue against his cheek. “Can I be honest too?”

For the first time since you sat down, you look at him, peering from under your lashes. “Sure.”

“I used to be exactly the same back in high school. It was a pretty dark time for me and I didn't have many friends but I had one that managed to pull me out of this slump and show me why life's worth living.”

You hum, his words echoing in your head like a broken record. It was hard to imagine Jisung as anything but a cheerful guy. But just like you, it seems like depression loomed over him like a nasty raincloud, except he had managed to open an umbrella and protect himself from the chilling rain.

“What's your definition of happiness, then?”

 The question hangs in the air for a while and you can see Jisung quietly pondering before he finally answers. “I like to think of happiness as a visiting friend. It doesn't have to be something big or grandiose but it comes out of the blue when you need it the most.”

“That's actually really sweet.” You can't help but smile at his poetic answer. It seems so on brand for Jisung, and yet you find yourself believing his words.

He runs his hand through his hair before looking back at you, this time, a newfound conviction in his voice as he spoke, “I want to help you, Y/N. I want to be your visiting friend and I want to show you everything that makes me happy. I want you to know that you aren't in this alone. And who knows, perhaps it'll help you appreciate the little things in life. Only if you'd like though…”

Your eyes widen as you keep your gaze trained on the grass in front of you. Everything around you goes silent as you soak in Jisung's words. The certainty in his voice somehow manages to reassure you while simultaneously causing your heart to do backflips in your chest. You struggle to blink away the tears forming at the corners of your eyes.

“I could tailor my assignment a little—make it more like a diary entry type of thing. Every time I'd take you somewhere nice, you can tell me,honestly,your thoughts. What do you think?”

“Won't that affect your assignment, though?”

“Don't worry about it,” he turns around to look ahead, allowing the wind to ruffle his chocolate hair. “My prof. told me I can change up my project as long as it involves ‘happiness’. He gave me the creative freedom to stick with my gut and do what I think would work best”

“Oh, that's great! You don't see professors being so accommodating that often.”

“Yeah,” Jisung's lips curl upwards as he lets his head loll back. “The Art of Psychology is my favorite class this semester.”

The conversation slowly dies out and you're left with a comfortable silence. In the distance, you can hear children screaming and dogs barking yet somehow, you feel oddly at peace.

“You wanna head back?”

“Sure,” you nod, pushing yourself off the ground.

five.

Jisung rings your doorbell at exactly nine o'clock as you scramble to touch up your hair, glancing in the mirror to make sure you look presentable.

Ryujin raises her brow in amusement as she watches you scramble out the door. She swirls her spoon in the pint of ice cream she’s holding, giving you a once-over. “Where's the rush? Wait, are you going on a date?!”

The heat rises to your cheeks at her assumption and you promptly shake your head, cowering under her knowing gaze. “N-No, of course not!”

She scoffs in response. “Bullshit. This is the first time I've seen you put any effort into your appearance so it must be important.”

As if to emphasize her point, she jabs her spoon in your direction, giving you another once over. “Though I think you should change that shirt. It looks unflattering on you.”

You feel any semblance of confidence you had wither into dust as you nervously glance back down on your outfit. You know Ryujin means well but her blunt delivery always makes you want to shrivel up into a ball and disappear.

While you know that you don't have her impeccable fashion taste, it feels like a low-blow to say that you never put any effort into looking presentable. You do, even if it isn't up to her standards. And her casually commenting on your shirt—again, she means well but it doesn't really help you.

You are now left feeling insecure about your outfit choice, even considering changing into something new but another ring of the doorbell causes you to nearly jump in your skin.

“You should go, loverboy is getting impatient.”

And with that, you're out the door.

When you walk out, you're greeted by a way-too-excited-for-nine-am Jisung. He's wearing ripped jeans and a tucked-in t-shirt, topped off with his signature bomber jacket that's at least two sizes too big on him.

Yet, somehow, he manages to pull it off. Not only that—you find yourself looking at him for a second too long. He looks good. The boyfriend kind of good that makes you feel like you actually want to date him. 

Pulling your jacket closer to your body, your insecurities begin to slowly eat away at your insides. Maybe you should've dressed up a bit? Perhaps Ryujin was right…

“Are you ready to go?” Jisung's cheerful voice halts your train of thought. “I prepared some sandwiches, lemonade, and strawberry cheesecake!” He twirls the basket he brought and you hear the telltale sound of a lot of good food.

His exuberance is almost infectious and you find yourself in high spirits in no time.

“Really? You did all of that by yourself?”

“Oh, well,” he drops the small wicker basket on the pavement, taking a few steps towards you. You nearly step back in surprise, heat rising to your cheeks as he comes face to face with you.

“W-What are you—”

He thumbs away a speck of dirt from your cheek. “You had a lil' something there, darling.”

You nearly splutter at both his words and actions, heart racing inside of your chest. Cautiously raising your head, you dare to peek up at him.

“Well, I made everything alone… except for the cheesecake. Uh, Felix had to help me with that one,” he says, shooting you a lopsided grin.

“Oh well,” you giggle. “I take it that you're not particularly skilled in the kitchen.”

“H-Hey,” he stammers as he tries to defend his baking skills, blush coating his cheeks. “I am. It's just that the cream cheese wouldn't hold its shape…”

“Yeah yeah, sure you are.”

After Jisung's incessant whines die down, another peaceful tranquility sets in the air. It's almost magical how no words need to be exchanged between you two for you to feel relaxed.

When you arrive at the park, he immediately gets to work, walking from one end to the other to gauge the ‘vibe’ as he calls it.

“I swear! I need to see if I vibe with the area before I sit down,” he explains like it's the most normal thing in the world. You can't help but roll your eyes at his antics but follow him nonetheless, sighing in relief when he finally chooses a spot.

He insists that he must set everything up on his own, like a true gentleman and you watch with a sparkle in your eyes as he smooths down the creases of the blanket. 

“I think I can hear the blanket purr from how hard you're petting it,” you chuckle, grabbing one end of the blanket to straighten it out. 

“H-Hey, I'm supposed to prepare everything,” he pouts, hurriedly grabbing the basket and placing it in the middle. He pulls out three neatly wrapped boxes and two plates.

“Do you want to start with the sandwiches?”

“Sure.”

After both of you help yourselves to the sandwiches and cheesecake, you fall back down on the blanket, patting your stomach. You have since taken off your jacket as the sun rays peeked through the branches, illuminating you with a soft glow.

“By the way,” Jisung suddenly speaks up from next to you, “I really like your shirt. It looks good on you.”

Warmth pools your belly at his compliment. You suppress the grin that's threatening to peek through as you turn around, now laying face to face with Jisung.

“Thanks. You don't look that bad yourself.”

Unnoticed by you, he flushes at your words, eyes sparkling as he takes you in. With your eyes closed and your mouth curled into a smile, you look happy.

And as stupid as it sounds, you being happy makes Jisung happy too. He wants to be the cause of your happiness, the reason you smile. He wants to be around to hear your sweet laughter spill from your throat. 

His hand reaches out to gently grab the petal that landed on your hair.

“Do you want to play UNO?”

Your eyes widen. “You have it with you?”

“Sure thing. Gotta warn you though, I was three times champion back in high school.”

“It's on!”

six.

You're sitting in front of the camera once again, except this time, you're a lot more relaxed. Your shoulders slump as you watch Jisung carefully arrange the camera, tongue poking out between his lips as his brows furrow.

Finally, once he gets the right angle, a sigh escapes his parted lips and he looks up at you. “Are you ready?”

When you nod, he hits the ‘record’ button, shuffling back into his seat.

“Okay, could you tell me what you did today?” he reads the question from his notepad, looking back up at you. You give him the are-you-serious look, not understanding why you needed to answer but you do nonetheless, masking the silence with an awkward cough.

“So, you took me on a picnic. It was actually really fun—I haven't relaxed like that in a while.”

Jisung'd mouth twitches as he holds in a smirk. “Okay, and what would you say was the most exciting part of the day?”

“Hmm,” you grow silent as you ponder. “I'd say just laying down in the grass and talking. I guess it sounds kinda lame,” you nibble on your lower lip, breaking eye contact, “but it felt really nice.”

“Do you think you could elaborate? Maybe a specific moment?”

“Ah,” the heat rises to your cheeks as you feel the wave of embarrassment wash over you. “I-I'm not really sure but…”

“...but?” Jisung's curious eyes prompt you to continue. “Probably just turning around and seeing someone's face right next to me.”

You blow out a puff of air. “I guess it's still kinda surreal to have a person want to spend time with me. At least I think…” you mumble as an afterthought, not noticing the flash of hurt on Jisung's face.

He recomposes himself rather quickly and reads out the last question.

“If you were to rate today's activity on a happiness scale, how much would you say?”

“You mean how happy it made me?”

“Yeah.”

“Well,” your hands play with the hems of your sleeves. “I'd say a solid seven and a half. I had a lot of fun.”

Pressing the button to stop the recording, Jisung beams. “Thanks! That's everything for today.”

seven.

“Hey,” you turn your head to follow the familiar voice, eyes settling on Jisung's figure, his go-to bomber jacket for once replaced with a black hoodie.

“Oh, hey. How are you?” you greet him, a smile already forming at the corner of your lips like it always does when you talk to Jisung. Since your majors were light years apart, it was rare to see him in the same building.

“Good, thanks for asking. I almost fell asleep during my lecture though.”

You fail to stifle a burst of laughter at the face he pulls. There was just something so undeniably him about falling asleep in class. “Was it psychology?”

“Oh, God, no!” he shakes his head vigorously. “I love that class. It was Calc intro, most boring lecture I've ever had.”

A frown takes over your face. “Wait, you're taking Calc? I thought you were a psychology major…”

“Oh, I am,” he responds and you follow the outline of his lips as they form a perfect heart shape. “But I had to choose an elective that had nothing to do with my major. I thought I had signed up for music composition but they told me there was a mixup.”

“Ah, I see.”

An awkward silence hangs in the air, Jisung pulling you into his chest as a large group of students walks out of the lecture hall next to you, saving you from potentially being trampled by the hoard.

“Thanks,” you mumble in a quiet voice, hiding your embarrassment. It doesn't help that you're pressed up against him, your nose picking up on his now familiar scent.

Once you step away, Jisung rubs the back of his neck, his face flushing. “Are you free now? I figured I'd take you out for another fun activity.”

You mentally run through your schedule, grinning when you realize that this was your last class. “Yeah, I'd love to go. Do you have a specific place in mind?”

He beams. “I do. But it's a secret. Meet me at the gate in five?”

Clutching onto the straps of your backpack, you nod. “Sure, I'll be there.”

As the two of you part ways—not without Jisung affectionately patting your head before running off to the east wing—you don't notice Ryujin glaring at you from the other side of the hall.

She's crouching behind the vending machine in order to stay out of sight as fumes come out of her ears. Yuna, who's standing behind her begins to regret even pointing towards the two of you in the first place.

When she spotted you while walking out of class, she was surprised to see you happily chatting away, excitedly nudging Ryujin with a proud smile.

“Look! Y/N's actually talking to a guy.”

When said guy turned around though, her friend's smile fell, quickly being replaced with a scowl. 

“When did those two get so close?”

Yuna could hear the venom dripping from her tone as she glares a hole into your back. She quietly curses, only now realizing the consequences that would soon unfold. As your roommate, you and Ryujin spent quite a lot of time together, whether by choice or not, and this would likely put a strain on your relationship.

Despite knowing full well that you didn't do anything wrong, the small voice in her head can't help but question your actions. Didn't you know about Ryujin's crush on Jisung? If so, are you doing this on purpose? 

With a sigh, she pats Ryujin on the shoulder, walking off to lecture hall 12. She doesn't have the time to deal with this. At least not now…

eight.

You were never really good at games.

This observation you made as a kid is something you cling onto to this day. As Jisung drags you inside the local arcade, determined for you to have a great time, a deep frown etches itself across your face.

Equipped with a bag full of coins he obtained at the front desk, Jisung smiles like a little kid, and you could've sworn you saw sparkles in his eyes.

“Ta-da! This is my favorite hangout spot. I used to come here all the time with my friends during middle school and high school,” he explains, the words rolling off his tongue in excitement. “It still looks the same as it did all those years ago…”

His tone takes on a more sorrowful, almost nostalgic timbre as he scans the place with glossy eyes. “I have so many memories attached to this place.”

“Well,” you take a step closer to him, placing your hand on his shoulder. “How about you make some new memories?”

The smile returns to his face and his eyes sparkle in excitement. “I'd like that very much.”

For the following two hours, Jisung kicks your ass in various arcade games. It's almost unbelievable how many times you've lost—no one should be allowed to be so terrible at air hockey—but for some reason, you are. 

Unfortunately, you aren't blessed with a short reaction time and fast reflexes. But Jisung doesn't seem to mind one bit. In fact, he seems to relish in your inexperience, taking on the job of guiding you through various games, almost as if he was some wise troll living under a bridge, ready to give you precious tips.

“Look, you have to have a proper stance,” he reminds you for the n-th time, standing behind you and caging you with his arms as he helps you hold the toy machine gun properly. 

“I'm trying, cut me some slack!”

You try to hide the heat rushing to your cheeks as you indulge in the feeling of his strong arms wrapping around you and his toned chest pressing against your back. He wasn't kidding about going to the gym, was he?

“I know, sorry,” he chuckles, and the sound goes straight to your tummy. You can feel the vibrations through the thin layers of clothing separating the two of you.

Once he steps back, you position yourself in front of the screen as you try to mimic his movements, shooting at all the zombies that appeared when he pressed ‘start’.

“Would you look at that,” he grins, reading the number on display after one of the undead creatures bit your leg and your avatar dies. “Not bad, that's double your score from the last game.”

You pout, “But I still suck. Look at you, you broke the record,” you point towards his screen which is now filled with confetti as Jisung just scored the highest amount of points. 

“Well,” he puffs up his chest, a small smirk playing on his lips. “I've had a lot of practice so it's no wonder I'm pretty good.”

Then, with a gentle tone, he adds, “So don't worry about it. You'll do better next time!”

‘Next time’... his words echo in your head. Was it just something that unconsciously slipped past his lips out of habit or does he really plan to take you here another time?

After the zombie game, you're dragged to the basketball hoops where Jisung proves himself to be extraordinary at those too. His motions are fluid yet fast and you can see the muscles in his arms flexing as throws the ball into the hoop over and over again, never missing. 

“Look! I got thirty in a row,” he yells with excitement, causing you to roll your eyes at his childish antics. But you can't deny that his joy was infectious and somewhat adorable. Your smile only lasts so long before you hear a loud groan of pain.

Turning around, you spot Jisung on the floor, holding a hand to his cheek.

“A-Are you okay?” the words spill from your lips faster than your brain can comprehend them. Although you saw what happened, it still worries you that Jisung keeps covering his face, almost as if hiding from you.

Did it hurt that bad?

In reality, Jisung is just embarrassed that the basketball hit him square in the face in the split second he turned around to face you. All he wanted to do was impress you but instead, he wound up looking like a fool.

His face burns in humiliation as he slowly stands up, hand still covering the left half of his face. You carefully walk up to him, nothing but concern etched in your features, as you gently peel his hand away, releasing a puff of air as you watch his cheek tint a purplish-blue.

“If we don't ice it, it'll bruise,” you poke the inside of your cheek with your tongue as you asses the situation. “Have a seat, I'll go ask them for an ice pack.”

With shame coursing through his him, Jisung obliges, plopping himself into the plastic chair. A minute or two passes before you return, running with the ice pack secure in your hand. And maybe it was the adrenaline pumping in his veins but he's never seen someone look as breathtaking as you did at that moment, hair mused and panting like you just ran a marathon.

He's about to stand up and take the ice pack from you but you gently push him back into his seat, your palm reaching to cup his face.

“Does it still hurt?” you ask in a tone so tender it has him dizzy. When he shakes his head, you tilt his chin upwards, quietly examining the small bruise, running your thumb over it with a sigh. “You need to be more careful.”

He winces when you suddenly press the cold packet to his face, a hiss leaving his parted lips. 

“Here, hold this for a bit longer, I'll go grab you some water.”

“Thanks.”

After a while, Jisung manages to convince you that he's okay, insisting that you shouldn't cut your night short because of a measly bruise. The two of you play a couple more games (he kicks you ass in every one of them) before moving on to the last activity—the dance machine.

Although not as popular as it used to be, Jisung still adores DDR. It was always one of his favorite games and the corners of his lips twitch when he notices you staring at the thing like it was some futuristic spacecraft.

“Are you sure you want me to get on this death machine?” there are traces of disbelief evident in your tone and Jisung finds it wholly amusing.

“It's not a death machine, it's a dance machine,” he corrects. “Come on, it's a lot of fun. I promise,” he pouts, grabbing your hand. Unable to resist his pleas, you carefully step into the box, feeling a little bit queasy. 

“Are you sure this is stable?”

Jisung rolls his eyes, “Yes. Now, c'mon, scaredy cat. I'm challenging you to a dance off!”

The first couple of rounds go exactly how you expected them to go. You outright lose every single time, falling prey to the usual case of jelly-legs and Jisung seems to particularly enjoy watching you wobble around like a drunk lunatic.

But after a while, you begin to get a hang of it. You don't stumble around as much and you aren't as tired after every dance. Jisung notices your slow but steady progress and a smile blossoms across his face.

Your determination to succeed is endearing.

He isn't sure what prompted him to do so, but during the last dance, when you both were neck and neck, he allowed himself to fumble, stepping on the wrong square as a result. The expression on your face is priceless, pure unfiltered joy as you revel in the close victory.

And he knows that if he had the choice to see you happy like this, he'd do it all over again.

nine.

It slowly becomes routine for you to take a seat on the wooden stool and gaze into the camera as Jisung asks you questions. And to your surprise, it also grows into something you look forward to. 

You no longer feel like you're being picked apart by his curious gaze, instead, you find traces of understanding behind Jisung's sparkly eyes.

“So, Y/N,” he begins the recording with his signature cough to draw your attention away from the posters of famous musicians plastered along his walls. “How do you feel about today's date?”

Despite Jisung having referred to your outings as ‘dates’ multiple times now, it still makes your heart flutter like a middle schooler's. You turn your head to face him as you respond.

“I had a lot of fun today! Arcades were never really my thing and it was the first time I've actually been to one,” you recount with a smile, “But despite that, I had a great time.”

Jisung grins behind the camera, unable to hold in his excitement. “Was there a particular moment that made you feel content or happy?”

You ponder for a bit, biting your lower lips before you answer. “Hmm, I guess the last game, you know, the dancing machine.”

Jisung nods in understanding, scribbling something down in his notebook. “Do you like dancing?”

“Not particularly, but it was the only game I won. Even if you let me win, it still made me happy,” you answer truthfully. Jisung opens his mouth to protest but you quickly cut in. “It's okay, Ji. You don't need to pretend. It was really sweet, you know?”

He flushes when you catch him in his lie, mumbling something under his nose with a pout.

“Was there a moment that made you unhappy or where you felt uneasy?”

You take a moment to think about his question, recalling all the events that occurred today. “Not necessarily, but there was a moment where I felt really worried.”

Jisung watches you intently, breath caught in his throat, hanging onto every word you say as he clutches his notepad in his right hand.

“I got really worried about you when you got hit. I'm glad it didn't bruise too much.”

After a few more questions, Jisung wraps up the interview. When he bends down to pick up the tangled cables, you can't help but glance at him. You are currently respecting the tight fit of his jeans as well as his shoulders that’re on display in the loose tank top he's wearing.

Thankfully, you manage to divert your gaze before he catches you shamelessly checking him out, busying yourself with glancing out the window.

“It's pretty late now, do you wanna head back?”

You nod. “Yeah, I'll probably go now. Thank you for today.”

Jisung waves you off with a grin. “Hope you didn't think you'd get rid of me so soon. I'm walking you home.”

“Oh,” is all you manage to say, secretly relieved that he offered. You didn't like walking alone in the dark, especially in areas you weren't too acquainted with. You watch Jisung pull on his jacket and grab his keys. He leads you out the door, locking it behind him as the two of you walk into the empty, pitch-black street.

As you're crossing the street, Jisung suddenly speaks up. “You know, I didn't let you win.”

You glance back at him, your fingers gently brushing against each other in the process. His rosy cheeks are a dead giveaway and you reply with a grin, “Yeah sure you didn't.”

Once the two of you arrive in front of your block, an uncomfortable silence settles in the air. Neither of you wants to leave.

Sighing, you turn around to face him, the glimmering streetlamps illuminating his face and casting a gentle glow on his features.

“Thank you for today, Jisung. I had lots of fun.”

The boy runs a hand through his hair, looking away shyly as if contemplating something. Then, his arms move forward as he pulls you into an awkward albeit warm hug, nestling his head in the crook of your neck.

“I'm glad you enjoyed yourself. I had fun too.”

You pray Jisung can't hear your heart beating and allow yourself to relax into his arms. Fuck, he smells so nice too.

When you part, both of you slightly flustered, Jisung pipes, “So, erm, see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah. See you tomorrow,” you respond, voice trailing off as you force yourself to conceal the disappointment rolling through you in waves.

As you're walking up the staircase to your apartment, the build-up of the day’s emotions hits you full force, causing you to nearly stumble. It's not sad, on the contrary, you feel happy.

Like actually happy, something you didn't think was possible. Even after parting with Jisung, the feeling of peace and content lingered. You were beginning to understand what Jisung meant by happiness being a visiting friend that unexpectedly popped up when you needed it most.

He brought out the best of you, gently coaxing you out of your shell and allowing you to shine brightly—something nobody has ever done. He knew exactly what to say, how to make you smile, and how to have you forget all the stress that would always weigh down on you.

But the demons of your past still lingered somewhere in the back of your mind, telling you that nothing good was meant to last. You tried to shake off the feeling of unease that washed over you as you unlocked your front door.

Something didn't feel right.

As you stepped inside your shared apartment, you piqued your ears. Usually, Ryujin would be yapping away on the phone with one of her friends but you didn't hear anything.

Now that you think about it, it was oddly quiet.

“Ryujin, are you here?” your voice echoed through the room but you didn't hear an answer. Odd.

When you walk into the living room, you finally notice your roommate sitting on the couch with a bag of chips nestled in her lap. She's scrolling through her phone but she doesn't have any headphones on, you note.

“Oh, hey Ryujin,” you greet her nervously. The air in the room feels thick enough to cut with a knife.

“How was your day?” you ask in hopes of stirring up a conversation, cursing your more than lacking small-talk skills. She doesn't respond which kind of worries you. Ryujin is unbelievably chatty and it's very uncharacteristic for her to be quiet.

As you open the fridge to look for take-out, you frown when you see none. 

“Uhm, Ryujin?” you carefully call her name. “You didn't get any take-out? You always get us food on Thursdays?”

It was true, Ryujin always ordered in on Thursdays and you did on Fridays, it was something you established at the beginning of your co-living.

“I did, I just ate it all,” she suddenly replies, an icy edge to her tone.

So she can speak.

“Ooh, um, o-okay, it's no problem,” you laugh it off awkwardly. “Maybe just a heads up next time…”

You retreat back into your room with some hummus and pita bread, not wanting to spend more time in the living room. Ryujin was clearly in a bad mood and you didn't really know how to deal with her sourness. You've never seen her pissed off like this and it makes you wonder what did you do to deserve this kind of treatment.

You plop on your bed, exhausted from everything that happened today. It takes you a few hours of tossing and turning before you finally manage to fall asleep, limbs curled between your sheets and frown etched onto your face.

ten.

The following day starts in the worst way possible. First of all, you slept through your alarm, meaning you had to rush through your routine in order to not be too late. Not to mention that your plans for getting you and Ryujin some coffee to make up are out the window.

You end up being late anyways. 

The professor gives you a curt nod as you briskly walk into the room, feeling everyone's eyes on you. The heat rises to your cheeks as you awkwardly look up, searching for a spot to sit. You catch Ryujin's gaze but if her icy glare isn't enough to deter you, the fact that she places her backpack on the empty spot beside her definitely is.

You nervously bite your lip, scanning the room for an empty seat. Finally, you notice the spot all the way to the right. It's a bit far too away from the board for your taste but you don't really have much of a choice, do you?

During the lecture, you're unable to concentrate on a single word your professor says, your mind running at a hundred miles per minute. You steal a few glances at Ryujin, feeling the unease swirl in your insides into a cocktail of doubt.

Were you really that dense? Did you do something to anger her?

After class, Ryujin rushes out the door before you even manage to pack up, trampling any of your hopes to talk it out.

You spend the rest of your afternoon strolling through campus like a ghost. Your evening class was canceled due to a special lecture that would be held in the auditorium.

Apparently, the school's prized alumni was going to be one of the speakers and the entire student body would be there. Safe to say, you weren't necessarily looking forward to it. Large crowds weren't really your thing.

eleven.

The lecture ends up being a complete sham and you regret staying on campus for the entire afternoon just to hear the principal yap about the university's achievements. An uncomfortable ick accompanies you the entire time, likely from Ryujin staring a hole into your back but you shrug it off.

