let's go back to life.

Convince this man that his value as a human being isn't dependent on how useful he can be to someone else. That he deserves to be appreciated and respected. That his kindness shouldn't be mistaken for weakness or taken advantage of. That being chosen means absolutely nothing if the person choosing you doesn't treat you with care. 

And sure, it would be great if he developed a life ruining crush on you somewhere along the way. Two things can be true at once.  

Also, since you’re no longer bothering yourself with the obligation to respect his bitch of a girlfriend, you feel free to flirt as hard and as shamelessly as you deem fit. 

And boy, oh boy, has it been fun. 

Unfortunately for Jisung, your full time flirting is deeply flustering. Fortunately for you, the universe seems quite pleased with your plans to spoil him rotten and even fated the two of you to end up in the same class this semester! 

Environmental Consciousness was never going to be at the top of your list, but it's quickly become your favorite. Sitting next to an adorable, studious Jisung for an hour and a half twice a week has proven exceptionally beneficial to your well-being. And your mission. 

“What's this?" he asks, carefully lowering himself into his usual seat beside you.

Except this time, there's something unusual waiting on his desk.

You swivel toward him in your chair, unable to hide your grin as he examines the cup with the cautious curiosity of a puppy discovering a new toy.

"Just something I picked up on the way here," you say casually. "I saw it and thought of you."

"A boba tea?"

"Mhm."

He turns the cup in his hands, reading the label. "Milk tea reminds you of me?"

"Almost exclusively.” 

Jisung stabs his straw through the top and takes a tentative sip.

His eyes widen.

There it is.

That brief flash of delighted surprise he never quite manages to hide when something makes him happy.

Before he can stop himself, he takes another sip.

"It's strawberry taro!” 

"Of course it is,” you reply nonchalantly. “That's your favorite."

He pauses. Then slowly turns toward you, brows furrowed but eyes still sparkling and delicious like the boba in his drink. 

"How do you know that?"

"You told me, duh.” 

"I did?"

"Yeah.” 

"When?"

“Umm, about two – no, three weeks ago, maybe?” 

"No way, I would've remembered that." 

"Yeah, you were talking about how the boba place near your dorm keeps running out of taro, and you were bummed because you hadn't had any in a long time.” 

Jisung blinks, the memory slowly taking shape in his mind. "You remember that?"

"Why wouldn't I?” 

Because he just said it in passing, tucked somewhere between complaining about assignments and ranking fictional characters in terms of survivability during a zombie apocalypse. Because he wasn't expecting you to actually listen. Because people don't usually remember little things like favorite drinks or offhand comments, the tiny preferences that make up the shape of a person. Especially not when they belong to him. 

He looks at the cup again, turning it in his hand when he notices something strange about the label. 

“Wait a second, this isn't from that boba shop.” 

“Oh, you're right,” you reply as if also just noticing. “They were still out. So I went to the other one.” 

“You mean the one on the other side of campus?” 

“Yeah,” you say as if that should be expected. But then your expression changes. “Crap, did I get the wrong one? Their menu is different, so I just picked what looked like–” 

“No, it's perfect!” he quickly assures you. “I just…I don't usually go to that one because it's not worth the really long walk and really long lines.” 

"You're worth it, Sungie."

You say it so matter of factly. Like it's so obvious.

Like the sky is blue, and water is wet, and Han Jisung is worth going out of your way for just because.

Judging by the expression on his face, this information is completely new to him.

He opens his mouth, hesitates, then lets out a quiet laugh of disbelief instead, as though the idea of someone thinking he's worth the effort has short-circuited his ability to speak.

You tilt your head cutely, hair cascading effortlessly over your shoulder, immediately introducing Jisung to a brand new problem.

Your neck.

Has it always been that pretty? Or is he just imagining things?

"Earth to Jisung, you still here?"

Instead of answering, he gives a single nod and seals his useless lips around the straw.

You watch a few boba pearls race up the clear plastic and disappear into his mouth. He chews thoughtfully, eyes fixed very intensely on absolutely anything that isn't you to mask his fluttering heart.

Unfortunately for him, the growing pink tint across his cheeks is a considerable giveaway.

Unfortunately for you, watching him try and fail not to blush is ridiculously cute.

You rest your jaw in your hand, elbow propped on the desk as you watch him.

And watch him.

And watch him.

So much so that your previously retracted title of “stalker” may need to be revisited. 

Eventually, Jisung glances over. The moment his eyes meet yours, he freezes.

"What?” 

“Nothing.” Just a soft, enchanted, fond smile. "I like seeing you happy, that's all.” 

Jisung bashfully lowers his gaze again, taking another long sip of his drink, sucking as many boba pearls as he can into his cheeks before chewing. 

Then he swallows, hard. 

Slowly, his eyes lift back to you. The bewilderment on his face is straight comical. Like he just spent the last thirty seconds buffering before his brain finally loaded. 

And for a brief, gloriously adorable moment, you watch it unfold across his face in stages: confusion, recognition, disbelief.

"You called me Sungie."

"Oh." You blink innocently. "Is that not your name?"

He narrows his eyes at you, lips pressing into a flat line to show he's not impressed with your antics. (Jokes on him – his dimples show when he does that.)  

"You know that's not what I mean."

“No, I'm pretty sure that's your name.” 

“No, I'm pretty sure you're just flirting with me again,” he says, voice softening. 

You lean in slightly, chin still in your hand as you give him a playful smirk. “You say that as if you don’t enjoy being flirted with.”

“I don't.” he responds, mirroring your body by resting his chin in his hand as well, leaning in just a bit closer.

“Liar.” 

“I really don't.” 

“Oh wow, that was almost convincing,” you say pretending to be impressed. “But your cute little smile kinda gave it away. Wanna try again?” 

He presses his lips together and clears his throat in an attempt to regain composure.

"I don't like your flirting," he insists, voice steadier but still soft as butter. 

“Liar, liar, pants on fire,” you sing-song. 

“What are you, a third grader?” 

“No,” you shrug, “but the kid who beat you in League last week was.” 

Jisung's smile immediately falters. He stammers, trying to come up with a comeback, but before he can, you reach out and poke his nose. His eyes cross to follow your finger, and you pull it back with a playful hiss.  

"Ooh, you might need some aloe for that burn, babe," you giggle with a teasing smile. 

“Hey, some of those kids are ruthless!” he defends, pushing his glasses up his nose – which only makes you want to boop it again.  

"Oh, come on,” you roll your eyes. "He was, like, ten."

"Thirteen!” 

"Whatever,” you sit back, arms crossed in a mock show of superiority. “How hard can League be if you're losing to middle schoolers?”

“You wanna go?” Jisung suddenly asks, voice full of that competitive energy you’d expect from a professional athlete. 

“You're not serious.” 

He leans in that much closer, offering a handshake that looks more like he’s about to set up for an arm-wrestling match. 

“I've never been more serious about anything in my entire life.” 

You eye his hand cautiously. He’s not usually like this, but you’re not mad. Competitive Jisung? Kinda super hot. 

