let's go back to life.

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.

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

Naturally, somewhere along the way, you ended up with his phone number. You don't remember how it happened. One minute you were talking, and the next Jisung was holding out his hand, asking for your phone so he could put his contact information in himself. Because friends have each other's phone numbers, obviously. 

You vaguely remember handing it over. But what you remember much more clearly is getting it back and discovering he had saved his name as [Sungie 🤓]. 

Sungie. 

Sungie!? 

Oh, you've got to be fucking kidding. 

Nicknames are already a known weakness of yours. This is not new information. But never – not once in your entire existence – have you suffered emotional damage from one. 

And yet, here is Han Jisung’s nickname staring up at you from your phone screen, laughing maniacally as each of your bodily systems start shutting down one by one. 

Sungie. Clearly, this was a personal attack, what other reason could he have had for doing this to you? 

Every time you think you've regained some sense of control, every time you think you've got a handle on your own feelings, Jisung somehow finds an entirely new way to make you struggle. 

The worst part is that he has absolutely no idea he's doing it. And all the while, you're expected to act like a normal friend. As if you aren't one affectionate nickname away from launching yourself directly into traffic. It's unbelievably unfair! 

You know for a fact that, given the opportunity, you could turn that nerd into a whimpering, sputtering puddle of a man. A beautiful, stammering mess of desire. 

But you CAN'T! Not with “Girlfriend” still in the picture. (And yes, you used quotes when talking about her because, let's be honest, she’s the human equivalent of a 3rd place participation trophy.) 

Look, you're trying very hard to respect their relationship, because you told Jisung you would. And you respect Jisung with everything you have regardless of his previous catastrophic error in judgment. 

It's just difficult when their relationship seems to consist primarily of Jisung being adorable and devoted while Girlfriend wanders around campus treating loyalty like an optional side quest. 

Regardless, the point remains, you are behaving. Against your will. Every single day. Mostly. 

Honestly, at this point, you're convinced the universe is running some kind of social experiment, and you're losing it to hidden cameras at every corner. 

Once you recovered enough from your crash out over his contact name, you started texting pretty regularly. This led to you discovering two very important things about Han Jisung: 

First, he treats memes like a legitimate form of communication. Some people say hi or at least explain why they're texting you. Jisung sends a blurry image of a raccoon falling off a trampoline and expects you to understand exactly what he means. 

Second, the man refuses to go anywhere alone. 

[Sungie 🤓] "Gotta make a coffee run. Come with me?” 

[Sungie 🤓] "Headed to the library. Walk with me?” 

[Sungie 🤓] "Grocery shopping today. I don't wanna go by myself again…the cashier lady is scary.” 

At first, you assumed he was being polite. It's always nice to include a new friend on errands. It gives time and space to get to know each other better, and it makes them feel like their company is appreciated. 

Then you realized he just doesn't like to be left alone. Ever. Han Jisung, for reasons known only to god and his anime dolls, believes every mundane errand is only doable if another human being accompanies him.  

[Y/N] “why can't Minji go with you?” 

[Sungie 🤓] “She doesn't like the grocery store. Plus she said she doesn't need anything.” 

Doesn't like the grocery store? Doesn't need anything? What kind of lame, stupid ass reason is that? Your boyfriend doesn't want to go alone, but you're still going to make him simply because you prefer not to make grocery runs when you don't have to? Wow.

[Y/N] “alright I need pads anyway” 

[Sungie 🤓] “I'll pretend I don't see them.” 

The unfortunate thing about being his go-to errand buddy is that you’re his go-to errand buddy with a crush on him.

And no matter how hard you try to keep it straight in your head, it doesn’t get any easier to remember he has a girlfriend when he looks at you like that. 

Like your excitement matters more than whatever you were actually saying. Like he’s studying your expressions instead of just hearing your words. Like he's memorizing the freckles on your nose and the scars on your cheeks. Like he's lost in the golden rims around your eyes. Like he's enchanted by the tone of your voice and encapsulated by the humor behind your jokes. 

It's just errands. Nothing special or meaningful. 

And yet, every so often, in the middle of everything, in the blink of an eye, for a split microsecond, you think you catch him looking at you like…like he could really be… 

[Sungie 🤓] “Do you know where the financial aid office is?” 