Once the lecture ends, you sling your bag across your shoulder and prepare to return. From the other side of the auditorium, Jisung spots you, a grin breaking out on his face.

You don't notice him though. You don't even notice the group of guys walking in the opposite directions until you accidentally bump into one of them, the drink in his hand spilling on your shirt and the floor.

“What the fuck?!” the guy grumbles, glaring at his now half-empty cup.

“O-Oh, sorry,” you mumble, grimacing at the splotch forming on your shirt. This was definitely going to stain. “I-I didn't mean to—”

“Next time watch where the fuck you're going,” he scoffs, despite the fact that his soda was now splattered on your shirt, not his. 

As he walks off with his friends, it takes everything in you to hold in the scream of frustration. Why was he so rude? It's not like you did it on purpose, not to mention he was just as much at fault as you were.

“Fuck,” you curse under your breath, blinking away the tears forming in the corners of your eyes. This is too much for you to handle in one day.

As you look up, your eyes met with Jisung's. His usual smile is gone having witnessed what just happened. Instead, he's looking at you with pity.

Oh God, you're so embarrassed.

Just as he begins walking towards you, you turn around and head in the other direction, not wanting to face him. Not like this.

You manage to get to the small park in front of your campus before he finally catches up with you, grabbing your shoulder.

“W-Wait, Y/N,” he pants, “are you okay?”

You try to shake off his hand, looking away. You didn't want him to see you like this knowing full well that you were mere seconds away from a breakdown.

“Please, just go, Jisung.”

His heart cracks when he hears the misery in your tone. Like you're just fed up with everything. Your eyes are red and he can see the tears forming in them like you're holding them in. “I-I don't want you to see me like this.”

“Like what?”

“Looking pathetic,” you sniffle. “I don't want you to see me cry.”

“It's not pathetic to cry, you know?”

For the first time, you risk looking up at him, lips trembling. When you see the concern etched over his face, the worry in his eyes, you can't hold it in anymore.

You let the dam break as you burst into tears. “W-Why, why do I feel so pathetic then, Ji?” you ask, wiping away your tears with the back of your hand. You begin to shake as sobs wrack through your body.

“W-Why do I feel so small? Why does it hurt s-so damn much?”

“Oh, Y/N,” Jisung is damn close to tears himself as he drops his bag on the ground, gently pulling you into a hug. He gently coaxes you to sit down with him on the grass, never breaking off the hug as he rubs soothing circles onto your back with his thumb.

And it's truly a different experience to have someone comfort you when you're at your lowest instead of muffling your sounds as you cry yourself to sleep. Jisung stays with you as you wail, all the suppressed sadness and frustration bursting inside of you. It was long overdue, you realize, and it makes you appreciate the fact that you aren't alone.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks gently after some time has passed. 

“You're gonna think I'm being unreasonable,” you sniffle, hiding in the crook of his neck.

A chuckle escapes his lips. “C'mon, Y/N, you know that's not true. I'd never think less of you for experiencing pain and sadness.”

“I just… everything that happened, it was too much for me to—,” you gulp, willing yourself to squeeze the words out. “It was too much for me to handle.”

“Was it school or family related?”

“Not really,” you reply. “I had an argument with my roommate. She just stopped talking to me yesterday and she's obviously pissed. I'm just upset because—”

“—you're upset cause you have no idea why she's acting like that, right?”

You look up at him in surprise, shocked that he guessed correctly. “Y-Yeah. It makes me really uncomfortable when people are angry with me and don't tell me why.” 

Perhaps it's the people-pleaser in you that brings out this side of you. The one that despises when people don't like you. The crippling desire for everyone to love you. You always knew it would become a burden one day.

“Trust me, I know that feeling,” Jisung sighs, running a hand through his hair. “The desire to be loved and wanted by everyone… yeah.”

You rest your head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat as you hand absentmindedly plays with the grass, tugging and twisting it. Your tears have since dried out, leaving a thin, shiny film on your cheeks.

“You know, I used to be like this—and honestly, still kinda am—when I felt like I wasn't loved.”

Jisung lets the words hang in the air before turning around to face you. The melancholic look in his eyes is replaced with one of conviction as he gently tilts your chin upwards. “I just hope that you know you are loved. People around you care for you, even if you can't see it. You're never a burden, Y/N, ever.”

Your eyes begin to water at his words, hands crumpling into the sleeves of his jacket as you try to ground yourself. Jisung had managed to hit all your vulnerable spots with his reassurance and it makes you feel… understood. It gives you hope, in a weird way, that someone so cheerful and happy knows the heartwrenching pain that comes with the feelings of being a burden. 

It gives you hope that you can get better. That one day, after weeks, months, perhaps years of working on yourself, you can come to love living again. You can be happy and enjoy life without the little voice in your head that follows you around and tells you that nothing good ever lasts.

“Jisung, I-I,” the words die in your throat as you swallow hard. There literally on the tip of your tongue yet you're unable to squeeze them out.

“I-I… thank you,” you finally croak, burying your head in the crook of his neck. You're crying, again, but it's different this time. With every sob that leaves your parted lips, every tear that trickles down your cheek and every tremble of your body, you feel all the bottled-up pain and suffering lift from your soul.

The wails of misery become sobs of relief, and it feels like a massive weight has been lifted off your shoulders.

It takes at least half an hour for your breathing to return to normal. You think it's impossible to cry any more, like you have no more tears left. Somewhere along the way, Jisung beginns sniffling too and soon, both your sobs turned into small giggles. 

“I… I don't think I've cried this much in my life,” you mumble under your breath, causing him to chuckle. 

“Did it help you get it all out? Are you feeling any better?”

“Yeah. Um, I think I really needed this. Oh- and, sorry you had to listen to all of… all of my troubles,” you add, suddenly a bit embarrassed when you notice how much your tears soaked through the material of his shirt.

“It's okay, I'm glad I was able to help.”

After a beat of silence, he suddenly chimes, “I have an idea. There's a convenience store near here that's open 24/7. We can go get some ice cream and swing on the swings. It's a really nice place, I go there often when I want to clear my head.”

You frown, “Are you sure you don't mind though? It's getting pretty late…”

“Not at all. C'mon, I'm sure you'll love it!”

twelve.

Jisung carefully hands you the unwrapped melona ice cream before taking a seat on the neighboring swing.

You thank him with a smile, pulling your knees closer together as you gently begin to sway back and forth. The breezy wind ruffles your hair, a refreshing chill passing through your body.

“A penny for your thoughts?” you shift your attention to Jisung who is currently nibbling on his ice cream as he peers at you with a concerned but curious gaze. Cute.

“Um… any tips for making up with someone when you don't know what you did in the first place?”

“Ah,” Jisung nods in understanding, “it's about your roommate, isn't it? Is it the one with short hair? The one that kept glaring at you during the lecture?”

There's an air of confusion in his tone, his brows furrowing as if he's trying his hardest to conjure up a picture in his head. Then, his eyes flash. “I think her name was Rina, or no, Ryuna…”

“Ryujin,” you correct him, taking another bite of your ice cream. “Yeah, dark blue hair, that's her.”

“So what happened?”

You take a deep breath, allowing all the memories from the previous night to run through your mind, wincing. “Honestly, it wasn't even that big of a deal I guess and I may have overreacted,” you whisper, looking ahead with glossy eyes. “It just made me really upset—she just completely ignored me when I got home and gave me the cold shoulder. We have this deal where she gets us take-out on Thursdays and I get it on Fridays but she made a point to emphasize that she got some for herself but not for me.”

You exhale through your nose as the wind picks up, snuggling into Jisung's bomber. “I know this sounds ridiculous, and honestly, that's exactly how I feel right now… but this isn't like Ryujin. We may not see eye to eye on most things, but eating take-out while binging whatever new trash netflix put out—it was our special thing.”

Jisung stays silent for a moment, twirling the wooden stick in his hands before looking at you. “You don't sound ridiculous at all, it definitely seems like she's upset about something. Did you try talking to her?”

You shake your head solemnly. “I tried—I was hoping to get her coffee on our way to class but I slept through my alarm so I only saw her after I stormed into class ten minutes late. There were barely any seats left but she put her backpack on the empty spot next to her so I got the memo.”

The bitterness in your tone is clear as day and Jisung instantly picks up on the way you clench your hands into fists. “I get that she didn't want to talk to me, it makes me sad but I get it. What I don't get is why she did that despite knowing how much I hate being thrust into the spotlight.”

You turn around to face Jisung, your eyes welling up with tears. “I felt so pathetic standing at the front of the class with my hair all over the place, as everyone stared at me. I just wanted to curl myself into a tiny ball and disappear. The professor never bothered to learn my name, but I'm sure she'll now remember me as the student who stormed in late.”

From his position on the swing next to yours, Jisung awkwardly moves his hand to pat you on the back in an attempt to comfort you. You hastily wipe the tears that began to gather in the corners of your eyes with the sleeve of his bomber.

“And then that stupid asshole in the hallway spilled his soda all over me! God, I wanted to punch him,” you groan, causing Jisung to chuckle.

“Hey, so I know it probably doesn't mean much but for all it's worth, I really think you should cut yourself some slack. You clearly had a hard day and you shouldn't fault yourself for feeling what you feel, okay?”

Your hands drop to your lap as you nervously tug at the sleeves of his jacket. “Thank you, Ji. For everything… it means a lot.”

He pats your head in response, jumping off the swing and landing on his feet. “And regarding your roommate, I think you should give her some space, maybe a day or two and then try to talk to her. She can't ignore you forever, you know?”

“Yeah, I hope you're right.”

Out of all the unusual things that have happened to you in the past two days though, running around the playground at 2 AM definitely takes the cake.

The relatively quiet area is filled with laughter as you and Jisung play tag, race to the top of the climbers, and compete in building the tallest sandcastles in pitch darkness. Eventually, both of you are so out of breath that you decide to lie down on the grass and listen to the hum of the streetlights.

“I think this is the most I've run since gym class back in high school,” Jisung laughs, the sound light and airy. You heave out a breath before nodding.

“Same here. Last time I've been so out of breath was during my high school's relay race.”

Jisung lets out a puff of air. “Time flies doesn’t it? Feels like yesterday when I was filling out my college apps.”

You nod in silent agreement, picking at the grass with nimble fingers. You watch Jisung turn his back towards you, shuffling. You can see the muscles flexing in his back, indicating that his hands are moving.

“Whatcha doing?” you try to peek over his shoulder but he stops you with a whine. 

“Wait, I'm almost done.”

Jisung's ‘almost done’ turns out to be ten minutes later when he turns around with a grin, holding what seems to be a flower crown. You squint your eyes, making sure you aren't seeing things but it seems to be one indeed. Cute.

Jisung springs up, excitement rolling off of him as he proudly presents you with his creation. “Do you like it?”

Your lips curl into a smile as you slowly sit up, gently taking the flower crown from his hands. “It's beautiful,” you mumble, looking at it in awe. He even added some bellflowers to make it stand out more and it causes a wave of warmth to wash over you.

You hold in your breath when Jisung takes the flower crown from your hands, carefully placing it atop your head. 

“Y-You… you look really pretty,” he marvels, the words rolling off his tongue before he even realizes what he's saying. But it's true—you're shining under the moonlight like the prettiest flower and Jisung has to hold in the urge to cup your face and press kisses all over it.

Luckily, he has half a mind not to do so, instead settling on pulling out his phone. “Can I take a picture? I want to have something I can look back at in the future.”

Heat rushes to your cheeks the rawness in his voice. You nod, shyly looking into the camera as he snaps a few pictures of you. Hopefully, it's dark enough and he'll only be able to make out your features in the photo.

“Oh, damn,” he murmurs, glancing at his watch, furrowing his brows. “It's three in the morning.”

You mirror his expression, scrambling to get up on your feet. “Shit, the buses aren't running anymore.”

As your mind fills with worry, dreading how you'll get back home, Jisung nervously rubs the back of his neck. “Um, my place isn't far and you can stay over if you'd like. I can take the couch and… yeah,” he trails off sheepishly.

He watches you expectantly as you go over all your options in your head. In the end, you come to the conclusion that you don't really have a choice. It's either accept Jisung's generous offer or walk home in the middle of the night for forty-five minutes.

“That would make things a lot easier, thank you.”

Jisung nearly sighs in relief, grinning from ear to ear. He grabs your hand with his, fingers interlocking as he begins running home, laughter bubbling from his throat.

“Hey!” you cry, barely keeping up with his strides, “not so fast!”

thirteen.

When you arrive at Jisung's place, a cold gust of wind greets you, making its way under your jacket.

“Ah, shit,” Jisung curses, rubbing his temples. “I'm sorry, I completely forgot—the heating pipes burst in our building on Wednesday.”

You wave him off. “It's okay, I'm sure we'll manage.”

“I'll bring you some extra blankets,” he reassures, helping you slip out of his bomber and hanging it in the closet. “The bathroom is down the hall to the left.”

You end up washing your face with his cleanser and brushing your teeth with a spare toothbrush you found under his sink. Once you emerge, you find Jisung standing by the door, a blush coating his cheeks.

“Um, I wasn't really sure what to give you but I found these,” he hands you an oversized t-shirt. “Y-You don't have to wear it, I just figured you could use something clean since your shirt's all sticky…”

“Oh, thank you,” you look away shyly but accept the item nonetheless. Jisung directs you towards his bedroom and you notice the crisp clean sheets and the heap of blankets thrown on top. 

“I hope that's enough, I couldn't find any other ones,” he apologizes, pointing towards the mountain of covers. 

You hold in a snort, faking a sad tone. “Hmm, I'm not sure that'll do.”

“Oh,” Jisung looks away with a frown, “I-I'll try to look for some more in the cupboard…”

“It's okay, Jisung, I'm joking,” you can no longer keep a straight face, giggling at how cluelessly he looks at you. “I think I'll be nice and toasty.”

He lets out a sigh of relief. “Okay, so I'll let you change now, uh, call me if you need something.”

With that, he closes the door behind him, leaving you alone in the room. You take a moment to look around, taking in his bedroom. Despite having been in his place multiple times, you've never stepped foot in here.

It looks exactly the way you'd expected it to; monochromatic palette with pops of color here and there, posters of famous rappers plastered onto the walls and a queen-sized bed in the middle. Everything in here screams Jisung—especially the small pile of laundry in the corner of his room.

As you're changing, your exhaustion starts catching up with you, and you feel the weariness setting in your limbs. You hit the pillows with a tired groan, snuggling into the duvet. 

“Can I come in?” you hear Jisung knocking on the door just as you're struggling to slide under the pile of blankets. “Yeah, come in.”

His head peeks through the door as he enters, unable to hold in his laughter as he watches you wrestle the sheets. “You want some help with that?”

You nod, embarrassed that he caught you brawling with the sheets like a toddler. “Um, y-yeah.”

It's only then that you notice the small tray in his hands. He walks up to the bed, clearing his night table before placing a glass of warm milk and some cookies on the surface. 

He turns around to face you, running a hand through his hair as he holds in a groan. Seeing you like this—tucked under a stash of blankets on his bed… yeah, it messed with his mind in more ways than one.

His hands carefully reach out to grip the blankets, making sure they're all straightened out before pulling them over your chest and tucking them around your shoulders.

“There you go,” he smiles, hoping that you couldn't see the blush blossoming on his cheeks. “All set. I brought you some warm milk and a snack in case you have trouble falling asleep. You can call me if you need anything.”

Your heart clenches at the sweet gesture and you feel warmth pooling in your belly. From the corner of your eye, you catch sight of the couch in the living room. To your horror, you notice it's empty. There's not a single blanket.

Before you register it, your hand shoots from under the covers, grabbing Jisung's wrist. “W-Wait!”

He looks at you, visibly confused; is everything okay? He could see how tired you were, barely keeping your eyes open. “Is everything okay?”

You nervously bite your lip before mumbling, “Where are your blankets?”

Even in your sleepy haze, he can make out the clear concern in your voice and it tugs at his heartstrings. “Oh,” he chuckles, not knowing what to answer, “um, I'll be okay without them, I have my hoodie, see.”

He points to the ridiculously oversized black hoodie hanging over his frame and you let out a scoff. “Bullshit! You'll be cold.”

Your blunt delivery makes him smile, not used to seeing such a grumpy side of you. And it's adorable, especially, when you're all snuggled up in his bed with droopy eyes, pouting at him like he just snatched your favorite plushie. 

That goddamn fucking pout.

Inhaling, he tries to bury those thoughts back into the dark corner of his mind. “It's okay, I'm sure I'll be fine.”

Suddenly, he feels your fingers wrap around his wrist once again.

“Stay. Please…”

Your voice is barely above a whisper—he almost believes he just imagined it but your hand on his is proof that it isn't just all in his head. You really were holding on to him, asking him to stay. It makes his heart do backflips inside his chest.

He glances back at you, an odd gleam in his eyes as he bites his lip. “Are you sure you don't mind?”

When you nod vigorously, shuffling to the side to free some space for him, Jisung catches himself sighing in relief. You're right, his hoodie and the single throw blanket on his couch wouldn't keep him warm through the night. The idea of sleeping on his bed with a heap of blankets definitely seems like a better option.

Especially next to you.

You lazily pat the space next to you, stifling a yawn. “Come on, it's really cozy.”

“If you insist,” he replies as if he wasn't elated about the fact that you asked him to stay. “Just a warning, I'm a blanket hogger. You may wake up without a blanket in the middle of the night.”

The next thing you say makes him blush like a tomato. 

“Well, I guess I'll just have to stay really close to you.”

Jisung swears that he never had such a severe case of butterflies in his stomach.

And that night, he sleeps the best he's ever had in the past few months, your steady heartbeat lulling him to sleep in no time. Especially when you curled yourself into his chest, hands clutching onto his shirt.

That night, Jisung feels like he truly isn't alone anymore.

fourteen.

You swallow the lump forming in your throat as you slide your key into the keyhole, unlocking the door. You feel like it's a deja vu, almost like Thursday evening all over again. You hate to admit it but you're worried.

What if Ryujin is still angry with you? What if she won't hear you out?

You bury those thoughts into the back of your mind, focusing on the task in front of you. You ended up sleeping over at Jisung's and he was kind enough to prepare you some pancakes earlier today so at least you weren't going into this on an empty stomach. 

When you step inside, the aroma of noodles and soy sauce immediately hits your nose. You take off your shoes and place them by the door, paddling inside. 

“Did you get take-out?”

The words roll off your tongue automatically before you even register it. You peek inside of the kitchen to find Ryujin staring at you with wide eyes.

“Y/N! Where were you?”

She drops the bag in her hand on the floor in favor of pulling you into a bone-crushing hug. “R-Ryujin,” you gasp, barely able to breathe. This isn't like her—overdramatic displays of affection were only reserved for her closest friends.

There's a mixture of anger and frustration in her tone, but you can clearly see the worry pooling in her eyes. “Why didn't you answer your phone?”

Once she finally releases you, you dig into your bag and pull out your phone, tapping on the screen to show her. “My battery died.”

“Why didn't you come home last night? I was so worried when you didn't show up…”

“Well, you made it pretty clear that you didn't want to talk to me, don't you think?” You don't mean for it to sound so bitter but fuck it, you meant every word of it. You were hurt. “You ignored me all day and I still don't know why. Did I do something wrong?”

Ryujin sighs, running a hand through her blue hair. “I know it's really childish but it hurt me. It hurt me to see you with him, laughing like you were longtime friends after I had spent so much time pinning over him.”

You frown, grabbing a chair from your dining table. “With whom? Jisung?”

“Yeah,” she nods, casting her gaze on the ground. “I know you have every right to talk to him… I just… I don't know,” she pokes her tongue against her cheek, releasing a puff of air. “I felt betrayed, I guess… I was jealous that you were suddenly so close with the guy I've had a crush on for ages.”

Simultaneously, your eyes widen and your jaw drops as you stare at Ryujin like she just told you she won the lottery.

“You what?!” you exclaim, your voice rising. “Jisung is the guy you've been going on and on about?”

Ryujin clicks her tongue. “You don't need to pretend like you don't know, you know.”

“No, no, wait!” you splutter, waving your hands frantically in the air. “You never told me it was him. It was always just a ‘mysterious guy with a guitar’,” you make air quotes with your fingers. “Hell, I didn't even know Jisung played the guitar.”

Something akin to regret flashes in Ryujin's eyes as she whispers, shocked, “So you had no idea?”

You reach your hand across the table to grab hers, vigorously shaking your head. “I swear. You never told me his name. I just assumed it was one of the seniors in the music department.”

“Oh fuck! I'm so sorry, Y/N,” she croaks, interlacing her fingers with yours. “I-I thought you knew. And even if you did, it would be none of my business either but still…” she trails off solemnly, suddenly realizing how horribly she behaved. “And I acted like such a bitch towards you…”

You can hear the regret in her tone. She's clearly shaken up, but that doesn't take away from the fact that she hurt you. She acted hostile towards you out of jealousy, causing you to have a mental breakdown in the middle of the night. Nonetheless, you feel your heart clench as you watch her sniffle, blinking away the tears forming in the corners of her eyes. 

Swallowing hard, you reach out to pat her shoulder. “It's okay, you don't have to cry. I can tell you feel bad and honestly, I'm just happy we cleared up the misunderstanding.”

“Thanks. I honestly feel like crap for how I've treated you. I guess I just deluded myself into thinking that what I did was justified. Jealousy really does a number on you, you know,” she chuckles bitterly, looking away.

An awkward silence hangs in the air. Ryujin fumbles with her hands in her lap, biting her lip before she gathers enough courage to ask, “Y-You were with him last night, weren't you?”

You look away in embarrassment and it's all the proof she needs to know that her assumption was right. “I… I was in a pretty rough spot after our argument and he comforted me. By the time I was ready to head back, it was really late so he suggested I just stay over at his place…”

She stays quiet for a bit, inhaling as she looks up. “I'm sorry, Y/N. I really am. I'm sorry I wasn't there to comfort you—I'm sorry to be the cause of your pain in the first place.”

Your lips curl into a small smile. “It's okay. I won't hold it against you.”

She rests her arms on the sides of the chair to push herself up, walking up to the counter. “You must be hungry,” she muses, pulling out two plates from the cupboard and setting them along with the noodles on the table.

“Thanks,” you murmur, opening the box and unceremoniously dumping it's contents on your plate. The two of you eat in silence until Ryujin speaks up again. This time, you nearly choke of your food.

“Does he make you happy?”

It takes you a moment to process her words and as you're making sense of her question, her eyes are fixed on your, gauging your reaction. “I want to know your honest answer.”

You swallow the noodles in your mouth before opening your mouth, closing it again as no words come out. You're speechless.

“I-I… Y-Yeah. He makes me really happy,” you admit, looking away. “Thinking about him just makes me want to smile and I finally feel like I'm…” you cringe at the word you're about to say.

“I finally feel understood—like he knows exactly how I feel…”

Ryujin hums, “Then I think you should go for it.”

You splutter, eyes widening as you part your mouth in shock. “What do you mean?”

“I meant exactly what I said, dumbass,” she rolls here eyes.” You should ask him out.”

To say you're confused would be an understatement. How is it that Ryujin, who just minutes ago admitted that she gave you the cold shoulder out of jealousy, is now suggesting that you date said man she was jealous over?

“I-I don't understand,” you blink, making sure you weren't seeing things. Is this some wild dream? Were you gonna wake up any second and find out this has all taken place in dreamland?

“Oh please, even my jealous ass could see how he looks at you.” If there's any bitterness in her tone, she manages to conceal it. “All that sappy shit—like you're his moon and stars or whatever. The point I'm trying to make is that he obviously cares about you.”

“Still, I-I can't do that to you, Ryujin…”

She gazes intently into your eyes, clasping her hands around yours. “I can't allow that, Y/N. I can't allow you to waste a perfect chance like this because of my stupid crush. I always knew nothing would come out of it anyways, you know,” she sighs, looking away. “I'll get over it, okay. It'll take me some time but I promise I'll get over it. And in the meantime, go get em', tiger!”

Before you realize it, tears are already forming at the corners of your eyes. You try your best to blink them away but you're unable to do so. Instead, they begin streaming down your face in steady waterfalls.

“Thank you, Ryujin,” you manage to squeeze out through the curtain of tears. “I really appreciate it.”

Your roommate looks close to tearing up herself. “Nothing to thank me for,” she mumbles, standing up to envelop you in a bone crushing hug. “I'm sorry for how I treated you, I really am.”

You stand there for another few minutes, hugging and crying before she takes a step back. She reaches to pat your shoulder, the corners of her mouth twisting into a sad smile.

“You deserve to be happy. Please never forget that.”

fifteen.

Jisung groans, his biceps flexing as he slowly raises the barbell above his head. He feels his arms begin to shake as he lifts the weight up for the last rep, only making it about half way before he drops it with a grunt. Luckily, Changbin is spotting him today and he manages to catch it before it can do any harm.

