noelle

So when he skipped into the playground on just another day of hanging out by himself during playtime period at preschool, to say he was surprised by the sight of you not only being at his usual spot at the sand pit, but building on top of his painstakingly-built, one and only sandcastle at that, was an extreme understatement.

Seungcheol was furious.

“Hey!” he stomps into the sandpit, and you look up at the commotion. “What are you doing to my sandcastle!?”

You stand up to meet his eye level, mouth opening and closing like a fish having been caught off guard. “Um… I-”

“Seungcheol, be nice to them!” you’re cut off by a familiar voice, and the both of you turn towards the sound to see your beloved teacher, Miss Yoon, standing before you. Miss Yoon smiles softly at the two of you, reaching down to rub a hand on your back.

“Seungcheol, this is y/n. This is their first day here, so they must not have known this was your spot, honey,” Miss Yoon reasons, and Seungcheol’s eyes widen, realising his mistake, before looking down at his feet to hide his embarrassment.

“What should you say, Seungcheol?” Miss Yoon prods, and Seungcheol flares even redder in embarrassment.

“S-sorry…” he mumbles reluctantly, much to his dismay. Miss Yoon chuckles.

“Well, I’ll leave you two to it then! Be nice to each other, okay?” Miss Yoon beams at the both of you before walking off to another group of kids. You and Seungcheol continue facing each other awkwardly while Seungcheol reels in his embarrassment, refusing to talk to you first out of pettiness.

“My name is y/n!” you reach forward cheerfully, raising your tiny hand up to wave at Seungcheol. Seungcheol stares at you, dumbfounded.

“I know.”

“Oh!” you exclaim, seemingly unbothered. “I’m… sorry for building on your sandcastle. I thought the sandcastle would look better with a roof, so I went ahead and did it!”

Seungcheol glances over at his (or yours? or both of yours?) sandcastle, and as much as he hated to admit it considering he was just humiliated by you a few seconds ago, all animosity towards you before melted away.

“It… does look better.”

Seungcheol swore your smile rivalled the sun in his statement.

If there was even such a thing as love Or who would be the one to take my first kiss?

AGE: 16

Much to Seungcheol’s surprise, the friendship between the both of you survived his petty tantrums in preschool, your emotional dramatics in middle school, and his raging teenage hormones in high school to end up where you both were now.

Looking back on it, your friendship didn’t really make much sense to Seungcheol. Seungcheol’s a soccer jock, and you’re a theatre arts performer. The both of you have always been on two opposite ends of a spectrum, yet somehow, he always finds himself gravitating towards you.

And that’s not to mention your (and his, he supposes?) overwhelming popularity. Everywhere you went, guys and girls flocked to you, vying for just a second of your attention. Yet, (to his glee,) you always choose to direct the entirety of your attention to him time and time again, and Seungcheol just can’t help but take pride in his status as your best friend.

A best friend that he’d maybe want to kiss.

Wait, what?

“What are you thinking about?” you nudge Seungcheol with your toes from the opposite end of his bed, snapping him out of his stupor.

“I’m not thinking about anything!” he exclaims immediately in reply, looking away as you raise an eyebrow at his suspicious response.

“Really?” you scoff, “You stopped answering me five questions ago.”

Oh. Come to think of it, Seungcheol isn’t even sure why he lied.

“Anyway,” you move on from the topic, to Seungcheol’s relief, “I was just asking if you’ve had your first kiss yet.”

Seungcheol turns his head towards you so fast he almost gets whiplash.

“W-what?” Seungcheol barely manages to stutter out a reply, still reeling in shock at the fact that you knew exactly what he was thinking of. Heat slowly creeps up his neck as you examine his reaction.

“Have you?” your eyebrows raise just a little in amusement, and Seungcheol’s brain short-circuits, mouth opening and closing for a solid few seconds.

“Cheol, I’m kidding,” you clarify after a while, an amused smile creeping up your face, “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

“No, I-” Seungcheol replies nearly immediately, “I was just surprised, that’s all…”

“…I haven’t kissed anyone yet, actually.”

Your mouth hangs open. “Really?”

Seungcheol nods in reply, subtly furrowing his brows together. “Have you?”

“No, of course not,” you reply without missing a beat. Seungcheol contemplates prodding you to elaborate, but you beat him to it.

“But… my friends at Theatre all told me it was kind of the norm around here to have had at least some kissing experience, and- okay, stop looking at me like that! I know it’s stupid! But… what if we were each other’s first kiss?” you rush out, eyes focusing on anything but your best friend in front of you.

“You… want us to be each other’s first kiss?” Seungcheol replies, absolutely dumbfounded by your statement.

“Only if you want to, that is!” you rush to clarify immediately after his question, looking down at your fingers in order not to make eye contact with him.

Seungcheol ponders on the request, eyes never leaving you. If it were up to five-year-old Seungcheol, he would have complained about getting the cooties and left immediately.

But he’s not five-year-old Seungcheol. Not anymore.

He leans forward, and you look up at the sound of the bed sheets crinkling. His lips envelope yours completely as you do, catching you off guard. You let out a small gasp in surprise, but make no move to stop him. The butterflies in Seungcheol’s stomach are practically begging to be released, swirling in uncontrollable motions as all Seungcheol can think about is you, you, you.

The kiss is awkward, and clearly highlights the inexperience of both you and Seungcheol.

But it’s both of your firsts, and that’s all that matters for Seungcheol.

The first few minutes after you pull away are awkward, the both of you clearly unsure of what to say to each other having never been in such territory before.

“Well, that wasn’t so bad,” you pipe up first, and Seungcheol nods immediately. “Thanks for agreeing to do this, Cheol, you’re a solid best friend.”

“Yeah,” Seungcheol replies, the last two words of your sentence bringing him back to reality, “I guess I am.”

When I look to the side I see you, standing next to me, that gives me courage

AGE: 17

You can’t remember life without Seungcheol. In fact, you like to think your life started when you met Seungcheol, and now you can’t imagine what you’d do without him by your side for every milestone in your life.

Until now, you suppose.

By some stroke of luck (or the opposite), you had been given a golden opportunity to play your first leading role of Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz, which entailed performing to a sold-out show of at least two hundred. Only, Seungcheol coincidentally has a sports retreat on the same day, three-hundred and twenty kilometres from Seoul.

“I’ll make it,” he had said with unwavering determination, warming your heart to the core with his insistence. “Trust me.”

But as you stand in preparation backstage, eyes glued to Seungcheol’s latest messages, you can’t help but let a wave of disappointment rush over you at the realisation that this would be the first time Seungcheol would miss an important milestone in your life.

cheol </3: i’m so sorry y/n, it’s taking a bit longer than i expected. [19:10]

cheol </3: i’ll make it up to you [19:11]

cheol </3: smash the stage like you always do, yeah? [19:11]

“y/n?” your clubmate and stage manager, Minhee, pats your shoulder lightly, and you jolt a little in surprise. “You’re up soon. You can do this, okay?”

You press your lips together and nod in response, your best friend’s text messages still lingering in the forefront of your mind.

It’s okay, you tell yourself, part of growing up is learning how to be independent, right?

As you step onto the stage, ever-aware of the two-hundred-or-so pair of eyes staring at you. All you can think about is doing well.

And you only have yourself to thank for relentlessly training your acting skills, because it takes everything in you not to drop your jaw in shock at the sight of the person you’d least expected to be among the audience tonight.

Seungcheol maintains eye contact, the intensity of his gaze igniting your body in flames as the world seemingly disappears. Your heart processes his presence before your head does, as you let out the brightest grin while still reciting your lines, your glow lighting up the whole stage for the rest of the performance.

The piece is over before you know it, and amidst the roars of applause and cheers among the crowd, you’re focused on one and only one person.

Beaming at you, your best friend simply shrugs as he mouths, “I told you to trust me, didn’t I?”

You’re quite sure your smile rivalled the sun at that moment.

My heart that was as pure as the clouds wants you My poor choice of words express my heart I’m just saying anything, you make my heart pound This strange feeling, seems like it’ll be my first and last Because of you

AGE: 18

Seungcheol is late.

Which is surprising, considering that you’re (more often than not) the tardy one in the duo. Rain or shine, Seungcheol always shows up first at the cafe you frequent every week, laptop already on the table with both of your usuals in front of him.

By the half-hour mark, you’re ready to pack your bags and leave when your best friend stumbles into the cafe, his hair frazzled as if he’d rushed all the way here.

He spots you almost instantly, speed walking towards you as a million apologies roll off his tongue.

“I’m so sorry,” Seungcheol begins as he slides into the seat opposite you. You notice that he’s brought nothing except for himself into the cafe, but don’t call him out on it. “The boys were keeping me from leaving training.”

A small smile makes its way onto your face at the mention of your best friend’s goofy teammates, and you hum, “What did they make you do this time to make you forget to bring your stuff too?”

Seungcheol hesitates for a while before smiling sheepishly, and you stare at him, confused.

“I can’t stay here for long,” Seungcheol explains, picking up a cautious tone, “They set me up on a date in… twenty minutes.”

You don’t know why, but Seungcheol’s revelation has your heart sinking as your brain tries to come up with as many different ways as possible of justifying whatever you’d just heard to you.

It’s not like this is Seungcheol’s first ever date, you try to reason, he’s been on plenty of dates since you’ve been friends, so this shouldn’t be any different, right?

“y/n?” Seungcheol stops your internal spiral, and you jolt a little as you look up from the table to make eye contact with him. “Are you… okay?”

“Y-yeah!” you exclaim a little too loudly, wincing at the volume, “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be okay?”

Seungcheol’s eyebrows are furrowed as he analyses your expression. He opens his mouth to say something, but you beat him to it, desperate to end the conversation.

“You should go. It’s not good to be late on the first date,” you flash him a smile that doesn't quite reach your eyes, kicking him softly under the table to make a point. Seungcheol opens his mouth again, but you shake your head, nodding towards the exit.

“Have fun,” is all you can manage as Seungcheol slowly gets up from his seat. You feel terrible for worrying him with your actions, but all you want to do is be alone with your thoughts at the moment.

You let the waves of disappointment, sadness, and everything in between crash down on you as you watch Seungcheol leave through the door, and it’s not until many hours later and you’re still staring at the cafe doors that it dawns on you.

You’re in love with your best friend. You’re very sure you’ve always been, and you feel nothing but stupid for only realising this now, when his heart is at risk of being stolen by someone else.

Having a first kiss by the age of sixteen wasn’t even that deep for you or your theatre friends. You’d just brought it up that fateful day because as selfish as it was, you wanted to feel Seungcheol’s lips on yours without ruining your friendship.

Having Seungcheol present at your first big performance was so important to you, because he was important to you. You wanted him to see you shine, wanted to impress him, so much so that the idea of him not being there almost impacted your performance that day.

You’ve been in love with your best friend for as long as you can remember, but you’re quite sure it’s too late to do anything now.

Eighteen, this moment won’t ever come back I’m giving it to you (All in, all in)

AGE: 18

Seungcheol feels horrible, and for many reasons.

For one, he feels horrible for going on the date his friends set him up on, when he’s clearly wasting the other person’s time.

He feels horrible for the short responses he’s giving to his date, and feels horrible that calling his date his ‘date’ feels horrible to him.

But most importantly, he feels horrible for leaving you in the cafe. His heart shatters as he imagines you all by yourself in your favourite booth, and the date is not helping considering the fact that he can’t help but subconsciously compare every detail and every interaction with his date with his interactions with you.

“You know, I was sceptical at first when I heard the rumours, but I’m completely sold now that I’ve had the chance to talk with you,” Seungcheol’s date (Julia, he belatedly remembers,) chuckles.

“Huh?” Seungcheol replies, dazed.

“You and y/n,” Julia explains, and Seungcheol’s eyes light up at the mention of you, “You like them, don’t you? I thought there was a chance you didn’t, since you’ve been friends for so long, but you do, don’t you?”

Seungcheol freezes like he’s been caught, mouth opening and closing like a fish. Julia simply laughs.

“It’s okay, I’m not mad or anything,” Julia says between chuckles, “your teammates did tell me this much when I told them to set us up together.”