“Alright, nerd.” You shake his hand with an equally confident smirk. “You're on.” 

“Have you ever even played League before?” he asks. 

“Pfft,” you scoff, shaking your head. “No. But that doesn't matter. I'm still gonna wipe the floor with you.” 

“Dream on,” he quips. "But we'll have to schedule your humiliating defeat for tomorrow or Thursday.” 

“Why can't I beat your ass today?"

“I've got a date with Minji.” 

Your hand slaps over your mouth and you jerk forward. “Sorry, gag reflex.” 

Oh, shit. That was too much, wasn’t it? 

Aw fuck, come on! Things were going so well! The banter was bantering. You swear you saw a romantic sparkle in his eye at the idea of playing League together. And now you’re going to have to traverse Jisung defending his stupid girlfriend again.

You brace yourself for the usual, sickening “don’t talk about her that way” speech. 

But instead, he starts laughing. 

Not the polite chuckles or amused huffs you've grown accustomed to. But a genuine, unrestrained laugh that bubbles up from deep within his gut, spilling out without any attempt to hold it back. 

Then suddenly he's laughing so hard he can't seem to breathe.

His giggles climb higher and higher until the sound disappears altogether. He doubles over in his seat, one hand clutching his stomach while tiny tears gather at the corners of his eyes.

He doesn't have anything beside him to smack, so he settles for shoving your shoulder instead, nearly knocking himself out of his chair in the process. 

When Jisung laughs, he laughs with his whole body. Every inch of him is involved. His shoulders shake. His head drops forward. His arms flail uselessly in a poor attempt to regain control of himself.

You love it. You're in love with it. 

Because right now he's completely authentic. Completely uncensored. So unequivocally Jisung. 

At first, you thought you'd seen this before.

Back at the diner, he laughed then too. Enough that you went home thinking you'd caught a glimpse of the real Han Jisung hiding beneath all the awkwardness and nervous smiles.

Apparently, you were wrong.

Because that laugh? That was just the trailer. A sneak peek. This is what happens when he completely forgets to be self-conscious.

No overthinking. No second-guessing. No carefully measured responses.

Just pure, unfiltered joy.

God, if he wanted you to fall in love with him any faster, all he had to do was ask.

Honestly, your slapstick gag wasn't even that funny. A little funny, sure maybe. Definitely worthy of a chuckle or maybe even a snort.

But this? This feels like someone who just really needed to laugh. 

You wonder if he ever laughs like this around Minji. 

Probably not. For some reason, you can't imagine her appreciating this version of him. The loud version. The messy version. The one laughing so hard he’s probably forgotten what he's laughing about. 

Her fucking loss. He's beautiful. 

After a few moments of gasping for air and wiping tears from under his eyes only to crack up again at the sight of himself, Jisung manages to calm down enough to form words. 

“Sorry…” he says, breathless. “That was…I mean, you’re ridiculous sometimes.”

With a hum of agreement, you fold your arms on the desk and rest your cheek on them, peering up at him with a soft smile. “...so cute.” 

Jisung watches you for a moment before almost absentmindedly folding his own arms on the desk too, resting his cheek against them so he can be eye-level with you. 

"I haven't laughed like that in forever,” he admits with a cough. “Don't tell Minji I laughed at her.” 

“Take a drink, giggles.” 

Because he’s a good boy and mostly listens to you, he sits up enough to take a sip of his milk tea. Then he lays back down onto the desk, seemingly more than content to just be near you in the quiet, happy mess of this moment. 

Jisung’s expression softens into a gentle, warm smile. His eyes linger on you for a moment longer, filled with a tenderness that was once shy, but has grown more confident. Which can only mean one thing… 

He's changing. 

The flirty attention that used to make him flustered, nervous, and insecure has instead become what makes him feel safe and valued and attractive. It’s like you’re watching him shed layers of self-doubt, revealing a version of himself that’s more assured, more at ease, more willing to laugh. 

And it's all happening because he’s beginning to see himself the way you see him – worthy, valuable, and undeniably special. Not because someone else determined he is. But because he intrinsically is. 

Of course, that means you’ll have to up your antics and your flirting, pushing just a little beyond what's the typical comfort zone for “friends”, but if it’s helping him believe in himself more, it’s worth every playful challenge. 

The corners of his lips curl upward naturally, and you feel a little flutter of happiness settle deep inside your bones. For a brief moment, looking into each others eyes like this, everything feels right. 

"...thanks," he mumbles.

"For what?"

"The boba,” he takes a breath, “and for making me laugh.” 

Something warm spreads throughout your chest seeing him accept the kind of treatment he should have been receiving from his partner all along. 

"Of course.” 

"You remember a lot of things about me, huh?” 

"Why shouldn't I?" you reply bravely. "It's the bare minimum when you're falling in love with someone.” 

“Yeah, I guess….wait, what–!?” 

“Shh,” you cut him off, sitting up and pointing to the front of the class, “the professor is starting.” 

You look ahead, but you don't miss that Jisung can't seem to keep his eyes from drifting to you the entire class period. 

Eventually, you glance sideways. Only to catch him immediately jerking his gaze back to the front every time. 

Oh, yeah. Subtle as a gun. 

:: 

There’s something about you that draws Jisung in. Something he can’t quite explain, even though he’s spent countless hours lost in his own head trying to figure you out.

The layers around you are seemingly endless. One moment, you're cute. The next, you're flirting. And then, suddenly, you're walking three miles just to bring him his favorite boba tea because it reminds you of him.

Who does that!? Crazy people, that's who. 

You're crazy. In a really attractive way. 

Even more, Jisung feels crazy when he's with you – crazy at ease, crazy shy, crazy confident, crazy himself. 

When he's with you, he feels like he’s worth more than he probably is. Somehow, you’ve planted this idea in his head that he’s supposed to be praised just for existing. When in reality, that’s not true. There’s the bare minimum, and then there’s whatever kind of treatment you give him. 

“Princess treatment.” That's what you called it once. He's your “princess.” 

He prefers Sungie. But he’d also be lying if he said he doesn’t find your other term of endearment just as flattering (maybe even more so). 

Spending time with you feels effortless, even with his heart hammering in his chest the whole time. Definitely more than he should admit, especially since he's spent more time with you than anyone else these past few months. 

Including…in the library when he was supposed to be on a study date with his girlfriend. 

God, that scene hasn't left his mind since. He was…fuck, he was so lost in that moment. No wonder he hasn't been able to find his way back to himself yet. 

All he can remember clearly are your words swimming inside his head and the shape of your lips when you got close to him… 

And when you held his hand? Oh my god, it was like a current of electricity bringing his whole body alive. His skin burned where your fingers intertwined, and he felt jolts of lightning surge through his veins, like every nerve ending was overloaded at once – holy shit, no wonder so many guys chase you. 

Every heartbeat was amplified, in perfect time with yours. And for a moment, all he could focus on was that connection. On how your hand fit so perfectly in his, as if it was made for him. 

And when you looked into his eyes, his whole world stopped. Every word you said was genuine and selfless. He's never had someone feel so strongly about how he's being treated, how he's living. 