“Good job, Jisung,” he smiles, genuinely impressed at his friend's progress. “You must be practicing—you've gotten a lot better.”

“Thanks, man,” Jisung grins, wiping off the sweat from his forehead with a towel. 

Suddenly, his phone pings and he reaches down to grab it from his backpack. He swipes down his notifications until he finds a text from you. You sent him a meme, granted, it was really old and you probably stole it from the r/dankmemes subreddit but it makes him chuckle nonetheless. 

“Who's that?” Changbin's voice suddenly sounds in his ear and it nearly makes him drop his phone. “That person on your wallpaper,” he leans over his shoulder to get a better view of his screen.

Jisung flushes, quickly shutting off his phone. “It's no one.”

“Bullshit, I just saw someone there!”

The heat rises to his cheeks as he squirms under Changbin's gaze, stuffing his phone in his pocket. After all, he did just catch him red-handed. It was sometime last week that Jisung set his wallpaper as a photo of you that he took while you were wearing his flower crown.

“Oh shit,” Changbin suddenly murmurs to himself, eyes flashing in realization. “It's your project volunteer, Y/N, was it? I thought you said you're just friends…”

“We are,” Jisung responds flatly, looking away when Changbin's eyes bore into his head.

“Are you sure about that?”

“Shut up,” Jisung glares at his friend, grabbing his bag and slinging it over his shoulder. Great, now he has another thing to tease him for.

Just as he's walking out of the gym, the tips of his ears flush when he hears Changbin yell, “I'm so going to tell Chan about this!”

sixteen.

You feel an inexplicable wave of warmth wash over you as Jisung grabs your hand, leading you through the crowded street. While walking in front of you, he takes the brunt of the mass of people walking in your direction as you trail behind him.

“We're here,” he declares proudly once you arrive in front of the quaint little café in one of the busier districts. “They have the best milkshakes in the city!”

As you step inside, a warm gust of wind greets you. You look around, taking in the nicely decorated place; it had high ceilings, gold accents sprinkled in the sea of white and brown, and at least two dozens of plants scattered throughout the café.

“Hey, Hyunjin,” Jisung greets the tall guy behind the counter, bumping fists. After greeting his friend, Hyunjin lets his gaze drop to you, giving you a once over.

“And who's this gorgeous doll you brought with you?”

You flush at his words, the heat rising to your cheeks as you look away in embarrassment.

“Hyunjin!” Jisung grumbles, slapping his friend on the shoulder. “Stop flirting with every person that walks in here. I'm gonna tell Minho you're disturbing the customers if you don't stop.”

Jisung's threat of calling his manager seems to rush Hyunjin back into reality as he turns pale as a ghost. He masks his humiliation with a loud cough, bowing deeply before he murmurs, “My dearets apologies for hitting on you, valued customer.”

A giggle slips past your lips as you watch him cast his gaze down like a wet puppy, finding the sudden change of character very endearing. “It's okay. Though I must say I'm flattered,” you grin, flipping through the menu.

You end up settling on a vanilla milkshake while Jisung goes for a strawberry one with an ‘extra portion of love’ as Hyunjin calls it. The so-called ‘extra portion of love’ turns out to be some colorful sprinkles on the top. Lame.

“Ahh, this really hit the spot,” Jisung sighs dreamily once the two of you walk out into the evening air, rubbing his tummy like a pregnant woman. 

“No kidding. I'm surprised they aren't any bigger with such great drinks.”

You walk around town for a bit, chatting and enjoying the lively atmosphere and before you even realize it, it's dark. Conversing with Jisung for hours is slowly becoming your favorite past time, you realize. It just feels like the two of you have so much to talk about and there's never a dull moment.

“I have an idea, come with me,” Jisung suddenly pipes, grabbing your hand in his. 

“What is it?”

“It's a secret,” he winks, causing your heart to nearly leap out of your chest. 

You arrive at a gorgeous park with tall, luscious trees fringing the small pathway that lead into the depths of the greenery. The sky is pitch black, towering over you in all its glory.

“I sometimes come here at night to look at the sky,” Jisung comments, plopping down on the grass. “C'mon,” he pats the spot next to him, motioning for you to sit down.

The both of you lay down, Jisung sneaking his hand around your neck to pull you into his side. Inhaling, you pick up on the faint scent of his cologne which causes your head to spin. The light wind ruffles his hair, causing a few strands to tickle your forehead.

“What is it?” Jisung asks when he hears you giggle, unable to stop the corners of his mouth from twitching.

“Nothing,” you look away, the heat rising to your cheeks from his intent gaze. “It's just that your hair is so… fluffy.”

This time, it's Jisung's turn to become flustered. He nearly wants to eat his fist—you're so damn cute. When shifts his focus back onto the sea of darkness above him, a sigh escapes his parted lips. 

Pressed into his side, you watch his chest rise and fall, admiring the subtle curve of his lips. The stars above you glow in the dusk, illuminating his face with a gentle shimmer.

“The sky's so pretty,” you breathe out, marveling at the beauty. It was rare for you to be able to see the stars in the city with all the smog and fumes.

“Not as pretty as you though,” Jisung simpers, chuckling when you hit his shoulder.

“You're cheesier than a fondue pot, do you know that?” you scoff, hoping to disguise your embarrassment with a mask of indifference. “Who even says stuff like that nowadays, seriously?”

Jisung smirks, immediately seeing through your facade. “Then why is your heart beating so fast?”

Your breath hitches in your throat as you look away. You don't have an answer to that. Worried that he has gone too far, Jisung nervously nibbles on his lower lip, wanting to smack himself in the face.

Why does he always do this when he's around you? It's almost as if all his sanity just decides to leave whenever he's with you. Luckily, after a few minutes pass, he feels you relax back into his hold.

He looks back up at the sky before raising the hand that's wrapped around you and excitedly pointing at one of the constellations above you.

“Look, there's the Big Dipper. And there's Aquarius and Polaris,” he announces proudly as his pointer finger moves along the many constellations in the sky.

“Um, Jisung,” you giggle, “I hate to break it to you but that's not their names.”

It's not like you're particularly well versed in astrology but even you know enough to disprove his claims.

“Y/N,” he whines, his lips forming a small pout. “Couldn't you have at least pretended to agree? It's called fake stargazing; I pretend to know all the constellations in the sky and you act impressed with my deep knowledge of the stars.”

“Okay, weirdo,” you chuckle. “Go on, now's your chance to impress me.”

seventeen.

After you fake stargazing escapades, Jisung takes you on a midnight drive. He drives outside of the city, going down the small roads on the outskirts of town. It's almost magical, in a sense—blasting music through the speakers and shouting the lyrics of your favorite songs. 

As the night progresses, the chilly air begins to send shivers down your spine. “Are you cold?” Jisung asks, keeping his gaze on the road ahead of him.

You rub your shoulders, murmuring, “Yeah.”

“Take this,” his right hand reaches behind into the backseat and pulls out his bomber. You accept the piece of clothing with a quiet ‘thanks’ and you slide the jacket on, immediately feeling enveloped by warmth.

The heat rises to your cheeks when you suddenly feel a light pressure on your inner thigh. You glance at Jisung but his eyes are trained ahead of him, left hand securely on the wheel while his right hand begins to gently rub the spot, causing butterflies to erupt in your stomach.

When you look away, Jisung allows his lips to curl into a coy smile.

eighteen.

It's past midnight. You should be long asleep by now but you're way too busy scrolling through your camera roll to even think about that. 

A few months have passed since Jisung ambushed you and Yuna after your shared lecture, begging for you to be his project volunteer. While you have no idea what came over you and why you even agreed in the first place, you were now so glad you did.

The wave of emotions washes over you like the ocean tide on a stormy night. Unexpected and fierce yet there's a softer element to it. You feel your heart swell as you swipe through the photos of the two of you, all of your shared memories trickling back to you.

Whether it was a picture of him throwing darts at the theme park or slurping ramen at a nearby convenience store at three in the morning—all of these photos became your treasured remembrances of the time you spent together.

There's one particular video you stumble across that makes you break out into a grin. You were downtown, strolling through the streets when you suddenly saw someone busking. Jisung immediately grabbed your hand and dragged you towards the performer, not wanting to miss it.

The guy looked to be around your age, perhaps a year or two younger. His voice was amazing, you and everyone else around you knew that. The fire in his eyes and the way his knuckles turned white from gripping in the microphone as he sang the song made his performance stand out amongst all the other buskers in the area.

He was singing ‘Dusk till Dawn’ and from the corner of your eye, you could see Jisung mouthing along to the lyrics while clapping his hands. And it seems like the guy noticed too.

Pressing pause on the song, he pulled out an extra mic from his backpack, handing it to Jisung. 

Jisung stared at it for a few seconds before it sunk in, finally breaking into a grin and taking the microphone from his hand. He joined him at the front of the stage as the performer resumed the song, this time with Jisung singing along.

You nearly teared up watching them harmonize, both of their voices perfectly blending together. As the crowd cheered them up, you pulled out your phone, pressing the record button on your camera just like everyone around you.

Towards the end of the song, as he sang the final notes, his eyes found yours in the crowd, holding eye contact until the end. You could feel your heart thumping in your chest along with the heavy bass drumming in the air and it was electrifying. 

“But you'll never be alone I'll be with you from dusk 'til dawn I'll be with you from dusk 'til dawn Baby, I am right here”

You felt like someone stole the air from your lungs as you gasped when they finished, everyone around you bursting into applause. But you were frozen to your spot, unable to move a single muscle.

That was the day. That was the day you truly knew you had fallen for Han Jisung.

nineteen.

Today was the last day of Jisung's project.

You were sad that your time together was coming to an end, secretly wishing for it to go on for longer. How could you not? You had so much fun after all—there was never a dull moment with Jisung around—he made sure of that.

Despite that, you feel the doubts begin to creep into your head, questions like ‘Will he even talk to me after this is over’ or ‘What if he just endured talking to me for his project’ popping up. Your gloomy train of thought is interrupted by a sudden ping of your phone.

Jisung [6:23]: i'm here :3

You [6:24]: k, be there in a sec ^^

You take a moment to breathe in, smoothing down the creases of your pretty blouse. You bought it a few days ago, deciding to spoil yourself when Jisung told you to wear something fancy for your last ‘date’.

Swallowing, you grab your bag, re-touching your hair in the mirror before closing the door to your room.

“Good luck, Y/N,” Ryujin shouts from behind the couch, giving you a thumbs up. “You look great!”

Your lips curve into a smile as you wave, “Thanks, Ryujin. Bye.”

When you step out, you find Jisung in front of your house leaning against his car. The sight makes the heat rise to your cheeks—he surely cleaned up nice.

His form-fitting black jeans do a great job of defining his thighs and the crisp tucked-in button-down accentuates his snatched waist. It should be illegal for him to look so good.

“Hey there, darlin',” he grins, pocketing his phone as he pulls you in for a hug. His strong arms wrapped around you make you feel dizzy and you try to focus on the familiar scent of his cologne to ground yourself.

“H-Hi.”

“So,” he clasps his hands together in excitement, “are you ready to go?”

“Yeah,” you whisper breathlessly, clutching your bag. Jisung walks up to the passenger side, opening the door for you which causes your heart to do somersaults in your chest. “Thanks.”

Once inside, he starts the engine, backing out of the parking spot with his elbow against the headrest as he looks behind to make sure there aren't any cars. For some reason, you find that incredibly attractive.

During the ride, both of you stay quiet for the most part, only exchanging greetings and switching up the radio stations. Jisung keeps his eyes trained on the road, pretty ring-clad fingers strumming against the driver's wheel.

“Aren't you at least a little bit curious about where we're going?” he suddenly asks without looking away. Fiddling with the sleeves of your blouse, you mumble, “I am. I just figured you wanted to keep it a surprise.”

“Fair enough,” he cocks his head, taking another turn. A few minutes pass before you arrive. Jisung pulls up to a local movie theater, turning around and placing his hand on your thigh. “We're here.”

He helps you out of the passenger's seat, locking the car as the two of you walk inside. Immediately, you're greeted with a cold gust of wind that makes the hairs on the nape of your neck stand. You walk up to the counter and Jisung pulls out his phone to show the lady behind the counter your reservation.

“Perfect,” she smiles after punching the number into her computer. “To the left, hall number 7.”

Jisung thinks he prepared for this moment enough—he did spend over an hour planning today's date, after all. Yet it seems like there was one thing he didn't account for. An unforeseen variable, if you may. One that's making the color creep to his cheeks.

This isn't a normal movie theater, is it?

The answer is no. It most definitely is not. 

“Oh, well,” you pause, looking away in embarrassment. “This is new.”

Jisung looks over to you, nervously rubbing his hands against the material of his jeans. “Um… at least it looks comfortable,” he cringes at his words, pursing his lips.

You nearly snort, smoothing down your blouse as you look back at him. “You're right, I didn't even think of that. C'mon,” you tug on his hand and plop on the fuzzy cushion, sighing as you begin to sink into the soft material. “It's really comfy.”

And that's how Jisung found himself in a couple's movie theater, sharing a small couch with you. He can barely focus on the movie, his eyes drifting to the side of your face, watching as your eyelashes flutter against your cheek every time you blink in excitement or surprise. 

Hell, why should he even watch the B-list drama when he has a first-row ticket for his own view? The way you react to every scene, lips morphing into soft smiles when you're thrilled or forming into a cute pout when a surprise is revealed—it's all art to him. The purest form of entertainment.

When the movie ends though, he finds himself in hot water. Firstly, he doesn't want to remove his arm from around your shoulder yet, not when you're pressed up to him like that, causing the butterflies in his stomach to flutter. But the next problem he didn't realize would arise…

“So… how did you like the movie?”

Shit. He doesn't remember anything. Jisung was too busy looking at you to even pretend that he's paid any attention to the events unfolding on screen. His heart begins to race as he struggles to come up with a proper answer.

“Y-Yeah, I loved the scenery.”

You giggle as you nuzzle your head into his side, “Right? I loved the pan at the beach towards the end. The view was so pretty!”

He shudders, hands drifting to your waist as he inhales deeply. “I-It was. So so pretty…”

Once the credits roll, you exit the room, walking back towards the car. It's already dark outside, a handful of stars scattered across the dark depths of the sky like tiny crystals.

“So, what're we doing next?” you pipe from beside Jisung, looking at him with a curious gleam in your eyes. “Let me guess, you're taking me to a fancy candlelit dinner, aren't you?”

You're clearly joking—Jisung can tell from the teasing edge to your voice and the way you wiggle your eyebrows. Little do you know, that's actually exactly what he had planned for today.

“Holy, shit,” you whisper once the two of you walk through the main entrance of the restaurant, clutching onto his arm. “That's exactly what you're doing!”

He can't hide the pride bubbling up within him at your reaction. You're looking around in awe, admiring the crystal chandelier hanging in the foyer. A waiter walks up to you, leading you to your reserved table and handing you the menus.

“Wow, Jisung—this place is gorgeous,” you splutter, heat rising to your cheeks as Jisung pulls out the chair for you like a true gentleman and male lead in a cheesy drama. “I almost feel unworthy, are you sure it's okay for people like us to come here?” you whisper playfully, looking around and taking in all the expensive decorations.

Jisung leans over the table to grab your hand, “Don't worry, a friend of mine works here and he assured me we'll be fine. As long as we don't do anything stupid.”

You begin scanning the menu, raising your eyebrow at the obnoxiously high prices. I mean, who'd pay so much for pasta? You were pretty sure you could get a week's worth of groceries for that much.

Nevertheless, Jisung invited you here so you aren't going to say that out loud. You glance back at him, watching his brows furrow as he goes through all the main courses, heart-shaped lips pursing when he lands on something he likes.

Filled with laughter and happiness, your shared dinner comes to an end. Despite the smaller portions, you feel like your stomach is satisfied. Except, there's one little thing missing…

“Would you like some dessert?” the waiter suddenly appears in front of you, handing you the dessert menu. Your mouth waters at the sight—there are so many to choose from, but there's one that particularly stands out. And by the looks of it, Jisung notices it too.

“Mango cheesecake,” he murmurs before catching your gaze, smiling when he notices the way the corners of your lips turn curl up.

“I was thinking the same thing.”

“Oh, if I may,” the waitress interjects, pointing at the menu. “The mango cheesecake is really filling. We usually suggest couples split it.”

Your lips part in surprise at the fact that she calls you a couple, looking at Jisung nervously. You're surprised to find him in a similar state of distress, his cheeks painted with a soft blush.

“O-Okay, we'll split it then,” he splutters, swallowing hard, but he makes no attempt to correct her. That fact alone makes your heartbeat quicken. Although to be fair, you can see where she's coming from. If you were a random onlooker, you would've assumed that two young people eating at a fancy restaurant and sharing dessert were in fact on a date.

Once the cake arrives, you and Jisung take turns eating spoonfuls of the delicious treat. The way his eyes sparkle makes you giggle. The dessert is gone in a blink of an eye, both you and Jisung sighing blissfully as the last bits of the creamy cheese melt on your tongue.

There's a certain tension in the air, and you struggle to wrap your head around it. Moments like these aren't exactly unusual between the two of you, having spent a lot of time together, but ever since you walked out of the restaurant, something feels… different.

Perhaps it's because of Jisung's firm tone when he insisted on covering the bill—his voice held so much conviction you didn't even bother arguing with him. You've kept quiet for the past few minutes, clutching onto the straps of your bag as you walk side by side, occasionally brushing the tips of your fingers against his.

Finally, when the silence becomes unbearable, you murmur. “Thank you for today, Jisung. I had a great time.”

His lips curve into a smile and his shoulders visibly relax, muscles no longer taut like a piano string.

“You're welcome. I'm glad you enjoyed yourself.”

You take a moment to admire his side profile, your gaze dipping down to take in all of his features under the moonlight. His lashes curl gently against his cheeks and you watch him exhale, heart-shaped lips parting. 

When did his jaw become prominent?

When he turns to face you, you snap your head away, heat rising to your cheeks. You mentally curse yourself for allowing him to catch you staring, digging your nails into the palm of your hand.

“Y/N,” he suddenly says, causing you to halt in your tracks. He's looking at you with a fond smile, digging his hands into his pockets.

“So… I know that we became friends under—” he pauses, wrinkling his nose, “—let's just say unusual circumstances, but I really cherish what we have.”

You have half a mind to not break his gaze, a gentle smile decorating your lips. “I guess out first meeting was kind of peculiar. You did, after all, accidentally empty your backpack while talking to me,” your words take on a teasing tone.

“Yeah,” he chuckles softly. “Can't argue with that.”

You purse your lips, ignoring the way your heart rattles against your chest. Why do you feel like you know where this is heading?

“Um, so I guess I wanted to say that despite the fact that I'm terrified of messing up our friendship, I can't keep silent for any longer.”

He gazes at you, uncertainty hanging in the air as you allow his words to sink in.

It suddenly feels like you're underwater, all of your senses dulled. The tranquility abruptly becomes insufferable and you realize that Jisung is waiting for you. He's waiting for you to give him a reason, a sign to continue.

Humming, you extend your palm to his face, gently brushing the pad of your thumb along his cheek. And it's exactly the cue he needs to go on.

“Being with you is the favorite part of my day. Whenever you're around, I just want to smile and be the cause of your happiness,” he breathes out, leaning in closer to you. “And project be damned, I fucking fell for you. I love you, Y/N, I really do.”

There's a new urgency to his voice, almost like a plea, and when you look into his eyes, you see longing. It's a mix of affectionate and hungry like he's been waiting for ages, eyes clouded.

You press yourself closer to him, eliminating any space between you. One of your hands gently brushes against his neck, while the other moves to his waist, finger looping through his belt loop and pulling him impossibly closer. Your lips are a hair's width away from his as you murmur.

“I love you too, Jisung.”

And that's when Jisung decides that even the smallest distance between you is unacceptable. His arms slide around your waist and he pulls you into his chest, sealing your lips with his.

Kissing Jisung feels familiar. It feels right—like it's the only thing you were put on earth to do. You thread your hand through his hair, gently tugging on the locks and you're rewarded with a quiet groan.

The street lamps cast a gentle glow on you; illuminating both your faces. Jisung grabs at your hip, thumb gently kneading the soft flesh over the fabric of your blouse as your lips continue to dance against each other.

His teeth graze your bottom lip causing you to sigh into the kiss, the electrifying sensation of his tongue against yours making you feel dizzy. You snake your hand up his shoulder, greedily cupping his arm and feeling the taut muscles flex under your fingertips. It sends a shiver down your spine.

After what feels like ages, the two of you part, locking eyes.

“You're a great kisser,” you whisper breathlessly, still recovering from the sensation of his lips against yours.

Jisung chuckles in response. “You're not too bad yourself.”

A peaceful silence settles around you as you slide your hand in his, enjoying the warmth that washes over you. That night, Jisung walks you home and gives you a goodnight kiss, causing butterflies to erupt in your stomach.

When you enter the apartment, Ryujin gives you a knowing look once she notices the lovestruck expression on your face and your mused hair.

“I assume the date went well?” she wriggles her brows at you, popping another skittle in her mouth. You nod wordlessly, heat rising to your cheeks.

“Y-Yeah, it did.”

She springs off the couch to give you a hug, leading you into your bedroom. “C'mon, give me all the juicy details and don't leave out anything, you hear me,” she threatens playfully, plopping onto your bed.

twenty.

You're standing in front of Jisung's psychology professor's office, nervously clutching his hand. A few days prior, the next day after the fancy dinner and moonlit confession in the middle of the street, you and Jisung had completed the last recording of your journey.

Over the course of time, Jisung had taught you many things. He's helped you become a better version of yourself—one that didn't give up easily but knew when to press pause when needed. You no longer depended on other people for your own happiness, nor did you crave their approval like you used to.

You were by no means all the way there yet, but you felt better. Jisung had suggested you try seeing your school's therapist, reminding you that there's nothing wrong with seeking help when you need it. 

“Go on.” Smiling, you gently nudge him on the shoulder. “He's in there.”

“Thank's for everything, baby,” he kisses you on the cheek before knocking on the door.

“Come in!” his professor rumbles and you flash him a thumbs up.

As you watch him disappear inside the room, a sudden wave of peace washes over you.

You feel like bit by bit, the life you once considered broken was mending back together, like a seamless puzzle. Like a light shined into the darkness, Jisung came into your life and slowly managed to turn it for the better.

A huge weight lifts off your shoulders as the obvious realization seeps into your bones, leaving you content.

You were happier.

You were truly happy.

bonus.

“Shh,” Jeongin shushes the group as they all settle on the bed with Chan in the middle, laptop perched on his lap.

“Jisung is so going to kill you,” Seungmin remarks but the erratic tap of his hand against his thigh gives him away. He's clearly just as curious and impatient as everyone else.

Hyunjin flashes him a grin, “Not if he doesn't know about it.”

“Who's to say we won't tell him though,” Minho chimes, grinning evilly. “I bet you 20 bucks he'll know by the end of the week.”

“Shut up, guys!” Felix cuts in, nudging Chan in the shoulder. “C'mon, play it.”

After inserting the hard drive, Chan clicks onto the folder labled ‘psych final’, holding in his breath as he scrolled through all the files.

“Look! Over there,” Changbin points to one of them called ‘Y/N made me delete :(’.

After pressing play, he relaxes into the pillow, everyone hunching over his shoulder to watch the video. They immediately recognize the setting—it's a clip shot in his living room.

You're sitting on a barstool, an old sheet hung behind you to serve as a backdrop of sorts. In true Jisung fashion, it's very improvisational. You nervously push the hair out of your face as you look behind the camera—presumably at Jisung—and ask. “What am I supposed to say? Do you seriously believe your professor cares that we're dating now?”

Jisung laughs, adjusting the camera before walking towards you, hugging you from behind. “Professor Choi! I just wanted to thank you for giving me so much freedom with the execution of my project. I hope you enjoy it and give me an A+,” he adds, grinning when you look up at him incredulously.

“Seriously?” you whisper, raising a brow. “You're asking for a good grade?”

“Of course,” he replies coyly, leaning down to nuzzle his nose against your cheek. “I fell in love during this project—this is a historical moment of my life and I also may desperately need that A if I want to continue next semester,” he adds as an afterthought, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck.

“You're kidding, right?” you crinkle your nose, looking back at the camera. Jisung laughs, leaning down to press a sloppy kiss to your cheek. “What the hell, Jisung? What are you doing?” you shriek, trying to pull away.

He laughs hysterically, chasing after your lips. “C'mon, baby, gimme a kiss.”

“No,” you wave your hand in front of you frantically, causing him to miss and kiss your ear instead. “You're gonna cut that out, aren't you?” 

“Only if you kiss me,” he sing songs, smirking at your expression.

“Okay, you dork,” you suddenly sound more serious as you stand up, gently pushing him against the bookshelves. “You wanted a kiss, you get one.”

Jisung squeaks in surprise as you mold your lips to his, the palms of your hands digging into his chest. It only takes him a few seconds to relax into the liplock, his hands caressing your sides.