“Oh, no, I just–” Seungcheol replies, trying his best to put his thoughts together coherently, “Yeah, you’re right. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be,” Julia shakes her head, smiling, “I already knew. I’m not sure if y/n does, though.”

Eighteen, right now This might be my everything Everything, everything

AGE: 18

Seungcheol is almost completely out of breath by the time he’s at your doorstep.

He’d apologised profusely to Julia for that disaster of a date just a little over an hour ago, all while she’d been encouraging him to confess his feelings for you.

Pacing around the corridor, Seungcheol’s heart starts pounding faster as the nerves finally creep in.

What if you don’t feel the same? Will your friendship still stay the same?

“Cheol?” your familiar voice breaks him out of his inner turmoil, and the way you call him by his favourite nickname has him smiling subconsciously. “What are you doing here?”

“I, uh—” he rubs the back of his neck, nervous, “I wanted to see you.”

You tilt your head in confusion, moving to stand in front of him. “Are you not supposed to be on your date right now?”

Seungcheol winces at the implicit reminder of him leaving you at the cafe, looking at you with the most apologetic expression he can muster.

“Yeah… she ended it early.” Seungcheol explains, and you furrow your brows together.

“Why? Were you too boring?” you’re suppressing your laughter now, and Seungcheol can’t help but smile along with you.

“Not funny, y/n,” Seungcheol huffs, “But you might be right, yeah. I may have been a little boring intentionally.”

You look at him quizzically, urging him to continue. “I just— I like someone else, y/n.”

“Oh.” is all you reply as Seungcheol mentally chastises himself for how horribly he’s steering this conversation.

the “Um, it’s pretty late now, so you should go back,” you pipe up after a beat of silence and turn to go into your apartment. Seungcheol rushes to stop you, hand reaching out to grab your wrist.

“Wait, I—” Seungcheol takes a deep breath, eyes boring into yours.

“I’m in love with you,” Seungcheol breathes like a weight has been lifted off his shoulder, and you, too, let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. “I probably have been ever since you fixed my sandcastle for me back in kindergarten, and I’ve never stopped. I’m just stupid enough to realise only now that I love you so much, and I really, really hope you do too because—”

Your lips are on his before he can finish his sentence, and his eyes widen a little before he leans into you, kissing you back with full force. Just like the first time, the kiss sets off a million butterflies in Seungcheol’s stomach, and he embraces the feeling, reaching up to cup your face in his hands as he closes the nonexistent gap between the two of you. Seungcheol can only hope this is enough to convey his love and longing for you.

“I love you too, idiot,” you breathe out as you pull away, giggling as Seungcheol chases after your lips. “I wasn’t going to fix your sandcastle, you know, but Miss Yoon told me to make friends with you, so I did.”

“Well, thanks for fixing my sandcastle that day, then,” Seungcheol thumb brushes gently across your cheek, as if committing the feeling of your skin to memory.

“Your sandcastle building skills are horrible,” you huff as an attempt to divert attention from your burning cheeks.

“You’re so mean!” Seungcheol pinches your cheek and he puffs his in mock offence.

“But you love me,”

“I do,”

Your laughter travels down the corridor as the both of you continue bantering, just like when you were both sixteen and hopelessly pining for each other.

Seungcheol’s heart is full as he looks at your beaming self. He’s loved you for more than a decade, and he’s only just begun.

a/n: finally posting something after so long!! this has been in my wips for really long, and i lowkey don’t like how it turned out :( really missing every one on here though!! how have y’all been </3

masterlist

So when he skipped into the playground on just another day of hanging out by himself during playtime period at preschool, to say he was surprised by the sight of you not only being at his usual spot at the sand pit, but building on top of his painstakingly-built, one and only sandcastle at that, was an extreme understatement.

Seungcheol was furious.

“Hey!” he stomps into the sandpit, and you look up at the commotion. “What are you doing to my sandcastle!?”

You stand up to meet his eye level, mouth opening and closing like a fish having been caught off guard. “Um… I-”

“Seungcheol, be nice to them!” you’re cut off by a familiar voice, and the both of you turn towards the sound to see your beloved teacher, Miss Yoon, standing before you. Miss Yoon smiles softly at the two of you, reaching down to rub a hand on your back.

“Seungcheol, this is y/n. This is their first day here, so they must not have known this was your spot, honey,” Miss Yoon reasons, and Seungcheol’s eyes widen, realising his mistake, before looking down at his feet to hide his embarrassment.

“What should you say, Seungcheol?” Miss Yoon prods, and Seungcheol flares even redder in embarrassment.

“S-sorry…” he mumbles reluctantly, much to his dismay. Miss Yoon chuckles.

“Well, I’ll leave you two to it then! Be nice to each other, okay?” Miss Yoon beams at the both of you before walking off to another group of kids. You and Seungcheol continue facing each other awkwardly while Seungcheol reels in his embarrassment, refusing to talk to you first out of pettiness.

“My name is y/n!” you reach forward cheerfully, raising your tiny hand up to wave at Seungcheol. Seungcheol stares at you, dumbfounded.

“I know.”

“Oh!” you exclaim, seemingly unbothered. “I’m… sorry for building on your sandcastle. I thought the sandcastle would look better with a roof, so I went ahead and did it!”

Seungcheol glances over at his (or yours? or both of yours?) sandcastle, and as much as he hated to admit it considering he was just humiliated by you a few seconds ago, all animosity towards you before melted away.

“It… does look better.”

Seungcheol swore your smile rivalled the sun in his statement.

If there was even such a thing as love Or who would be the one to take my first kiss?

AGE: 16

Much to Seungcheol’s surprise, the friendship between the both of you survived his petty tantrums in preschool, your emotional dramatics in middle school, and his raging teenage hormones in high school to end up where you both were now.

Looking back on it, your friendship didn’t really make much sense to Seungcheol. Seungcheol’s a soccer jock, and you’re a theatre arts performer. The both of you have always been on two opposite ends of a spectrum, yet somehow, he always finds himself gravitating towards you.

And that’s not to mention your (and his, he supposes?) overwhelming popularity. Everywhere you went, guys and girls flocked to you, vying for just a second of your attention. Yet, (to his glee,) you always choose to direct the entirety of your attention to him time and time again, and Seungcheol just can’t help but take pride in his status as your best friend.

A best friend that he’d maybe want to kiss.

Wait, what?

“What are you thinking about?” you nudge Seungcheol with your toes from the opposite end of his bed, snapping him out of his stupor.

“I’m not thinking about anything!” he exclaims immediately in reply, looking away as you raise an eyebrow at his suspicious response.

“Really?” you scoff, “You stopped answering me five questions ago.”

Oh. Come to think of it, Seungcheol isn’t even sure why he lied.

“Anyway,” you move on from the topic, to Seungcheol’s relief, “I was just asking if you’ve had your first kiss yet.”

Seungcheol turns his head towards you so fast he almost gets whiplash.

“W-what?” Seungcheol barely manages to stutter out a reply, still reeling in shock at the fact that you knew exactly what he was thinking of. Heat slowly creeps up his neck as you examine his reaction.

“Have you?” your eyebrows raise just a little in amusement, and Seungcheol’s brain short-circuits, mouth opening and closing for a solid few seconds.

“Cheol, I’m kidding,” you clarify after a while, an amused smile creeping up your face, “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

“No, I-” Seungcheol replies nearly immediately, “I was just surprised, that’s all…”

“…I haven’t kissed anyone yet, actually.”

Your mouth hangs open. “Really?”

Seungcheol nods in reply, subtly furrowing his brows together. “Have you?”

“No, of course not,” you reply without missing a beat. Seungcheol contemplates prodding you to elaborate, but you beat him to it.

“But… my friends at Theatre all told me it was kind of the norm around here to have had at least some kissing experience, and- okay, stop looking at me like that! I know it’s stupid! But… what if we were each other’s first kiss?” you rush out, eyes focusing on anything but your best friend in front of you.

“You… want us to be each other’s first kiss?” Seungcheol replies, absolutely dumbfounded by your statement.

“Only if you want to, that is!” you rush to clarify immediately after his question, looking down at your fingers in order not to make eye contact with him.

Seungcheol ponders on the request, eyes never leaving you. If it were up to five-year-old Seungcheol, he would have complained about getting the cooties and left immediately.

But he’s not five-year-old Seungcheol. Not anymore.

He leans forward, and you look up at the sound of the bed sheets crinkling. His lips envelope yours completely as you do, catching you off guard. You let out a small gasp in surprise, but make no move to stop him. The butterflies in Seungcheol’s stomach are practically begging to be released, swirling in uncontrollable motions as all Seungcheol can think about is you, you, you.

The kiss is awkward, and clearly highlights the inexperience of both you and Seungcheol.

But it’s both of your firsts, and that’s all that matters for Seungcheol.

The first few minutes after you pull away are awkward, the both of you clearly unsure of what to say to each other having never been in such territory before.

“Well, that wasn’t so bad,” you pipe up first, and Seungcheol nods immediately. “Thanks for agreeing to do this, Cheol, you’re a solid best friend.”

“Yeah,” Seungcheol replies, the last two words of your sentence bringing him back to reality, “I guess I am.”

When I look to the side I see you, standing next to me, that gives me courage

AGE: 17

You can’t remember life without Seungcheol. In fact, you like to think your life started when you met Seungcheol, and now you can’t imagine what you’d do without him by your side for every milestone in your life.

Until now, you suppose.

By some stroke of luck (or the opposite), you had been given a golden opportunity to play your first leading role of Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz, which entailed performing to a sold-out show of at least two hundred. Only, Seungcheol coincidentally has a sports retreat on the same day, three-hundred and twenty kilometres from Seoul.

“I’ll make it,” he had said with unwavering determination, warming your heart to the core with his insistence. “Trust me.”

But as you stand in preparation backstage, eyes glued to Seungcheol’s latest messages, you can’t help but let a wave of disappointment rush over you at the realisation that this would be the first time Seungcheol would miss an important milestone in your life.

cheol </3: i’m so sorry y/n, it’s taking a bit longer than i expected. [19:10]

cheol </3: i’ll make it up to you [19:11]

cheol </3: smash the stage like you always do, yeah? [19:11]

“y/n?” your clubmate and stage manager, Minhee, pats your shoulder lightly, and you jolt a little in surprise. “You’re up soon. You can do this, okay?”

You press your lips together and nod in response, your best friend’s text messages still lingering in the forefront of your mind.

It’s okay, you tell yourself, part of growing up is learning how to be independent, right?

As you step onto the stage, ever-aware of the two-hundred-or-so pair of eyes staring at you. All you can think about is doing well.

And you only have yourself to thank for relentlessly training your acting skills, because it takes everything in you not to drop your jaw in shock at the sight of the person you’d least expected to be among the audience tonight.

Seungcheol maintains eye contact, the intensity of his gaze igniting your body in flames as the world seemingly disappears. Your heart processes his presence before your head does, as you let out the brightest grin while still reciting your lines, your glow lighting up the whole stage for the rest of the performance.

The piece is over before you know it, and amidst the roars of applause and cheers among the crowd, you’re focused on one and only one person.

Beaming at you, your best friend simply shrugs as he mouths, “I told you to trust me, didn’t I?”

You’re quite sure your smile rivalled the sun at that moment.

My heart that was as pure as the clouds wants you My poor choice of words express my heart I’m just saying anything, you make my heart pound This strange feeling, seems like it’ll be my first and last Because of you

AGE: 18

Seungcheol is late.

Which is surprising, considering that you’re (more often than not) the tardy one in the duo. Rain or shine, Seungcheol always shows up first at the cafe you frequent every week, laptop already on the table with both of your usuals in front of him.

By the half-hour mark, you’re ready to pack your bags and leave when your best friend stumbles into the cafe, his hair frazzled as if he’d rushed all the way here.

He spots you almost instantly, speed walking towards you as a million apologies roll off his tongue.

“I’m so sorry,” Seungcheol begins as he slides into the seat opposite you. You notice that he’s brought nothing except for himself into the cafe, but don’t call him out on it. “The boys were keeping me from leaving training.”