Unsure of how to react to your passion, Jisung finds himself replaying your words in his mind at every moment. 

“How am I supposed to respect someone who treats you like that?”

"You say you're lucky. But I think you've got it backwards…she's the one who's lucky to have you.” 

“Get ready to have your ass properly flirted with, nerd. I'm gonna show you how you should be treated." 

Not only did you leave a lasting impression in the library, but you’ve continued to leave impressions every time he sees you. The boba tea, the cute nicknames, going on errands together, remembering his schedule, making him laugh, sending him random texts just to “check in.”  

There has to be a limit, right? Like, some point where you draw the line, when you realize enough is enough. Eventually, you’ll get tired of doing all these things for someone who isn’t offering any benefits in return. And then, perhaps, you’ll slowly back away or just cut him off entirely.  

That’s usually what people do in situations like this, isn’t it? But Jisung gets the feeling that you’re different somehow. That’s not the kind of person you are.  

But what is he kidding? Someone like you wanting someone like him? It’s a joke, a tease, a bit, a laugh. 

Unless…it’s not. And maybe, just maybe, you’re actually falling for someone like him. Which, again, circles him right back to CRAZY.  

The war continues on in his head as he walks. 

He looks down at Minji’s hand tucked in his, slender fingers intertwined and swinging gently in the air. She's wearing a chunky ring on every other finger, so they don't slot with his perfectly. And her hand is overly relaxed, so much so that if he let go, she would probably slip right out of his grasp.

All of this makes him feel very small. Tiny. Like he’s just a shadow in what’s supposed to be a shared moment. He can’t say he feels nothing, because he does feel gratitude and a small hint of affection. 

But it’s not lightning strikes. 

He follows the line of her arm up to her face, where she’s currently glued to her phone, talking animatedly to one of her friends about some guy they hooked up with and wanting “every steamy detail.” 

He watches her smile at her screen, gasp at juicy reveals, and ask more questions than he's gotten in what feels like forever. Never thought it was possible, but turns out he can be a third wheel on his own date. Or, at least, what he had intended to be a date. 

He’d planned to take Minji to the mall because she loves the mall and never once has refused the opportunity. But she said she’d gone yesterday with her friends and didn’t want to go again today. 

So, he suggested a casual walk through the park, just some quiet time to enjoy the weather and each other's company. 

That plan lasted all of three minutes before her phone rang, and suddenly, he was shoved into second place. 

Now, he's here, staring absentmindedly at her hand loosely hung on his hand and the surrounding couples in the park, none of which are on their phones. 

“Jisung?” 

Her voice breaks him out of his daze, his attention immediately locking back in on her. 

“Huh? Yeah?” 

She raises an eyebrow, holding her phone a little ways away for a moment. “What’s wrong?”  

“Nothing.” He shakes his head. 

“You dropped my hand.” 

“Oh,” he answers, lips parting in surprise when he looks down and, sure enough, notices their hands fallen away from each other. “Sorry, umm, it's getting a little sweaty. I didn't want to ruin your rings.” 

A lie. Jisung just lied. To his girlfriend. He's not a liar! And yet, he can't bring himself to be honest: that she makes him feel like an annoyance, a bother, an inconvenience. The conflict, although probably needed, seems futile to him. 

Minji sighs, annoyed, and turns back to her phone. “I'll call you back in a few.” 

“You didn't have to hang up,” he says quietly. 

“Yeah, I did,” she insists with another deep sigh – each one pressing a bruise into his chest. “Now, tell me what's wrong.” 

“But you really wanted to have that call.” 

“You're right, I did. But I hung up for you,” she says sassily, grabbing his hand again. “You're obviously upset. So, talk to me.” 

Why is he hesitating? She passed up her phone call to talk to him. He should feel prioritized and valuable. But actually, this feels far worse. Because now he's a nuisance, an irritation she’d rather ignore but can't. A problem she's obligated to deal with instead of a person she gets the chance to love. 

“Seriously? You're not going to share?” Minji asks in (what Jisung suspects was intended to be) a cute voice. “Come on, I cut my phone call short for you, and you're not even gonna tell me?” 

“Well…” Jisung finally speaks, guilt ridden to tell her something. “You know how I'm taking a coding class this semester?” 

“Yeah.” 

“I have this project that spans the whole class, and then I submit it as my final grade.” 

“Mhm.” 

“I have to write the code for my own app using my own original idea.” 

“Uh huh.” 

“And I'm not sure what to do. I mean, I really like the class so far, and I want to get a good grade, so maybe I shouldn’t aim too high? But there's so many things I could do. Like, should I make the app for fun, or educational, or medical care, or business? I guess, I actually do have a lot of cool ideas now that I say it out loud. I just don't know which one to…” 

He glances over and sees Minji has pulled out her phone again, texting.  

“...choose,” he finishes softly. 

A brief silence settles between them as her thumb swipes over her phone screen, holding down for a second before sending whatever she found to multiple group chats.  

Once she notices Jisung has stopped talking, she turns her head back toward him. “Yeah? I'm listening.” 

He hesitates for a moment before asking, “What do you think I should make?”  

“I don’t know. That’s a tough one,” she hums thoughtfully. “You should make whatever you want. It’s your game, after all.”  

“So, you think I should make the app a game?”  

“Uh, sure! Yeah, that's what I meant,” she shrugs, eyes already gone back to her phone and whatever saucy reply she just got from the chat. “Umm, what level of the league thingy or whatever is this for again?” 

Is it bad he doesn't want to dwell on it any longer? Honestly, Jisung doesn’t really feel like talking at all right now, let alone thinking about deadlines and projects. 

So, instead, he does something that always works when he wants to avoid sharing or engaging – a way to deflect that has yet to fail him. 

“It's not important. How’s the guy your friend’s seeing?”  

And that’s all it takes.  

“Oh my god, he’s a piece of work,” Minji immediately replies, voice filled with character and emotion Jisung was never going to get any other way. “I swear, this is the craziest shit she’s pulled in a minute. I told her not to let him buy her drinks. I told her! And now, she’s got this guy on the hook for her, which is hilarious because he’s so not her type. But she's already bagged him like three times! I’m dying laughing at her, like, she’s actually insane for this—”  

She keeps talking, but Jisung tunes her out pretty easily once she gets going. Her rant will probably last for another fifteen minutes or so, the cycle repeating as he asks another question about Minji, her friend, or some guy, and she launches into another story.  

It's not that Jisung tries to avoid talking about himself, but it's hard to talk about himself when his partner smiles more at her friend’s spicy text messages than she ever has at him. He doesn't want to see her bored or annoyed. And she looks happiest when talking about herself and her friends. 

So, what starts as a walk in the park quickly turns into a one-sided monologue about her friend's sex life, making Jisung feel more invisible than ever. 

But she’s happy – that’s all that matters. So, the date is a success.  

Right?  

Yeah. As long as she's happy. No matter how much he sacrifices or how much he holds back, his greatest wish is for her to find joy, peace, and contentment in their relationship. That's what a boyfriend is supposed to provide. Even if it means putting his own feelings aside every time. 