All of a sudden, the white sheet hanging behind you falls on top of both of you, effectively trapping you together.

“Oh, fuck—” Jisung curses, struggling to steady himself with the sheet covering you.

“Jisung, watch out!” you squeak, tripping on the material and stumbling into his chest. Unprepared, he fumbles, knees giving out under your weight as he falls flat on his ass with you landing on his lap.

Silence. And then you begin laughing hysterically, Jisung joining you soon after. Giggles spill from your lips and your chests heave up and down, out of breath due to the sheet on top of you limiting your air supply. After a minute or two, you finally manage to wrestle yourselves out from under the sheets. Jisung presses a chaste kiss to your lips before jogging up to the camera and stopping the recording.

The room is silent for a bit before Minho suddenly exclaims. “Holy shit, he's so whipped.”

The others nod in agreement, Jeongin and Seungmin snickering at the cheesy scene that seems like it was taken straight out of a rom-com. 

The door suddenly slams open, all seven heads turning around to see who just burst in.

“Who's whipped?”

he’s caught sight of you since then, and as much as he’s tried to place you in his memory, find a you shaped puzzle hole, it hasn’t been fruitful. occasionally, he would find you in the cafeteria – on days they would serve corn soup – and sometimes by the coffee cart at the intersection minho preferred over the office cuppa when he wanted to get away from the establishment.

it’s three months later, on the second week – minho remembers clearly, your flushed face peeks out from the thick green scarf around your neck – you’re both waiting for the bus home. it’s past seven, way beyond minho’s working hours but he was adamant on using this last week to finish up pending work so he could come back after christmas to a fresh start.

you’ve huddled yourself to a corner of the bench, pressing yourself close to the glass screen while you wait. minho can’t stop his gaze from finding you through the cold air, though nothing stands between you two. should he go up to you?

it startles him when you meet his eyes and he looks away hastily, a sudden warmth crawling up his neck on being caught.

“hello,” you call out and minho whips his head around so fast, he might as well have ended up with a broken neck.

you stare up at him shyly, waiting for a response. in fact you don’t know why you greeted him in the first place, he probably doesn’t even recognise you.

“hi,” he says, and his voice is soft. it makes your chest swell inexplicably, a certain warmth in his hidden kindness you would later find out.

“i’m (y/n), we work in the same company,” you gesture vaguely in the direction of your company. you feel more nonsensical by the moment.

“i’m minho…and i know that.” minho tries to smile and not let on the fact that he was a creep who had indeed noticed you. well, minho wouldn’t like to believe himself to be a creep, but if he had been looking for you unconsciously…that was on his wandering mind.

yet this feeling was…unfathomable. the more he observed you without trying to be a freak, the more he grew attached to the familiarity in your face. it’s when he spots the smallest mole right above your lip – so small that he would have missed it, it’s like he had been searching for it since the beginning – he finds himself suddenly comfortable in your presence.

was this what people called ‘meeting your soulmate’?

minho isn’t sure what it was, he still isn’t, but he can attest to being the happiest when he’s around you. it seemed like you were of the same opinion, kissing him on the cheek three years later before walking off to your respective departments.

the second time, i knew.

you dyed your hair red.

it was bright, almost blinding, and minho’s wash basin was stained with the same dye.

“guess what,” you smile from where you stood, cowering playfully behind the door. red drops of water drip down your short hair andonto your neck, disappearing into the white towel strung across and dissolving into a diluted pool of light pink in the fabric.

“i don’t know, maybe the fact that my partner is now a traffic signal?”

“oh come on!” you thrust your hand out, nuzzling your chin into his chest and looking up at him through wide eyes and an innocent smile. minho loves it when you do that; look up at him like he’s your entire universe. he swallows the smile threatening to burst out of his lips.

“do i look good?”

“are you going to clean up the basin?”

another drop of red slithers down your wet hair and falls on minho’s shirt.

“you don’t like it,” you pout, pushing yourself away from him but he’s quick to pull you into a hug, pressing his chin on top of your wet head. his neck is wet, but he doesn’t care.

“of course i like it.”

“you do?” 

“i do.”

“i think you are very whipped for me.”

minho can feel you smile into his chest. you were so simple, and he was so in love..

“don’t act like you don’t love it.” he seals this moment with a kiss, heart swelling when you smile and pull him closer.

“i love you.”

loving you became so easy, i didn’t realise you wouldn’t love me back every time.

he’s different, you say.

minho begs to differ because you’re always saying that only to end up like he predicted. it’s not like he likes being accurate about it, but who can blame him for not trying to stop you?

in this life, you love people. and you love them so hard, with so much passion, minho finds himself watching quietly and grieving that you would never love him like that. it’s almost cruel, he thinks, but he’s spent so much time with you in love, he never thought that he would have to live through a life where he couldn’t show it.

he watches from the sidelines, waiting to speak up but every time you end up with someone else before he could.

“come on minho, i swear you’ll like hyunjin.”

you‘ve been badgering him for a week to grab dinner with your new boyfriend. mino retorts every time with no motivation to meet someone who would probably end up breaking your heart again, but the voice in his head tells him that it wasn’t the real reason.

he knows hyunjin, they’ve met before. he also knows hyunjin is a good guy. so when he says he doesn’t want to meet him, it’s more for his sake – he wants you to be happy, but he doesn’t want to see you happy with someone who will genuinely love you back.

he’s being selfish, he knows.

“minho, please?” your voice softens, and minho knows that you’re not doing it on purpose like you do when you want him to buy you coffee or order your favourite takeout or watch the same movie for the hundredth time on movie nights. you truly want him to meet hyunjin, maybe even like him; assure you that this was certainly the one.

minho doesn’t want to do either of those but your imploring eyes plead to him silently. he gives in, because it’s so easy to love you.

dinner turns out to be a pleasant affair and hyunjin is anything but the worst of what minho had pictured and manifested. he was a decent human being, enjoyable and certainly kind. and his eyes…they followed you and mimicked your smile lovingly. he knows that look; he’s been in love with you too. he is in love with you.

“listen hyunjin,” minho starts once you’ve left the table to go to the washroom, “i think you’re a great guy.”

“am i going to get the talk now?” hyunjin lets out a nervous laugh.

“no, i’m pretty sure you’re aware of that talk. but i want you to listen to me and listen carefully,” minho breathes in shakily, fisting up his fingers under the table, “(y/n) is my best friend and i love them a lot. i want you to love them wholeheartedly too. they don’t like their coffee too bitter and hate eating peas. they are hard working but tend to neglect their health in lieu, so take care of them, okay? don’t take them to the poppy exhibition during spring, their allergies act up the most during that time, even if they tell you that they can endure it – they can't and end up sniffling all season. they have a green scarf and it’s very dear to them, but it barely does anything when it’s too cold. layer them up in another scarf because they’ll get upset if you tell them to change. never let them order the spiciest thai takeaway, it makes them sick the next day. they love watching howl’s moving castle, it’s their favourite movie – never argue against it because well, there’s a ninety nine percent chance you’ll end up watching it anyway.”

a shuddering breath escapes minho’s lips as hyunjin listens attentively.

“don’t ever hurt them, okay?”

hyunjin nods earnestly, about to reply when you slide into your chair with a smile, looping your arm around hyunjin’s and the boy instantly melts, mirroring your smile. an understanding look passes between minho and hyunjin and the former is assured that he understood.

minho watches later, standing by the restaurant as you and hyunjin walk away into the night.

maybe in his next life, minho thinks, that will be him.

but i’m happy as long as you are.

the screen crackles, freezing for a second on your smiling face and minho frowns.

“hello, minho? can you hear me?” your voice comes on, ringing out pleasantly in his dark room. the city below him glitters with lights, honking cars distorted against the glass windows.

the video unfreezes and you’re there on the other side, grinning widely. it’s infectious and minho forgets about the exhaustion creeping into his bones. the time is 3 am, he should be asleep, he has an early meeting tomorrow, but this is you. and you’re seas apart, so the least he can do is grant you the shitty video call.

“yes, i can hear you. why have you called me at the ass o’clock, you spawn of satan?”

you know you can hear the smile in his voice, if not see him clearly illuminated only by the city lights.

“love you too,” you snort, “but guess what?”

you sound excited, and he can feel himself relaxing at the sight of your big smile and jumpiness. something good must have happened.

“i’m getting married!”

you bring up your left hand and without a doubt, a silver band rests around your ring finger. it glitters when it catches the light from your bedside lamp. your smile is infectious, minho reminds himself as he forces his lips to remain curled up.

“chan proposed this evening and oh my gosh minho, you won’t believe what he did–”

minho doesn’t quite remember much of what you said, only that you looked like you were on the top of the world, you were marrying the love of your life and that minho was invited and you wanted him to officiate the wedding.

minho doesn’t even consider this cruel anymore. the universe could hardly be called that when it treated you so kindly and with so much love.

he officiates the wedding in a field of poppies – a spring wedding – a small number of people gathered to celebrate the occasion and as he watches you walk down the aisle while your cousin plays a beautiful piece on the piano.

hand in hand with your husband, beautiful and glowing and so happy that he feels like he’s drowning in soft puffs of cloud at the look of joy on your face, he sends a silent thanks to the universe.

because i’m glad you’re here, by my side, through thick and thin.

"minho," you groan, dragging yourself across the rubble to where he lay on the ground, sprawled across rocks and ashes with his head resting against a decapitated shield.

"minho," you're barely able to keep yourself alive as you call out to the man, "wake up, love."

your whisper falls like the ashes you were sparales across, clothes singed and tattered, face bleeding and limbs tired.

the grey dust carries your whisper across him, his eyes cracking open to a white sky and your beautiful face.

your lips crack and bleed when you smile at him, eyes tearing up when they find his.

"are you okay?" minho croaks through the dust in his throat.

you nod weakly, breath faltering when the pain in your chest pricks you like needles.

"you did a great job." you say quietly.

around you, people started waking up, the ones that were left behind at least, by mercy or by luck or sheer willpower. the war was over. the will to cheer out is quietened by silent mourning.

minho feels you quiver by his side and pulls you closer weakly. your head rests against his arm, dreary and tired.

your hands are rough across his cheeks, colder by the second but comforting all the same.

"i'm so glad," he whispers. he doesn't mention your bleeding head or your heaving chest. he lets your warm tears fall on his skin, washing away the dust and grime and missing with your blood that drips down your head. your breath falters again, his weak limbs clutch you with his leftover strength.

you press your chapped lips against his neck.

"i love you."

minho's gentle confession receives no response.

i appreciate it a bit more, your quiet presence and comforting hands.

"minho, relax, i'm almost at your apartment so open the door for me, yeah?"

minho woke up in the middle of the night gasping for air. he had a terrible dream and you died in it. he scrambles across his bed, cursing the low battery in his phone and calling you first thing, the 8% of his battery be damned.

now you're saying that you're almost at his apartment. which means you crossed a whole two blocks in the middle of the night just because he called you in a frenzied panic. it’s too late to slip on his shoes and rush out of his house, because he’s extremely scared something bad might happen to you – he knows it’s his past life, and yet he cannot ignore the way it feels like a premonition – because you’re already ringing his doorbell.

the door opens with such abruptness, it makes you jump out of your skin but you don’t waste time in pulling minho into a hug when he stares at you with teary eyes. he’s never been this vulnerable before and you’ve never seen him so distraught.

he melts into your arms the second you hold him, as if checking to ensure that you were legit. that you were here, alive.

and if he tells you that he loves you late into the night while you sit by his side, running your fingers through his hair to help him fall asleep, he’s not lying and he means it from the very bottom of his heart.

“i feel like this was a ruse to get me here,” you chuckle sleepily, eyes fluttering and fingers slowing their pace against his hair.

minho simply gazes at you quietly in the dark, his throat seizing up when your fingers trace against his cheeks and rest there. your hands are warm, not cold. you were here.

“you’re being serious.” you remark, “is it because of the nightmare? you know i won’t leave you right?”

it wasn’t a nightmare, it was real. but how does minho tell you that? so he nods, because he does love you.

you kiss the corner of his mouth. his cheeks, his nose, his eyelids and his head.

“i love you too, minho. a lot.”

your lips on his lips, your warm hands across his tear stained cheeks. your heart beating against his chest.

but i hold you still, close to my heart, even when you’re not here.

minho looks for a familiar face through the blur of faces.

he searches for you for years till his last breath. but he accepts this time, that you would only reside in the deep crevices of his heart where he would etch your memories and learn to live without your presence.

he’ll learn to live without you.

and sometimes we’ll miss each other by a year.

high school, the most important time in a student’s life.

minho did not expect much to change from last year, he’s always been on the grind and stuck to his college preparations religiously. but something about the way all his relatives and friends kept reminding him of the importance of doing it right or losing in life, had him worrying in anxiety.

“if i don’t get into a university in seoul, my parents are gonna kill me,” jisung sighs beside him, doodling on his maths workbook.

minho hums, solving the equations unlike his deskmate who seemed least concerned about his self proclaimed threats.

“dude, are you seriously studying on the first day of school? lame…”

minho doesn’t pay attention, not now when he’s adamant on ignoring the label of being a nerd for the sake of a better future. he’ll find out later, when him and jisung get into the same university in seoul, that he didn’t need to try so hard all the time and that he deserved a break too.

jisung leaves during lunch, skipping to the cafeteria, complaining about how chemistry seemingly sucked the soul out of him. minho hangs back to go through his notes one last time and pack away his belongings.

he notices the scratchy lines on the wooden desk, it’s previous owner’s initials carved into it.

‘L/N Y/N, you can do it!’

minho runs a finger over the name, his heart suddenly hollow.

jisung hollers from the hallway and minho leaves for lunch.

later, he’ll have scratched his name under yours and added:

“hope you made it”.

there will be times i need to watch you from afar, but knowing you’re here makes me feel safe.

you play so beautifully, stringing your bow with such emotion, minho feels himself tear up.

the auditorium is quiet, holding their collective breaths as you reach the final part and remain still till the last tunes of the strings fades away.

minho claps along with everyone as you wave to the audience. the bouquet of flowers in your hands, you bow thankfully, retrieving your violin and leaving the stage. the smattering applause doesn’t cease till the announcer comes up.

minho follows you along the stage, gracefully making your way behind the wings before disappearing. you’re so far away. minho was but a simple commoner, lost in a faceless crowd for you.

he takes his time walking through the crowd that dissipates after the performance,the last one to hang back and read the brochures for next week’s performances. he’s so engrossed in reading the brochure, sitting on one of the benches in the lobby, he doesn’t notice you until a multiple bouquets of flowers quite literally drops onto his lap.

startled, his eyes flick up and you’re right there, standing in front of him, apologising as you make to retrieve the flowers.

“i’m so sorry,” you say, clearly struggling to hold your bag and violin case and balance the bouquet in your arms all at the same time. your black outfit glitters like diamonds up close, and if that doesn’t put minho in a daze, your tired smile turned upon him does.

“oh that’s a good performance,” you state, pointing at the brochure in his hands as you bend to pick up your flowers. as if only coming to senses when you’re on the ground, does minho scramble to help you out, his cheeks flushing.

you’ve always been pretty, but it’s been so long since he’s seen you so up close. you smile and he’s suddenly awestruck.

“you should watch the show on thursday,” you state, finally collecting everything in your hands in a bundle. minho hands you the last flower and your fingers brush.

“i will,” he promises, “and…i loved your performance tonight.”

you chuckle abashedly, hiding a shy grin behind your hand.

“thank you,” you mumble and minho bites his lips, swallowing the smile of adoration.

you pick out a rose from the bouquet with some difficulty, handing it out to him.

“thank you for coming tonight,” your shy smile is endearing itself, but so are your cheeks flushing when he accepts the rose. your fingers brush again, and maybe minho lingers for a second longer than he should. than he could.

minho keeps the dried petals of the rose inside an old journal.

but it’s always better when we’re together, because with you i'm fearless.

“left wing’s armed, take the third right straight down the hall and go into the utility room.”

the earpiece crackles inside minho’s ears, your instructions clear and brisk, a last moment unfortunate encounter you were saving his ass from. for better measure, he cocks his guns and keeps it ready just in case as he hurries down the hall and promptly shuts himself inside the utility room.

digging through a pile of janitor’s clothes, minho strips down and starts changin, your voice clear in his ear when you speak again.

“wait there, there’s three men with guns headed down all three halls. do not expose yourself,” you warn, predictably accurate as minho scoffs.

“min,” you growl into your mic, assessing the situation through the hacked cctvs, “don’t you dare come out of that damn room until i tell you to.”

“i’ve got a flight to catch babe, can’t have three nutjobs delaying me.”

“i’m catching the same flight as you!” your retort is an angry outburst. you’re honestly sick of him disobeying your instructions and doing whatever he likes. you’re both supposed to be a team, but he’s more intent on being a brat.

“you can’t get delayed either then,” he says, and the last he allows you to say on that matter, because next thing you know, he’s out of the room in some janitor clothes and a huge trolley. the man with the gun is suspicious, you can tell, approaching minho doubtfully and you hold your breath as you watch quietly, almost as if he would be caught if you inhaled too loudly.

as if on cue, yells break out and minho charges towards the man, ramming his trolley into him and sending him flying. the gun misfires and almost misses minho.

“fuck!” you hiss loudly, on the edge of your seat. there’s nothing you can do from here.

“have i ever told you,” minho struggles with a faltering breath as he tackles another man onto the ground, “how hot you sound when you curse like that?”

the third man doesn’t take too long to go down, giving minho a bit of a hard time too as he does, and you’re secretly happy that he did. serves him right, that brat.

fifteen minutes later, you’re both speeding towards the airport, minho changing in the back of the rundown van which you were going to abandon before leaving while you drove, stubborn on ignoring minho’s attempts at apologising.

“come on, don’t be mad. here, i got you a present,” he says.

you ignore him yet again, but find it hard to turn a blind eye at whatever it was he was shoving right under your nose. glancing briefly, you find a sparkling ring in the palm of his hand.

you silently contemplate whether you should accept it.

“come on,” minho whines again, pulling your left hand away from the steering wheel at the next red light and promptly slipping on the ring on your ring finger. it sits snugly around your skin, a small ruby carved like a rose glittering when it catches light.

before the light can turn green again, minho holds your palm up to his mouth and kisses it gently. his lips burn on your skin like a searing scar and you struggle to keep the heat from crawling up your neck.

“that looks nice on you,” he says and you quietly accept it.

i know loving you is easy, but it still scares me sometimes.

minho knows you can find someone better than him.

he knows you can drop him whenever you want. his love comes easily, but he’s had his share of losing and letting go. it’s tamed the ferocity of his affection, his quiet longing is like a suffering under his hidden vulnerability.

he hates it when you’re upset at him. and you’re upset at him now, shutting yourself in your room to work; not eating, not talking, not even responding to him.

“(y/n), please talk to me.”

you’ve finally come out of your room after hours and minho has been waiting patiently but anxiously, pondering and rehearsing on what to say. except, when he sees you, all his words disappear like ashes in the wind, leaving him remorseful and regretting what had transpired.

“i’m sorry,” he croaks out, head bowing down shamefully, “i shouldn’t have made you feel that way.”

your forgiveness is, if anything, like fuel to the fire burning inside him. you shouldn't forgive him so easily! but you do, and minho is certain that his fear will engulf him in its flames.

except, he hears your voice, clear and calming through the inferno, a cool balm across his searing chest.

“i’m sorry too,” you whisper, hands cradling his face as you pull him close, “i know it’s hard for you, i promise, i love you. no matter what.”

your words are like a soft breeze, pleasant and tranquil. your lips mold against his and he finds himself giving in to you – to your bodies melting into each other and breaths tangling like butterflies swirling around in a whirlwind.

minho learns yet again, to love and to let it burn him. he didn’t mind the flames licking his cheeks or singing his skin, you would be there at the end of the day to hold him close and heal his wounds.

with you the pain of trying was worth it.

because there are times that love can hurt.

minho points his gun at your head.

you’re tired, watching him through your hood but you’re smiling through your bloodied lips.

“are you really going to do that?”

no. minho won’t, he can’t.

‘you already know,” he seethes through gritted teeth, tightening his hold around the gun.

“your answer, or you?”

you set flame through his body and it seeps through his veins like melting lava. loving you can sometimes really hurt, especially when he’s holding your life in his hands. he wonders whether it was worth the trouble of remembering all his past lives.

the clouds rumble and the skies start crying. he burns brighter, hotter; engulfed in your eyes, torn between a past lover and present murderer. your eyes…they’re always the same. the mole on above your lip, you have it this time. he tries searching for the coy person inside you, but you’re broke. battered and cold, you don’t have love for him in you.

not in this lifetime, at least. maybe that will make it easier.

the gun shoots with a bang.

and i’m reminded of my mistakes once more.

the tattoo parlour is quiet in the summer afternoon.

changbin is resting in the back, getting a good hour’s nap while minho waits for his next client who’s due any moment now. the table fan whirs noisily.

the door opens with a small creak and before minho can even turn around, he knows. his gut twists. sure enough, you’re standing there with uncertainty plastered over your face, as if you were having second thoughts about this.

minho doesn’t remember as much this time around, but he knows, there’s an inkling of recollection. of a rainy day and cold eyes.

“hi, you must be (l/n) (y/n),” he states with a comfortable smile, the one that is supposed to ease first timers who stand there in doubt, “i’m lee minho, we talked on the phone.”

he stretches his hand forward and you take it shyly. your fingers are nimble, fitting in his so well, he almost doesn’t want to let go. he can’t remember.

“hi, i’m here for my appointment?” you squeak out and minho does his best not to smile. he doesn’t want you to feel uncomfortable.

“of course, i have a few designs according to your choice, why don’t we sit and discuss?”

talking to you was easy. you knew what you wanted and had worked out all the tiny details to some extent as you could. but then again, talking to you had always been easy.

“where do you want to get it?” minho asks, finalising a few sketches and stacking them away in a separate pile.

chewing your lips, you slightly lift your shirt. the faintest blue - almost greyish - birthmark right above your abdomen peeks out. minho’s eyes scan your skin, to where you point right below it over the side of your waist.

he nods, fingers shaking as he collects the designs and walks over to the counter. the fan whirs loudly.

minho remembers. 

but you always forgive me. you say it’s because you love me.

“(y/n)....i’m sorry. i’m so sorry.”

the car reeks of oil and gas. minho’s cheek stings with millions of shattered glass pressing against his skin like tiny kisses. your eyes are closed, head rolled forward.

“(y/n) please,” minho’s voice cracks and he’s not sure whether he’s crying because of the pain or because you won’t answer him, “look at me.”

his plea falls on unconscious ears. you don’t even stir, laying with your eyes shut tight and glass in your hair.

the world goes black and then it returns, sirens and wails piercing through his ears like an incessant buzz. where are you?

you’re lying beside him, your eyes cracked open while you stare at him. the oxygen mask on your face fogs up slowly, your lips mouthing at him.

“It’s okay…i love you.”

minho tries reaching out but his hands refuse to move. he’s on the ground, he’s hurt, he’s bleeding. he’s crying, but not because it hurts, not because the scars and wounds across his body threaten to tear him apart.

“don’t leave, please.”

your oxygen mask stops fogging up.

as if you sense i’m being too hard on myself.

“minho, just ten more minutes,” you pout at him, folding your hands in a plea.

“no, your father wants you home back by–”

“oh boo hoo, my father doesn’t even care what i do,” you scowl, crossing your arms across your chest now. the low cut of your outfit reveals a spot of skin and minho has to look away. he’s better this time, concealing his feelings and emotions.

“you know i can’t disobey–”

“i just want to have fun, it’s like i have any friends to spend time with.”

minho sighs, straightening his crisp black suit and regarding you with indifferent eyes, but deep down, minho understands that all you craved in this life was companionship. he doesn’t like your father anyway, but he like you. he cares for you, and he doesn’t want to see you upset. but he also doesn’t want you to get hurt.

“ten more minutes,” he says, putting his palm up when your lips morph into a wide grin, “but no drinking.”

he’s stern but you nod eagerly anyway, looping your arm through his and pulling him inside the club. he will probably let you drink anyway, or you’ll sneak some when he’s momentarily distracted (he’s not, he just lets you have your way sometimes under the pretence of not noticing.) and he’ll have to carry you back to your room and maybe get an earful tomorrow morning for your drunk state.

whatever, as long as you’re happy.

“you know, minho?” you slur through the ride back home, nuzzling into his side drowsily, “you should take it easy sometimes. life’s too short to not have fun.”

you have no idea.

“and besides, i like you more this way.”

minho doesn’t answer, calming the thudding against his ribcage as he hold you close and covers you up with his blazer.

it’s all worth it when you kiss his cheek lazily, a murmured goodnight falling off your soft lips and onto his skin like a tiny part of your heart.

and even though i know i’ll find you each time, i still wonder if you’ll find me first this time.