A small smile makes its way onto your face at the mention of your best friend’s goofy teammates, and you hum, “What did they make you do this time to make you forget to bring your stuff too?”

Seungcheol hesitates for a while before smiling sheepishly, and you stare at him, confused.

“I can’t stay here for long,” Seungcheol explains, picking up a cautious tone, “They set me up on a date in… twenty minutes.”

You don’t know why, but Seungcheol’s revelation has your heart sinking as your brain tries to come up with as many different ways as possible of justifying whatever you’d just heard to you.

It’s not like this is Seungcheol’s first ever date, you try to reason, he’s been on plenty of dates since you’ve been friends, so this shouldn’t be any different, right?

“y/n?” Seungcheol stops your internal spiral, and you jolt a little as you look up from the table to make eye contact with him. “Are you… okay?”

“Y-yeah!” you exclaim a little too loudly, wincing at the volume, “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be okay?”

Seungcheol’s eyebrows are furrowed as he analyses your expression. He opens his mouth to say something, but you beat him to it, desperate to end the conversation.

“You should go. It’s not good to be late on the first date,” you flash him a smile that doesn't quite reach your eyes, kicking him softly under the table to make a point. Seungcheol opens his mouth again, but you shake your head, nodding towards the exit.

“Have fun,” is all you can manage as Seungcheol slowly gets up from his seat. You feel terrible for worrying him with your actions, but all you want to do is be alone with your thoughts at the moment.

You let the waves of disappointment, sadness, and everything in between crash down on you as you watch Seungcheol leave through the door, and it’s not until many hours later and you’re still staring at the cafe doors that it dawns on you.

You’re in love with your best friend. You’re very sure you’ve always been, and you feel nothing but stupid for only realising this now, when his heart is at risk of being stolen by someone else.

Having a first kiss by the age of sixteen wasn’t even that deep for you or your theatre friends. You’d just brought it up that fateful day because as selfish as it was, you wanted to feel Seungcheol’s lips on yours without ruining your friendship.

Having Seungcheol present at your first big performance was so important to you, because he was important to you. You wanted him to see you shine, wanted to impress him, so much so that the idea of him not being there almost impacted your performance that day.

You’ve been in love with your best friend for as long as you can remember, but you’re quite sure it’s too late to do anything now.

Eighteen, this moment won’t ever come back I’m giving it to you (All in, all in)

AGE: 18

Seungcheol feels horrible, and for many reasons.

For one, he feels horrible for going on the date his friends set him up on, when he’s clearly wasting the other person’s time.

He feels horrible for the short responses he’s giving to his date, and feels horrible that calling his date his ‘date’ feels horrible to him.

But most importantly, he feels horrible for leaving you in the cafe. His heart shatters as he imagines you all by yourself in your favourite booth, and the date is not helping considering the fact that he can’t help but subconsciously compare every detail and every interaction with his date with his interactions with you.

“You know, I was sceptical at first when I heard the rumours, but I’m completely sold now that I’ve had the chance to talk with you,” Seungcheol’s date (Julia, he belatedly remembers,) chuckles.

“Huh?” Seungcheol replies, dazed.

“You and y/n,” Julia explains, and Seungcheol’s eyes light up at the mention of you, “You like them, don’t you? I thought there was a chance you didn’t, since you’ve been friends for so long, but you do, don’t you?”

Seungcheol freezes like he’s been caught, mouth opening and closing like a fish. Julia simply laughs.

“It’s okay, I’m not mad or anything,” Julia says between chuckles, “your teammates did tell me this much when I told them to set us up together.”

“Oh, no, I just–” Seungcheol replies, trying his best to put his thoughts together coherently, “Yeah, you’re right. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be,” Julia shakes her head, smiling, “I already knew. I’m not sure if y/n does, though.”

Eighteen, right now This might be my everything Everything, everything

AGE: 18

Seungcheol is almost completely out of breath by the time he’s at your doorstep.

He’d apologised profusely to Julia for that disaster of a date just a little over an hour ago, all while she’d been encouraging him to confess his feelings for you.

Pacing around the corridor, Seungcheol’s heart starts pounding faster as the nerves finally creep in.

What if you don’t feel the same? Will your friendship still stay the same?

“Cheol?” your familiar voice breaks him out of his inner turmoil, and the way you call him by his favourite nickname has him smiling subconsciously. “What are you doing here?”

“I, uh—” he rubs the back of his neck, nervous, “I wanted to see you.”

You tilt your head in confusion, moving to stand in front of him. “Are you not supposed to be on your date right now?”

Seungcheol winces at the implicit reminder of him leaving you at the cafe, looking at you with the most apologetic expression he can muster.

“Yeah… she ended it early.” Seungcheol explains, and you furrow your brows together.

“Why? Were you too boring?” you’re suppressing your laughter now, and Seungcheol can’t help but smile along with you.

“Not funny, y/n,” Seungcheol huffs, “But you might be right, yeah. I may have been a little boring intentionally.”

You look at him quizzically, urging him to continue. “I just— I like someone else, y/n.”

“Oh.” is all you reply as Seungcheol mentally chastises himself for how horribly he’s steering this conversation.

the “Um, it’s pretty late now, so you should go back,” you pipe up after a beat of silence and turn to go into your apartment. Seungcheol rushes to stop you, hand reaching out to grab your wrist.

“Wait, I—” Seungcheol takes a deep breath, eyes boring into yours.

“I’m in love with you,” Seungcheol breathes like a weight has been lifted off his shoulder, and you, too, let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. “I probably have been ever since you fixed my sandcastle for me back in kindergarten, and I’ve never stopped. I’m just stupid enough to realise only now that I love you so much, and I really, really hope you do too because—”

Your lips are on his before he can finish his sentence, and his eyes widen a little before he leans into you, kissing you back with full force. Just like the first time, the kiss sets off a million butterflies in Seungcheol’s stomach, and he embraces the feeling, reaching up to cup your face in his hands as he closes the nonexistent gap between the two of you. Seungcheol can only hope this is enough to convey his love and longing for you.

“I love you too, idiot,” you breathe out as you pull away, giggling as Seungcheol chases after your lips. “I wasn’t going to fix your sandcastle, you know, but Miss Yoon told me to make friends with you, so I did.”

“Well, thanks for fixing my sandcastle that day, then,” Seungcheol thumb brushes gently across your cheek, as if committing the feeling of your skin to memory.

“Your sandcastle building skills are horrible,” you huff as an attempt to divert attention from your burning cheeks.

“You’re so mean!” Seungcheol pinches your cheek and he puffs his in mock offence.

“But you love me,”

“I do,”

Your laughter travels down the corridor as the both of you continue bantering, just like when you were both sixteen and hopelessly pining for each other.

Seungcheol’s heart is full as he looks at your beaming self. He’s loved you for more than a decade, and he’s only just begun.

a/n: finally posting something after so long!! this has been in my wips for really long, and i lowkey don’t like how it turned out :( really missing every one on here though!! how have y’all been </3

masterlist

He nods, once. You cock your head to the side, and your surprise must show on your face, because he fishes a slightly crumpled looking paper out of his bag. You recognise it as the latest quiz, one that, fortunately, landed on the other TA’s marking pile. Scrawled at the very top, in Joshua’s unforgiving red pen, is a glaringly large ‘F - 27%’.

“It was only a pop quiz,” you say encouragingly, hiding your sympathetic wince. “Doesn’t count for anything.”

“I can’t afford to let my grades slip,” he counters quickly, like he’s prepared for this. “Which they are And I really don’t get this module. I just think some extra time could help, but I’m terrible at teaching myself.”

You look at him for a long moment. He can’t be more than a year or two younger than you, this boy with eager brown eyes and a hopeful smile; it’s almost charming, how he leans forward in anticipation of your reply, how worried he is about one small test. And — well. You’ve seen the grade sheets, and his grades are slipping. Not drastically, but this is your job, after all.

“Well,” you say finally, glancing at your watch. “Why don’t you come to the office hours tomorrow, and we’ll go over the quiz? And we can go from there.”

He smiles then, so sudden and bright you almost feel caught in it. “Perfect!” he agrees, as he takes his quiz back, shoving it haphazardly into his bag. “I’ll see you then. Oh, wait — my name’s Chan, by the way.”

You cast him an amused look as you zip up your own bag. “I know that.”

“Oh! Cool! Nice! That’s — yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow!” And as he backs away he stumbles over his own feet, catching himself before he topples over. He sends you a sheepish, flushed smile that makes you smile too. You’re always quick to smile at the students, and you send off the younger boy with a wave. Despite being a math major who loves her subject, you know just how much people despise it. Especially calculus.

“What’s got you thinking so hard?” A light voice interrupts your thoughts, and you jump, before turning to face Hong Joshua with a smile just as sheepish as Lee Chan’s was only moments ago.

“Nothing much,” you say, laughing awkwardly. Trying to look anywhere but at his honey brown eyes, you shuffle papers as you continue. “Just about how much people hate math.”

Joshua smiles that breathtaking smile, and your stomach quite literally does a flip. “Why? People bullying you for being smart again?”

You’d mentioned to him that you got made fun of in high school once for liking math. He refuses to let it go: you roll your eyes at him. “No. It was just a train of thought.”

“People who hate math are just not as cool as us,” he says, picking up his own folder, flashing you another smile.

(Us. Your stomach could be Simone Biles, with the amount of somersaults it’s landing today.)

“But anyway,” he continues, checking the time with a frown, “I gotta go. I’ll see you around, dude.”

Dude. There it is: just as quickly as you inflate, you deflate, watching him leave with a wrinkled brow. The problem with Hong Joshua is that he makes it incredibly easy to fall for him — and all the while, he’ll remain incredibly oblivious. You’re just another one of the sorry suckers who isn’t careful enough to nip it in the bud. But really, can you be blamed, when he looks like that? When he acts like that, all sweet and caring and let-me-hold-open-the-door-for-you?

You snap yourself out of your reverie with a sigh. Back to reality, as your mother always says — and your reality is the pile of algebra waiting for you back home.

“What I don’t understand,” Seungkwan says thoughtfully, pacing Chan’s room with his hands folded behind his back, “is why you’re putting on cologne to go to office hours.”

Chan hears the know-it-all tone under his roommate’s pretension, and he resents it. Running a final hand through his hair, and glancing himself over in the mirror one more time, he turns back to Seungkwan with a frustrated scoff. “Does it matter?”

“A problem shared is a problem halved,” Seungkwan wheedles, “In this case, it’d be a problem thirded. Three’d. You know what I mean - there’s three of us to share your problem. Right, Vernon?”

Vernon just blinks from his seat on Chan’s bed, slow and confused. “I don’t really know what we’re talking about. But sure.”

“Nothing,” Chan answers brutally, snatching up his bag. “We’re talking about nothing. Because I don’t have a problem, and Seungkwan’s just being nosy.”

“Look at him!” Seungkwan gesticulates loudly to Vernon, “look how dressed up he is. For class — for calculus! Nobody dresses up for calculus!”

“Ahhh,” Vernon nods slowly, drawing it out; and then he pauses, furrows his brows and asks mildly, “But isn’t that just because he has a crush on his TA?”

Chan hisses; Seungkwan triumphs. “I knew it!” he declares with glee, “I knew there was something! Who is she? Do you have a picture?”

“Nobody,” Chan grinds out, grabbing his backpack and jamming his feet into his worn-out shoes, casting Vernon a resentful look. “And I do not have a picture. But if I did, I wouldn’t show you. Goodbye.” And with that magnificent gesture, he shuts the door firmly behind him.

He’s not late to office hours. He never is. In fact, he’s three minutes early, but you’re already there, along with one or two other classmates he knows by sight but not by name. You’re leaning over one of their desks, talking rapidly as you gesture to the papers in front of them, lanyard swinging.

Chan doesn’t have a crush on you, contrary to what seems to be popular belief. Well. Not a big one. Like, a teensy tiny one, maybe. He thinks you’re pretty, and you’re smart, and you’re incredibly kind. But does he have a crush on you? No. Are his intentions here solely to get to know you better, in order to have a crush on you? Yes. In fact, that’s exactly what this is. Pursuing the butterflies in his stomach. Just out of interest, he reminds himself, as he pushes open the door and you turn around. Pure, innocent interest.