[y/n] “yeah it's on the fourth floor of the Main Hall building” 

[Sungie 🤓] “Great. Thanks! I have to turn in some paperwork for next semester.” 

[y/n] “no problem” 

[Sungie 🤓] “...come with me?” 

It has to be nothing. But, fuck, it doesn't feel that way all the time. 

For now, you're his friend. Errand buddy. Nothing more. 

[y/n] “give me five minutes” 

[Sungie 🤓] “🙌🥳” 

:: 

The biggest red flag in college isn’t some creep trying to sneak a feel up your skirt.  

It’s professors who spend an hour speed running through half a lecture, then casually drop a three hundred page reading list and assign a paper that’s worth a quarter of your final grade.  

Psychotic behavior. Uncalled for, disrespectful, and diabolical. 

Armed with a study guide and an unhealthy amount of resentment, you drop your backpack on one of the library tables and plop down with a dramatic sigh, hoping the sheer weight of academic achievement in the room might somehow seep into your brain through osmosis.  

The environment isn’t exactly familiar, but maybe that’s for the best. A fresh start. A clean slate. A quiet place free from distractions.  

No, this isn’t your first visit to the library. Come on, you're not that academically irresponsible. Last semester, you were behind those shelves over there, reading. 

Okay fine, you weren't reading. But your back was pressed against the wall! Granted, your now ex-boyfriend was shoving you against it with his tongue down your throat. But that’s beside the point!  

The point is, today’s different. Today, you have a plan. A purpose. Today, you’re going to sit down, focus, and actually write this damn paper. Your professor might have designed this assignment to crush morale and shorten lifespans, but honestly? That’s irrelevant.  

This is about your pride now, and you’re determined to get an A. 

If only your brain didn’t wander so much. Seeing those shelves doesn’t help when you’ve been starved for touch for almost a month. Every time your eyes drift that way, old memories start to follow. Not necessarily the memories themselves, but the feeling of them. 

You haven’t hooked up or even kissed anyone since you met Jisung. Which has started revealing some…interesting things about yourself.

First off, you never realized just how often you crave sex and physical affection until you didn’t have it anymore. Daydreams during class, zoning out during lectures, imagining scenarios while trying to write – your brain’s been running wild.  

Frustrated. You’re frustrated. In every sense of the word.  

Not just because this paper feels like it’s designed to destroy your will to live, but because your depraved brain refuses to stay focused for more than thirty seconds before wondering if anyone’s ever gotten caught doing it behind the receptionist’s desk.

Every time you manage to drag your attention back to the essay, it slips away again.  

A memory.  

A daydream.  

A hypothetical situation involving a bookmark, questionable intentions, and a certain nerd who’s somehow become the star of most of your fantasies.  

Your skin practically buzzes with restless energy. You tap your pen. Bounce your leg. Reread the same sentence six times.  

Nothing sticks. 

At this point, you’re fighting your own brain more than you’re actually writing.  

It's not your fault the library is practically begging for a steamy, rebellious make-out session. The idea of an innocent nerd like Jisung trying to focus on his studies while being subtly teased and edged gives you the shivers.

You can picture it now – Jisung sitting at the table across from you, occasionally sneaking glances, even with his girlfriend sitting right next to him. He can’t help but steal looks your way as you bite your lip and send him signals with your eyes. It's only a matter of time before you sneak away and meet up behind the archives, unable to keep your hands out of his hair when he drops to his knees, arching his back just to look up at you with those pleading, boba eyes.

Fuck. It feels so real in your head, like he’s actually sitting there, just a few tables away.  

Your phone vibrates on the table, breaking the spell of your maladaptive daydream. With a deep sigh, you unlock it and open the notification. 

[Sungie 🤓] “Why are you looking at me like that, silly?” 

Oh shit.

The world comes back into focus. When the daydream fades away, Jisung is there – the real Jisung – sitting exactly where you pictured him. 

You meet his gaze, and he offers a small smile, his eyebrows dancing up and down as if trying to communicate something just between the two of you. 

And honestly, this could be a cute little moment, one you wouldn't necessarily be embarrassed to have with your crush. If it weren't for his girlfriend sitting right next to him. Also looking your way. 