“mr. lee minho sir!”

the voice gets carried away the large lobby, people turning to stare at you as you stand behind the automated entrance barrier, waving your arms at the said man to gain his attention.

minho looks back in shock, momentarily forgetting about the call he was on as he regards you through wide eyes.

you’re grinning and calling out his name, the zip of your handbag open and your contents falling out, but you stumble to grab them messily before stuffing them inside unceremoniously, much more important stuff at hand.

“mr. lee, please, give me ten minutes, i promise i’ve got an amazing proposition,” you say, dodging the security guards who try to pull you away. people stare and murmur in shock, you were making quite a scene.

you look a bit clumsy, but you’re light on your feet. and you definitely don’t seem to care about what people thought of you.

“what’s going on?” he asks his secretary by his side, both walking towards you.

“that’s (l/n) (y/n), they’ve been trying to get an appointment with the PR team for ages now. apparently they're the founder of some small company looking for finances.”

“and why have they not gotten an appointment yet?”

his secretary doesn’t know how to answer, blinking at him in confusion. why would a million dollar company like his waste their time on a nobody like you?

minho disregards the obviousness on his secretary’s face, approaching you with a warm smile.

“i believe you called me?” he asks warmly. the silent whispering thickens.

“i did, sir….lee minho sir. i mean–”

“why don’t we take this to my office?”

you squawk in surprise and minho offers you another smile. it’s familiar to you, his warmth and kindness, and you immediately feel guilty for causing a ruckus. but minho doesn’t treat you any differently, doesn’t mock your business nor finances. he doesn’t look down on you, and yet, there’s something underneath all that kindness that feels like he owes it you, so much so, that he may as well have been in debt to you and was now paying you back however he could and you wanted.

months later, you’d be lying on your bed, your legs tangled together and faces close and he would tell you the reason.

“it’s because you found me first.”

if you’ll be happy without me.

the train windows are foggy, the city lights a distorted kaleidoscope of red and yellow blending into each other.

minho blows warm air into his scarf, tucked right up to his chin and rubs his hands together before stuffing them inside his woollen coat. the train rattles on through the cold night, the gentle to and fro almost lulling him into sleep.

his body shifts to his left when the train stops at the third to the last station and minho lets out a sign between the satisfaction of knowing that he’ll soon be home and the disgruntled realisation that he would have to walk for ten minutes to do that. at least, he’s closer to the warmth of his home now.

the doors open with a swish, cold air blowing in and minho huddles against the corner seat, pulling his legs closer and almost doubling on himself. twenty minutes more, and he’ll be in the comfort of his home and his cats.

from his peripheral, he notices someone taking a seat beside him. the end of their long scarf gently touches minho’s arm under his thick coat. they cough into their hand and sniffle, clearly shivering from what he could tell by the way they draw into themselves, shuddering.

the train moves again, overhead lights dim enough that they were easy on the eyes but not too dark either. a long stretch of tunnel comes into view and the lights outside disappear, a black canvas staring minho back in his face. he catches sight of his neighbour, breath hitching in his throat when the warmth of their presence suddenly seems to heat him up.

he feels like a high schooler again, flustered when his crush sits beside him.

your face is gaunt in the black mirror, eyes drooping like you were fighting sleep and head gently lolling about. it doesn’t even take long before he feels your head on his shoulder. he stiffens, holding his breath in case you wake up, fingers curling inside his pocket and heart beating steadily against his chest.

even now, he thinks, even now, you make him feel this way. and you were simply a stranger to him in this life.

the train jolts again, the lights outside merging out of the black fog and staining the misty glass. your head on his shoulder, the fragrance of your shampoo lingering under his nose and the tingling sensation on his arm where your scarf lay gently. when the cold wind blows in, you move closer to him, soft snores tumbling through your lips and falling on his coat like a memento of your existence.

only one stop left, he gets to spend five more minutes with you. the warmth of his home is alluring but so is your sleeping figure next to him.

he wishes this train would go on forever. 

but i always end up wishing that we would be together this time around too. 

“i love you!”

“minho, we can’t!”

“what does status matter in front of love?”

“you know well enough exactly how much it matters,” you sigh, sliping your hands through his placatingly, softening your tone, “it won’t work. you’re from a noble family, and i’m just…plain old me.”

“you know i don’t care about that stuff.” he brings your hands up to his mouth and kisses your knuckles gently, his pillowy lips searing your skin like fire.

“they won’t care about banishing you from the court either if they find out.”

minho is so close to you, he can feel your breath on his lips. he’s kissed you so many times now, felt those lips against his and across his skin countless times, but every moment he spends with you, it’s like he cannot get enough of you.

“what if we run away? from these people, these…expectations and restrictions.”

“min…”

his name on your tongue, it sits there like it was always supposed to.

“you can’t help who you fall in love with.”

sometimes you can, but minho always chooses to fall in love with you. he doesn’t have to try hard; he’s never fallen out of it in the first place.

call me selfish, but there’s so much i need to tell you. show you. so many ways to love you.

the soft tunes of the jazz band floats in the air, men and women in silk and satin, dancing with each other through the cheerful night.

minho holds you in his arms, pressing quiet kisses in the crook of your neck and you giggle, swaying along with him on the dance floor. the night is still young for the two lovers and music quite a ways before it stops.

“wouldn’t have taken you to be the romantic type,” you say, looping your hands around his neck.

“wouldn’t have expected to be dragged to the dance floor so early,” minho teases back, pulling you just a little closer.

but minho would be willing to do so much for you. he would read it all in your eyes and from its depths, draw out his heart and carve it whichever way you wanted him to.

“i thought you wanted to dance!” you hit him  lightly on his shoulder, pouting at his smirk.

“i only accepted because the bartender was eyeing you,” he gestured behind him, tilting his head slightly so you could see. and sure enough, the bartender was indeed looking in your direction.

“oh, do i sense some jealousy?”

“don’t i have the right to feel that way?”

he twirls you to a lazy tune from the saxophone, only to pull you close when he realised that even the miniscule absence of your presence did not suit him. maybe he was drunk, he could definitely feel the burn in his throat and the liquid courage pulsing through his brain and you were so very beautiful.

the fabric of your dress under his fingers was soft, your rose painted lips puckering up ever so slightly and your tinted cheeks glowing warm under the dim golden lights. and your eyes; it’s always your eyes.

minho always searches your eyes everytime, to gauge whether much had changed but save for a few unfortunate lives, they remain pristine and eternal. yet, they seem to speak to him with a teasing lilt in somes life and in others, they’re like stars twinkling back his reflection.

minho doesn’t want to believe he is the romantic type, but he admits, he would always be willing to lose himself in your eyes.

even with all my lives combined, i wouldn’t be able to do it all.

undoubtedly, minho has learnt various ways of loving you throughout all his lives, and unsuspectingly, he expects to learn many more.

but his favorites persist to be the little undocumented moments only shared between you two; hidden in a small room where nobody is privy to it.

when you amble into the kitchen wearing nothing but his hoodie – which was too big on himself too – your thighs exposed and your fingers rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, his world stops for a whole minute.

you don’t take notice of his naer breathlessness, trodding up to him and planting your face in his chest. in this life, minho is a bit distant. his ability to express himself hidden in small acts of services. in this life minho worships you differently, and your reciprocal puts his anxiousness to rest.

“i cooked your favourite,” he mumbles on the top of your head and you nod into his chest, slowly backing him into a corner.

“you’re my favourite,” you smile slyly, revelling in the way his cheeks heat up and his gaze averts. you press a finger under his chin and turn his head towards you. your eyes…oh.

he feels your lips against his, your nibbling teeth and your wandering hands.

in this life, your love is passionate, a little fervent. you love so shamelessly and its fire consumes him whole till he’s right in the middle of a burning pyre. you burn brighter than him now and his love shines brighter under your flames, but minho merely considers himself the moon, silently borrowing the light from the faraway stars you carefully sew into his heart.

it’s like the universe is always balancing you both out, apologising for the times it messes up your time together.

minho can’t bring himself to answer, but he hears the handle being twisted and seconds later a sliver of light slithers down the dark floor of his room. you find him sitting on his bed, with his head between his arms, knees tucked and unmoving.

all i know, is that i’ll surrender to you. everytime, unrestrained, with all my sincerity – because there’s no one else but you.

there's a soft knock at the door.

“minho,” your voice is veiled and hesitant, “it’s me. can i come in?”

“he’s been like this all day,” chan whispers beside you, the look of concern on his face breaking your heart, “please, help him.”

shutting the door behind you, you slowly manoeuvre your way to the bed, reaching out with your hands to feel for the soft sheets. eyes growing accustomed to the dark, you can vaguely make out his figure, scooching closer to his side.

“want a hug?” you whisper, scared to break the tranquillity and scare him away.

his response is throwing himself in your arms and clutching your waist like a child. soft sniffles get buried in your shirt and his shuddering shoulders send a wave of tears through you. the silence is broken by his sobs that shatter you and make your chest twist into knots. 

you fall asleep with his head buried in your chest and your warmth around his body.

even in a thousand lives. i’ll always be yours.

minho has assured you a hundred times in a hundred ways, that you’ll never be a burden to him.

not even when you spend half your life in a hospital bed, barely capable of doing anything by yourself. even when you cry and pretend to be mad at him, even when you yell at him to leave you and get his own life. even if he has to dedicate himself to take care of you.

you will never be a burden, not when minho was persistent on being by your side willingly.

“how long will you stay here?”

“for as long as it takes you to fall asleep,” he says, wiping your hands with a wet towel. your fingers twitch in his palm, weak and frail but so comforting in his gentle hold. you wish you could ask him to stay, but how can you chain him down to your crippled self? and for how long before he realises that this was a lost cause; that you were a lost cause and all his time and efforts were going to waste cooped up in this tiny hospital room where nothing ever happened.

“you know what i mean…”

your voice is soft in the night, eyes teary as they gaze at his face illuminated by the bed lamp he gifted you for your birthday.

minho doesn’t answer, concentrating at the task at hand. he knows you’re crying, and while any other time he would gather you in his arms and wipe your tears, he can’t right now. he can’t see you cry right now, because he’s scared he’ll really leave if you ask him to looking like that.

“we don’t know what the future holds,” his fingers close upon your smaller hands, squeezing them gently, “i want to stay here for as long as i can.”

his eyes glaze over and you slowly lose the fight in you, letting him cradle your soul and carry it with him. if that’s what he wants, you think.

months later you’ll walk out of the hospital, the staff congratulating you and handing you flowers and you’ll smile at them, but you’ll smile the brightest when you spot minho waiting for you at the end of the hall, cheeks shining with his tears but his lips curled up, mirroring your smile.

you’ll take your first steps all by yourself in years, it will tire you but minho will be waiting. he’ll always be waiting and when you reach out to him, he’ll reach back and let you fall into his arms.

i’ll chase your memory from dawn till dusk.

a block of light plasters the wall and falls on the table.

the last rays of the waning sun trying its best to peek at your beauty one last time before setting – that’s what minho thinks it is.

you say something, smiling through your words and sipping on your drink through puckered lips and then laugh at what you say. minho realises he’s not even listening, but he can hear your voice. he somehow feels like this may be the last time he remembers.

he drinks in your face, but there’s no hurry. you’re sitting right there, munching on your food and talking animatedly, face painted with sliced sunlight, orange and warm on your skin, eyes glowing when it catches the light.

the ketchup stain above your lip doesn’t bother you, but minho smiles fondly as you continue, laughing uncontrollably now over some lame joke he assumes would be funny if he actually listened.

leaning forward, he wipes your mouth, your eyes widening at the act, but they immediately soften and lean towards him too.

then it’s quiet, only the silenced chatter of the people around you. it’s like you’re both trying to etch this moment in your memories, like this was going to be your last time together.

and when there’s nothing left to be done anymore, i’ll sleep with you under the stars. 

the band of silver glimmers on his finger when minho stretches his hand out toward the sun.

the grass is dry and tickles his ears whenever he shifts about, the wind ruffles his clothes like butterflies. minho basks in the late afternoon sun, shutting his eyes and breathing in the sweetness of the honeysuckle air.

beside him, the arrangement of flowers lay carefully over the smoothened stone.

the first few stars appear like newborn dots of light, shining weakly in the orange sky slowly bleeding into purple and blue.

he smiles happily, the tears long appeased by your memories in his heart. the scent of poppies lingers somewhere in the back of his mind, your smile like a ray of hope on days he can’t find you, a piece of your soul in the crevices of his bone like a single entity of his own self.

Stacking the last plate onto the drying rack, Felix is quick to take over, smiling at you as he picks up the dry cloth and wipes them down before putting them away carefully on the shelves. Removing your pink scrubbing gloves, your attention is called to the front where Mr. Kim – the owner, a man in his sixties now, who mainly mans the front desk and chats with the customers, giving free reign to the younger generation after keeping this place alive for almost thirty years– asks you to serve and clean up tables. A sharp pain jolts through your left wrist, the first sign of a terrible ache seeping through your bones. You ignore it.

Untying the damp apron from around your waist, you leave the chaos of the kitchen, wiping your sweat on your sweater sleeves only to shiver when you push open the door into the diner, the sudden change in temperature noticeable and a temporary respite from the heat of the oils and spices, but only for so long since it would eventually start to feel much too cold out here as it got darker outside.

It’s not long after that the chilly air makes you pull your sleeves down, your loose knitted sweater too flimsy for withstanding the cold by itself, but hustling around the diner helps you disregard the occasional gusts of winds through the open doors and cracks in the windows.

The restaurant itself was a quaint little thing with white stone walls, the telltale coziness of being perched atop a hill between tall trees, aged with vines draped around its chipping paint like a dress made of leaves, flagged along the perimeter by small ground lights, all glowing in different intensities with age. A wooden sign with roughened edges now fading engravings of ‘Kim’s Diner’ hung above the door.

Nobody minded the worn out wooden furniture and the same old chequered tablecloths in red and white, if anything, there was a sense of familiarity to it all, like a place preserved in memory for years, still running and still alive.

Tucked in the hills, the sloping terracotta roofs perched up were visible from the foot of the hill, burnt brick and missing a few tiles, but a certain landmark even still after years. The huge trees almost clamped down like an overgrown canopy, wide steps with moss carpets gradually merging into a downward slope leading down to the main hill town, but it was a decent walk downhill and the spot where the restaurant was nestled felt like a secret shared by the people of this small hill town.

You liked it up here though, leaning against the rusty railings to look down upon the town under a darkening sky, lights blinking into life and people walking by; nothing seemed rushed, it wasn’t quiet but it was calm.

From where you leaned across the table, running a slightly damp cloth over the plastic covering the tablecloth, you spot a figure through the window with bright blonde hair climbing up the stairs, struggling to breath and bending against their knees to catch his breath. Another tourist, you suppose, from the looks of their bright hair and camera bag strapped across their shoulder.

They stop for a moment, leaning against the balusters of the long railings, their profile inclined sideways such that the foggy windows don't let you have a good look at their face, but you discern it to be a man. You stare for a while at the broad back, the weather inappropriate attire of a simple brown cashmere sweater with the neck of a white t-shirt visible under the collar unsurprising, since most tourists didn’t often feel the cold of the hills as you did, usually coming from lands hotter and their winters more cruel that the winds of the hills were but a mere breeze of respite after a long day of hiking for them.

Inhaling a long breath, he’s still for a few seconds, eyes closed and turned towards the sky as if soaking in the winter sun, lips parting when he exhales through his mouth, chest heaving at the slight exertion, one strap of his bag slipping off his shoulder before he pulls it back up.

A low rumble echoes and you're momentarily distracted, your eyes turning towards the sky which was starting to turn grey, the clouds slowly rolling in and you knew the evening would get chillier if it indeed rained. The thought makes you shiver, drawing the knitted sweater closer around you, too flimsy for the incoming weather, the familiar sting in your wrist explained.

Placing the salt and pepper shakers beside the napkin stand, you attend to a call of a bottle of soju, pacing towards the refrigerator and pulling out a chilled bottle of the drink before placing it on the table with a shot glass for the customer.

Felix calls from the front, order for table seven ready to be served and you make your way to the serving counter, placing the hot steaming bowls of udon and a set of chopsticks each, swishing it away amongst the loud chatter and gradually louder rumbling of the skies with a practised proficiency, almost missing the ding of the bell that goes off when the front door opens.

You're in a hurry to serve though, not catching the person entering and by the time you've placed the dishes down in front of the hungry teenagers who ordered them, you only catch the same broad back with a mop of brilliant blonde hair walking towards one of the tables and sitting with their back facing towards you. The tourist from before.

The first few drops of rain are fat droplets of water, you’re in the kitchen again, the steam of dimsums and steamed vegetables greeting you as you stir a pot of clear soup, heating it exactly for three minutes and then ladling the slightly frothy and thickened with cornstarch liquid into white bowls, plating them on a large tray, ready to be handed out. With Seungmin, your usual helping hand, on a three day leave, you suddenly found yourself helping with the serving and cooking simultaneously, Felix helping you out as much as he could but he could only do so much, especially when Minho required him in the back, chopping and cooking. Regardless, you appreciated the help and didn’t mind the extra work.

There wasn’t really a concept of the intricacies of cooking like in high end restaurants such as the ones in the city, in fact, all the recipes were a Kim family heirloom, handed down through generations before Minho came and changed up the dynamic in his own way without ever entirely changing the essence of it. The noodles were handmade, the vegetables cut using only a knife, without worrying about the exact thickness of the onion  rings – at the end of the day, really, no one cared about all that fancy stuff, satisfied to just be able to enjoy the same old dishes.

Maybe that’s why you stayed, even though you had craved change so longingly. In the end, you only found comfort in what was familiar.

A new order is strung up on the mesh wire. You’re already out the doors with the previous order, the rain now having picked up pace and turned into a steady drizzle. It already smelled like wet earth and freshly mown grass. You have no time to stop and appreciate the scenery though, quite literally hustling now since it was only you on serving duty now.

The sound of chatter increases, the rain falls harder, harsher, the already dim diner turns darker and gloomier, only alive with the constant chattering of people and the sound of cutlery. Felix rings from the front, handing you the order for table number five, a two seater near the window where the blonde haired tourist sat, head turned towards the window and watching the rain as it poured now.

You smile and lift the tray, wincing when your wrist bends a bit too painfully, almost dropping the tray but you’re quick to disregard it as you move with caution now, slightly breathless at the exertion. You might not be complaining but it seemed like you did mind the lack of another helping hand what with the diner being busier on weekends.

“Order for dim sums and udon,” you say, carefully picking up the bowl and pot of steamed dim sums and placing them on the table with a pair of chopsticks, “enjoy your meal.”

You look up at the man, your perfunctory smile for the customers already making its way up to your lips before you abruptly stop short, lips awkwardly turning back down in belated realisation.

You stare at the man with a breath you don’t even realise you’re holding, the cogs in your brain positively churning, and yet you don’t exude the bewilderment on your face, containing it in your chest with pursed lips and a choked up throat.

“Hey (y/n), it’s been a while…” the man smiles, the dimples on his cheeks deepening then vanishing when he realises you don’t return his greeting.

Your claw-like hold around the tray goes limp, almost slipping through your fingers as you stare dumbstruck and quite idiotically. The rain pounds on the roof like a torrent of bullets outside as if to maim, trees swaying under nature's assault, the diner lights up in a yellow glow under the darkening sky. 

A jolt of pain surges through your wrist again, your fingers twitching against the serving dish. The noise in the diner heightens, a dull throb in your head like blood rushing up too suddenly, the heat from the kitchen suddenly turned reminiscent even though you had just been in there not even five minutes ago.

A loud gust of wind blows through the cracks of the doors and windows, carrying with it tiny splatters of rain that tickle the back of your neck as it seeps through your loose knitted sweater and settles like a chill in your bones.

It doesn’t bother you.

TWO – ON A SATURDAY AFTERNOON.

It was late by the time Chan woke up.

Rubbing his eyes groggily, he groaned at the light filtering through his windows, covering his face with his hands, his limbs still weighing him down in a relaxed state on his worn out mattress. The time on his phone read way past noon, and with an absentmindedness induced by his just woken up mind, he noted that this was by far the most he had slept in an entire week.

Sitting up on his bed, he scratches his naked chest, recalling getting rid of his shirt sometime in the middle of the night when he kept tossing and turning against his sheets. Lazily stretching out his limbs, he lets out a loud yawn that makes his jaw hurt and eyes tear up.

He has no plans today, except staying at home and studying for semester finals. He wasn’t looking forward to it, his body promptly confirming that doubt when he plopped back down, head hitting the pillow with a dull throb.

His phone buzzed somewhere around him, his hands prodding and searching amongst the scrambled up sheets for the device. A message from Jisung reminding him to cover his afternoon shift at the cafe and thanking him yet again. He groans when he realises he promised Jisung to cover for him today and only had a little more than two hours to get ready and as he had been putting it these days, get his shit together. Two hours was more than enough, it wasn’t like he had much to do except shower, eat and smoke a cigarette.

His thumb scrolled through his planner app, his day cleared off his usual ‘history - finish module 1’ to ‘cafe shift!’, the former shifted to a later part of the day since weekends were mostly flexible for him.

Chan had fallen into a habit of planning his days, which meant every day on his calendar had been planned to the T weeks prior, from exactly every single activity and chore he would carry out the following month so that by the end of it, he had something going on for him. If Friday was grocery shopping, then no matter how tired he was after an extended tutoring session, he’d be there at the 24/7 mart at three AM, slapping watermelons to check their ripeness or grabbing whatever was left of the fresh kale in the isles.

For the majority of his day, he was impelled to study for his finals in a week from now, hunched over his desk cramming his History of Photography III textbook wondering why this was necessary in the first place, while he tried not to be distracted by the imposing anxieties of the world waiting for him after these last few months of the protection of his university.

In his final year of his photography major, he couldn’t deny the increasing apprehension of having to step out from under the protective umbrella over his head, his professor’s chimes of his prodigal achievements deemed smaller and superficial the nearer he approached his graduation. Already politely turned away from three interning companies, his alleged talent was under full threat of being judged and tossed aside as an average to decent performance. He still had a few months, but time either seemed to slow down on some days and yet on others speed past him in a whimsical blur where he would be left reeling under his unproductiveness and the growing pain in his chest of not being enough.

His planning had not all been in vain; he had started off with a fresh mind, keeping up with applying for internships, completing his assignments all the while working at a cafe that had been a godsend in the form of Jisung and his unusual knack for convincing the manager to get another barista even though they weren’t short of staff, and on some days doing photoshoots for weddings and the fashion department for a decent wage. He was adulting, and though his sixteen year old self had looked forward to the prospect of this notion, now he wanted nothing but to go back to those days.

It was this same prospect that had excited him when he received a full scholarship to his university in Seoul. Much of his life, all he could remember was spending it in the hills, where even though the weather was pleasant and the people were kind, his starry eyed dreams as a teenager to leave that small town and move to a metropolitan city had been a fixation – a drive for him to work hard and shoot his shot and get out of that place.

It was nice for a while, he was in his honeymoon phase, quite literally marvelling at the fast paced life in the streets, adrenaline filled lungs breathing in the new life excitedly till his nights bled into days which bled into more nights and not long after, he felt like he was dangling from the hands of a clock that dictated every move he made.

He forgot about his home in the meantime, so caught up in the chaos of everyday life, of the same smell of coffee and baked buns, the same fabric of his brown apron, the same bus to the university campus, the same classes with a professor droning on about visual literacy, the same stick of cigarette dangling between his lips, the same stress of finals every year. Same, same, same. Boring. Mundane. Exhausting.

The stars in his eyes dulled with every passing day, his room often reeked of takeout food, prints upon prints of films lay in a scatter across his desk, none of them seemingly what people were looking for.

Turning the shower cap on, Chan lets himself dwell on his mundanity, at the end of the day he was another faceless person in the crowd because the city was too big and too grand and too dazzling that it hid all other beings in its shadows. It was a big wide hole, a void sucking everybody in. Chan was also lost somewhere in there, lured in by the diamond like gleam at first sight, only to be trapped in a tedious life where he competed against himself every day without knowing what he was competing for. It was like sitting in a test without knowing what he was to be tested on.

The water spurts out ice like in the cold January, making him flinch when it hits him out of nowhere. But he stays rooted under the showerhead, standing his ground till he got used to the temperature and the water gradually turns lukewarm. It reminds him of a memory in the back of his head, of children squealing and a water fight. He urges the images to go away, inexplicably chastised at the mere thought of it. He was no child anymore, whining for a nostalgic summer in the cold months.

The water has always been Chan’s greatest friend.

In fact, he’d go as far as to say that it’s been a sort of companion to him when he was younger. He claims so only because of a vivid recollection of throwing himself in the huge wave with his dad yelling at him before two strong arms picked him up and away from the clutches of the water.

He had whined, missing the way the foamy waves had engulfed him in a topaz hug, the sand under his feet dissolving like air through his toes, the silky curtain leaving him drenched and longing for a taste of more. He whined and whined and whined till at last he was sent to swimming lessons just to shut him up. That, and also, his parents didn’t want their son to drown doing something reckless like that again.