Within an hour of his entrance, you’ve explained every one of Chan’s mistakes — and there were a lot — in digestible detail. Twice as efficient and twice as digestible as Lee, the old, weak-voiced professor with an evidently wrong glasses prescription. He says as much to you, which has you laughing and shaking your head. (“Don’t,” you scold, even as you smile, “he’s so nice, though.”)

The professor is nice. Chan thinks you’re nicer.

He leaves office hours even brighter than he entered. Those butterflies are multiplying.

And, as it turns out in the very next week, when there’s yet another pop quiz — Chan is under the suspicion that Professor Lee doesn’t plan his lessons and just shoves last year’s quizzes at them instead —  he does actually need your help. His grades are getting worse. There’s always the other TA, Joshua, who Chan actually happens to know, but Chan thinks that his half-crush is worth following up on. At the very least, you could be a good friend.

Is pretending to need calculus tutoring in order to get to know a girl his finest moment? No. Because as much as he tries to justify this with his slipping grades, he knows perfectly well he could be doing excellently (well, averagely) if he put a little more effort in. But is that as appealing as the TA with the best laugh he’s ever heard? And so, somehow, with impressive persuasive skills he probably picked up from Jeonghan by accident, Chan manages to wheedle you into tutoring him, smiling as you hmm’ed and haa’ed and bit your lip nervously. 

“I’ve got a full list already,” you had said slowly, and he’d jumped in before you could go down the route of polite refusal.

“I know, I know, but seriously — I’ll be the best student you’ve ever had! I’m a good learner, I swear. I can study whenever you want.” 

Which is how he landed himself early morning sessions — and when you said early, you weren’t kidding. The times you’ve scheduled for him to start range between eight to ten, and he specifically didn’t book morning classes this semester because he loves his sleep. But still: his grades are slipping, and there’s a cute girl on the line, so he takes his success with warmth  — or perhaps it’s just the thought of spending more time with you, but whatever it is, he feels like he’s glowing, inside out. 

Your first tutoring session with Lee Chan goes surprisingly well. The moment he began halfway guilt tripping  you into tutoring him (“Imagine if my grades slip so far, I don’t get to graduate on time. Could you live with that?”), you knew he was something. And somehow, you still agreed to this, despite being loaded with all the shit a master’s student has on their plate, on top of TA’ing. Maybe you should work on saying no sometimes, but who are you kidding? You don’t have time to deal with your possibly self-destructive flaws, not when your to-do list is three miles long 

Despite your qualms, however, Chan turns out to be a great listener. He doesn’t act pissy when you tell him he’s doing something wrong, either, which is already better than half your students. 

“I probably seem really stupid,” he says with a quiet laugh, as he re-attempts a question from the last quiz.

“Not at all,” you say instantly. “Don’t tell Lee, but calculus is the worst, anyway.”

He lifts his head with curved lips — “Oh? From the words of the mathematical extraordinaire herself?” 

Immediately, you’re growing hot, shaking your head and laughing, looking away. “Oh, come on. Don’t call me that.”

Chan’s eyes don’t move from yours — it’s like you can physically feel the weight of his gaze, sometimes. You’ve never met someone with so much… presence. “Why not?” he asks. “Own it. Professor Lee says that about you all the time.”

“Okay, not me specifically,” you correct quickly, “he says that about Joshua too.”

Chan clicks his tongue dismissively. “Yeah, but Joshua’s a piece of shit anyway, so…”

Your surprise must be visible on your face, because when Chan looks back at you, he laughs out loud, louder than the other students in the library are happy with; they cast him dirty looks, but it’s like they bounce straight off him. He only lowers his voice a little, leaning closer. “Joshua and I are friends,” he explains, amused, “I’m not serious. But anyway, if you don’t even like calculus, what are you doing TA’ing it?”

You shrug. “I don’t know, just… Lee asked me to, so I was like, why not?”

“I can’t imagine anything worse,” Chan says bluntly, “than teaching a bunch of people how to integrate shit.”

A giggle slips out of you before you can prevent it; he makes you do that a lot. Laugh, without meaning to. “Well. That’s why I majored in Math. I don’t mind.” You hesitate. “What are you actually majoring in?”

His eyes do that thing again. Sparkle. He bites down on his lip, as if suppressing a smile. “Math.”

“What?” You can’t help it, you’re laughing again, louder this time and trying to stifle it. “You never said!”

“You never asked!” He mirrors your incredulous tone teasingly. 

“You just let me embarrass myself like that.”

“You didn’t do anything embarrassing.” 

You try to ignore his eyes on you again, picking up your pencil to doodle awkwardly in your notebook. “I thought you were like… on a sports program. Or in, like, accounting or something.”

Impossibly, his smile widens. “Those are two very different things.” 

The playful lilt to his tone does something to your stomach. “Have you finished your question yet?” You change the subject so sharply that he laughs again, sliding his notebook over to you.

You glance over it, blinking in surprise. “That’s perfect,” you say, pushing it back towards him. “Well done.”

That smile shifts into something more — well, if you didn’t know any better, you’d call it flirty. Lopsided and charming. “Yeah, well,” he says, packing up his stuff, “I‘ve got a great teacher.”

The tutoring sessions continue to pass much the same. Chan does his work, but keeps stopping to ask you all kinds of questions in between. Your favourite colour. Your favourite type of coffee. Your favourite movie, TV show, your hometown — somehow, his easy, open nature has you telling him all kinds of things, and more than that, you’re asking him all kinds of things in return.

“You know, I’m not like this with the rest of my tutoring roster,” you observe quietly, as you finish a story about your high school prom. “Like, at all.”

“Good!” he says, grinning at you. He’s wearing glasses today, you notice. He looks — nice. Cute. “That’d be like you’re cheating on me. I’m your favourite student.”

Slightly appalled, you nudge him. “Not true! I’ve never said that. I don’t play favourites.”

“I do,” he says just as swiftly. “I’m your favourite. I can tell.” He pats your hand. “It’s okay, you’re my favourite too.”

You pull your hand away, ignoring the swoop of your stomach. “Focus!”

“How am I supposed to focus when you’re right there?” 

“Easily,” you snap, “since you’re my favourite student.”

Chan positively beams when you say it, not even attempting to hide it as he returns to the problems in front of him. “As long as you can admit it.”

At the end of the session, Chan digs into his bag and slides a candy over to you, and you can’t help the smile that splits your face open. “No way,” you cry, picking it up, “I love these! How did you know?”

He smiles, not even glancing at the candy once, fixing his eyes on you. “You told me. Like, a week ago.”

You barely remember that Something swells up inside you, tight and hot and sweet. “Oh, wow. Thank you, Chan.” You hope he can hear how touched you are, because you can’t quite express it. 

“It’s nothing,” he says, with a small smile, one you can’t quite read. “We’re friends, right?”

“Yeah,” you say after the shortest of pauses. “Of course. We’re friends.”

He truly is something else. Almost your opposite, with his confidence and his openness and outright friendliness. You can’t quite put it into words, but something warm just pours out of him.

When you say as much to Minghao, your best friend, he laughs in your face. “Chan? Lee Chan?”

“He’s nice,” you protest lightly. Minghao somehow knows him, through Jeonghan or something or other. Briefly, you wonder how many people Chan knows — which really just proves your point. He’s annoyingly likeable, and even though you have to be forced to admit it, he is easily your favourite out of all the students you tutor. It’s barely even a competition; it’s not a competition. Your other students are fine, but they’re not quite Chan.

“Lee Chan is a little shit,” Minghao says with a hidden affection you’ve had to learn to detect. “But, yeah. He’s a good guy.” There’s a pause filled by the surrounding murmurs of people in the coffee shop you guys are in. It’s always overflowing with people, but it’s the only place that serves halfway decent herbal tea for Minghao, so the two of you always end up meeting here.

“How’s Joshua?” Minghao asks suddenly, doing the annoying thing where he wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. “Still as sexy and gentlemanly as ever, is he?”

At the very mention of his name, you feel yourself growing hotter. “He’s fine,” you say shortly. “Busy.”

Your crush on Joshua has never been a secret from Minghao. Even if you’d wanted it to be, Minghao would’ve worked it out in two days, tops. But, as you keep reiterating, it’s just a stupid crush. It’ll fade. Just like your crush on Kim Hongjoong two years ago, and your crush on Kim Namjoon the year before that. You have a habit of letting things die out, and you’re very comfortable in that habit. 

“___,” Minghao says seriously, “you should tell him.”

“There are literally so many things I’d do before I confess. I’d rather memorise the proof of Fermat’s Last Theorem than do that.”

“You never know if you don’t try! And besides,” Minghao adds, softer, “even if he, you know, doesn’t feel that way, Joshua’s not... well, he won’t make you feel bad about anything. You guys can still be friends. Joshua’s nice.”

Which is the sentence that echoes in your head later that same day, when your meeting with Professor Lee and Joshua is over. Lee is long gone, leaving you and Joshua to go over a few minor details with your tutor schedules and office hour planning. Joshua just looks… really good, with all his files spread out in front of him, his silky voice talking about something stupid one of his tutees had done, his long, dyed hair slightly mussed. 

“…and then he asked me how to find where the line intercepts the asymptote!” he finishes, chuckling. You’re a little late with your laugh, too busy focussing on how the afternoon sun lights up his hair, making it look lighter than it actually is.

Joshua calls your name, his smile shifting into something more concerned. “Are you okay?”

Your words stumble into each other on their way out. “I — well, yeah. Fine. I’m fine — good. I’m good.”

You guys can still be friends. 

“Actually, Josh, I wanted to ask you something,” you say in a sudden emboldened rush. 

“Go for it,” he says, smile fading ever so slightly. “Everything okay?”

“I — ” You hesitate, and in that split second, your courage disappears. You stare at him, and your brain decides for you: unattainable. Untouchable. “I forgot,” you finish lamely, ducking your head and shuffling your papers. Surprisingly, you’re not quite at the level of mortification you thought you would be.

“Ookay,” Joshua drags out, still watching you with concern, before he shakes it off and starts to gather his things. “Well, just let me know if you remember. I’m here for you, okay? We’re friends, not just TAs!”

That fucking word again. Friends. Only this time, you realise suddenly, it barely even hurts. 

Maybe you’re just getting used to it.

“So…” Vernon says, sidling up to Chan in their shared kitchen, “how’s your TA?”

Chan sighs, looking mournfully at the spicy ramen he’d just made for himself. So much for peace. It must’ve been the smell that lured Vernon out of his bedroom, but he’s clearly an opportunist; killing two birds with one stone by prying into his life and poaching his food. “Joshua is fine.”

“That’s great, but I know that already,” Vernon says, as he helps himself to some of the ramen. Chan lets him, and that must be how his friend realises something is wrong, because he’s suddenly narrowing his eyes at Chan around his mouthful of noodles. “What is it? Did she turn you down?”

Chan drags out his words. “I haven’t said anything to her. She likes someone else. I can tell.”

Vernon considers this for a moment, characteristically quiet and contemplative. “Are you sure?”

“Well — not really. But I’m like, eighty percent sure? But also I don’t really know her that well, and Jeonghan once said to me she’s always super nice to everyone, so I don’t think she’s into me. But then I also don’t know if she’s into him either! Because she’s nice to me and him and apparently every motherfucker on the planet, so it’s, like, confusing, you know? But like. I think she is into him. She looks at him in a kinda way, so…”

Vernon chews with wide eyes. “Damn. That’s crazy, bro, what are you going to do?

Chan exhales deeply. “I don’t know. I think we’ll be better off as friends. I’ll probably just… give up.”

Vernon nods slowly, already backing away. “Good luck, dude. Here for you.” He raises an awkward fist in solidarity, and that’s when Chan glances at his bowl of ramen and realises it’s empty.