Oh boy, she is not amused. Clearly pissed to the max with a little snark curling her jaw and her tongue pressed against her teeth.

Yeah, she definitely saw the looks you were giving her boyfriend. And unlike your dear, sweet, naive Jisung, she knows exactly what your eyes meant. 

As if trying to prove she’s that bitch, Minji leans into Jisung, her finger trailing lightly along his arm, a teasing smile curling on her lips. And yes, she maintains eye contact with you the entire time because she is, as previously mentioned, that bitch.

When Jisung’s gaze shifts to her, she meets it instantly, her expression transforming into one of innocent affection, her hand landing softly on top of his, giving it a gentle, almost loving squeeze. 

Oh, you're about to slap a bitch. 

It’s all you can do not to gag when she leans even closer, pressing her breasts against his arm, wrapping her own arm around his bicep, and whispering something into his ear. Whatever she said must have been cheeky (or downright disgusting), because in the next moment, you notice Jisung’s ears flush a familiar pink. 

But he’s not smiling like he did with you. Instead, he quickly averts his gaze back to his book, as if trying not to react. Minji giggles, the horrid sound unfortunately managing to reach your ears all the way over here. 

She shifts closer, her hand casually drifting downward until it rests on his thigh, her fingers curling subtly but unmistakably. Her eyes flick back to yours, sharp and knowing, as if she’s privy to your special inside joke with him. 

The logical part of your mind insists she can’t possibly know about how you two met. (It's not like Jisung would have told her that another girl was feeling him up, right?) But the other gut-wrenching part of you starts sinking at the sight of her hand creeping up his thigh, brazenly, as if she owns him, without a hint of shame.  

Jisung stiffens but doesn’t pull away, caught between her touch and his clear embarrassment as he checks the room. You can't read his lips, but you can read his body language, and he's clearly not okay with this right now. 

With zero regard for her man, the look she gives you is straight up icy. A clear warning: back the fuck off. 

Your stomach twists as her hand inches closer and closer, and Jisung becomes visibly more and more uncomfortable. Before you even realize it, you’re on your feet, abruptly seeking any excuse to escape the scene. Unless you get out of here, you'll end up giving a testimony that it was you in the library with a candlestick.

Without a destination in mind, you slip into the maze of books and shelves near the back of the library, as far from the study tables as possible. You come to a small dead-end among the autobiographies and lean your back against the shelf, head spinning violently and chest caving in on itself with each lackluster breath. 

It all crashes down on you in this moment. 

Your feelings for Jisung suddenly more intense than you’ve ever admitted. The reality of knowing he’s with Minji of all people. Your mind and body in withdrawal, overwhelmed with a strange nostalgia and also craving the comfort of something that’s not even real. 

Oh god, are you about to cry right now? What the hell, man!?

Panicking, you quickly cover your face with your hands, desperate to hide the sudden prickling behind your eyes and the way your face feels puffy. You blink rapidly, silently cursing yourself and trying to bully the tears back, determined not to break down in the middle of the campus library.

This isn’t supposed to be how it goes. Jisung was supposed to see that you’re better than Minji, even with your eerily similar backgrounds and reputations. Then, he was supposed to dump her, get with you, fall in love with you, and– 

Your breath catches.  

Why the hell are you wishing for Jisung to fall in love with you? Unless you're also… 

“___?”  

You jump, startled, and turn to see Jisung paused at the end of the aisle.

“Are you okay?” he asks in a soft whisper. 

“What are you doing here?” 

“I just…you ran away so quickly, and I wanted to make sure you were okay,” he says, making his way closer. Because Han Jisung has never once minded his own business in his entire life.

He stops directly in front of you, standing only a few inches away, while behind him there's plenty of space. Your back is pressed tightly against the shelf, almost trapped by his body.

Any reasonable person would argue that Jisung does not need to be standing this close in order to ask if you're okay.

But those people would be forgetting one very important detail: Han Jisung cannot properly assess your emotional wellbeing from a socially acceptable distance. He needs to be occupying ninety percent of your personal space. Duh.

You don’t dare lift your gaze to him. If his lips come within reach, you might not be able to resist them. 