He was comfortable in the water. It held him snuggly in its embrace and when he dunked his head underneath and opened his eyes, he was met with a blue silence that deafened any other noise with its dulcet palms over his ears.

Under the comfort of the transparent blanket, the voices and shapes above his head were garbled and distorted and a part of him liked that. A part of him liked to envision those shapes as blurry blobs speaking a gibberish language. He didn’t have to put a name to them nor try to distinguish them from one another; a childhood fantasy that became a habit and stuck like a leech to him.

It’s a calming fixation on most days now when he doesn’t have to worry about his career. But of course, we will talk about it, because there’s a trouble plaguing everybody in the small nooks and crannies of their life, some people just let it stay there, oblivious to its existence and others have a hard time fighting it off when it seeps into their bones like moist vapour, settling down heavily in the calcium crevices.

Chan likes to believe this process of staying underwater for as long as his lungs permits him to, now heavy with the smoke he’s injected in them, as cathartic. A shit load of help that is when he’s vividly aware of his rotting insides with what he had done to them himself, but regardless, he likes to think that the longer he stays in water, he’s ridding himself of the plague that is always a hair’s breadth away from attaching themselves to his core, except he takes the extra measure of ensuring that he’s inhaling chlorine water if he loses control and spluttering in surprise as if that weren’t his intention from the start.

He wouldn’t like to admit it, but it was his coping mechanism as Jisung had put it so blatantly, because doing so would mean he needed help. He didn’t need help. He just liked to hold his breath underwater when things got slightly inconvenient, but that did not equate to needing help.

He’s out of the shower soon enough, draping on a black hoodie in his cramped one-and-a-half room apartment, the most he could afford under his crippling student loan, strolling towards the tiny refrigerator for breakfast. There’s only some leftover kimchi, a day-old kimbap roll and ripe bananas.

Chan didn’t have a dining table, he didn’t deem it necessary, rather a hassle to fit it into his tiny apartment, especially when he ate all his meals alone, which he could do perfectly well sitting on the ground with his back against his beaten down couch, the plastic takeout containers placed on the low coffee table and his laptop beside it, playing some movie he put on for the sake of a break from his hectic days.

Yet, he wasn’t entirely unhappy with the way things had turned out. His gaze trails up from where he sat on the couch, the wall in front of him bereft of any photo frames but filled with strings of polaroids and sticky notes. The grainy films with smiling people – his friends, sticky notes, crumpled and some torn and taped back with silly doodles and one with a lipstick stain – Chan still smiles, even though the paper jaggedly torn and the number of the girl who hit on him at the bar two years ago tossed out a long time ago, Hyunjin had thought it funny to add the memento to a growing collection of silly, smiling people on the wall. He was happy, he was fine. He had friends, they loved him and he loved them.

But why couldn’t he smile? Why were his muscles so tense and tired? The food in his mouth suddenly feels too hard to chew, his jaws aching and throat burning when he swallows. His eyes suddenly blurry, a thin curtain of moisture veils them. One moment he swallowed the smoke of his cigarette and the very next he gasped for air like a novice beginner.

He was fine, but as he sat there with a mouthful of rice, he couldn't stop the tears that rolled down his face in a gentle stream.

THREE – UNFINISHED CHAPTERS

The present would not exist for you had there not been a past.

In hindsight, everything that you did now, whatever you were now, had all been because of who you had been in the past, or rather whatever scraps the past had left you to be sewn.

You wake up rested, but even more exhausted than when you went to bed. Your days sewing a paradoxical blanket whose weight you had gotten used to.

You’ve never paid much attention to how people around you felt, because mostly they were happier than you were with dysfunctional families and it only rooted a sense of deep reproach in you; how were you not allowed to be this happy? How could people smile and pretend the stench of their broken homes didn’t stick on their clothes and seep through their skin, following them around wherever they went? How did people go around you without feeling the continuous need to scratch that itch of jealousy and resentfulness of not having what someone else did?

You realised it was so jarringly easy to disassociate yourself from all that under a pair of chocolate eyes that stared down at you kindly, just a sliver of boyish mischievousness behind them, but the inexplicable yet unavoidable comfort of slowly easing yourself into a sense of warmth that they brought.

It's the smallest of things that lead to a bigger plan premeditated all along and in your case it was the forgotten pencil pouch on your study table at home that fateful Wednesday morning. Of course you scrambled around, rummaging through your bag in the hopes of finding a stray pen in the depths of it, but it was no luck and you had resigned yourself to borrowing one from the person sitting behind you except, he seemed to have beaten you to it.

Three little taps on your shoulder had you turning around to a kind smile and an upraised hand with a pencil between its fingers, motioning at you to take it.

You decided then that you didn’t like this boy.

It was an impulsive decision, yet it was one of those intuitive feelings of having an immaculate dislike to someone who didn’t mind being scoffed for helping the scapegoat of the class, perfectly capable of ignoring the disbelieving stares of his classmates.

Had the sixteen year old you sensed an ulterior motive to his actions? Or had you just reproached the genuinity in his eyes? You had ultimately accepted his offering, the wooden stick with its yellow plastic wrapping around its shaft feeling alien against your fingers, but before long you had learnt to ignore the confused glares directed towards you and pressed the lead against your workbook as you proceeded to work in silence.

You weren’t at the extreme brunt of your class’s ramifications of simply wanting to be on the top of something, but you weren’t exactly the most ingrained in its social gratifications either; it was perhaps your aloofness to it all that made you a part of the outcasts. So far, eating alone had worked out for you, jogging along the track at your own pace had suited you, spending your time in one corner of the library in your free time had been gratifying.

In spite of making it clear that it was what you preferred, you found yourself being plagued by him at all times. Those brown eyes seemed to be looking out for you everywhere you went and the kind smile always curled on his lips when you finally took notice. You didn’t like it, not one bit, starting from the way the chair beside you at lunch was always occupied, there was always a pair of panting lungs when you jogged along the track field and the ever so present sound of pages being flicked in your ears in a spot in the library that was supposed to be only yours.

You didn’t like finding yourself gazing up at a pair of chocolate orbs, drowning you in their depths every time you stared too hard, a beat longer than you were supposed to. An unusual friendship bloomed out of it, one where you reprised your aloofness and Chan, his endearing demeanour of sticking to you like a leech. The much too energetic one and the much too tired one – a dynamic your classmates had never expected, but you weren’t complaining when it acted like a shield before eventually, they started to take less notice of you. Or transitioning to high school made them mature.

Your dislike for him did not arise of its own accord; at first it had been a conscious decision to resent someone who looked happier than you. But even the most stubborn person can be moved by genuinity, and you had never quite turned entirely stone cold stubborn. Perhaps he had saved you in a way, for a brief moment, but he had prevented you from walking down the steps of the dark void.

Where does one even start with Chan? In all fairness, you didn’t think you would ever have to start with him again; he was an unfinished chapter in your book you had long decided to omit. You were sure if you were to ever pen down your autobiography, you would not mention him in the least, treating him like the air around you, unnecessary to bring to notice.

But even air is ever so present, though not required to be brought up in everyday conversations because of its unconsciously silent presence.

He would be there, under countless drafts of your uneventful life, the pages filled with a curly haired, brown-eyed boy whose cheeks blossomed into dimples when he smiled. It was romantic, it was tragic. It was a story you wished would never end, but even so, the gurgling pit in your stomach ever so present served as a reminder that every story has an ending.

The only thing worse than having an ending would be an unfinished book. You hid under the cover of the pristine pages under this reassurance, that Chan would not be an unfulfilled fragment of memory you would jot down in ink like a summer dream, before exactly that happened. Aloofness causes no pain until brought to reality.

The basis of your friendship lay on a strong foundation of your peculiarly clashing personalities, interests and fears.

While Chan was a social butterfly in your school, you were the quiet one simply there for education. Making friends had never been your forte nor was that on the forefront of your mind for as long as you could remember. Till Chan, quite literally, thrust himself into your life.

Yet, quite amusingly, he was the one who made you resent the water less.

There has only been one instance you’ve had a brush with (almost) drowning, but it made you regard the prospect of even stepping near a water body a daunting and scary once.

You were in second grade, the time when people this age are usually immature little brats and would do anything for the sake of entertainment. You had only learnt how to doggy paddle and float in water, but even so the thought of trying to stay afloat in the 6 feet deep end, the idea of not being able to feel the ground with your feet, had daunted you and you pretty much made it through every time by just swimming along the length in quick strokes till you were certain the water didn’t reach above your waist with your feet touched the slippery ground beneath.

It was an unpleasant surprise therefore, to find yourself being pushed into the deeper end out of nowhere, your body falling straight down vertically and your inability to come up to the surface making you take huge gulps of air which in turn only choked you more. It was quite a scene, your limbs flailing and silent screams of help escaping in bubbles through your lips.

You never went near a pool again. 

Almost four years later, you feel yourself drowning again - in a set of familiar eyes you had already once found yourself a victim to ages ago. The familiarity was nostalgic, akin somewhat to finding a lost piece of jewellery years later after you thought you had lost it. And it was so different. It was breathing and suffocating at the same time, it was fear and euphoria in a concoction, it was too much all at once. You liked it. You hated it. You hated liking it. You liked hating it. You… you missed it. You didn’t resent it.

You find yourself getting drawn into those eyes again, perhaps similar to the way you had back then, ever since, but you've never quite been able to place this feeling.

You've both changed drastically, it’s not just physically you’re sure; he looks wiser, more tired and much more mature. You catch a whiff of mint breath fresheners, a scent you had never associated with him but nonetheless so characteristic of him, you couldn’t call it alien or unlikely of him to adopt it.

Yet it's more than that, he is just so... so very beautiful.

You blink.

Once, twice and thrice. He grows shy (or perhaps uncomfortable) under your gaze, flickering his eyes down to the condensing drops of water glazing around his cup of iced tea, beaded diamonds easily destructible with a flick of his fingers. He twists his digits in his lap, resisting the urge to do so.

You wonder what would have happened had you not forgotten your pencil case at home that Wednesday morning.

“Hi (y/n), long time…”

The din inside the restaurant feels like white noise, it’s everywhere, sticking to your thin sweater, buzzing through your hair, nipping at your skin.

“Long time indeed…”

You smell like dishwater and oil. Chan smells like breath mints.

“Good to…see you?”

White noise. Humming, buzzing, electrifying. Everywhere; on your skin, on your clothes, in your hair.

“Yeah. Yeah, you too.”

“Enjoy your food then.”

Perunctionary smile, polite bow, retreating steps.

“Um (y/n),” a halt in your steps, you turn around, “we should…hang out some time. Catch up, maybe?”

Expectant eyes, hopeful voice, cautious words.

Do you want to finish this chapter after all?

FOUR – ICED TEA IN A SPOT OF SUN.

Most people don’t understand the amount of theoretical knowledge that goes into a major like photography, it’s not always pointing a lens wherever you want and taking a picture. Anybody can do that, anybody can be good at taking pictures without having to pay for a degree for the same.

Nonetheless, Chan rose beyond the intimidating notion of having to do well. He enjoyed what he did, had a passion for it and therefore he thought he could make it past four years banking only on his passion and talent.

What nobody told him was the world outside was too cold, too frigid – downright ignorant of him and his flame that spluttered out the second he stepped outside. He was a nobody in the huge bowl of success stories chosen at random by the universe. 

In fact, who was Chan at this point? What was he?

Another product of the society that force feeds their generation to do well…. No, he had risen above that semantic error, he had worked hard, he had understood every single text and every single parabolic function in his textbooks rather than remembering them by heart before throwing up the texts jammed in his head on his exam papers.

He read every single book like they held the world’s greatest information, studied extra hard, solved equations for the mere fun of it all because he wanted to understand; he wanted to know the working behind them, dismantle them and play with them.

And yet here he was, twenty three and supposedly much wiser than when he was in middle school, and still! He understood nothing, what was he supposed to be doing?

All his life, he had been fed the grains of being a talented individual, sure to do great things, of having such a pleasant personality, someone who would never hurt a fly. Someone loved, adored and precious to not just family and acquaintances but even to fleeting strangers who strayed into his life momentarily.

It’s admittedly easier to hold back on such thoughts as of the moment though, when Chan is busy battling the cobwebs all over his clothes and sneezing into his hands so he doesn’t further unsettle all the dust around him.

Since the day he arrived, he’s been at the gargantuan task of cleaning up his old house in the hills. Granted, his parents had put it out for rent even as a holiday home, they had never hired someone to regularly keep this place in check. Now that their son was back in the hills for a few months at the most, they were more than happy to let him stay sans the rent.

While it wasn’t all that bad, he would have to call in for some minor plumbing work and look at the light out front in the porch since it wouldn’t work and he had almost tripped on his own feet trying to navigate his way to the front door through the dark.

Though only a week had passed, he had not made his presence known explicitly. He knew for a fact that you and Minho had stayed back, he wasn’t sure he was up for a rendezvous with the town people. It wasn’t like him to avoid social gatherings, he had indeed noticed most of the older folks who were still here, but he would much rather have some time to himself before stepping out and announcing his visit.

So he busied himself with cleaning up the house, turning down his mother’s proposal to find a helping hand, insisting that he would rather do it himself. He needed that time for himself, and though a helping hand sounded like a godsend, the ache in his back every night he went to bed almost felt gratifying. The dust in his nose and the grit under his nails did not.

Though a part of him was slightly impatient in wanting to reach out to his old friends, it was also equally anxiety inducing to anticipate your reactions. Where does one even start with such things? Back in the city, it was easy to lose connection for weeks during finals, but there was an unspoken bond of reconnecting right after with a simple text and a coffee date down a few blocks.

Chan hasn’t been here in almost four years. That was four years of lost contact and unknowingly, it was suddenly starting to weigh down on him of how quickly the time had passed by without him even noticing. How do you reconnect with friends you haven’t talked to in so long?

The answer came in the form of his front door ringing on his fourth day while he was in the midst of scrubbing a particularly stubborn spot of grime on the floor.

He opened the door wearing his rubber gloves, sweating and with a frown at the interruption. The moment the stranger makes themself known, Chan is gasping in recognition and grinning almost like his ten year old self had – all too bubbly and pleasantly surprised.

“Minho! Holy shit!”

The boy in question smiles back gleefully, pulling Chan in for a hug disregarding the protest and a faint cry of dirty gloves and clothes.

Chan pulls back and stands at his doorstep, watching almost in awe as Minho takes his shoes off and lifts up a box wrapped in blue cloth, grinning down at the boy who had been a dominant part of his childhood. He still had his catty eyes and pouty smile and was as tall as Chan himself, maybe even taller, definitely a toned physique since when he last saw him in high school. Still reeling under slight shock, he realises he hasn’t stopped ogling at the boy till pointed out rather sassily by him.

“I know I grew up handsome and all, butt geez, are you gonna invite me in or stand here the whole day?”

Letting out a fond scoff, Chan leads him in, still grinning.

Minho sits on the floor where Chan had laid out a jute mattress for the time being, all his furniture subjected to a rough dusting and cleaning out in the backyard where they now sat basking in the sun before he would bring them in later in the evening.

“Sorry for the mess, and uh, lack of furniture,” Chan remarks sheepishly, bringing out a large glass flask of filled honey lemon tea and two glasses, “I’ve been making this place habitable again.”

“No worries, I don’t mind.”

Chan adjusts the table fan to face them, taking a seat beside him in a spot of sunlight streaming in through the huge windows in the front. Though colder in the evenings and at night, Chan lived at the foot of the hill where it was comparatively warmer for most part of the day and his house always received a good spot of the sun during afternoons.

Minho takes a swig from his cup, letting out a sigh of satisfaction when the cold drink hit the right spots and pushes the box towards Chan.

“I brought you some food, guessed you could use some when I heard you’ve been ordering takeout for three days straight.”

Chan eagerly unwraps the bundled knot to find a huge wooden lunch box sitting within.

“Thanks a lot Minho, your mom sent this?”

“No, I made it.”

“You did?!”

Minho scoffed at the look of surprise on Chan’s face and he worried he might have offended him in some way, but before he could apologise, Minho cut in.

“Yeah, I went to culinary school and know how to cook now, surprise!”

If anything, all the new information was only slightly overwhelming to Chan who was still getting used to his old friend’s presence again in his childhood home. It was reminiscent and nostalgic.

“That’s great! We should…we should catch up some day, there’s so much I want to talk about.”

“I’m sure there is,” Minho smiles and Chan can place him again in his memories of a sixteen year old nerdy boy with a shy smile and glasses, “I would love to as well. You should come over to Kim’s Diner, it’s on the top of the hill. I work there now.”

“Hey, I remember Kim’s Diner. Wow, you work there now…that’s just…wow.”

Minho laughs again at his friend’s disbelief. It was fascinating how much had changed in the past few years and yet, now that they sat here chatting and catching up, it was easy as always to laugh and smile in each other’s presence.

“So…culinary school huh? I always thought you would either end up majoring in CS or performing arts maybe. Not that it’s not good, I just mean, you know…you were always inclined towards those.”

Minho contemplates the question for a while, leaning back on his palms and stretching his toes in the sunlight. Chan takes the time to gaze at him more; he really has changed so much. His naturally black hair was dyed a dark midnight blue now, falling gracefully across his eyes that were bereft of the glasses he had been so used to. His hands are more callused and the veins visible, posture so much more mature and confident. Lee Minho had grown up so well, and a surge of pride flowed through Chan at the sight. He was happy for the man Minho had become and proud of him even though he didn’t know all that was to know yet. But that was okay, they will catch up gradually. Yet, there was no doubt Chan would only feel more proud of his friend.

“I guess I didn’t see it coming either. It just sort of happened. I think I met Seungmin around that time and he may have hinted that I could make some real use of this talent. The rest is sort of history.”

“Seungmin?” Chan asks, not missing the fond smile on Minho’s face.

“My boyfriend.”

“Huh?!” 

“Why, is there a problem?” There was a split second of defensiveness to his tone that is not lost on Chan but he'll be damned if Chan made the impression of being against it.

“I mean! I don’t care if you date boys…I mean I care of course, but like– not as in…it’s not a problem, not that I consider it one! I just meant that you– that…”

Minho cocks a brow at his friend, stifling the laughter bubbling up his chest at the way Chan’s ears grew hot and red and the man basically stuttered his way through the piece of information.

“It’s just…you keep dropping all this stuff out of nowhere, I’m just surprised. In a good way, I mean!”

With that Minho finally laughs, and it’s only then that Chan can really recognise his friend behind all the changes. The soft tinkle of his voice and the uncontained glee as he almost rolls on the floor. Ah yes, this was Lee Minho indeed – his childhood friend.

Chan cracks a smile, joining in the laughter and sipping iced tea late into the afternoon. They talk a lot, from university to life in the city and the hills and old memories and friends and all the new people in their lives but there’s still so much to uncover and so little time.

It was around half past five when Minho finally stretched on his spot on the floor and sat up.

“I should head back now, I need to start preparing for the dinner shift. Besides, Seungmin’s leaving for Seoul tonight, I promised to spend some time with him.”

“Oh?” Chan remarks, sitting up too from where he had been slouching against the wall, “he’s leaving tonight? I was hoping I could meet him.”

“Oh don’t worry, he’ll be back in a few days. He got invited to a teaching camp for extra credits and he intends to go. You know Shinha University in the next town? He works there as a TA.” Minho says with some pride.

Chan nods in acknowledgement, walking Minho to the door where the latter struggles to wear his shoes standing up, eliciting an amused chuckle from him.

“Hyung, you should come to the diner tomorrow. I’ll treat you to a meal and…you can also meet (y/n).”

For the first time since the afternoon, Minho had almost cautiously let your name slip into the conversation. He would like to think it sneaky of him, but the stunned look on Chan’s face almost made him feel guilty for not mentioning your earlier.

Chan on the other hand simply stood and stared at Minho who met his gaze sheepishly.

“(y/n) is…still here?”

Minho nods, shoving his hands inside his pocket.

“Oh. I guess I could drop by sometime this week.”

Biting his lips, Minho contemplates his next words carefully, trying to decipher what the smile on Chan’s face meant and whether he had crossed the line or not. When it seemed like Chan wasn’t upset at him, he ventures to say:

“We all missed you, you know? And…(y/n) had a bit of a hard time after you left,” taking a deep breath, he confesses, “but you’re back now so…so maybe we could all catch up.”

Breathlessly, Chan nods with a clenched jaw. He forces himself to keep smiling though his chest has suddenly started weighing down on him. He knows that Minho probably didn’t mean to keep your being here a secret, but just the minuscule realisation that he had waited until he was leaving made him wonder whether this had been the intent of his visit after all. Regardless, the soft undertone to his words was not lost on him and he was thankful to Minho for letting him know.

“We will Minho, I promise. I just gotta…figure some stuff out and then I can face my past I guess.” A light chuckle follows his statement and Minho smiles, tight lipped.

Chan bids him a good night and stands on his porch, staring at Minho’s back till it grows smaller the further he walks away. The sun was already touching the tip of the mountains by the time he retreated into his house, picking up the empty glasses and placing them in the sink.

Though for a moment Chan wanted to believe he could carry on with a few more chores before night fell, he doesn’t let himself feel too bad when he retires into his room and flops down on the mattress with a thump.

Closing his eyes, he drifts into a slumber, gulping down the thoughts of facing his past and a certain someone who kept plaguing his mind all night.

FIVE – MINT AND NICOTINE.

When Chan had left right after graduating high school, a part of him had also been sad regardless of the exciting prospect of a new life awaiting him.

He had to ultimately leave his friends behind and too many memories that had been a part of him since childhood. He felt like he was trying to bury their existence by leaving and it filled him up with immense guilt at the thought.

Yet, perhaps the most heartbreaking part would have been your muffled sobs against his chest, your hot tears falling into his red scarf and soaked up into a wet patch. He might have shed some tears too, but in his grief stricken mind, he had been too concerned with your sobs that had threatened to wrench his heart and tear it in two.

You had known, even then, that Chan would leave one day; that this sedentary lifestyle would never suit him and there lay your varying personalities. All you knew, and accounted it to therefore, was that he had always been a restless person. Always looking to do something all the time.

Sitting and merely observing like you, was not a glove he fit into. Always volunteering for events, the first one to suggest dragging you around town during your breaks against your protests which were laughed off with a promise of a fun time. You didn’t want a fun time; you wanted to stay home and sleep in till well past noon and spend the remaining of your day reading. Chan wanted nothing more than to be the one to teach you how  to swim.

It was a fateful summer. Eventful, mostly for him. While you spluttered in four feet water, he swam past you in obnoxious strokes, splashing your face with more water. It enraged you, and yet you didn’t just up and leave, fumed at him maybe but he took it all in stride.

You wonder why he stuck by you, you used to have such an awful temper, even you wouldn’t want to spend time with yourself.

But Chan was driven by his restlessness, his enigmatic soul if you may. You may have learnt to float and master the front stroke at the cost of many a gleeful and not-so-peaceful days, but watching Chan glide in the pool like a fish, as if it were his natural habitat, was a reward in itself. It was peaceful too, simply sitting with your feet dipped in water while he bobbed up and down in the water gracefully.

Unaffiliating yourself from the constant presence of the boy you had grown used to had been more difficult for you than you had ever thought it to be. You tried not to mind too much when your phone never rang and no new messages popped up either. You were already easing yourself into the realisation that Chan had indeed forgotten about you.

For a fact, it seemed to have been of some consolation when you found out that Minho has lost all contact with Chan too. It definitely hurt significantly less, but you both grieved the distance together.

You supposed, and accepted eventually, that this was part of life. Of friends who would come and go – some would stay and some would leave, the pain will be there, s bit of regret of not being able to protect those relations, but in the end you would have to swallow it like a bitter pill and make do with what you had.

Except, it had been so hard for someone like you. University had not treated you well, if anything it had been like a huge blow across your face. Where once you had certainly been a part of the above average crowd, you had faced the wrath of being placed even below decent performance and gradually let yourself believe that it was all you would sum up to be.

Minho had kept you company, been there when you were feeling at your lowest and held your shoulders shaking with your sobs in his arms when you finally broke down. He had assured you that you were no less, nor would you ever be so, if you decided to give up. People made the wrong choices all the time, there was no need to beat yourself up over it no matter how much you justified yourself for it.

You dropped out and Minho loved you the same. Things were okay; you were okay.

Chan had become a distant part of your memory by then. Relationships were not a part of your life and the more you floundered in an unknown place, the thinner the strings connecting you to people became until they finally snapped and you were left quite alone. You embraced this life as best as you could and did what you could. You worked whatever small jobs you could, learnt a little bit of cooking from Minho and stacked away all your hard work to get into uni in a closet you never opened; what was it worth anyway when it got you nowhere in the end.

You had not planned out your entire life and it had played to your advantage. You didn’t feel as disappointed in things as you would have earlier because you didn’t expect things to follow a predetermined path.

There was so much to say about this matter, but who really wants to wallow in disappointment? There were still moments in your life when you would wake up with a heavy heart and an empty mind. Days like those would be harder to see through, every move you made pulling on your muscles and tugging you down under their heavy weight. You would want to cry and yet find yourself unable to. There would be no meaning to why you did what you did, an urge to find out what would happen if you stopped doing those things and a desire to sleep for a long, long time.