Chan allows himself one day to mope. He even cancels a session for the first time, shooting you a quick message to let you know he isn’t feeling great, and he wallows. Stays in bed the entire twenty four hours, scoffing all the ramen in the house, and now he owes Seungkwan and Vernon two packs each, but still — he feels better. He’s grateful he didn’t let it get too far, at the very least. You guys can still be friends, and one day this will be a funny joke he slips into conversation.

When he shows up to the next session, a few days later, he’s determined not to show any hint of awkwardness. He plunks his books down with a renewed energy, startling you as you take out your headphones. 

“I was going to ask if you’re feeling better,” you start dryly, “but I can see that’s clearly the case.”

“Yeah. Nothing big, I’m fine now,” he waves off your concern. Heartsick, maybe. It still twinges at him, when he sees your soft smile, faintly smells your trademark perfume, your colour coded notes in front of you. He doesn’t know when highlighters became so endearing, when he learnt that you always overuse the pastel green one. 

“Okay, so asymptotes,” you begin, and Chan scoots closer, a shit-eating grin on his face. 

“You’re my asymptote,” he says with solemn seriousness, “because I always tend towards you.” 

You fluster easily, Chan has noticed. You avoid his gaze, but you’re laughing, telling him how terrible his jokes are but still — you’re laughing.

Suddenly, in only a few minutes, the thought of getting over you is a lot more daunting than he imagined. You make it harder when you laugh at the stupid joke he quips a moment later, too; you always tell him he has an infectious laugh, but yours is like music to his ears, no matter how hard you try to suppress it in the library. 

“Come on,” you say, finally, gathering yourself together. “Asymptotes. It’s our last lesson for a bit. Are you going home for Thanksgiving?”

“Leaving tomorrow afternoon,” he confirms. “What about you?”

“Tomorrow morning,” you say. “Asymptotes will be the end of this chapter, so it’s perfect timing, really. We can start the new stuff after the break.”

Privately, Chan thinks the break really is perfect timing. He can wallow a little more, back at home with the comfort of his mother’s food and his father’s baseball reruns. He’ll come back ready to finish his tutoring, ace calculus, and be your friend. With firm emphasis on friend. For a moment, he considers you and Joshua as a couple, and honestly, as much as it stings, it’s cute. It makes sense. 

After the break, winter hits full force. Your first tutoring session at the library is with Chan, and you’re layered up to the max, treating yourself to coffee as a shield against the bite of the cold outside. Vaguely, you remember Chan saying something about how he only drinks lattes hot, and so you order one for him too, taking extra packets of sugar and a stirring spoon on your way out. You know he likes to do the sugar himself.

“I’m late, I know.” You shrug off your coat when you arrive at your guys’ usual table, shaking the raindrops off your coat and hair with an apologetic smile. “It literally started pouring just two minutes before I got here, but here — coffee.” You unload your arms on the table in front of him, slightly breathless, tugging a hand through your untamed hair. 

You catch Chan looking at you, something unreadable in his gaze, and you wince. “Sorry,” you apologise again.

“It’s okay,” he says, “I’ve just — I’ve never seen you so…”

“Messy?” you finish, laughing half self-consciously.

“Disorganised,” he corrects, and it feels gentler. “You’re kind of, like, windswept?” He pauses, quieter. “You look — pretty.”

You ran to the library a solid ten minutes ago. Your heart shouldn’t still be beating this fast. “Thank you,” you reply, just as quietly. There’s silence for a beat, fraught with some sort of tension, before you slap the textbook with too much enthusiasm, “So, uh, next chapter!”

“Next chapter,” he agrees quickly, and just like that, the weirdness dissipates, and it’s just you and Chan.

At least, until Joshua steps in the library. He’s browsing the section near you; you see him before he sees you, but only by a few seconds. You just have enough time to think how cute his scarf is, and then his eyes fall on you and Chan, and he waves with a smile. 

You wave back as he nears the table. “I don’t want to interrupt,” Joshua explains quickly, “just wanted to say hi. To both of you. How’s it going?” He directs his question to Chan, adding — “Is she running you to the ground?”

“She wouldn’t,” Chan says simply. He doesn’t say much else as Joshua says his goodbyes and disappears between the shelves, but you’re still a little harried-looking, dusting down your clothes unnecessarily. 

“So,” Chan says casually, as you return your focus to him and take a sip of water to try and cool you down, “how long have you had a crush on Joshua?”

You choke. Heat curls up your neck, and not because of your coughing — hot-faced and spluttering, you demand, “What are you talking about?” Even as you speak, you can tell your voice is pitched too high. Too defensive.

The younger boy gives you a look. “Come on. I’m not blind.”

You duck your head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Anyway, so this question about limits — ”

“You’re a terrible liar,” he sings, cutting you off. “You have a big fat crush on Hong Joshua!”

Eyes wide, you slap a hand over his mouth, glancing behind you in horror. “Oh my God, keep your voice down!”

Beneath your palm, Chan gives you the most self-satisfied, victorious look, and belatedly, you realise you’ve given yourself away. “Fuck you,” you say, without any venom, releasing him and leaning back, trying extremely hard not to sulk. “It’s none of your business anyway.”

“It is when you’re making googly eyes at him right in front of me. Your student.”

“I don’t make googly eyes!” you object immediately, horrified. “I’ve never made googly eyes.”

“Whatever you say, teach.”

“I don’t.”

“Okay.”

“I don’t!”

“Okay, I said.” He still has that smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. It’s infuriating.

Briefly, your mind flits back to the stumbling boy you’d spoken to when he’d first asked for your help, back in late September. You miss him, you think sarcastically. He was the total opposite of the guy in front of you now.

“So?” Chan leans forward over the desk with raised, expectant eyebrows.

“So what?”

“So, how long? A month? Two?”

Your cheeks grow hot with embarrassment. Again.

“Longer?”

 “A year,” you whisper, avoiding his gaze.

“A year?!” He practically yelps, and you have never wanted to bury yourself alive more than you do at this moment.

“A year and a half. Or something,” you confirm weakly, and then shake your head. You gently push his forehead with the eraser side of your pencil, forcing him back to his side of the desk. “But that doesn’t matter. I’m meant to be helping you with limits today.”

“I think you need more help than I do,” he says with sudden, sweet sympathy, patting your hand how he always does. You snatch it away and glare at him, but he ploughs on. “How have you not made a single move for a year and a half? You should do something about it. Move past the googly eyes.”

“Don’t want to. Can’t make me.” You tap your pencil against his open, untouched /textbook. “Now focus. On your work, and not on prying into my love life!”

He clicks his tongue softly, but picks up his own pencil again; inwardly, you let out a soft sigh of relief. Mortification still boils in the pits of your stomach — a guy you barely even know caught on so quickly. Are you really so obvious?

Chan works quietly for all of three minutes, and then he glances at you again. “I don’t want to hear it,” you say warningly, cutting him off before he can even start.

Amusement sparkles in his eyes. “I didn’t say anything!”

”You were going to.”

“I think you should make a move, that’s all.”

“I think it’s none of your business.” 

“You said we were friends now! I’m trying to help my friend!”

“I take it back. Strictly tutor and student. We’re no longer friends.”

“No, seriously. I think you could totally get him to fall for you.”

You audibly snort. “Chan, do you know how many people have a crush on Joshua? He wouldn’t look twice at me. And I’m fine with that.”

“I’m not!”

You groan, tip your head on to the textbook in front of you. Then you turn, glaring at him and his entertained smile — with a smushed cheek and sulky pout, you ask, ”Why is this such a big deal to you, anyway?”

Chan almost seems to fold in on himself when you ask that. For someone so open and friendly, he has a way of shuttering down that startles you a little. It’s subtle, but you’re starting to notice it; his avoidant eyes and the faint pink on the apples of his cheeks. “I don’t know,” he says, shrugging with obviously feigned nonchalance. “I guess — I think you deserve to be happy.”

Sometimes people say things that hit you straight in the gut. Wind you. Leave you just a little bit breathless with their sincerity. 

You open and close your mouth like a fucking fish. “Oh,” you say at last, stupidly, “that’s — that’s really nice of you, Chan.”

Whatever brief embarrassment he was experiencing, he seems to be over it. “I know. I’m the best. And that’s why I’m going to help you.”

You laugh again, amused and slightly endeared by his enthusiasm. “Okay, fairy godmother. Let’s get back to work, maybe.”

“No, seriously,” Chan insists, brown eyes sparkling. “I’m going to teach you how to flirt.”

The previous flattering you felt disappears in the space of a second. “Excuse me?” you say incredulously, but you’re laughing already, simply at the pure audacity. “Who says I don’t know how to flirt?”

“You did,” he says, matching your smile, “when you didn’t make a single move for a year and a half. But don’t worry. I’m going to help you.”

“I didn’t ask for your help!”

“No, but you need it, so I’m going to help you anyway,” he nods generously.

“How kind,” you say sarcastically, before thwacking his shoulder with your thinnest textbook.

Chan bursts out laughing as he dodges it, before switching back to that tone — the one that had you caving into him only a few weeks back, when he asked you to be his tutor. (Briefly, you wonder how it’s only been a few weeks. Part of you feels like you’ve known him forever.)

“Seriously,” he continues, “I can help you. I’ve literally never been rejected in my life.”

“Oh, yeah?” You snort, but honestly, you don’t doubt it. 

He tilts his head to the side. “Well, like, once in middle school. It doesn’t count. 100% success rate, baby.”

“99%, maybe.”

“That is not how statistics works,” he says smugly. “Thought you’d know better, teach.”

“You’re the worst.”

“I’m the best. I’m going to get you a boyfriend; literally just give me twenty minutes at the end of the rest of our tutoring sessions.”

“We only have, like, three left.” 

“That’ll be enough.”

Fuck it, you think. You don’t think this will help you with Joshua — nor do you want it to — but why the hell not? If it makes Chan happy, as it so clearly seems to…

“Ten minutes,” you sigh.

His eyes brighten. “Fifteen.”

“Fine,” you acquiesce after a short moment, waving your hand dismissively. “From next time, though. I don’t have time today.”

You try to ignore his Cheshire cat grin, but it’s infectious. You’re mirroring it by the time he slaps the desk victoriously, assuring you, “You won’t regret this, I swear.”

“I’m sure I will. So, limits — ”

“Limits,” he agrees, an infuriatingly triumphant smirk on his lips. 

You roll your eyes, but you’re still smiling. “You have no limits.”

“Lesson one,” Chan says, a little too gleefully, only a few days later. “Body language.” 

He watches you pass a hand over your forehead with a grimace. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

“First tip is to not be doing things like that when he speaks,” Chan says lightly, pulling your hands away from your forehead. He places his index fingers either side of your lips, and gently, carefully, he pulls the corners of them upwards. “Smile.” 

You blink at him, and it is, unfortunately, the cutest thing he’s ever seen. “But,” he continues, shaking it off and pulling his fingers away, “you’re good at smiling anyway, so that’s not a key concern.”

Surprise appears on your features. “Nobody’s ever said that to me before. I usually get the opposite.”

Chan is slightly taken-aback, because you’re always smiling. You’re quiet, definitely, but you laugh super easy, and smile even easier than that. 

“But go on.” You change the subject quickly, and Chan realises that despite yourself, you’re getting intrigued now. 

“Tip number two,” he continues, magnanimously, “eye contact.”

“Absolutely not.”

“What? Why not?” The swiftness of your refusal startles him, but even as he asks, he kind of knows; you tend to avoid eye contact, especially when you’re shy, or embarrassed, or confused, or… well, a lot of the time. “You can practise.”

You look at him with horror. “Practise?”

“With me,” he nods, steeling himself already. “Now.”

“You’re joking.”

“I never joke,” he lies straight to your face, just to make you relax. Sure enough, your shoulders loosen almost instantly, and you let out half a smile. “Come on. Just for two minutes.” 

“Okay,” you finally agree, meeting his stare. Chan leans forward just the slightest bit, and for the first time in his life, he understands what it means to sink into someone else’s eyes. Your gaze isn’t intense, but it’s captivating, and he’s not sure if that’s his own feelings surfacing up again, or it’s just — natural. Either way, being this close to you is doing something funny to his ribs, the same thing that happened when you brought him coffee. 