Carrying that quiet sense of obligation when he's with Minji is just part of the deal. It's what he signed up for. He feels compelled to give her the better parts of himself – his kindness, his attentiveness, his gentle patience – because that’s what a boyfriend should do. Even when those efforts go unnoticed or unappreciated, it’s still his duty to treat her well, regardless of how she responds. 

Deep down, Jisung knows that love isn’t about keeping score or expecting gratitude, but…sometimes the fact that he’s constantly giving more than he’s receiving is hard to brush under the rug. 

But he has to push those feelings aside. His responsibility is to be better – more caring, more patient, more loving. Because that’s what it means to truly care for someone. 

Even if she doesn't care about— 

She does care about me…right? 

:: 

When they reach his dorm, Jisung hesitates in front of the door, his mind still racing. He gently swings her hand now that it's not holding her phone, a silent gesture filled with all his unspoken thoughts. 

Maybe he shouldn't be waiting so long to take the initiative based on the way Minji checks the time and sighs. But for the first time since they started dating, he's pausing, carefully weighing his feelings before asking… 

“Do you want to come in for a bit?”

A question Minji has heard at the end of every date he's taken her on, though he's usually more enthusiastic than this. 

Perhaps it's because, for the first time since they started dating, he's not expecting much from her. 

It’s not like she’s given any indication that she’s going to say yes or that she even wants to. Minji doesn’t crave Jisung the way he craves her, and he’s come to accept that. (Although it hurts more than he cares to admit.) 

He’s exhausted himself trying to understand her, trying to piece together what she wants or what she’s really thinking. Every effort feels like banging his head against a wall. Maybe this is just who she is – indifferent, detached, always a step ahead, always leaving him to wonder if he’s enough. 

Minji smiles softly and slides her arms around his shoulders, leaning in close so he can feel her breasts against his body. 

“I guess we haven’t cuddled or made out in a while, huh?” she hums softly, her pitying eyes drifting to his lips. 

He nods silently, feeling his cheeks warm when she moves in a little closer to brush their noses. 

“Does my baby need some attention?”  

He nods again, leaning into her a little more, instinctively chasing that closeness. 

For someone who openly lives for intimacy and knows that physical touch is one of his love languages, it’s rare for Minji to offer this kind of attention without a catch. 

So, when moments like this happen, Jisung can’t help but feel a little bit of excitement. Despite being an inexperienced nerd, he’s still a guy – one who yearns to make his partner feel all kinds of things. Fantasies, fairytales, desires hiding in the deepest, darkest corners of his mind. 

And he knows Minji would be down if she would take two minutes to listen. If he could only figure out why she always stops halfway. 

The theories about why she hasn’t slept with him after almost six months of dating haven’t changed since the last time he spiraled. He’s gone over every possibility, every excuse, every reason so many times he has a semi-permanent headache. 

Maybe it's his room? Maybe it's too messy? Maybe it's too cold? Maybe it's cursed? 

Maybe it's his bed? Maybe it's too firm? Maybe it's too small? Maybe it doesn't smell right? 

Minji can be rather particular. 

Maybe it's him? Maybe he's too quiet? Maybe he's too thin? Maybe he's too dorky? Maybe he's not good enough? 

As they step inside and his dorm door swings shut behind them, it becomes painfully obvious that this isn’t about his room or his bed. 

Before he can even process what’s happening, she’s on him. Minji’s hands bunch the fabric of his shirt, guiding him backward with a confident, relentless energy, shoving him onto the bed with a force that leaves no room for hesitation. 

He stumbles, his body hitting the mattress with a grunt as she falls on top of him.  

Her kiss is nothing short of masterful. Lips confident and commanding, capable of turning even the most stoic of men into beggars. Her touch is precise, her presence overwhelming, and her skills unmatched. There's no question as to how she's able to command men the way that she does. 

It's hopeless. Jisung feels himself get drawn in within seconds, the weight of her body settled over his waist, the press of her hands on his chest as they drag down to the hem of his shirt, slipping underneath without permission. 

Jisung has never considered himself to have the most tempting body, but he often wishes that Minji would be inexplicably and irresistibly drawn to him. And in this fleeting instant, he allows himself to believe that she actually is.

With her hips not-so-gently rocking against him and her nails dragging down his chest, Jisung feels his world start to melt away and fall out of his mind. His eyes roll back into his head, and all the sensation on his skin amplifies at the feeling of her lips on his neck. 

This. This is what he's been craving. 

Although it may be embarrassing to admit out loud, in his heart, Jisung knows he's a hopeless romantic. He wants nothing more than to share any and every kind of intimacy with his person. To feel them in and around every part of him – emotionally and physically – and to make them feel just as encompassed by him. 

How often Jisung's pictured his first time is borderline delusional. Always with a girlfriend who’s kind, experienced, and able to guide him all the way through. The kind of girlfriend that could snap her fingers and have anyone she wants, but she chooses him anyway. The kind who's gentle but dangerous, sensual but eager, rough but caring. 

The longer Jisung lays underneath Minji’s touch, eyes shut and body heated, he can't keep convincing himself that it'll be like that with her. 

Minji’s not the type to guide. She's not the type to slow down or appreciate every inch of him. And she's not the type to care if he does any of that crap for her. 

Then comes a dangerous thought. His hands are on her waist, his hips matching her rhythm, but behind his eyelids, another face appears.

Not hers. 

“Fuck—” he mutters, his voice cracking. 

He tries to curse the image away, but you remain, like a stain in his mind he can't erase. 

Each time her lips brush against his skin, he feels you.  

Every time her hips grind against him, he feels you.  

Every time her hands glide across his abdomen and beneath his waistline, he feels you.  

You. You. You.  

Fuck! You're all he can think about. 

Minji lifts her head just enough to meet his gaze, a teasing yet proud smile curling on her swollen lips.

“You sound pretty,” she says softly, then shifts to sit upright on his lap, letting her weight settle right where he needs her most, yet offering no relief. “I'm going to go freshen up, okay? Don’t move.”

Damn, the agony of her dragging herself away is like peeling a sticker off paint. Jisung stays reaching for her, not wanting or even caring if she freshens up. They're already in it, why leave now? 

Then again, maybe it's a good thing he takes a moment to clear his head. Or at least, clear his mind of anyone else. 

Where did the thought of you even come from!? Of all the times to think about you, now is perhaps the most inconvenient and inappropriate. He can't have sex with Minji while thinking about you! And yet, no matter how hard he tries, every time he closes his eyes, he doesn't see his girlfriend…he sees you. 

Beautiful, caring, sexy, funny, charming, crazy you. 

Is he insane!? He's about to finally, finally have sex with the girl he's been bending over backwards to date. And his mind and heart aren't even in it! Sure, his dick is getting happy, but the rest of him feels…out of place. 

It’s as if her lips and hands are moving with familiarity, but not the warmth or urgency he believes is supposed to be present when you're about to make love to someone. 