“I’m fine,” you insist, turning your back to him, facing the shelf. “Just came to get a book.”  

But you don’t actually reach for a book. Instead, you stand still, barely registering the titles in front of you. Because as soon as you turn around, you realize what god forsaken position you’ve just put yourself in.  

Almost flat against the bookshelf, trapped by Jisung’s body behind you, his presence closing in. His eyes burn into the back of your head, and you feel the heat of his chest nearly pressed against your back.  

If you were feeling touched starved before, it doesn't compare to the rush surging through you now. 

Suddenly, you’re transported back to the dance floor. To Jisung dancing behind you, his arm wrapped around your waist, your bodies moving in perfect sync, the sensation of him so close it’s almost tangible.  

He whispers your name, and you feel his warm breath on the back of your neck sending goosebumps down your spine. And then the touch of his hand on your wrist, firm yet gentle as he tugs on it. 

“Please look at me?” 

“No.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because I'm looking for a book.” 

He leans in closer, placing his lips beside your ear and low-key resting his body up against yours, hand still holding your wrist. 

“You're avoiding me. Why?” 

“Like I said, I need a book.” 

“Which one?” 

“This one,” you say, grabbing a random book off the shelf. 

Jisung reads the title over your shoulder. “Nalini Jameela: An Autobiography of A Sex Worker.” 

“She's an American hero.” 

“She's Indian.” 

“Okay, Mr. Know It All, I'm the one writing the paper.” 

He doesn't laugh. 

“___, something is obviously bothering you. Can we please talk about it?” 

You put the book back with a loud thud, spinning around so abruptly that he stumbles back a step in surprise.

“Why?” 

His brows pull together. “What do you mean, why?”

“It's not your job to make me feel better.”

"It is, as your friend.”  

The words hit your ear like a punch, sharp and unexpected, making your jaw tighten and your head throb with the sudden rush of pain.

“And what about your girlfriend? Shouldn't you be with her right now?” 

“Not when you're…” his unfinished sentence hangs between you, the delusional part of your brain filling in any and every possible ending. 

Not when you're upset.

Not when you're crying.

Not when you're in need. 

Not when you're the one I care about more. 

Whatever he was going to say, he's clearly unable to say it because it’ll imply that he's choosing you over his girlfriend. And that wouldn't match his loyal, good boy character. 

For a moment, all you can do is stare at each other.

Fuck, there it is again. That damn look. The one that's been ruining your life lately. The one you’ve tried so hard to decode with all your skill and tricks honed over the years. But when he gives you that look, you’re immediately lost in his eyes, and all your defenses suddenly fall. 

“Did you tell her you came after me?” 

He's silent, eyelids fluttering with what you can only assume is guilt. 

“You didn't. Why not?” 

“Because–” 

“Because you know she doesn't like me,” you answer for him. “And she doesn't want you to like me either.” 

“That's not true. She said she's fine with us hanging out.” 

You let out a disbelieving laugh. “Jisung, open your eyes. She's never meant half the things she says. She's not an honest person.” 

The moment the words leave your mouth, you see something flicker across his face. Not anger, not defensiveness, not even annoyance. 

Recognition.

Like you've just stomped on a wound he was trying really hard not to touch. 

“I'm really sorry,” you say, voice strained. “I tried, honest, I did.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I can't do it. I can't respect her. I can't respect your relationship.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because she's terrible!” 

He sighs and shakes his head, but it's not as convincing as it was before. “___, come on. We already talked about this.” 

“I’m serious, Jisung. She ditches you at parties. She cancels plans whenever something better comes along. She ignores your boundaries. She never goes with you places but still expects you to drop everything at her beck and call.” You gesture helplessly. “How am I supposed to respect someone who treats you like that?”

“Because she chose me. When no one else did,” he replies immediately. “And I'm lucky someone wants me. So, I don't have to be alone."

His response hits you hard. Not because of what he said, but because of how blatantly he said it. Like he's said it to himself before, over and over in the quiet solitude of his own mind. Like he's still in the process of convincing himself that he needs it to be true. 

But the uncertainty lurking behind his glasses, the way his tense shoulders have drawn inward, the quiet, frightened truth buried beneath his words.  