He tries to distract himself. “Can’t believe we only have two tutoring sessions left.” His voice has lowered instinctively, taken on a slightly gravelly tone that seems to surprise you a little Your lips part for a second, and then you nod; he watches your throat bob as you swallow.

“Yeah,” you say, equally as hushed. “Time flies, huh?”

His lips are dry. The tip of his tongue darts out, and he watches as you seem to follow it. “Yeah. When you’re having fun.”

Chan goes home that night more confused than before, and it only gets worse when Seungkwan’s waiting for him in the living room, hands on hips. One look at him, and Chan can tell he’s going to play interrogator.

“I just don’t know if this is a good idea,” Seungkwan says, at last, after Chan slumps on to the couch. “Helping her get with Joshua. You’re going to break your own heart.”

Chan wrinkles his nose. “I am not. We’re just friends, Seungkwan. I’m over it.”

Seungkwan looks at him disbelievingly, and Chan rolls his eyes. “I’m getting over it,” he corrects himself. “But we’re fine. Don’t worry.”

“I’m your best friend,” Seungkwan replies instantly, “Of course I’m going to worry. You just — you open your heart so easily. Which is a good thing!” he tacks on hastily, “But she… well.” 

Arching a brow, Chan leans forward. “She what?”

“Let me put it this way. You’re a romantic, and from what I can tell, she’s a cynic.”

Chan has never given much thought to what other people think about you, not until now. In all honesty, he’d had a similar perception of you, at first. Extremely organised. Kind of stoic. Nice, but distant. But now, he’s sure that nothing has ever been further from the truth. You’re reserved, that goes without a doubt, but you’re not cold. You’re kind. Care immensely for your friends, even though there are only a few of them. Shy, but sweet, and he thinks it’s a fucking shame that people can’t see that. He’d thought you were distant, but he’s heard other people describe you as uptight. Snobbish.

All people do is talk, he thinks with a little contempt. 

He looks back at his roommate. “You don’t know her, Seungkwan. She’s not a cynic.”

His friend shrugs. “I trust you. Just… be careful.”

Your second “lesson” with Chan begins with him grabbing you by the hand and pulling you in between random bookshelves. 

“Stand here,” he instructs, before patting you on the shoulders. You can feel the warmth of his hands through your sweater. “Okay,” he says, “lesson two is all about conversation. He’s going to fall in love with your mouth — not like that,” he adds quickly, when he sees you biting down on your lip to hide your laugh. “Mind out the gutter, teach.”

You grin at him cheekily. “You’re the teacher now. Come on, then.” The truth is, these lessons are more entertaining than anything. You’re enjoying it, hanging out with Chan without having to remind him to finish his questions or double-check the textbook. 

“Be serious!” he complains, but his eyes have that usual sparkle to them. He glances at your clothes for a moment. “Nice sweater, by the way. You look good in blue. But anyway, quick tips — remember what he likes, compliment him, talk about what you have in common, stuff like that. Okay, I’m going to go over and I want you to imagine I’m Joshua. So you see me randomly in the library, what are you doing?”

You snort. “Running in the other direction.”

He holds a finger up, hiding a smile at your silly answer. “Bzzzt. Wrong answer. You lose ten points.”

“When did I have ten points to begin with?” you argue, but still, you’re struggling to suppress your giggles. 

“You didn’t. You’re in the negatives.” He flicks you gently on the forehead. “Try again.”

“Ow,” you complain, pouting. “Okay, I’m meant to say hi.”

“Ding! Ten points. Back to zero.” Chan waits expectantly, and you look at him in confusion. He motions with his fingers. “Go on. Say hi.”

“I am not roleplaying with you!” you hiss, horrified, pushing his arm gently. He stumbles back exaggeratedly. “We do math, Chan, not drama!”

“Actually I do math and history,” he corrects nonchalantly, “and history is dramatic.”

Flummoxed, you repeat after him — “History? Since when do you do history?”

“Since, like, three years ago…?” He laughs at your expression, but you can’t bring yourself to mirror his lightness, for once. 

You feel rooted to your spot. “You’re a double major?” Something uncomfortable stirs in the pits of your stomach, and you know you’re not being rational — there’s no reason why this should jar you so much, but you feel jarred. “How did I not know this?” you ask, more to yourself. You turn to him, head moving so sharply he almost steps back. “Did you ever mention this?

Chan’s smile is fading. “I don’t know. Probably not.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know,” he laughs awkwardly, “it never came up. It’s not a big deal!”

“It is to me,” you insist, “Chan, you’re my friend! I should know this stuff!”

“It’s not a big deal,” he repeats, his brows furrowed. “Seriously. You know me better than half my friends already, and we’ve only been friends for like, a few months.” He attempts a smile — “You even know about the whole story behind that girl rejecting me back in middle school, I don’t tell that to everyone.”

“Yeah,” you say distractedly, “I guess so.”

Chan looks at the time. “Don’t you have a meeting now? With Joshua?”

You tilt your head, confused, your mind still on his history major.  “I do?”

“It’s Wednesday,” he reminds you, and you snap out of it, checking the time yourself. “You’re going to be late,” Chan laughs, gently pushing you towards your bag. “Go!”

You wave at him as you gather your stuff haphazardly, calling an, “I’ll text you later!” ok your way out. 

“Remember my top tips!” he calls back, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. You laugh and flip him off, bundling yourself out the library — only to run smack into another girl leaving at the same time. 

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry,” you apologise, helping her pick up her pencils. “I wasn’t looking!”

“It’s okay,” she assures you quickly. “By the way,” she adds, “you and your boyfriend are so cute!”

“My… boyfriend?” You hand her stuff back to her with a furrowed brow.

She beams at you sunnily. “Yeah! I always see you guys on your cute study dates over there, it’s soo sweet. The way you guys look at each other is, like, to die for.”

“Thank you,” you say automatically, before opening your mouth to correct her. But it’s too late, she’s gone and you’re left standing in the exit with a thousand thoughts rushing through your mind, ones that preoccupy you all the way back to yours and Joshua’s shared office. 

They only multiply when you see Joshua, and feel absolutely nothing. There’s no typical dip in your stomach, no stuttering heartbeat, just a familiar smile and nothing else, which is when you realise — you haven’t been feeling anything like what you used to feel.

At least, not around Joshua.

“That’s the first time you’ve been late, like, ever,” Joshua observes, “Were you with Chan?”

“Yeah, I — uh, how did you know that?” You cut yourself off to stare at him in surprise.

“Our tutoring schedules are right there,” he smiles, nodding to the pinboard next to him. You almost sigh in relief. A normal explanation, finally. Something that makes sense. These realisations and observations are nothing more than —

“But you always have a certain look after you see him anyway,” Joshua continues obliviously. “Your eyes get all shiny. You smile more.” He pauses, grins at you knowingly, “You guys are close, huh?”

“I — I don’t — ” You stutter feebly, because suddenly everything is hot and you need to lie down. “I don’t feel well,” you almost shout, way too loud; Joshua startles, but nods. 

“Okay,” he says, worriedly. “We can reschedule, but do you need a ride home?”

“No!” you snap, before taking a deep breath. “Sorry. No. I think — the fresh air will be good for me.”

Joshua lets you go, and you feel close to tears the whole way home. 

You can’t stomach this, you think, curled up in a ball under your duvet. It doesn’t make sense; you may be a math major, but none of this is adding up.

“I like Joshua,” you say out loud, and it sounds hollow. It sounds false. It doesn’t bring anything with it. 

Slowly, tentatively, you say, “I like Chan.” 

That brings so much, but more than anything, it brings warmth. Warmth like the serious brown of his eyes, his rough hands, his smile, his laugh, the way he chews his lip when he’s thinking hard about a question. 

You stick your head in a pillow and let out a scream.

Chan doesn’t know if he should invite you to the end of semester party that Seungcheol is throwing, considering his absolute failure in getting over you, but he does it anyway. He invited you to the Halloween one, and you turned him down, saying you had plans with some other friends, but he reckons it’s worth trying again, so he does just that.

Your response comes within minutes. 

[16:43] you: isn’t that the night before our last tutoring?

[16:44] chan: i know! but i’ll be on time i promise i wont even drink that much [16:44] chan: it’ll be like a celebration!!

[16:45] you: of what?

[16:45] chan: you put up with me for a full semester :)

He watches your typing bubble appear and reappear multiple times with a frown, until:

[16:48] you: i don’t “put up” with you chan

A smile. A big cheesy one that has his cheeks aching a little.

[16:48] you: we’re friends, aren’t we?

No matter how hard he tries, that still stings. 

The party sneaks up faster than expected, and Chan agrees to meet you there, because you’re coming with Minghao, and he agreed to help Seungcheol set up before he knew you were coming. Which is, you know, whatever. He’s not a little upset that he doesn’t get to pick you up in his car and do the whole opening-your-door-for-you thing — not at all, no matter what Seungkwan tries to imply.

Joshua probably would’ve, he thinks miserably, as people begin to arrive. That’s what you’d once said, ages ago, that you liked about him. 

‘He’s sweet,’ you’d said, ‘and he, like, holds doors open for me.’

‘The bar is in hell,’ Chan had said in response, making you snort with laughter, hiding your face. 

“No moping at my party!” Seungcheol yells as he sails by, carrying a load of ping pong balls — they’re setting up beer pong in the other room, but for once, Chan doesn’t feel the need to take up Jeonghan’s challenge. He dithers by the door, looking up hopefully every time someone enters, and every time, it isn’t you. 

Until it is. You come in just after Minghao, and Chan’s breath is quite literally taken away. It’s horrifyingly cliché, how gorgeous you look — you always do, but he’s never seen you dressed up before. Not like this, with a blue dress that falls to your mid-thigh, hair done to perfection. Makeup too, that makes your eyes look bigger and softer, that matches your outfit exactly.

Something swells inside him when he sees you on your tiptoes, craning your neck this way and that; instinctively, he thinks you’re looking for him. And when your eyes finally land on his, you smile so big that his insides turn molten; hot and tight and full, so incredibly full. He moves towards you without even realising, a moth to a flame. 

“You look — ” He swallows. Hard. “Amazing. You look amazing.”

You open your mouth to reply, but before you can, Minghao mutters something in your ear, gesturing to a room on the right before tugging you away. Chan watches as you send him an apologetic wave — and then you’re gone, melting into the sea of people that Seungcheol somehow knows. And he’s tugged in completely the opposite direction, casting one longing look after you.

About an hour into the party, you see Chan with someone else. A girl. Short, dark-haired, bright-eyed — pretty. So pretty.

You’re not one to get jealous, usually. But that’s the only word to describe the way your stomach drops and your heart twists. Green-eyed monster, rearing in your chest. She makes him laugh, and he touches her arm when he does, and honestly, it’s a completely innocent picture. They’re probably just friends, and you’re usually so secure in yourself, but with Chan — you feel everything but secure. It was only last week you allowed yourself to acknowledge you were halfway to falling in love with him.

Joshua was familiar, at least. This is not, which is why it took you so long to accept it. 

You smooth down your dress (“You look good in blue.”), and watch as Chan leans down to hear her over the music. Maybe it’s the second drink in your hand, which you’d only taken after being egged on by Mingyu — he’d handed you his “professional” jungle juice. It tastes like shit, but recent events have brought with them a desire to get absolutely fucking wasted.

Tragically, you’ve managed tipsy at best, but it’s still enough to have you over-emotional, and with one last look at Chan and the pretty girl, you escape the watchful eyes of Minghao to the balcony of Seungcheol’s disgustingly wealthy place to cry. Which you do, with shaky, gulping breaths, and blurred vision.

When you’ve calmed yourself just the slightest bit, you glance at yourself in your phone camera, lit up by the yellow lighting inside. The girl in the mirror is almost unrecognisable — drunk and face streaked with cheap mascara (advertised as waterproof but clearly not).

God, your head aches. When did life become so fucking complicated?

You know when; you know exactly when, that little snarky voice in the corner of your head tells you, flashing you an image of a certain brown-haired boy with his stupid smile. You know that this mess started somewhere around when he waltzed into your life, brandishing his flirting tips and stupid math puns.  What you don’t know is when he slipped his way into your heart, when you somehow gave him the power to crush it in his fingers. 