When she touches him, he doesn't feel like she's touching deep inside his bones. He doesn't feel like she's reaching into his soul, let alone past the first layer of skin. Everything she does and says and kisses is on the surface. Nothing deeper. 

As if she doesn't even really…want him at all.  

The sudden sound of a phone vibrating against his side startles him to sit up. When he reaches over, he finds Minji’s phone lost in the comforter. It must have fallen out of her pocket when she climbed on top of him. 

He doesn't mean to, honest, he doesn't. Jisung isn't the type to snoop, and he's definitely not the type to invade someone else's conversation. But he gets a glimpse of the screen when it turns on automatically, and the texts just keep coming in. 

[Jae] hey

[Jae] u busy? 

[Jae] got 25 min before my class 

[Jae] usual spot? 

[Jae] come on baby i miss u 

[Jae] dont tell me ur with that nerd again 

[Jae] ditch him already

[Jae] need u so bad baby 

[Jae] my hands just not the same 

[Jae] need ur mouth 

[Jae] fuck baby answer me

[Jae] im dying over here 

[Jae] dont make me beg 

[Jae] …again 

Can he even admit it? That a part of him figured as much. 

Without opening the texts, Jisung tucks the phone back into his blankets where he found it. Laying still as if nothing had happened. 

No. He can't bring himself to say it out loud. Minji isn’t about to, so maybe some foolish part of his heart doesn’t want to accept it either. If she never comes clean, then maybe he can keep pretending it’s not happening too, keep pretending everything’s fine?

Minutes pass in silence.  

Then, Minji steps out of the bathroom, hair tousled and face shimmering. She climbs back on top of him, her body pressing soft and warm against his. Without so much as a word or smile, her lips find his again, slow and deliberate, trying to ignite that familiar spark.  

But he can't feel anything now. Not even you. 

“Minji?” Jisung mutters against her lips, not waiting for a natural pause or for her to pull away. 

“Yes, baby?” 

“While you were in the bathroom…umm, something--"

A deep rumble of vibration suddenly echoes from somewhere inside his blankets, making them both freeze in surprise. Minji’s fingers fumble instinctively through the comforter as she searches for it. When she finally finds the phone and looks at the screen, her eyes widen, and she gasps softly, her breath catching in her throat.

“Oh no!” 

“What’s wrong?” he asks with a hard swallow. 

“My sister was in an accident. My mom needs me to call her,” she says hurriedly, placing a hand on his chest and trailing her finger along his septum. “I’m so sorry, baby, can we take a rain check?” 

This isn’t a breakup. So why does it feel like he’s about to let her walk out of his heart instead of his dorm room? 

“Of course. Go call your mom. Text me so I know you're okay?” 

“Mhm!” She quickly kisses his cheek and says she’ll text him later. But as he watches her skip away, he can’t shake the feeling that she’s much too giddy for someone who just got bad news.

He sits up in his bed in silence. Alone. 

So. This is what it feels like to be played. Cheated on. Used. Discarded. 

It's a lot more fragile than he anticipated.  

His heart feels heavy, but deep down, he probably always kind of knew the truth. He’s just background noise in her life, someone she keeps around for when she’s bored or lonely.

In the subconscious parts of his mind and heart, he prepared for this. But he’d prepared himself for something far worse than this quiet, lingering, persistent ache.  

Isn’t heartbreak supposed to cause a storm? To shatter his every reality and tear him apart at every seam?  

But no. His heart is breaking so slowly. Softly. Slipping through tiny cracks in ways he never anticipated, letting water seep in little by little. Just enough to cause panic, but not enough to drown him.  

He stares at the door she left through, feeling hollow, betrayed, and barraged with questions. 

How long has he been just a pawn in her game? How long has he been nothing more than someone she uses when it suits her? How long has he been blindly devoted while she ran around treating his loyalty like shit? Was any of it ever real? Was she ever into him at all?

He closes his eyes, trying to breathe, trying to process. But all he can feel is a gnawing emptiness inside his chest getting bigger, bigger. And he doesn't know how to stop it. 

There's no pretending or denying any longer. He’s just another player in her sick game. And no matter how much of himself he gives, he’ll never be more than that to her. 

He'll never be enough.

::

GF taglist: @nightmarenyxx @cepheus3 @strawberriesoup @kayleefriedchicken @hannamoon143 @0omillo0 @fly-you-dam-fools @urlocalmultigroupfan @inlovewithstraykids @felixleftchickennugget @hityoulikebahng @imfoive @imeverycliche @hannieslittlerockstar @staybabblingbaby @somber-reads @hyunjinxxs @straberieslee @brbwritingfanfic @velvetmoonlght @dearbisky @hwangjoanna @jeonginnieswifey @firstdivisiongirl @mikachux3 @pineapple-burgah @eyyyylucieeee

Not that anything has to happen. Honestly, you’re just excited to spend some alone time with your crush. It’s fun to humble men in the bedroom, whether you’re tying them to the bedpost or tying the score in a virtual world.  

You adjust the strap of your laptop bag with an excited smile and lift your hand. 

Knock knock~  

Will he like your gaming outfit? You went with blue because you're like 89% sure there’s a blue team, and that’s his favorite color.  

Or was it black? Or should you have worn red to entice his…interest? Not that you’re expecting anything sexual to happen, but it's not like you're about to discourage it either. 

Before you can finish your own thoughts, he answers the door.

"Took you long enough," you tease, hip popped as you stand in the doorway, your blue mini dress hugging your curves. "Ready to lose?"

Oh. Wait a second. Damn. Jisung looks like he's already lost. 

Exhausted eyes all red and swollen, like he’s been up all night without a wink of sleep. His complexion is pale, as if he’s barely stepped outside in days, and his usually soft pink lips are clearly chapped from not drinking enough water. 

And yet, it is beyond obvious he's expecting you not to notice any of this. What with his worn attempt at a smile and quick response, "Ready to be humbled?"

Instead of answering his question (because let's be honest, you hardly heard it), your brow furrows with concern, lips parting gently. 

“Are you okay?” you ask softly. 

“Yeah, why wouldn't I be?” 

“You look like hell.” 

“Didn't sleep well,” he shrugs. 

“Since when, last year?” 

“I'm fine, promise.” As if putting the word promise at the end of his lie will make it more convincing. “Come on in. You can set up next to me at the desk.” 

You step inside, slipping your laptop bag off your shoulder as Jisung closes the door behind you.

At first glance, everything appears normal for a guy's dorm room. 

Messy bed. Stickered gaming equipment. Textbooks stacked in uneven piles at random places. A familiar hoodie is draped over the back of his chair. That must be one of his favorites because you recall him wearing it pretty regularly, especially on days he's stressed. 

Then your eyes land on the mini fridge in the corner.

Metal spoons. A whole stack of them, just sitting on top. 

You're not stupid. You've used the cold spoon trick before too, plenty of times. 

It's a temporary fix. A band-aid of sorts. Judging by the collection sitting on top of Jisung's mini fridge, someone has been reapplying that band-aid a lot lately.