Suddenly, it hits you. This isn’t about Minji at all.  

It’s about him! 

It’s about desperately craving to be chosen, to be wanted, to be truly valued.  

Holy fuck, how did you not see it before!? It all makes so much sense now. No wonder you feel so empathetic and drawn to him. Jisung, with all his quiet struggles, is just like you. 

You’ve both used other people as armor, as a way to feel wanted, to feel like you matter. You’ve always needed that validation, that feeling of being desired. You've chased meaningless sex and shamelessness for years just to get a snapshot of what it feels like to be genuinely valued. 

And him? He’s holding onto a toxic relationship, not because he loves her, but because it convinces him that he’s worth something – that someone chose him. Even if she doesn’t treat him right, it doesn't matter because she wants him. Because he's valuable to her. 

Both of you are chasing that feeling of being desired, being wanted, being enough. But somewhere along the way, you’ve both confused the feeling of being chosen with the feeling of being used.  

The realization hits you like a tidal wave. When you look up at him this time, he looks different. It’s as if a veil has been lifted, revealing a whole different picture, an image of Jisung you’ve never seen before. 

He's not just the sweet nerd you've been hopelessly crushing on for weeks who's unfortunately stuck in a toxic relationship. 

He's just…a person. A lonely person. Someone who's spent so long feeling overlooked that the fact that someone picked him became more important than how they treated him afterward.

Oh god, your chest aches every time you breathe. 

You know exactly what that feels like. It causes any and all irritation you may have been harboring to drain out of you all at once.

Your eyes soften, filling with a new understanding. The edges of your mouth relax, no longer pulled tight with judgment. 

“You know what's funny?"

His eyebrows lift. "What?” 

"You say you're lucky. But I think you've got it backwards.” 

Jisung doesn't say anything, but you notice his breath catching at the feeling of your hand slipping into his hand, your fingers intertwining naturally. 

“She's the one who's lucky to have you.” 

He looks down at your hand, the way your thumb lightly brushes over his skin, unsure of when you got so close he can count your eyelashes, but he doesn't move away. 

How could he? 

When you're…here. So close. And it feels so…right. 

“You said you wouldn't flirt with me anymore,” he whispers, eyes glancing at your lips in anticipation of a response. 

“I'm not flirting,” you say honestly. “I'm serious. Anyone would be lucky to be yours."

You pause long enough to catch a small smile curling at his lips, a flicker of bashfulness or amusement in the creases beside his beautiful eyes. But then it vanishes just as quickly, replaced by something more guarded.  

“___? Can I ask you something?” 

“Sure.” 

“If…umm, if you can't respect my relationship…does that mean I have to lose you?"

You immediately shake your head. “No.”  

His shoulders relax visibly, the tension in his hand easing as he seems to melt just a little bit closer to you. His body is drawn into your space, far too close to be considered friendly. But you hold back the urge to comment. Partly because you know he needs this right now. He needs closeness. And reassurance. And also…he’s temptingly warm. 

“No,” you repeat. “I’m not going anywhere.”  

“Good,” he sighs in relief, a small breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. 

“But since you brought it up,” you continue, “I should let you know I’m breaking my promise.”  

He tilts his head, eyes narrowing slightly as he adjusts his hand in yours, holding it just a little tighter. “What promise?”  

“The no flirting promise.”  

His eyes widen, a mixture of surprise and realization washing over his face. His lips part, and for a moment, he looks adorably caught off guard. 

“Oh no.”  

“Oh yes,” you say with a smirk, stepping a little closer, chest to chest now. Your gaze drags over his nose and lips, then back up to his eyes, steady and enchanting. “Get ready to have your ass properly flirted with, nerd. I'm gonna show you how you should be treated."

And wouldn’t you know it, his gaze unexpectedly drags as well, all the way down to your lips. And it doesn’t lift right away. Instead, it lingers, longer than it should. Not just for a fleeting second. No, it stays there. And stays. And stays. 

If you hadn’t stepped back and forced his gaze to meet your eyes again, who knows how long he might have been stuck there, lost in that silent, tempting moment.