That’s what it feels like. Lee Chan has your heart in the palm of his hand, and he doesn’t have a fucking clue.

The thought makes you feel slightly sick — or maybe it’s the overconsumption of the jungle juice that Mingyu cooked up, but whatever it is, your stomach churns uncomfortably, leaving acid climbing your throat. You cast a contemptuous look at the mixture in your red solo cup, and with a sigh, dump the rest of it over the balcony next to you. You ignore the call of hey, fuck you! that comes from below, instead sinking to the floor, hugging your knees and leaning your aching, hot against the cool metal railing to blink away the tears that burn behind your eyes.

Momentarily you consider how at the start of the year, you’d never have expected yourself to be here, not in a million years. At the SVT frat house, hidden in a corner to weep over a boy. A boy that isn’t Hong Joshua — a boy that is, technically, in some ways, your student.

“Fuck you, Lee Chan,” you say bitterly, and as always, you can’t bring yourself to mean it.

“Why’s that?” A familiar voice has you snapping your head towards the balcony doorway. Tall and smiling as always, Joshua regards you with a look of mixed sympathy and pity. You resent it. 

“Fuck you too!” You try to scowl at him; it doesn’t quite work, and you’re too drunk and tired to muster up the energy to be angry at him. Joshua didn’t really do anything; the only crime you can hold against him is obliviousness. He’s not the one holding your heart in his hands. You don’t think he ever really was — at the very least, what you felt with him was never like this. There was never so much.

Joshua doesn’t say anything, just laughs and sits next to you on the floor. Both of you have your backs pressed to the railing, and he nudges you softly with his shoulder. “Everything okay?”

You swallow thickly. “No.”

He smiles ever so slightly, nodding to your tearful face. “Yeah, I mean, I figured.”

You let out a watery giggle. “God. I’m such a mess.”

Joshua hums, like he’s actually considering your words deeply. “You aren’t, really. You’re like, the least messy person I know.”

You sniffle a little. “What?”

“Come on, ___, you’re like the most put-together person in this whole university. It’s kind of refreshing to see you outside of that.”

“What, you enjoy seeing me cry?” 

“No, of course not,” he says quickly, bumping your shoulder. “Just. In general, I mean. You’ve been happier lately.”

You gesture to your tear tracks. “This is happy?”

Joshua clicks his tongue at you. “I think Chan is really good for you,” he says finally, quietly. Like he knows he’s broaching a forbidden topic — which he is. You flinch at the very sound of his name. “He makes you happy. That’s what I mean. You should give yourself a shot.”

“No,” you say immediately, automatically. “I can’t.”

“You could,” he says, without reproach. “If you let yourself.”

You let that settle. Silence falls — or at least as much silence as you can get when you’re metres away from a house party. “I used to have a crush on you, you know.” You don’t look at him, facing straight ahead thoughtfully.

Joshua smiles, rueful. “I know.”

You snap your head round, and your disbelief must be etched onto your face because he laughs. “I could tell,” he shrugs. “You got flustered so easily, sometimes.”

The slightest of groans. “I do that, apparently.” You hug your legs to you again, resting your cheek on your knees as you look at Joshua, sitting by your side. “I almost asked you out, too.” 

“I probably would’ve said yes,” he confesses honestly, but still, somehow, you don’t feel anything. “But then I saw how you are with Chan. And that is not like this,” he continues gently. “The way you looked at me back then is nothing, compared to how you look at him.”

“Don’t tell him.” You’re not afraid to beg.

“God forbid you let yourself feel something, right?” Joshua laughs a little, but his eyes bore into you with sincere sympathy. “Why are you so afraid of your own feelings?”

You don’t know what to say. But you’re saved from having to think about it, because Lee Chan himself sticks his head through the door, something shifting on to his face when his eyes finally land on you. 

“There you are! I’ve been looking for you for — ” he freezes for a second, the exact moment his eyes land on Joshua sitting next to you “ — ages,” he finishes, slowly, before taking a step back. “I should go.”

“No, stay,” Joshua says, quickly, standing up. “We were just finished.”

Chan fidgets with the end of his shirt as Joshua leaves, casting one more empathetic smile at you, and the moment the older boy is gone, Chan steps closer towards you. “I’m sorry,” he says, “I didn’t realise he was — you’re crying.” His change in tone is so abrupt, from apologetic to dead serious in half a second. ”What happened?”

“Nothing,” you say, too high-pitched. “I’m fine now. It’s fine.”

“Was it Joshua?” he demands, already looking back in the direction his friend disappeared to. “What did he say?”

“What? No. It wasn’t him.” You try to change the subject. “I am older than you, you know, I don’t need to be babysat. I hope you didn’t interrupt your fun just to come looking for me.”

He smiles, but his eyes don’t. “Only by a year. And anyway, I have more fun with you.”

You hate that your mind flits back to that girl, the laughing one. “What about your friends? I saw you with, um, what’s her name? The pretty one, dark hair?” 

Subtlety is not your strong suit. 

Chan just blinks at you. “You mean Jana? Yeah, she wanted me to play beer pong against her and her girlfriend. But I did that.” Something untwists in your stomach. He steps closer, fishing a tissue out of nowhere, and with the tenderest touch, wipes at the makeup staining your cheeks.

He’s so close, you can see every individual eyelash. “Why? Were you jealous?” he asks lightly, referring to Jana as he uses one hand to cup your cheek and remove the dark mess under your eyes more carefully.

“No!” Your voice is harsher than intended, jerking out of his grip. and his eyes flick to yours with worry.

“I was kidding,” he says softly, frowning, “Is everything okay, teach?”

Alcohol blurs your rational thinking. You lean your forehead against his chest with the deepest sigh. “Sorry. Sorry.” A short breath. “Chan, I’m so tired.”

He wraps his arms around you, rubbing your back up and down. “Are you drunk?”

You shake your head. “I was tipsy, but I only had two drinks. I’m sober now. Just… exhausted.” 

“I can take you home,” he murmurs against your ear; he’s so warm, he always is, but his touch sends goosebumps all over your skin. “Is that what you want?”

You lean back, look him in the eye, but neither of you let go of each other. Eye contact. From lesson one. “What’s the third lesson?”

“What?”

“Tomorrow. Our last lesson. What’s it on?”

He’s silent for a minute. “I don’t know,” he replies, at last. 

You cock your head to the side, questioningly, and it’s like something in him snaps, and the words come rushing out, stumbling into each other — “I’ve been making these up as I go along. On the spot.”

“Oh,” you say, surprised but too numb to feel it properly. “Why?”

He squeezes his eyes shut for a second, looking defeated. “I don’t know. Well. I do. I just don’t know how to tell you.”

Something clicks for you. I’ve got a great teacher. You’re my favourite too. You look — pretty. I think you deserve to be happy. You look good in blue. 

“Chan,” you say, taking an abrupt step back. Your voice is hoarse suddenly, scratchy with yet another realisation. “What colour is my dress?”

He looks utterly perplexed by your swift change in subject, but he obliges you anyway. “Blue. Why?”

“Do you remember,” you begin, voice shaking ever so slightly. This is the precipice. You’re taking the leap. God forbid you let yourself feel something — well, you are. “Do you remember a week ago? Lesson two?”

“Conversation,” he nods, and you can see his mind working a hundred miles an hour. 

“I was wearing that sweater, and you said — ”

“You look good in blue,” he finishes at once. His eyes flit between you and the dress, and you see the exact moment it dawns on him; the light of comprehension. “But you — Joshua — ”

You shake your head at the question he doesn’t ask. 

It’s like he’s frozen. A minute or a century passes, you’re not sure which, before his eyes meet yours again, filled with something heavy, raw, tender emotion. “How long?”

“Long enough,” you say, and then you’re kissing him, or he’s kissing you, you’re not sure who moves first, or if you move at the same time, but whatever it is — you’re melting into him and he is melting into you, and it’s like your heart gives a happy little sigh. Your shoulders relax, and the tension of the past few weeks evaporates in a few gentle touches.

You break apart with a soft little ‘tch’ sound, and he looks at you with full eyes and the shyest smile you’ve ever seen him wear. 

“You know, technically, you’re still my student,” you say, slightly breathless, entirely giddy. 

He rolls his eyes, tugging you back in already, sliding his arms around your waist. “Yeah, for a week.”

“And a half,” you add, as he begins to kiss up your neck. “You’d better ace your exam next week, after all our hard work.”

He presses his nose into your neck, huffing out a laugh. “I can’t believe that’s what you’re worried about. Now, of all things.”

“That’s what you should be worried about,” you say, bringing a hand up to his hair, running through it with your fingers as you’ve wanted to for so long. “That, and walking me home, maybe.”

“I fully intend to do at least one of those things,” he says, landing a chaste kiss on your lips. “We have a lot to talk about, you know. Starting with me asking you out. Properly.” 

A hint of mischief appears in your smile. “Do well in your exam, and I’ll consider it.”

Chan pulls back, a familiar, confident smirk on his lips. “You have yourself a deal. But until then…”

“We’re still at a party,” you say, dodging his lips with a laugh, even though you really don’t want to. Not at all. “We can’t be that couple.”

He drops his forehead against yours. “We can be whatever the fuck we want. Nobody’s looking, anyway.”

And so you let him kiss you, again and again and again, until he walks you home, and does the same at your door, and the same in your living room. Over and over, making up for all the times he wanted to but couldn’t, he whispers. Your whole body softens at the weight of his hands, travelling the small of your back, cupping your cheek, squeezing your hips. His lips are on yours, and yours are on his, and everything makes sense. Everything adds up.

Which is incredibly unusual, considering his tendency to start telling you anything and everything about his day the moment he walks through the front door to your shared apartment despite having told you almost everything through text already (to your endearment). Coupled with the fact that today was his first day at his new job, you fully expected Mingyu to have many things to recount from his day at work and the welcome dinner afterwards.

Leaning against the kitchen counter, you try to recall the events of the day as you scroll through your text history with your husband, but come up short. Your eyes gloss over the last few texts he’d sent you as you purse your lips together in thought.

my gyu: i’m going to the welcome dinner now!! [18:01]

my gyu: i’m so excited :) can’t wait to tell u all abt it!! [18:01]

you: so excited for u!! have fun bb <3 [18:02]

you: how’s the dinner? [20:12]

The realisation that your husband never replied to your text hits you only now, and you’re met with the sudden urge to check up on him.

You pocket your phone, brows furrowed as you shuffle through the apartment and into your bedroom, only to be met with Mingyu’s back as he lies down on the side of the bed further away from the door.

If your suspicions are correct, your husband is most definitely not sleeping.

Something must’ve happened at the welcome dinner.

You creep towards Mingyu, climbing onto your side of the bed and engulfing your husband in a back hug immediately. Mingyu tenses for a split second before resting his hands on your arms.

“Is everything okay?” your voice is soft, and you plant a kiss on the back of Mingyu’s neck while waiting patiently for a response. Mingyu hums weakly in affirmation.

Silence ensues as you don’t probe him further, deciding to give him time to process things.

Your husband sits up and turns around to face you after a while, and you smile at him while following suit, hoping to give him some of your energy.

“I went to the welcome dinner earlier…” Mingyu begins as you nod, reaching out to hold his hands in yours as you rub circles on the back of his hands.

“They said it was company tradition to diss the newcomer, so that’s what they did once we got a few drinks in,” you raise an eyebrow at Mingyu’s words, but make no move to interrupt him. “The jabs were funny at first, but some of them started talking about my lisp and imitating it, and I just didn’t find it funny anymore. I didn’t say anything, company tradition and all, and I feel stupid for even feeling upset when they were just joking and—”

“It’s not a joke if it’s making you upset, baby,” you can’t take it anymore, deciding to cut him off while squeezing his hands tighter. “Your feelings are valid, and they shouldn’t have made fun of you like that. Not then, and not ever.”

Mingyu’s eyes start glistening, a result of him tearing up at your words. “But if- if this is a running tradition, then the others would have been able to handle the disses. I’m just- sensitive for no reason, right?”