Your gaze drifts back to his face. To the faint redness around his eyes. To the exhaustion. To the way the skin beneath them still looks slightly puffy despite whatever efforts he's made to hide it.

Because that's the thing about the cold spoon trick. It works…until it doesn't.

You can only constrict swollen blood vessels so many times. You can only reduce so much inflammation. Eventually, the crying starts to win, the evidence lingers, and no amount of cold metal can disguise the fact that your heart is breaking. 

“Alright.” Jisung rubs his hands together dramatically. "Let's do this. Just so we're clear, I'm not going easy on you."

"I'd be offended if you did." 

You drop into the chair beside him and pull your laptop from your bag while he leans over to help you get everything installed.

His mood seems a little lighter now, thankfully. Not fixed, but definitely distracted at least. This isn't what you want overall, but it's probably the best you can expect right now.

"Okay," he says, scooting closer. "Make an account."

"Done."

"Now log in."

"Done."

"Now prepare yourself for one of the worst mistakes of your life."

You roll your eyes and giggle, “No, silly, that's what you're supposed to do next.” 

A reluctant smile finally wins its battle against his exhaustion. It's small and uneven and brief. Gone almost as quickly as it appears. Nothing remarkable that anyone else would probably notice or care. And yet you find yourself openly staring at it anyway. 

Jisung leans in closer to look at your screen, one hand settling on the back of your chair while the other skillfully drags across your mousepad. Before you realize what's happened, he's completely invaded your personal space. 

Not that you're complaining. The closeness feels effortless and natural as he drifts closer without even thinking about it.

Somewhere along the way, Jisung stopped treating your personal space like it's your personal space. Now he just seems to orbit you whenever you're together, pulled into you by some invisible force he's never once acknowledged out loud, but also has never once fought. 

And the more time you spend around him, the more you start to suspect it means something. Not to be dramatic, of course, he's not secretly in love with you yet. 

But he is surprisingly tactile for someone so introverted, always wanting to be touching in some way. 

Not with everyone! If anything, he's usually quite reserved in the physical touch department. 

But with people he trusts? People he likes? 

It's different.

He'll lean into them without thinking. Sit close enough that his shoulders touch theirs. Let his knee bump against theirs under a table while acting like he has no idea. Absentmindedly reach out just to make sure they're still there while he's talking. 

Physical closeness isn't just physical closeness to him. It's a love language. It's reassurance. It's connection. 

And maybe that's why you've started noticing it more lately. Because the longer you stick around, the closer he gets. Like, he always seems to end up beside you regardless of the room or activity. 

He's started gravitating toward your space instead of away from it, even when it would seemingly be easier to stand alone. And he never appears bothered by your proximity. If anything, he seems calmer when you're close. 

More relaxed. More comfortable. 

Which would explain why he's currently half-folded into your personal space while explaining League of Legends. One look into his eyes is enough to tell you this isn't really about the game. He's clearly hurting. Clearly lonely. So, you're not surprised he's getting a little closer than usual. 

Not that he's being suave or subtle about it, either. Heartbreak has a habit of settling on a person's face before they’re willing to admit it's there, unable to completely hide it no matter what they do. 

But despite wanting to hide the exhaustion, his gaze keeps finding yours.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Every time you look over, he's already looking at you, hand still on the back of your chair, body angled toward yours as if some part of him has already quietly decided you're exactly where he wants to be.

Not flirting. At least, not intentionally, from what you can tell. 

Just...looking at you. 

Like he's trying to remember something. Or maybe trying to forget something. 

His eyes drift over your face while you talk. They linger on your expression, your smile, the way your eyebrows dance when you're being dramatic. Every now and then, they dip briefly to your lips before returning to your eyes.

It's not the look of someone falling in love. At least, you don't think it is. You wouldn't be mad if it was, but there's too much sadness in him right now for that.

No, this is something quieter. 

And maybe that's what’s throwing you so much. Because usually, Jisung is painfully easy to read. He wears his emotions on his sleeve at all times; he can't help it. 

But today, there's too much. Too many emotions competing for space inside him, all crowding his mind and heart – even he can't figure out which feeling is winning.

When he finally tears his gaze away from you to look back at your laptop screen, you miss it.

"So, what's the main objective?” you ask once he's got you in and set up. “I used that word right, right?”

He shoots you a fond look and mods. “Yeah. Destroy the enemy Nexus."

"The what?"

"The giant crystal thing,” he explains. “You'll know it when you see it.” 

"Oh. So, I just like…hit it? Easy.” 

He glances at you while reaching across your keyboard to adjust a setting. "Uh, not exactly.” 

"But basically.” 

“Not basically either. There's a lot more that goes into it.” He points at your screen. "Okay, so there are three lanes: top, mid, and bot. Minions spawn every thirty seconds and automatically path down each lane, so you're gonna want to kill them first. Hitting minions last gives you gold, which you use to buy items. The goal is to build enough gold and XP to hit your power spikes before the enemy team does." 

“Yep. Easy peasy. None of that seems complicated at all.” 

"There’s also jungle camps between the lanes. Junglers clear camps for gold and XP, then gank lanes to create advantages. Also objectives spawn throughout the game, like, Void Grubs, Rift Herald, Dragons, Baron. If you can secure objectives, it gives your team map control, buffs, or siege pressure.” 

“Definitely haven't lost me yet.” 

"Now, waves need to be managed properly and carefully. Sometimes you slow push, sometimes you freeze, sometimes you hard shove depending on lane state or matchup or objective timers. Just know vision is super important, so place wards. Also, remember not to face-check bushes. And don't forget to track your enemy's cooldowns, level spikes, always watch the minimap so you can rotate when necessary. Oh! And whatever you do, don't overextend without vision.”

He finally pauses. 

“Got it?" 

"Sungie?” 

"Yeah?"

"You're really hot when you speak nerd. But I understood exactly three of those words."

He facepalms and sighs into his hand. 

"You're talking really fast!” you whine with a pout on your lips, successfully spawning a smile on his own. “Slow down for me?” 

"I thought you said you were going to beat my ass at this game?” 

“And I will!” you insist, defensively adjusting in your seat. “Right now I'm losing against the tutorial, not you.” 

And then something you weren't expecting, but it lifts your heart and makes your skin tingle with happy goosebumps. 

He laughs. 

Not the exhausted smile he gave you at the door. Or the fake polite chuckle he’s been hiding behind since you arrived. 

A real laugh. Small but definitely there. The sound sends an embarrassing amount of happiness rushing through your chest. 

"Okay, how can I simplify this?” he mutters with a sigh, scooting his chair right up next to yours. “Hit things. Get money. Buy stuff. Don't die."

"Oh!” Your eyes light up with a playful hit on his shoulder. “Why didn't you just say that? I'm great at buying stuff and not dying. I've been doing it my whole life.” 

The look he gives you suggests he's already accepted that you're about to ignore every piece of advice he offers. But strangely, he couldn't care less. 

"So who do I pick?" you ask, scrolling through the list of characters. 

"A champion."

"Which one is the hottest?” 