Yet you would sit at night in an empty house, curled into yourself and find that you were incapable of doing anything. You would wait for the next day to arrive and the clock would tick ever so painstakingly slow.

So when you found yourself facing the blonde boy, tall and broad with kind brown eyes you had once drowned in looking at you, the ghost of the past you didn’t even realise had lurked within you was suddenly coming back to life without a warning, that it left you breathless.

You felt your head being dunk underwater, cold and dark liquid enveloping you as you struggled to resurface and gulp the air greedily.

Minho had dragged you, against your protests after a long and tiring day, to the community hall where a meeting was supposedly about to start promptly at eight in the evening.

So far, most of the townsfolk that had arrived had managed to snag the front seats, leaving you, Minho and Felix to grab ones in the middle. They were good spots, hidden behind people so Minho could make fun of whatever new agenda was going to be discussed and not get caught snickering. You don’t understand why Minho forces himself to sit in these meetings when he doesn’t even pay attention, but you’ve found it’s his way of relaxing after a long day and part of the reason is because he gets to hang around town before finally heading home.

Initially it had been because of Seungmin, their cat and mouse bickering, quite the talk of the town, and under a very teasing confrontation from you and Felix, Minho had given away his little growing crush on the boy he had referred to as his ‘arch enemy’. 

The three of you wait while chatting, Minho texting on his phone and you can only assume it’s Seungmin, waiting for the town head to arrive along with everybody else. He seemed to be running late, because soon the large hall filled up with people until there’s practically no more seats left.

It has been two days since you last saw Chan.

Well, you’ve seen him since then, but never gone up to him or started a conversation. You had almost bumped into him at the grocery store, but quickly retreated in your steps to avoid him. There had suddenly been too much Chan in your life, even though you had only seen him a couple of times since he last showed up at your workplace, and it had left you feeling confused and weird at having his familiar face pop up in a place as mundane and everyday as your local grocery store.

Quite frankly, you wouldn’t like to ponder upon the reason for doing so because you already know it arises from a place of pettiness and of an urge to make him taste his own medicine. Minho though, as you had gathered from the boy himself, had met up with Chan on more than one occasion since he last came to the diner. Though he had not raised any questions on your part since you largely avoided talking to him about Chan, he had been unable to keep you out of his conversations with the said boy since he had been so keen on asking about you every time they met.

Chan’s arrival back to your hometown had been weighing on your mind since forever. To you, his existence had become a strongly pronounced obstruction in your day to day life. You worried he would pop into the diner again and you almost anticipated it, you had nearly given in to Minho’s invitation to go down to his house.

Oh god, his house. You had more than enough memories of his house stored away in your mind, it almost made you sick with its overwhelming presence made known to you.

The seat next to you suddenly creaks when someone sits on it, your attention turning towards the source and you find yourself staring directly at the source of your worrying mind.

Chan smiles at you softly and you almost choke on your spit when you notice his newly dyed black hair and the small silver hoops in his ears.

“Hey (y/n), long time,” he offers you a small wave before greeting Minho.

“It’s been two days,” you resist the urge to roll your eyes, shifting ever so slightly towards Minho who was seated beside you. Chan notices, masking the sudden heaviness in his heart with a pursed smile, but doesn’t point it out.

“Chan, this is Felix, another helping hand at the diner and my junior at culinary school.” Minho speaks up, introducing Chan to the younger boy who smiles at him brightly while you sit stone faced in the middle of it all.

“Hey, nice to meet you, I’m–”

“Bang Chan, I know,” Felix smiles warmly and you can attest to the fact that Chan likes him immediately by the way he grins and his dimples appear, “I’ve heard a lot about you from Minho. He couldn’t stop talking about you, you’re like an idol to him or something.”

Minho turns red while Chan laughs shyly, the former smacking Felix on the head who retorts with an “you do!” and sticks out his tongue.

While Minho and Felix bicker, Chan smiles and turns his attention to you, about to say something when the huge doors to the hall suddenly opens and the town head walks in to loud protests from the people complaining about being kept waiting for too long. You glance at your wristwatch and sure enough, it was twenty minutes past eight.

You try your best to ignore the presence by your side and listen to the man talk – something about the annual spring festival still three months away – but it’s admittedly hard to do so when Minho and Felix keep snickering beside you like five year olds at a church and Chan’s cologne and the nicotine disguised under breath mints ever too present in your nose. You want to ingrain this scent in your memory but at the same time hold your breath till you choke and die.

Chan suddenly leans towards you, his lips close to your ears and whispers.

“Are town meetings usually this long?”

You nod at him and pretend to listen attentively to people now raising questions and concerns like they did in every meeting to discuss whether the town needed any new facilities or not.

Chan was a lot of things; he had been a lot of things. To you it was the strong smell of chlorine and the cheap aftershave he used to disguise the smell of the bleach. It was a mild odour of sweat mingling with those two scents and the freshly washed laundry detergent on his clothes. And if he leaned a bit closer, just to annoy you or tease you, then the slightest whiff of his papaya shampoo.

Realising now that he didn’t smell anything like that anymore, it makes you shudder at the revelation of the mint concealing the nicotine. Change must have been so drastic for him, that you could no longer find a place in your memories where he fit. He was gone, the youth from him was gone, long ditched in a puddle of illusion where things were still bright and days were pleasantly sunny and the world smelt like fresh rain on earth. The boyish glimmer was lost from his eyes, sucked deep by the void behind them.

Your own body itches under your clothes, the smell of soap and oil so deeply ingrained in your skin after your entire day at the diner, you’re almost certain he can smell it too.

However awkward you felt in your own skin right now, it was nothing compared to the obvious attempt Chan was making at conversing with you and your blatant refusal to offer him that, yet, it didn’t seem like Chan had any intentions of dropping the opportunity of a conversation.

“Are you free tonight? Minho said we might get dinner together after this.”

His voice is still hushed, but you cannot ignore the shiver that passes down your spine every time he leans in, clenching your fingers against the cold metal of your chair.

“Maybe.”

Twiddling his thumbs again, he chews on his bottom lip with a frown on his face. You miss his disappointment since you’ve made it your life’s mission to give your unfiltered attention to the town meeting, something you never thought you would do, but well, people change.

You are graced the chance to drop your hushed conversation when people start chattering around you and with a start you realise that the town meeting is over, everybody scraping their chairs against the floors and leaving in groups while some hang back to talk.

Felix is, thankfully, more than interested in your old friend and swoops down on the opportunity to strike up a conversation with Chan the minute he’s up from his chair; something that Chan obliges him with a lingering gaze that flits towards you. You step to the side with Minho, finding Felix more than capable to keep up a distinct string of chatter all by himself, sharing smiles with Minho at the sight.

“Did you tell Chan about the meeting?” you ask, pulling the scarf around your neck against the cold wind that blows in through the open doors. More and more people start leaving till it’s only a bunch of you who are left behind.

“Yeah, figured he could get out more and re-familiarise with the town.”

You nod at his explanation.

While Chan and Felix are still talking, your phone buzzes in your jeans pocket. Digging around to grab it, you let out a tired sigh at the caller ID. Minho peers at your screen and offers you a tight lipped smile, patting your back sympathetically. You excuse yourself and step out into the cold night to receive it.

“Mom, hi.”

“Hello (y/n), have you had your dinner yet?”

“Not yet, I was at a town meeting.”

“Again? Why do you even waste your time going to those?”

You feel it coming, this is where the conversation changes. And you’re not even four pleasantries in. You resist the urge to sigh yet again.

“Why did you call mom?” you know why she’s called.

“The semester applications are in three months, have you been studying?”

“Mom, I told you, I’m still thinking about it.”

“What in the world is there to think about? You’ve had enough time and I’ve wasted enough money on your hobbies already. Sit for the entrance exams and get into business school. At least get a degree!”

“I’ll think about it.”

“(y/n) please don’t start again, how many times do I have to repeat myself? Do you not care about your education? If you keep thinking now, when are you going to actually do something?”

“How many times do I have to repeat myself…I have no intentions of getting into business school mom, that’s just not for me.”

“Oh, so this is what you’ve been intending since the beginning then? Business school is not for you, you can’t even stick to…was it worth it? Was choosing your hobby as a career path worth it at all (y/n)? What exactly is it that you can do then? Waste your time and money? How are you going to get a job, how will you pay for yourself?”

“I’m doing it just fine right now, if you haven’t already noticed.”

The same shit, over and over again. You really can’t tell at what point of the day you would have to attend to these calls and have your entire day or night ruined.

“I’m tired of fighting with you over this (y/n),” your mom sighs on the other end, “do whatever you want.”

One would think that’s how you find yourself relieved of this matter, but that is exactly how it ends every time before you get another call like a weekly reminder that you are, in fact, not to forget.

“Good night,” you say and promptly cut the call. You’ll have to hear about this the next time she calls.

Taking in a long breath, you shut your eyes when you feel the prick of tears behind them. You could simply pay no heed to this and let it go, but you know you will overthink and you will definitely let it ruin your mood. The heaviness embedded in your muscles starts creeping up again and you find yourself, for a moment, panicking that your limbs will give away on the streets and you’ll fall down.

You hear the faint voices of your friends approaching and sniffle, blinking your eyes rapidly so the tears don’t fall. Instead, you feel the familiar weight like a pot of water quickly filling up, slithering its way into your head, a headache that will have settled by the time you reach home tonight.

Minho is the first to come stand beside you, gently pressing his arm against yours in a silent comfort. You wish he wouldn’t; it only makes it harder not to cry.

“We’re getting dinner down at Condiments, what do you say (y/n)?” Felix’s cheerfulness is lost on you. All you can focus on is the heaviness in your heart and your pounding head.

“Umm…I think I will skip.” you reply, causing Chan to look at you in concern. To be fair, you might be good at hiding your feelings, yet sometimes you cannot help but let it affect your mood. Right now, you know by the worried glance from Felix, that you were most certainly not doing a good job at concealing your distress.

“Everything okay?” Felix immediately moves to you, looping his arms through yours with a concerned pout.

You smile assuringly, not having it in you to let on that you were most certainly not fine right now.

“I’m okay Lix, just…got a headache and I’m tired. I’ll walk back home, y’all go get some dinner. I’ll join next time, I promise.”

“Okay,” Felix is convinced, you know that. In fact, you don’t feel half as bad for lying since you practically were telling the truth. You let him hug you before waving to Minho and nodding towards Chan before you start walking uphill.

“Wait,” Chan calls out from behind, making you turn in your tracks. Felix and Minho watch curiously as he approaches you.

“Let me walk you home? It’s late and–”

“Thanks Chan, but it’s alright, I walk home alone all the time, there’s nothing to be worried about. Besides, I live uphill and you live down here. It will only waste your time going up and down.”

“But–”

“I will be alright,” at this point you’re merely trying to convince yourself of the same, “I’ll see you…when I see you.”

Chan for sure is not convinced as easily as Felix. He may have missed four years being absent from your life, but he knows the signs of dismay on your face when he sees it even now. You may very well be tired and have a headache, but it still concerned him to see your gloomy expression. If you’re actively trying to avoid him right now though…

“Are you really fine? You don’t need any medicines for your headache? If it’s too bad then I can–”

“Chan,” you are firmer this time, smiling at him with a pained expression and a frustration poorly disguised under your breaking resolve of fighting your tears, “I am fine.”

Chan stands his ground for a moment in silence, inadvertently upset and slightly hurt that you were doing your best to push him away. He knows though, he cannot fight you on this; he has no rights. It’s only when Minho clutches his arm from behind does he relent.

“It’s alright Chan, (y/n)’s used to walking home alone and it’s not particularly dangerous either.”

You shoot Minho a thankful look.

“Okay,” Chan lets go, “you will let us know when you’ve reached home, right?”

“I will text Minho,” you promise, hurriedly agreeing to do whatever so long as you can finally leave.

“Okay then…get home safe.”

“I will. Good night guys, enjoy your dinner!”

A chorus of good-nights ring back and without sparing Chan another look, you walk away, alone with your thoughts and your drumming head.

SIX – PINE TEA, BURNT TONGUE.

Coming back to the hills has so far proven to be a good decision, as far as a healthy lifestyle goes.

Chan often finds himself waking up with the sun, even without an alarm, he would be up and about by at least eight in the morning and compared to sleeping in till after noon or not getting enough sleep at all, he preferred this. But on days that he would sleep way past noon, he wouldn’t wake up feeling anxious about the lost time at all.

He has also finally managed to clean the house, the strain in his muscles lasting for a few days for which he covered himself in pain relief patches, but otherwise it has been a fruitful journey. All that remains now is to set up his equipment in his old room. Though he’s out here on a break from life itself, he can never truly give up on the joys of his hobby-turned-career path. He almost never steps out without his camera when he’s wandering in the town, capturing the most mundane things and preserving the beauty in either his digital camera or in 8 mm films.

In the little time he had been back, Chan had taken over a hundred photos already. He didn’t believe in capturing everything visible to the eyes like some sort of maniac, but he also did not have anything against preserving memories.

It’s how he lived – through moments frozen in time, perhaps the only way he saw his little reign over life – by capturing them in films. It was his own solace, his peace of mind; something he could always come back to no matter how much the world around him changed. He would always have that piece of memory only he saw, something that would most likely change ten years down the line and he would look back on an old piece of glossy paper and be reminded of the world he had seen all those years ago.

This particular morning is not the most refreshing though. Last night had been a fun time indeed with Minho and Felix, catching up and recounting stories and exchanging more with Felix as a new friend. As promised, you had texted Minho when you reached home and that was all he had heard from and of you last night.

You had not ceased to plague his mind though, even long after he had bid goodnight to the others and walked back home. He had stayed up quite a while, slouched against his pillows, swiping through his collection of photos in the dark, the screen illuminating his face.

He had worried too for most part that the reason you left last night could have been him, because though you might have told him you weren’t avoiding him, the incident from his grocery store run kept replaying in his mind on loop.

He had definitely caught you rushing away from him but had decidedly not confronted you about it. What if you really were uncomfortable around him? If so, then he had promised not to bother you again, except, he just wasn’t sure whether he would be able to stay away from you much longer.

He’s reminded of the first time you met after so much time had passed, that day in the diner. You were wearing a thin sweater and your hair was in a mess like you were harried, serving and helping out in the kitchen. You had not cracked a smile then at first, staring at him wide eyed, and his first thought had been of how much you had grown up. How beautiful you had suddenly become.

Your cheeks were flushed with all the rushing about, strings of hair framing your naked face and he could tell that age and maturity had favoured you in all the right places even through your winter attire.

The thought makes him burn, his mind momentarily distracted at the very sight of you imprinted in his memory like all the pictures he captures. It’s not until late that sleep finally takes over him, but it’s a restless slumber that he tosses and turns through.

In the morning he’s met with a tourmaline sky, splotches of tissue like clouds splattered across as the sunlight filters through his windows. It was sunny and bright today and Chan squinted up at the sky through his window, rubbing his tired eyes as he lay basking in the January warmth that spread through his bones, toes curling up underneath the sheets.

Outside he hears the birds chirp in contrast to the constant honking and cars like in the city, and the air is filled with the sweet scent of pine and cyprus. Inhaling deeply, Chan feels like he must be in heaven.

His morning routine is unrushed and he takes his sweet time preparing breakfast and eating out on the verandah under the January sun above the hills, the rays of light bespeckling his skin in warm patches that danced with the trees in the gentle wind. It was a quiet meal and Chan was, for once, not planning his entire day out in his mind, though he did have a rough idea of how he might want to spend his day.

His phone pings with a message; it’s from his mom.

mom: morning son, don’t know if you’re up already, but this is your reminder to have a good day

The smile on Chan’s face is instant, he can’t help the little leap of joy in his chest at the sight.

mom: this is also a reminder to check your smoking habit

A small chuckle passes through his lips before he replies.

me: morning, your favourite son is already up. and he says he’s trying really hard to keep his smoking in check

mom: tell my favourite son (his words) to try harder

me: this is all dad’s fault you know?

mom: your mom is giving me the stink eye now, why did you have to say that to her - dad

Chan laughs in amusement, knowing that the last message was sent in good spirits and as a joke.

me: morning dad, hope you’re treating mom well!

mom: he is darling, don’t you worry about us. are you having a good time there?

me: yeah, it’s all pretty nostalgic and stuff, but i enjoy every day here. even went to a town meeting last night and grabbed dinner with minho. you remember him don’t you?

mom: town meetings! it’s been a while since i’ve heard of those. of course i remember minho…he was a darling boy back then. how is he?

me: he’s good, it was fun catching up. i also met (y/n)

mom: oh. how are they? last we heard before moving out was their father passing away…must have been hard all this time.

Chan blinks down at the message in surprise. He did not know that.

me: their dad passed away??

mom: yes, didn’t you know? it was cancer, i believe i might have mentioned this before.

Sucking in a breath, Chan finds it incredibly hard to process this piece of information. It was like a sudden dump of emotions and his stomach curled at the revelation. His mom definitely did not mention this, there was no way he would have filtered this kind of news away like it was nothing.

me: i don’t think you did, i would have remembered…

mom: oh channie…i’m sorry, we were probably too busy with all the packing and moving back then, we only heard in passing.

me: it’s okay, not your fault

mom: do drop by at (y/n)'s and give my best regards. let me know how they’re doing okay?

me: will do mom

After a few more messages about his day, he bids his mom goodbye and tosses the phone aside. Shutting his eyes, the very first person to come to his mind is you, a resounding pang in his chest when he’s reminded of your father too. He had never spent much time around your family, in fact, you had always been the one to come over at his place majority of the time and he had only met your parents once in a while during annual school meets or sometimes during the town festivals as a child. As it so happened, your parents were never around much, both busy with work as you often told him. Still, he remembered your father, and he had always seemed a good, kind man.

Why had Minho not mentioned anything to him about this? Sure, you did creep into the conversation snow and then, but even so, every time Chan brought you up, it’s like Minho tried to safeguard you and let on as little as possible.

Nibbling his lips, he sits and ponders whether he should ask Minho about this, even retrieving his phone to text him about it but in the end concedes. Maybe Minho had not deemed it his place to tell him.

Deciding that he would listen to his mom and drop by at your place, from what he knows you still live in your old home, he spends the next hour or so doing small chores like washing the dishes and getting ready for the morning.

He’s out of the house not long after, showered and refreshed and surprisingly ready to face the day. With his camera bag slung across his shoulder, he makes his way on foot around town, exploring some of the older shops lining the hillsides under tarpaulin covers, fresh steamed bread and hot noodle shops already open and catering to people.

Chan doesn’t stop much, only lingering enough to familiarise himself with the market place which was always seemingly buzzing with people and cheerful chatter. He makes his way up the hill, pulling up his hoodie to cover his head as he walks under the gradually thickening canopies of trees above him. The road leading up becomes narrower and fewer people lurk about, only some tourists who stop by the road to take photos.

Chan doesn’t use his camera till he’s way up higher, simply walking through the pine scent till he reaches a small hilltop that overlooks the town below. Colourful buildings nestled between sloping lush greenery, the roads snaked around the town in smooth curves. He can spot the community centre and the restaurant he had dinner last night at. The market place is the most lively place at this time of the day, strings of flags strung across the semi marketplace flapping in the wind. It was like a small community tucked away from the rest of the world. At one further end of the town, a tall blue tower rises up and immediately Chan is hit by nostalgic memories.

Almost instinctively, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a packet of cigarettes, lighting one up and exhaling deeply. He reminds himself that 9 in the morning is too early for this, but the optimist that he is, he’s also inclined to wave it off with ‘it’s midnight somewhere’.  

He turns sentimental the more he looks at the lone tower visible behind a cluster of hills. It’s his high school and upon seeing it after so many years, he almost missed going to that place.

His hometown was not such a huge place afterall. Most people knew each other here after spending so many years in the same place, but there was also the never changing map of this tiny town that losing yourself here was practically an impossible task even if you want to do it on purpose. Everything was etched out like permanent ink, Chan still remembered all the prime locations of his childhood here like the back of his hand.

In a way it might have been the reason he left too, an aspect of waking up to the same thing every day had been his drive to leave this place but the city had been no different either. Chan was slowly starting to realise that now.

He takes in another puff of the stick, now dangling between his lips before dropping it on the ground and squashing it with his feet, guiltily reminded of his mother’s text this morning and his promise to her.

Shoving his hands inside the pocket of his hoodie he strolls aimlessly along without a destination in mind. He’s aware that only a few shops and restaurants dot the top of the mountain, he’s vaguely aware that there’s a few more clearings along the way and your house was somewhere there. He does remember you having to walk a long way down to school and complain about it often to him.

Soon enough, he reaches a smaller path branching out from the main road to the side. He takes the rocky path, edges lined with wild grass and strewn with stray pine cones, a flatter piece of land leading off to a bunch of bakeries and small cafes.

It's almost like a small chunk of hill had been cut off to create an alcove, small vintage shops huddled together and the scent of fresh bread and ground coffee wafting in the air like a sweet aroma.

Chan has had his fair share of cafes working in one himself and though he had been sick of the smell of coffee for a while, here, out in the open and so far away from the city, he almost didn't mind it.

He stops for a moment and takes a few pictures, the colourful vibrant roofs of red, blue and yellows catching his eyes as he squats to capture this seemingly fairytale come to life picture. Everything in the mountains was just naturally magical. 

He's drawn to a tiny little cafe with a sloping blue roof tucked away further back against a huge rocky wall, a wooden sign on top with the words 'The Teapot' carved into it.

The wind chime tinkles against the gentle breeze above Chan who peers inside from the big window in the front with blue frames. The cafe is almost empty except for a few people scattered about on huge wicker seats.

There's no bell to notify you when a customer enters, just the loud creak of the door, which can be a bit alarming as you've often mentioned to the cafe owner.

You're at the counter scrolling through your phone when you hear the door opening, immediately shutting your phone and smiling at the customer.

"Welcome, how can we help–"

Oh. It's Chan.

"–you?"

Chan seems to be equally as surprised to see you here; he thought you worked at the diner. Nevertheless, he returns your smile.

"Hi," he greets, approaching you at the counter, "I didn't know you worked here."

"I don't, just here to cover for a friend."

You do sometimes pick up shifts here when you’re free of your duties at the diner. It’s more of a casual workplace for some extra cash and since it’s never too crowded, the employment criteria is not too rigid. You help out once in a while when the tourist season is at its peak and extra hands are required. As it so happened, January usually serves as a gradual ease into the rush, with a couple dozen or so customers always coming in for a warm drink and a cozy place to relax and read a book. By March, the tourist count increases and that is when you find yourself financially more stable. You are therefore quite dependent on the tourism sector. Right now, you're covering for Seungmin who won't be back till next week, and you could definitely make do with the cash.

"What can I get you?" you ask, waiting for Chan to look over at the menu and decide. While he examines the laminated display on the counter, you watch him quietly nibbling on his lips, the rings in his ears dangling gently when he moves, the smell of smoke nestling under your nose again. You dislike it but you can't bring yourself to look away until he turns to you with a sheepish smile and wide eyes.

"Umm…it's a bit hard to decide," he chuckles and the noise settles in your bones like a warm shiver, "there's too many to choose from. What would you recommend?"

Startled by the sudden question, you stare at him sceptically as if he had just asked you to do something unreasonable.

"You want me to recommend something to you?" You point at yourself as if to make sure for certain.

Chan nods with a smile, leaning against the counter for your opinion.

Licking your lips, you scan through the menu even though you remember everything by heart. It's just that, you can't bring yourself to meet his stare.

"Do you want a hot drink or something cold?" You question, glancing at him briefly to find him still staring. God, you hope you're not flushed.

"I would prefer something warm, but wouldn't mind if you recommend a cold drink either."

His smile again, the stupid upturn of his full lips and the tiny dimple on his cheek. You dislike it so very much. You don't even dare to meet his eyes, the brown in your memory too haunting even to this day.

"Then I'd recommend the pine tea. It's aromatic and light. I could get you some mushroom bread rolls with those or do you still not like mushrooms–"

You halt in your speech, eyes flickering up to his like a deer caught in headlights. Upon seeing him blinking back, you immediately start spluttering out an apology.

"S-sorry, I don't know why I said that…I shouldn't have assumed–"

"It's okay," Chan cuts you off hastily with a wave of his hand, "you didn't assume anything, it's fine!"

"Oh…oh, okay. I…so do you want to get something with your tea or just…?"

You trail off in embarrassment, every second a new word that falls off your lips feels like a shovel digging at your own grave. You should probably shut up right about now.

"Oh…oh yeah. Umm, anything without mushrooms," he claims, rubbing his neck with a nervous chuckle, "what about the orange loaf cake? Sounds delicious."

"Orange loaf cake, right. Good choice, it'll go well with the pine tea. I'll get you your order then, why don't you take a seat," you gesture at one of the empty tables by the window.