You detach one of your hands from your husband’s to cup his cheek, a deep frown etched on your face.

“Baby,” you begin, slowly picking and choosing your words in your head, “You’re not being sensitive, you’re allowed to feel upset about this. This… ‘tradition’ is already very questionable in the first place, and I’m really sorry you had to go through that. It just doesn’t sit right with me to have people literally insult and make fun of you and for you to have to be fine with it. You can feel upset. In fact, you should feel upset, because there’s literally no world where such behaviour should be condoned.”

Mingyu leans into your touch, letting the first tear fall from his left eye. Your heart aches so much, and you pull Mingyu into your embrace, where sobs start racking his body as he buries his face into your neck.

“T-thank you,” your husband manages between sobs, and you squeeze him tighter around you. “You’re always so good to me.”

As a people-centric person, Mingyu tends to put others’ concerns and well-being first, often disregarding himself and his own feelings that it eventually culminates into him feeling miserable. Even then, however, he puts up a front as much as he can, and it breaks your heart every time you see him like this. You’re determined to remind him that he’s loved, and that his feelings, just like anyone else’s, matters.

The next few minutes or so are spent in each other’s arms as you encourage Mingyu to cry his heart out, and it’s a while later when he’s calmed down, head on your chest as you both lie down and get ready to retire for the night.

“I love you,” Mingyu whispers, tilting his head up to kiss your jaw. “I should quit my job, shouldn’t I?”

You smile, pulling him tighter against your chest. “I love you, too, baby. I’ll support you in whatever you choose to do.”

“And baby? There’s nothing funny about your lisp. If anything, I think it’s really cute.”

Mingyu beams at you in response, and you swear his goofy grin could light up the whole world.

You’re never letting him go.

a/n: kind of… inspired by the latest gose episode (class president part 2)

masterlist

for sfw work: @wonijinjin @weird-bookworm @wheeboo @slytherinshua @babyleostuff

@addicsvt @haecien @jeonghunny @fairyhaos @tomodachiii

@haoboutyou @viastro @wqnwoos @nonononranghaee @etherealyoungk

@wooahaes @icyminghao @mangocustard16 @planetkiimchi @heavenfilm

Jaehyun looks up from his phone to see Sanghyeok raising his eyebrows at Sungho, a genuinely curious expression resting on his face. Jaehyun puts down his phone, ears peeled for his best friend’s reply.

Sungho puts his cup of coffee back onto the saucer, expressionless. “Pick-up lines.”

Sanghyeok suddenly lets out a series of coughs, seemingly having choked on his drink. Jaehyun pats his back repeatedly, sheepishly smiling at patrons from neighbouring tables at the café who had looked over due to the commotion.

“Pick-up lines? I didn’t think you’d be the type to use them to flirt,” Sanghyeok manages after calming down, “To be fair, I didn’t think you were capable of flirting at all.”

“Okay, first of all, that’s offensive,” Sungho clutches his chest dramatically, “Second of all, it works wonders. You can’t say anything, because I’m the one with a partner.”

“Really?” Sanghyeok huffs, turning to Jaehyun, “I don’t trust him. Does it really work?”

Jaehyun blinks.

“I’ve… never tried it before,” he rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, and Sungho’s jaw drops a little.

“Dude, you’re actually missing out,” Sungho slaps Jaehyun on the back, “You should try it sometime. I’m sure y/n’s reaction will be gold.”

Jaehyun hums, internally putting his thinking cap on. He’ll try it as soon as he goes home to you.

ONE.

“Honey, can you pass me your watch, please?” you poke your head through the gap between your bedroom door and the doorframe to see your boyfriend sitting on his side of the bed as he uses his phone.

“My watch?” Jaehyun looks up. He’s about to get up to find it, but he suddenly stops, gears turning in his head as you walk over to stand in front of him, “How about I give you my time instead?”

You chuckle, having not expected such a reply, and reach over to boop his nose. “That was a good one, honey, but I need your watch now. I told the watch repairer I’d be down at his shop like, ten minutes ago,”

Jaehyun smiles at the physical contact, but scrunches his nose in confusion immediately after, his mission of flirting with you through pick-up lines completely forgotten. “Why are you bringing my watch to the repair shop?”

“Honey, you told me you wanted it cleaned last week, didn’t you?” you ruffle his hair, endeared by his forgetfulness.

“Oh, right! I did,” Jaehyun’s eyes light up, recalling his request. He doesn’t know if you noticed, but he’s very sure there’s literal stars in his eyes. You always take care of him so well, and he’s nothing short of grateful. “Thank you, baby.”

You’ve already left for the repair shop quite a while ago when Jaehyun abruptly sits up from his lying-down position, sighing in disappointment.

You didn’t react to his pick-up line.

TWO.

“Honey, can you pass me the tomato sauce in front of you?” you nudge your boyfriend softly, eyes focused on the long grocery list in your hand.

You’d come to the grocery store with Jaehyun in tow, a result of your puppy-like boyfriend begging you to bring him along.

“It’ll be like a date!” he had whined, though you would have gladly taken him along without him trying his best to persuade you.

Upon hearing no reply for a beat too long, you look up from the list to see Jaehyun looking down at his phone, eyes focused and eyebrows furrowed.

“Honey?” you try, and sure enough, Jaehyun doesn’t respond, completely distracted by whatever is on his phone screen at the moment. You tilt your head in confusion. “Jaehyun…?”

“Yes!?” Jaehyun suddenly flinches, snapping back into reality. He looks between you and the grocery list in your hand and smiles sheepishly. “Sorry. Sungho texted me.”

You hum, gesturing for him to pass you the tomato sauce you’d requested a few moments ago. “Yeah? What are the both of you up to this time?”

“I was just telling him about the shirt I’m wearing,” your boyfriend replies, placing the tomato sauce into the cart he was pushing around. 

You spare a glance at the shirt in question. It’s a simple white tee that you’re sure Jaehyun bought in bulk a long time ago, and you struggle to pinpoint anything out of the ordinary. 

“What’s wrong with the shirt?” you ask, utterly confused.

Jaehyun’s back straightens, eyes practically sparkling

“It’s the material,” he whines, moving closer to you, “Feel it.”

You raise an eyebrow, but find yourself obliging anyway. You reach forward and pinch your boyfriend’s sleeve with two fingers, feeling the material. 

“There’s… nothing wrong with it?” you reply, contemplating whether or not to add a thermometer to your cart to check if Jaehyun has a fever. 

“There is nothing wrong with it,” Jaehyun grins, “It’s boyfriend material.”

You pause, processing Jaehyun’s words before realising that you really should have seen this coming with all the signs.

“Did Sungho teach you this?” you ruffle your boyfriend’s hair, turning to push the cart down the aisle. 

Jaehyun catches up to you immediately, a small pout on his face as he reaches over to push the cart instead of letting you do it. “He said he won Bailey over with this one.”

You laugh at the mention of Sungho’s partner, nudging Jaehyun with your shoulder. “Really? I’ll have to ask Bailey about that the next time we meet.”

THREE.

“He told Jaehyun that? That’s definitely not how it went,” Bailey laughs as you recount your conversation with your boyfriend at the grocery store, “He cringed halfway through the line and refused to talk to me for a few hours because I teased him about it.”

You’re on a double date at the amusement park with Sungho and his partner, though with how you haven’t spoken a single word to Sungho and your boyfriend with the way the former pulled the latter aside as soon as all four of you met up and started whispering to each other like schoolgirls with secrets, you could say you’re practically on a date with just Bailey. 

“Sounds like Sungho to me,” you reply, before gesturing at the two men walking in front of you. “Any idea what they’re whispering about? We’ve been here for, like, an hour and haven’t gone on any rides.”

“Probably pick-up lines,” Bailey shrugs, “Sungho’s been telling me all week about wanting to teach Jaehyun some pick-up lines so he can ‘succeed where I failed’, though I really don’t see the point since you’re already dating him. I told him to teach Sanghyeok instead, but he just said Sanghyeok doesn’t ‘see the vision’.” 

This is news to you. You hum in response. “Huh, is that why he’s been using pick-up lines on me lately?”

Before Bailey can answer, the two men in front of you suddenly halt their footsteps and turn around, much to your confusion. 

“Bailey and I are going to get some churros, we’ll catch the both of you later!” Sungho grabs Bailey’s hand and briskly walks away from you and Jaehyun, with Bailey squeaking out a “We are?” as they follow.

“What’s that about?” you turn to look at your boyfriend. Jaehyun looks back at you with a sheepish grin. 

“I don’t know,” he replies in the most nonchalant tone he can muster, praying you don’t catch on to it (you do). “Let’s go ride the carousel!” 

You raise an eyebrow at his behaviour, but oblige anyway, turning to walk towards the attraction. 

“Wait!” Jaehyun suddenly raises his voice. You turn to face him, sheepishly bowing to passers-by who turned to look at the commotion.

“Your hand,” your boyfriend’s voice softens as he looks down at your right hand. “It looks heavy.”

“What–” 

“Let me hold it for you!” In one swift motion, Jaehyun interlocks your right hand with his left, swinging them back and forth as he leads you to the carousel.

You stifle a laugh, turning to look at his reddened cheeks as he continues tugging you along while looking forward, refusing to meet your eyes. 

You think you don’t mind Sungho teaching your boyfriend pick-up lines, if it means getting to see him flustered like this.

+

Jaehyun wakes up from his nap to the smell of pasta.

He rolls over to face your side of the bed and reaches over in an attempt to pull you into his chest, only to have his hands find purchase on your pillow instead. Groaning, Jaehyun opens one of his eyes reluctantly, and sure enough, you’re nowhere to be found on the bed.

Jaehyun sits up immediately, looking around the room in search of you before realising that you’re probably in the kitchen judging by the mouthwatering smell of tomato sauce. He scrambles to get up, and starts shuffling towards the kitchen to see you.

“Baby?” Jaehyun’s voice is groggy from the nap, and you turn towards the sound from your spot by the stove to see him trudging into the kitchen. 

You smile. “How was your nap?” 

“Not good. You weren’t there when I woke up,” Jaehyun whines, immediately latching onto your arm. 

“Someone has to prepare dinner, honey, and we both know it’s not you,” you giggle, booping his nose. 

Jaehyun whines a bit more before sniffing. “It smells good.” 

You purse your lips in thought, a mischievous idea surfacing in the forefront of your mind. 

“Really? I smell something burning, actually,” you try your best to sound genuinely concerned, and Jaehyun falls for it immediately. 

“You do?” he straightens in alarm, looking down at the wok in front of the both of you. “It smells and looks fine to me.”

You grin, turning to him. “That’s because it’s not the pasta that’s burning, honey.” 

“Then wha—”

“It’s my heart that’s burning for you!” you mask the embarrassment with a quick peck to your boyfriend’s lips. Pulling away, you find him frozen in his spot, cheeks reddening by the second. 

He touches his lips with a lovesick expression and visibly deflates, throwing himself into your arms. “Baby, you can’t do that!” 

Your chest vibrates with your laughter, and Jaehyun smiles subconsciously, nuzzling further into your neck as you wrap your arms around him. “Do what? Use pick-up lines? You’ve been using them on me all week.”

Your puppy-like boyfriend reluctantly tears himself from your embrace to look at you, eyes widening. “You knew?” 

“Of course I knew, honey,” you pat his head affectionately, “They were horrible.”

Jaehyun huffs, burying his face in your neck once again. “I kept on using those pick-up lines because you wouldn’t react!” 

You chuckle, rubbing your hands up and down his back soothingly. “Well, how do you want me to react, honey? I’m already yours. You don’t have to use cringy pick-up lines to win me over.”

Jaehyun plants a kiss on your neck, then whines. “Stop flirting with me. I’ll fall in love with you.”

“Oh?” you play along, squeezing him tighter around you. 

“I’ll flirt with you every day, then.”

a/n: bnd writer icyminghao is back??? hello.

masterlist

taglist (send an ask to be tagged!): @onedoornet @slytherinshua @weird-bookworm @someonewhowantstobeloved @hrts4hanniehae