Jisung sighs (again) and pinches the bridge of his nose, his glasses sitting on his hand for a moment. “That’s not really how you're supposed to choose–” 

“Oh my god!” you gasp. “This one.” 

“That's Jinx. She's an ADC.” 

“She's a clinically insane badass.” 

“I should warn you,” Jisung says unsure, “she's a bit difficult.” 

"I can fix her.” 

"No,” he chuckles breathlessly. “I mean, she might make you lose since you don't know how to use her.” 

"Well, I think you know she's secretly the best character in the game and you're trying to keep all the overpowered champions for yourself.” 

You lock in the champion with a smug click and casually sweep your hair behind your shoulder.

“Cute attempt, Sungie. But your sabotage was a little too obvious.”

“The match hasn't even started.” 

“And yet my instincts remain flawless.”

Two seconds later, you're loading into your first match, confidence skyrocketing and not backing down. 

Jisung watches your screen with the kind of focus usually reserved for brain surgery and bomb defusal. Occasionally pointing and frantically directing you on where to go and what to fight. 

At first, it's funny.

Then it becomes mildly concerning.

And then, somehow, it becomes contagious. 

Every time you glance over, he's leaning forward in his chair a little bit more, eyes tracking your every move, silently evaluating decisions you don’t even realize you’re making. The sheer seriousness with which he approaches this game is ridiculous…and it starts rubbing off on you.

Suddenly, button-mashing for fun doesn't seem like an option anymore. Not when Jisung is watching your performance and reviewing it like a panel of experts.

Before you know it, you're sitting up straighter, concentrating harder, and genuinely trying your best to destroy your enemy’s alien nexium jewel hub thingy. 

Which is honestly ridiculous when you think about it. Because you came here to spend time with your crush, not your laptop. 

And yet somehow, against all odds, Han Jisung has tricked you into caring about League of Legends. 

Oh my god…are you becoming a nerd…!? 

You watch your screen a little closer, trying to focus, but Jisung’s shoulder brushing against yours is hella distracting. 

Your fingers flinch on the keyboard, missing the buttons entirely, your reaction time spiraling. Suddenly, your character takes three steps and walks straight into a tower. 

Ah! Panic! Press random buttons. Run directly toward an enemy. Die instantly.

Silence. 

You slowly sit back, the game over screen flashing mockingly in your face. 

Jisung has covered his mouth with both hands. But he's not surprised. He's trying not to smile. 

"Did you just…?” 

"Don't start,” you warn him, turning in your seat. 

"You walked into the tower."

"I saw what happened, chill.” 

"You literally walked straight into it. I mean, just right into it.” 

"I know.” 

“Didn’t even look where you were going.” 

“Are you done?” 

“Just blindly walked directly–” 

“I get it! Geez!” 

He loses the battle with himself and starts laughing out loud, shoulders bouncing.

You narrow your eyes and snarl at him, but you're pretty sure your pupils are the shapes of hearts right now.

"Enjoy it while you can, Sungie."

"Oh?"

You point dramatically at your screen and then immediately start another match. "I'm about to become a threat, baby.” 

For Jisung, the funniest part is that you're actually terrible at this.

Not hopeless.

Not incapable.

Just genuinely awful. 

You don't instinctively check the minimap. You forget which buttons do what every five minutes. Half your decision making process seems based off vibes and blind confidence alone.

And yet you're trying. Really hard. Much harder than anyone would expect you to. 

Not because you care about ranked matches or champion builds or objective control, because you clearly don't. 

But because you care about him. 

The realization settles deep in his chest, somewhat painful and somehow lovely at the same time. 

League isn't your thing. If he asked you to choose between a gaming session and almost anything else, he'd bet dirty money on you choosing the other thing every time.

But you're here anyway. You downloaded the game. You listened to his explanations. You showed up carrying a laptop and enough enthusiasm to fool even Faker. 

Just to spend time with him. Just to understand something he loves. Just to encourage him. 

It's such a simple thing, really, partaking in someone else's hobby. But somehow it feels bigger than any grand gesture he could think of. 

Because in a world where so much of his life has felt like people wanting things from him – his time, his attention, his effort, his patience, his tolerance, his sacrifice – it never ends. 

You, on the other hand, keep showing up. And all you want is to know him. His favorite boba tea? His school frustrations? What makes him shy? What makes him excited? What makes him tick? Did he sleep well? Did he eat enough? Did he study? Is he being treated fairly? 

He doesn't think you'll ever fully understand how much that means. And god help him…he's not sure he'll ever deserve it.

Deserve you. 

“Ughh!” you groan in frustration, slamming the buttons instead of pressing them like a sane person. “These fucking minions are everywhere! Do they ever quit!?” 

Normally, Jisung would have answered immediately. Probably with an overcomplicated explanation involving wave management or something that only sounds charming when he says it.

But his silence stretches on, long after you expect him to be ranting about how terribly you're handling this objective right now. 

With your fingers still on the keyboard, you glance over, ready to scold him for not telling you which minion swarm to attack first.

But what you see makes you do a double-take. And freeze.

Jisung is staring at the screen, but he's completely motionless, eyes glassy and unfocused.

A tear slips down his cheek.

Then another.

Your stomach drops, the useless game forgotten instantly. 

Softly, you say his name, "Jisung?” And then a little more firmly when he doesn't budge. “Jisung.” 

He blinks himself back into awareness, as if he didn't even realize he was crying while zoning out into nothing. 

You turn fully toward him when he sniffles a few times. "Hey, what's wrong?” 

No response. No reaction. Not even an attempt to wipe his tears away. They just keep falling, tracing down his cheeks already flushed from raw, bone-deep exhaustion. 

Your laptop gets abandoned without a second thought. 

"Hey, hey,” you sooth while reaching for his face, gently cupping his cheeks. “Look at me. Why are you crying?” 

His skin is warm. Too warm to be simply an overheated dorm room. Your thumbs sweep beneath his eyes, collecting his tears although it's pointless. Each time, another one falls immediately. Then another. 

“Jisung, talk to me, please. What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” 

He shakes his head, the movement tiny, almost imperceptible, eyes lowering. 

"...tired."

The answer nearly breaks your heart. Because he's not lying; you can hear it in his voice. He is tired. But tired of what, you can only speculate. 

Of course, you have your suspicions, and they're probably accurate. But to be honest, that's not entirely important right now. 

What's important is what you do in this moment. How you treat him, and what he needs. 

You study him for a moment. Then ask quietly, "Do you trust me?"

His eyes lift to yours, red-rimmed and vulnerable. It hurts like hell to see him like this, because his eyes are usually your favorite things about him.

Big, light brown, and impossibly expressive. Deep enough to get lost in for hours. The kind of eyes that crinkle when he laughs and sparkle when he gets too excited about something. The kind of eyes that make him look soft even when he's trying to be sarcastic.

Boba pearl eyes. Round and sweet and comforting and soft. 

But these aren't the eyes you're used to falling into. Something hellish has hollowed them out, and yet, they aren't empty. No, that would almost be easier.