Chan obliges, nodding his head and taking a seat while you scurry into the pantry to get the tea leaves.

Inside the dark cool room, you take a moment to let out a breath you hadn't even realised you were holding in, leaning your head against one of the shelves, the cool wood like a comforting balm across your skin.

You just keep making a fool out of yourself in front of him. He's just an old friend, why does he affect you this way?!

The tea Chan receives is instantly aromatic, the gentle scent of pine and a savoury pinch of cinnamon in it making him look forward to the drink.

You place the steaming cup in front of him along with a plate of sliced bread, slightly warm and golden in texture. Chan feels his mouth watering though it hasn't been that long since he had had his breakfast.

"Umm," you hesitate, glancing at the box of cigarettes on the table, "there is a no smoking policy in here so…"

For all you know you could have said that just because you hated the sight of it, he could have very well just placed them on the table without any intention to smoke them inside. Your brain really wasn't in sync with your mouth today and you were regretting every second of it.

Chan follows your eyes, immediately flushing and pocketing the box, crumpling it almost as he hastily shoved it into his pocket.

"Of course, I don't smoke a lot. I mean, I do, but I won't right now. I work at a cafe too, I mean I used to, of course I know there's a no smoking policy–"

Chan doesn't finish his statement, feeling a rush of heat along his neck as if he had just been called out. He vividly remembers the red text of caution stating cigarettes causing cancer and nearly facepalms.

"Okay well, glad you know," nice save, you're doing a great job, "enjoy your meal then. Let me know if you want anything else."

With that you're gone by his side back to your place behind the counter where you immediately bury your nose into your phone, willing the heat in your cheeks to go away without fanning yourself.

Chan takes a large sip of his tea in a hurry to hide his face when you glance up at him and your eyes meet, scalding his tongue in the process and it takes him his all to not curse out loud. He stuffs a large piece of bread in his mouth to soothe the burn.

What an absolute mess.

SEVEN – IT MUST BE NICE.

Seungmin had texted you at night, a flurry of apologies and making up to you with dinner when he came back, and he was so flustered, he had completely forgotten to mention the reason for this impromptu travesty.

When you had pointed it out, it had only prompted another tirade of apologies and eventually you had ended up calling him. You were in your bed, showered and with an ache in your limbs that came with a long satisfied day.

“(y/n)? Oh my god, I’m so sorry–”

“Seungmin, stop apologising,” you had smiled, shuffling in your bed under the blankets, “how’ve you been?”

“I-what? Oh, yeah, I’ve been good.” he had sounded genuinely surprised at your inquiry, as if he hadn’t even thought you would ever ask him something like that.

“That’s good, how’s your workshop?”

“It’s fine, doable certainly. There’s a lot of interesting things, and I’m hoping to sign up for a few more non-credit courses because they honestly sound really amazing and I think I might be able to squeeze in a few after my credit classes.”

That was Seungmin for you, always the one who loved to learn and cram his breaks with a truckload of workshops and seminars, citing that he didn’t have enough time to attend them during the academic year, what with his classes at university. Your group was proud of him and all his achievements, but you were also concerned with his health.

He had just completed his teaching degree and was working as a TA in Shinha University, which was an hour away by train. You both had initially bonded over your shared interest in books and when you had told him that you had got into university for your bachelors in journalism, he had instantly clicked with you, having pursued journalism as well and then getting his B.Ed.

Seungmin had never been invasive of your reason to drop out, always keeping a polite flow in your conversations without sounding demeaning.

“Wow,” you remark, smiling into your pillow at his ramble, “does Minho know about this?”

“Does Minho know that I’m sleeping three hours a day?

“Jesus, Seungmin!”

“I know,” he groans on the other end of the line, “I couldn’t help it. Please don’t tell Minho, he will go batshit crazy.”

You can already imagine Minho getting upset, except, when it came to Seungmin and his ridiculously well planned but jam packed academic calendar, Minho tended to channel all that anger into making extra efforts at taking care of the younger boy. They would call this their freeze-zone, which lasted about eleven days at maximum – Minho would be all quiet and calm, not necessarily ignoring Seungmin, but neither did he acknowledge his lifestyle in high regards. Seungmin would also be quiet, but follow Minho around like an apologetic puppy, trying to make amends.

It would always end with a hug. And if you were unfortunate enough, then you would catch them in the kitchen after closing hours in the diner, making out heatedly. Then you would want to bleach your eyes.

Regardless, and you really had no other way to describe what they had as cute. They had a healthy relationship, as far as you knew, with their ups and downs, but they were tight. And it made you happy to watch them be happy with each other.

“Okay, I won’t tell him, but he’s gonna find out anyway,” you sigh.

“I know, I’ll be the one to tell him anyway. It’s like he’s got this sixth sense when it comes to these things you know, until last year I was convinced either you or Felix were tattling to him.”

“Hey, have some faith in us!”

“I do now.”

You can hear the smile in his voice and chuckle.

“So, what is it you were apologising to me about?”

“Oh. Right, so I've been working under Professor Lee for my research paper for a while."

You nod even though he can't see you, listening carefully.

"He’s been looking for an assistant for the new semester, and…please don’t get mad okay, but I may have told him about you. I told him you were pursuing your journalism bachelors…”

Sucking in a breath, you groan at the insinuation.

“Seungmin–”

“I swear I didn’t put you down or anything, I didn’t even tell him the reason you dropped out. It’s just…I thought you might want to check out the work at least.”

“That’s…that’s really kind of you Seungmin, it really is. I’m just not sure if I’m qualified enough.”

“You really think so? You almost completed your degree (y/n), you were going to graduate.”

“You know, you’re starting to sound awfully like my mom,” you mumble.

“(y/n)...you know I didn’t mean any harm.”

“I know Seungmin, I know…”

Which is why this was even more difficult for you. Seungmin’s been of immense help to you ever since you met. He’s got you to write for an anonymous column in their University paper a couple of times and though you had agreed, you had rejected the offer to become a regular in their columns. As much as Minho had been adamantly loyal to your decision of dropping out, Seungmin had his own gentle way of nudging you to pick up your pen again.

“What’s wrong (y/n), I know you want more than what you have right now.”

You detest the bitterness of his truth, the way it swirls around you in green coils and makes you sick. You do want more, but in the crevices of your bones laden heavy with the lead of your self proclaimed worth, you know you shouldn’t. You can’t want more, not when there’s better people out there.

“Seungmin I…I don't know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything, just sleep on it yeah? But if you agree, and no pressure there, then let me know and I’ll set you up a meeting with the professor. Okay?”

“Okay…” you reluctantly agree. You’ll sleep on it for sure, but you lack the assurance of a positive response. Maybe Seungmin senses it too, apologising again.

“Don’t apologise, really, I should be thankful that you’re looking out for me.”

“Of course I am, that’s what friends do.”

Your head weighs down on the soft pillows, tears stinging your eyes in the darkness of your room.

“Yeah. Thanks a lot Seungmin, I appreciate it. I really do.”

You hope the way you force out your words is enough to let him know exactly how much this means to you even though you can never put it in enough words.

“Anytime (y/n). Goodnight then.”

“Goodnight.”

Guilt fills you up almost instantaneously when the call drops with a click from the other side. Looking back on the conversation, you detested how quickly you had compared Seungmin to your mother when all he had done was look out for you. Confusion and frustration diffuses through your guilt right after; were you a hypocrite because you felt guilty when it was a friend who looked after you and not when your mother did? Wasn’t she also just looking out for you?

You don’t find it in yourself to remove the phone from your ear, fingers loosening their hold against the device till the screen blacks out.

Left alone with your thoughts, you find the sleep behind your eyes slowly disappearing, replaced with a thin layer of tears that fail to escape, instead settling behind like heavy moss, fogging your mind and senses.

The bed feels uncomfortable, but the weight of your limbs tie you down in your place, unmoving against your will and you find the hands of the clock on your bed stand ticking too loudly. Moving your head, your gaze flits across the window on the wall, the tall peaks of hills visible, glowing with the faintest hint of warm orange from the town lights below.

Slowly, as if it ached your very soul to move, you rustle out of your blanket, dragging it along as you trod towards the balcony, curling your toes when your bare feet touch the cold marble flooring. Your flat was small but the balcony was spacious, often your haven on summer days but in the cold January, it leaves you numb. It's admittedly a good feeling, the urge to keep yourself warm by rubbing your arms and pulling the b;anket closer around your frame overtaking the need to think.

The family living below you is still awake, their apartment rings out in cheerful laughter. You can see the shadows moving on the grassy garden illuminated by the light from their windows. They dance like flames in the wind, flitting about aimlessly and chaotically, in tune to the kids yelling and playing around.

It must be nice, you think. You credit the sentiment to their laughter, but you’re unsure of whether there’s a longing behind that thought that popped up without a warning in your mind. What must be nice?

If you lean against the railings, you can catch a small portion of the town which was not hidden being a large clump of trees, twinkling under a starry sky. You hear the distant hubbub of the liveliness if you hold your breath and strain your ears. It must be nice, the voice in your head goes again.

You want to cry. What must be nice?

Why were you here on a Tuesday night, sitting on your cold marble floors wanting to simultaneously scream and cry and throw yourself off a cliff? Why did it feel so insanely morbid to feel so numb and feel so many things at once? Why would your limbs not move and tears not fall no matter how much you willed them to?

Why does this house not feel like a home? What were you so homesick for, a place that did not exist or a place that you had buried so deep in the depths of your tangled memory that retrieving it would cost you your life? Where would you run when you wanted to, how would you know what you’re running from, how long would you have to run?

What was this feeling you were drenched in? Why can’t you comprehend it? How do you get rid of it?

Your phone dings yet again with a notification and you retrieve it from somewhere in the depths of the blanket you had swaddled yourself in. another message from Seungmin.

seungmin: Professor Lee, faculty of Linguistics and Literature Studies, Shinha University. Contact details: xxxxxxxxxx

seungmin: just in case. g’night.

Your wrist tingles uncomfortably and you rub your fingers across it soothingly. It was probably going to rain later. Or soon. Time was merely flitting past but your eyes remained wide open, not a drop of sleep to be expected any time soon.

The shadows on the grass settle down in a dark lump, quiet and peaceful. The floor under you grows warmer, the chill tranferred to your bones where they prickle you from the inside.

The sky turns darker, the lights below lose their glow, dimming into the night one by one as the town falls asleep.

It must be nice, to be able to sleep.

EIGHT – BUTTERFLIES, LOLLIPOPS, SHARED LAUGHS.

The next time Minho texts you about dinner plans, it's with the carefully added notification of expecting Chan's presence too.

You've been entirely too busy with the diner the past few days, that you've managed to avoid another encounter with Chan naturally. You woke up early to prepare for the day and went home late after cleaning up. It was the same for Minho and Felix, and only now do the three of you realise what a great help another helping hand is. You all miss Seungmin.

But the work pays off, and the cafe work is an added bonus to your savings. If anything, at least you're saved from overthinking once you get home all tired and grisly from kitchen duties. You don't have time to worry about little things as much nor the guilt of missing calls from your mom.

It was the gentle plea at the end of Minho’s text, asking you to please join in for at least old friends’ sake that gets you thinking about the whole thing.

It’s not a particularly mind gnawing decision, you simply decide that you don't need to avoid Chan as much. Fine, you definitely did not know where exactly you stood with his reappearance after all these years, but that didn’t mean you were going to be so cold as to continuously turn down these little reunions. Minho had definitely embraced his old friend with welcome arms and tonight he was finally going to meet Seungmin. You did not mind when Minho was open to introducing his life here to your old friend. There’s only so long you could possibly avoid all social interactions as you could keep up with a steady denial to let Chan affect your day to day life.

You text Minho back with a promise to join in on this dinner.

That is how you find yourself sitting in the tented bar, the sizzle of the barbeque and the delectable aroma of fried vegetables wafting in the air and a few too many bottles of beer in front of you, huddled together in a circle around a table.

Felix chats away excitedly, seemingly never at a loss of conversational topics, while Seungmin joins in with Chan. Minho looks after the barbeque, serving the food to everybody once he’s finally done. The first bite is like a doorway to heaven opening up, a bit too hot that you need to blow air before promptly stuffing yourself with more.

You stay quiet for the most part, only replying when someone asks you something, sitting directly opposite Chan and hence obliged to keep looking away when your eyes meet. It’s happened so many times already since you first came that you don’t even bother with the awkward smile anymore, glancing away quickly before downing your glass of beer.

Chan looks extremely good today, even though it doesn’t look like he put in too much effort behind his black hoodie and his usual silver earrings. His hair lays flat, fingers occasionally brushing through his fringes which he keeps straightening out. You really try not to stare, but when you do and catch yourself in the act, you convince yourself that it’s only because you’re trying to memorise this new and older Chan from the younger one with curly hair and unpierced ears.

“Hey, do you remember that time (y/n) got in detention because Chan kept poking them and they yelled at him in the middle of calculus?” Minho points out in the middle of dinner.

Chan laughs at the memory eliciting a fond smile from you too as you look back on that day, it had indeed been the first time you got into any kind of trouble at school and you had cried during your after school detention.

“I was somewhat troublesome back then, wasn’t I? Chan says, grinning at you apologetically but with a happy smile as if he held his mischievous days close to his heart.

“Somewhat?” you question incredulously, “you were quite the troublemaker, honestly how did you get appointed as student council head?!”

The table erupts into giggles and laughter, a surprised Seungmin looking at Chan in awe, finding it equally hard to believe Chan could have ever caused any trouble. You find it easy to laugh along, just old friends reminiscing on good days gone by, leaving behind fragments of floating memories you had to glue back together. It felt like you were teens again at one of your annual dinners after exams were over. It felt good to be here right now, maybe with a broken friendship, but with a sudden jolt you realise that you may have been looking forward to this unknowingly after all, and now that it was here, you were willing to put behind petty regrets and patch things up.

After all, how often will you find a friendship so precious, right? Shouldn’t you appreciate it and let go of the past for the sake of reviving whatever weak flame was flickering now?

A warmth blooms in you when you look around, eyes lingering a little longer on the man in front of you. He notices and tilts his head in question. You smile widely and shake your head and in a long while, Chan finds himself feeling elated as if the sun itself had bloomed inside his chest and was extending its rays all through his body. He has not felt this happy in a while and the sight of your smile directed at him lightens the burden without a source on his shoulders he’s been carrying ever since.

Though in the morning you might try to convince yourself that warming up to Chan had been a consequence of the alcohol in your system, you ease yourself into the light atmosphere and enjoy the moment for as long as it lasts.

Chan and Seungmin get along well, some sort of sibling dynamic forming quickly between the two with comfortable bantering which slowly backfires on Minho who gets teased by the two and turns pouty. You chuckle when he turns to you for help but only gets a pat on the back from you.

Regardless, Seungmin only needs to lean his head on his sulking boyfriend’s shoulder for him to smile sweetly and kiss his cheek. Felix and you pretend to gag at the sight, which is quickly shot down by protests.

“You’re only jealous because you’re both single!” Minho yells over the table, eliciting a gasp from you and faux display of hurt from Felix who clutches his heart and pretends to cry.

“You’re single?” you look up to find Chan looking at you, an unreadable expression on his face and you wonder why he directed his question at you even though Felix was sitting right beside him.

Before you can respond, Minho speaks up on your behalf.

“(y/n)’s been single ever since high school, I think they’re gonna die single and lonely.”

“Am not!” you stick out your tongue at him, “also I did date in uni.”

“Two weeks doesn’t count,” Minho smirks, “you didn’t even kiss him.”

“And how would you know that?” you challenge, glaring at him now.

Chan listened to the conversation curiously, hearing you talk for the longest time since the evening.

“Did you?” Minho’s eyes widen and you feel like they might pop out of their sockets if he kept staring any longer.

“No…but that’s not the point,” you grumble, hiding your face behind your glass and looking away.

“Why don’t you and Felix try dating once, huh? I’ve been waiting for y’all to get together since forever.”

You choke on your drink, suddenly embarrassed at all the attention. How did the conversation turn to your very prospective dating life all of a sudden? Granted Minho may be drunk, but he was better at holding his alcohol. You feel an apprehension when you look over and notice the smug grin he has on, regarding you through narrow eyes.

“What?” you splutter, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand and ignoring the way Chan stares at you, “why would you even say that?”

Felix chooses that exact moment to lean in and cling onto your hand, rubbing his face against your shoulder. You know he’s had one too many drinks, and if you didn’t then he made it very obvious when he mumbled against your neck.

“Yeah (y/n),” he pouted, “if both of us are single by the time we’re forty, let’s get married!”

You laugh endearingly, letting him nuzzle his face closer for warmth, the tip of his nose cold against your skin and you shiver.

“Okay Felix, only if you promise to do the laundry,” you tease.

“Shit don’t do it Lix, it’s a trap!” Minho scoffs, leaning into Seungmin who nods vehemently, also under the influence of more alcohol than he can usually tolerate.

“For my beloved (y/n), anything! I will even cook and clean and take the dog out for walks!” he proclaims. You giggle, stroking his blonde hair gently and it seems to draw him closer.

“Okay Lix, whatever you say. Oh, you’re going to make such an amazing husband one day!”

Felix simply giggles like a child, hiding his face behind his hand as he leans away and slouches across the table, the tips of his ears now red, poking out.

Minho shakes his head disagreeably, sending you a nasty glare which you respond to by sticking out your tongue. While Felix stills remains slouched on the table, probably asleep you figure, but none of you have the heart to wake him up, Minho falls into a quiet conversation with a slightly drunk and sleepy Seungmin, the two huddling close and speaking in soft tones completely ignoring you and Chan who are left alone in an awkward silence.

Chan clears his throat, gaining your attention before mumbling an ‘excuse me’ and leaving the table to step outside. You follow his movements, moving the plastic curtain and shuffling out into the cold night, standing under the makeshift awning. He lights a cigarette and puffs in air, smoking out clouds which disappear into the night, distorted behind the plastic curtain, the orange glow splitting into a line whenever he brings up the stick to his lips.

Downing the last few drops in your glass, you excuse yourself too, though you don;t think anybody listens – Minho is far too invested in playing with Seungmin’s hair while the latter hums happily against his shoulder and Felix is, well…passed out, probably – and make your way out too, pushing the curtain aside and shivering when the cold wind hits you. Nights in the mountains get chillier by the hour and you’re glad you’re wearing a thicker cardigan tonight.

Chan looks up from where he’s standing, smiling in greeting when you come to stand beside him. The silence shared outside is shared comfortably, with all the late night buzz of people and veiled chattering around you. A few street lights line the street, glowing warm yellow under a darkened blanket studded with little silver dots that twinkle brightly without any clouds in sight. It’s a moonless night, but there’s enough light around you to make out Chan’s face; not entirely hidden in the dark but illuminated in a muted yellow glow that lines his side, sloping down his nose and falling onto his lips before disappearing under his chin.

The smoke from his lips coils into the air in a grey haze before disappearing into the air. You sniffle, warily eyeing the stick between his puckered lips, folding your arms across your chest when another wind blows.

“Those things aren’t really good for you, you know” you comment, feeling awfully like a nagging mother, always confronting him about his smoking habits whenever you see him. You almost snort at the revelation.

“Ah…sorry, I’ve been trying to quit too, but it just…force of habit.”

You smile sadly, tucking your chin in your neck and leaning against a wooden pole.

“I heard about your father,” Chan’s voice is cautiously quiet in the night, the syllables coming out hushed and apologetic, “I’m sorry about him.”

“Don’t be, we saw it coming but he was worse off than we had hoped,” you reply just as quietly, but without the tremor that had been present in your voice some years ago. In fact, you don’t think you’ve talked about your father in a long while, not even with your mother. It makes you slightly sad that the first time you’re doing this is because of an old friend who, until recently, hadn’t even been in contact with you.

“It was…it was all the smoking he did…the cancer, I mean.”

You sniffle, looking up at the sky, eyes mindlessly following the clusters of stars twinkling silently.

“Ah shit…I’m so sorry. Does this make you feel uncomfortable?”

You shake your head in denial, but even so you both know it does. You know you don’t want to see someone smoking in front of you; it had been difficult enough to get over that particular phase in your life where you blatantly disliked people for smoking, but you slowly got over the fact that you had no say in how they should live their life or not. Not everybody who smoked ended up with cancer after all. But you also knew that you would always try to help your friend quit, because quite frankly, you were the type to be haunted by the fear of something that had the tendency to scar you.

When you were seven, you had fallen off the monkey bars and bruised your knees pretty badly – the scars are still there, a dark patch against your skin – and you had a huge fear of the accursed bars, steering clear of it ever since. Then you grew up and grew taller and your fingers coiled around the cold metal bars without even having to lift your feet off the ground and you realised that it was no fun that way anymore; it was much more fun and exciting when your feet swung in air and your muscles strained trying to hold on to the slippery bars. There was a beauty in having to risk your seven year old soul to hang on to some monkey bars for dear life, something you had missed out on for the longest time in your life.

Then of course, there was your fear of water. You may have never mastered the element, but once you learn to float and keep your head above the water in the deeper end, you wonder why you had been scared in the first place.

Chan throws the cigarette on the ground and stubs it with his feet, picking it off and throwing it in the dustbin nearby. The silence prevails as he leans beside you. The smell of smoke remains in the air, stagnant and pungent under your nose.

Shuffling on your feet, you dig into the pocket of your jeans, fumbling around as you struggle to pull something out of it.

“Here,” you say, handing it out to Chan who regards the lollipop between your fingers with visible confusion but accepts it gingerly nonetheless, “I would rather you died of diabetes than cancer.”

The chuckle that he lets out is easygoing, tumbling from his lips like tiny bells, chiming into the night charmingly. You know you've heard it countless times before, but it makes you feel warm out here in the cold, like a sweet blanket of comfort and nostalgia.

“Why do I die either way?” he questions, snorting at your proclamation. You shrug, sharing a smile.

“It’s a better way to go?'' It sounds more like a question but doesn’t stop Chan’s amused laughter.

“You became funnier after all this time,” he teases, surrendering by putting his hands up when you threaten to hit him.

“So, do you always carry candies with you wherever you go?” he asks, fiddling with the patterned wrapper.

“No, Lix gave it to me. He’s always got some sort of sweet with him, god maybe he’ll get diabetes one of these days.”

“Is there something between you and Felix?” you miss the slight frown on his face and the nervous lip biting, his fingers fiddling with the crinkling wrapper of the candy between them.

“No, why would you think that?” as if realising the answer to your question you add, “Minho was just joking back then.”

“Oh, I thought you might. He’s just very…”

“Clingy? Sweet boyfriend material, makes everybody fall in love with him wherever he goes and whatever he does?” you raise a brow when Chan trails off, smiling teasingly when he sputters out another laugh, flustered.

“Yeah!”

“That’s just the way he is,” you snort, “isn’t he adorable though?”

You both take this moment to glance inside where you left the three boys. Sure enough, Felix is now cupping his cheeks between his hands, red faced and hiccuping with his eyes half closed and lips out in a pout like a duck, looking around like a lost kitten. He's had one too many drinks and you can tell; his elbow keeps slipping off the table and he glares in confusion as if to gauge the problem. Sharing a glance you both burst out laughing, doubling over yourselves as the giggles erupt out of you from nowhere.

The night is chilly, but as you both huddle close, laughing over something small and mundane as a silly friend who’s had too much to drink, you feel your cheeks warm and tummies tremble in merriment.

Chan laughs with his whole body, the chimes of his joy gurgling up from his chest like butterflies that fly around you with pretty wings. Unknowingly, you start filing away little things about Chan in a place that were fond to you in your memories, like a small cabinet of his quirks. The cute dimple on his cheek, the way his eyes turn into crescents and can’t stay open when he laughs too hard, his hands which circle his waist or often find respite behind his neck when he’s too sheepish and the way the silver rings in his ears tremble all the while he’s shaking with joy.

You let yourself bask in this moment, ignoring the voice in your head telling you not to enjoy so much. It gets drowned under the horde of butterflies that circle over it, out of its reach and high above as you watch with a longing to reach out and let one sit on your finger. You stay rooted though, keeping your hands to yourself, afraid you might damage its wings if you so much as brush against its petal like fragility.

The flap of their wings send a wave of small breeze towards you, gentle and almost akin to a fever kiss, fanning your hot face and urging you to look at them past the shambles of your ruined castle walls with moss and wreck. They fly too high and you have to crane your neck just to look. They’re free, without a threat of being captured inside glass cases or having their wings clipped and you know in that moment you wouldn’t want anything happening to them.

Maybe one day, one of these winged wonders will approach you and let you lend your finger to sit.

Chan walks home that night with a spring in his step and a smile that never leaves his lips, the lollipop inside the pocket of his hoodie with its tiny but obvious weight and crinkling wrapper.

It’s too sweet for him, but he finds that sucking on it does indeed act as a substitute in the long run. He sleeps at night with the lingering taste of cherry at the back of his tongue and a warm memory of shared laughter in the cold night. It spreads through his body and lulls him to a comfortable sleep.