They're full. Full of sleepless nights and too many tears and all the thoughts he hasn't said out loud.

For perhaps the first time since you've met him, those beautiful eyes aren't insisting he's okay. They're asking you for help.

After a long moment, he nods.

You stand, placing a hand on his shoulder to make him sit back in his chair. 

He looks confused but doesn't resist, doesn't even attempt to ask what you're doing. His whole body submits to your guidance with unwavering trust. 

Without a word, you settle yourself across his lap, straddling his waist and resting each of your knees on either side of him. 

Reaching up, you gently remove his glasses and place them on the desk behind you. Then you slide both arms around his neck and fall forward onto him, holding him close to yourself. 

For a second he just sits there. Frozen. Limp. Unsure of what to do. 

Then something breaks. His arms start to lift, his hands following the curve of your legs until they scoop under your thighs and pull you further onto his lap, flush against him so his arms can lock around your waist. 

Hard. 

The sound that leaves his throat is small, more like a strangled inhale before he starts crying.

Really crying.

His face disappears into your shoulder at first, his entire body trembling as you squeeze him tighter. 

You can feel the dampness of his tears soaking into your shirt. Feel the way he keeps pulling you closer, afraid you might disappear or leave. Feel the way his face buries into your neck now, nose sniffling, hands gripping your clothes. 

"It's okay," you murmur, holding him together the best way you know how. “I’m right here. It's okay.” 

Again and again and again. Until eventually the crying slows, softens, and fades. Until all that's left are the occasional, manageable shaky breaths and swallows.

When he loosens his grip for a moment, you pull back just enough to look at him.

"Will you listen to me?"

He nods immediately, no hesitation whatsoever. 

“Do exactly as I say?” 

He nods again, hands mindlessly wandering your waist and fidgeting with the hem of your dress at your thighs, the softness of the material and the lines of your body providing a strange sense of comfort and gentleness. 

"Good." You stand up, his touch dragging off your body. "Stay there. I'll be right back."

He watches you leave, obediently staring at the door for what feels like hours, not moving an inch without you present. 

A few minutes later you return carrying several cold bottles of water from the vending machine downstairs. 

You stock most of them into his mini fridge before placing the last one directly into his hands.

"Drink."

He twists off the cap and obeys without question, throat bobbing with each gulp. Halfway through the bottle, he lowers it and looks up at you for confirmation. 

“All of it, please.” 

Then he finishes the rest without so much as a blink. 

You pull out a stick of chapstick from your bag next and hand it to him. 

"Good job,” you praise him with a stroke of his head, sparking a sense of accomplishment and pride in him he didn't realize was possible.

Fuck, he has to do whatever it takes to hear you praise him like that again.

“Put this on.” 

He gives you a look but doesn't argue, popping the lid off and gently applying it to his chapped lips. 

You decide to leave it out on his desk for later, secretly planning on “forgetting” it so he’ll be more likely to use it in the future as well. 

“Stand up.” 

When he does, you grab the hoodie hanging on the back of his chair. The oversized one that's been washed so many times it's simultaneously the softest thing you've ever touched and falling apart at the seams. 

“This is your favorite hoodie?” 

He nods. 

"The one that helps when you're anxious?” 

You half expect him to lie, because it's not exactly something he's openly admitted to you, and has even been known to avoid in conversation. 

But to your surprise, he immediately responds, “That's right.” As if the fact that you know about his anxiety doesn't phase him at all. Why wouldn't you know? Even with all his attempts to hide that side of himself, of course, you saw through his facades and masks. Of course, you saw the real him.  

“Take off your shirt,” you tell him, not making any implication to move or look away. 

For the first time, he doesn't immediately obey, whether because he's shy or surprised or perhaps both.

But you can see there's a bigger part of him that actually really wants to do what you say. It wants to obey, to follow your directions, to submit. A part of him that wants you to be happy and proud of how well he listens to you.

So, he may hesitate for a moment, but then he slowly pulls his shirt off, dropping it on the ground with a deep inhale that fills his chest.

You hold your breath for a moment, caught up in the quiet intimacy of the scene and the way he sways on his feet, subtly but unconsciously moving in closer to you. 

Gently, you take a step closer, lift the hoodie, and guide it over his head. As it slips past his messy hair, his face comes back into view, close enough that you can see some faint stubble on his chin, a faint pink on his ears, and the way his eyelids flutter with something that could easily be mistaken for falling in lo--

...it's probably not though. He's in pain. That's all.

While you're at it, you reach up to fix the drawstrings, gently tugging them straight and dragging your palms down his chest to lay them flat. Then softly push his bangs back from his forehead and smooth out his eyebrows.

Then, with your prompting, he carefully slips his arms into the sleeves. You grasp the fabric and pull it down over his torso as it settles around him, the back of your hands lightly brushing his bare skin. You adjust the material on his shoulders too, making sure it sits just right – not too loose, not too tight – so it feels like a warm, familiar hug.

All the while, he soaks in each of your touches, silently praying to whatever diety might be listening that you won't stop. Watching you like you hung the stars in the sky just for him, that you’re his guardian angel come to Earth, his only reason why. 

Perhaps the only thing that would make this better is if you could climb into his hoodie with him and dissolve into his skin.

You move over to his bed, crawl onto the comforter, and sit against the wall. 

"Come here,” you say, patting the empty space beside you.

Jisung waits, only for a second – to catch his breath at the sight of you on his bed – then crawls onto the mattress and sits next to you, close enough to shamelessly lean his leg against your leg. 

You grab his pillow and place it across your lap. All it takes is one little pat for understanding to immediately dawn on his face. 

Slowly, he lowers himself down. His head dips softly onto your lap, and you run your fingers gently through his hair, feeling him finally surrender a little of the pain he's been harboring. 

His eyes are already drooping less than a minute later. 

"Go to sleep, Sungie. Get some rest.” 

He gives you a sleepy blink, body fighting itself to stay awake. 

“Is this really okay?" His question comes out so quietly it barely exists. You wonder if he really means it, or if he's just asking for your reassurance.

"It's up to you.” Your fingers continue combing through his hair. "If you'd rather I leave, I'll leave."

"No,” he responds immediately, almost desperately. "Stay. Please. I don't want you to go."

You smile softly, because how are you supposed to not smile with Han Jisung laying on your lap, gazing up at you with the prettiest, most vulnerable, tired eyes you've ever had the fortune of seeing? 

"I'll stay as long as you want.” 

“In that case…” He rolls toward you, nuzzling his face into your stomach until you're not sure he can properly breathe like that.

The movement is so instinctual, so trusting, so natural, it stirs up every protective, maternal instinct in you into overdrive.

Within a matter of minutes, his breathing evens out, signaling that he’s fallen fast asleep.

::

Your fingers continue to move carefully through his hair, gentle yet possessive in a way you have no right to admit aloud just yet. It may be a bit premature, but in your heart, you allow the feeling to become one with your veins:

You're desperately in love with Han Jisung. And whoever hurt your Sungie is going to wish they'd never been fucking born.