For someone who claims to want to be just friends, his eyes certainly tell a different story. A small suspicion stirs within you. Maybe stealing him from Girlfriend isn’t going to be as hard as you thought? Either way, you're sure about one thing. Any and all guilt or hesitation is out the window. Nothing is going to hold you back from fully pursuing him now.

“Well, glad we cleared that up. Now, I’ve got a paper to write, and you’ve got some studying to finish."

Pausing briefly at the end of the aisle, you glance back at him still standing in exactly the same spot, seemingly unable to move on from the moment. 

You turn away, acutely aware of his eyes tracking your every move. And don’t think you missed the way he gently tightened his grip before finally letting your hand slip away. He may think he's sneaky, but he's about as subtle as cannonfire.

“Oh and, Jisung?”  

“Yeah?”  

“You know how you said you're lucky Minji wants you because no one else does?"

He nods, a little uncertain.  

“Well, you're wrong. I want you. But you need to make the choice for yourself. When you're ready, let me know."

And with that, you walk away, leaving him speechless, breathless, and wondering.

You make your way back to the table and drop into your chair with a sharp exhale, not wasting any time locking onto your target.

Across the room, Minji is still sitting at her table, checking her nails with an unconcerned glance around the room, vaguely impatient for her missing boyfriend.

Her gaze eventually lands on you with a double take at the daggers you're shooting. Never before have you felt this kind of fire behind your eyes, and it seems as though the heat reaches Minji just as intended.

Immediately, she gives you a look back. Nothing intense. Nothing so obvious as your death glare.

Just a few silent, unimpressed, judgy blinks.

Then Jisung reappears.

And oh? Oh, that's interesting. Because Han Jisung looks like somebody just unplugged him from the wall before he was done charging.

He walks back toward the table in a daze, blinking occasionally as if he's only about thirty percent connected to reality.

Minji notices. Her smile falters slightly, and something in you feels lighthearted seeing her thrown off her groove.

When he reaches her, she slips her arm through his automatically, pulling him close and whispering something against his ear.

Jisung allows it. Technically. In the same way a coat rack would.

He has no reaction and no smile. No squeeze of her hand or shift of his body when she practically crawls halfway into his lap in an attempt to capture his attention.

Nothing.

His brain is clearly still lost somewhere between the autobiography section and an existential crisis.

Minji's eyes narrow as she studies him. Then she follows his gaze.

Straight back to you.

Her jaw drops in offense when you send her a little wink. The confidence in her posture wavers beautifully. The most satisfying flicker of uncertainty you've perhaps ever witnessed.

You don't smile. Can't give away just how much you're enjoying the sweetness of this moment.

You simply hold her shaking gaze. Calm. Steady. Unblinking. Like a fucking madman. And also, you realize there's actually two fun ways to make someone squirm under your gaze.

With the little experience you have declaring war, you like to think that you're doing a pretty good job considering Minji can't seem to do anything but uselessly tighten her grip on Jisung's arm.

Your new mission is clear: if he refuses to acknowledge how horrible Minji really is, then you’ll just have to make him see how valuable he truly is.

:: 

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

Jisung sits across from you now, hoodie sleeves pushed up enough to expose his forearms as he casually steals one of your fries. You watch him drag it through your dipping sauce like it naturally belongs to both of you, completely unbothered (or clueless) by the intimacy of it.

And maybe that’s what gets you the most. Because a week ago, Han Jisung was just some random guy sitting alone at a party next to a drink he wasn’t even drinking.

And now somehow the two of you have slipped into this strange comfortability that usually takes months to build, stuck in this weird limbo where it feels normal for him to eat off your plate, but not to ask for his number.

“You know,” Jisung says around a mouthful of stolen fries, “this is probably the weirdest origin story I’ve ever experienced.”

“Origin story?” you raise a brow. “That’s what we’re calling it?”

“Mhm.”

“Is that nerd language for friendship?”

“Pretty much.”

“So, we're friends?”

“I mean,” he replies slowly, “Do you want to be?”

Oh, hell to the no. The last thing you want is to be shoved into the friendzone with Han Jisung. If you’re going to end up in anything involving Jisung, you’d strongly prefer it be his bedsheets.

“Sure,” you say sweetly instead. “I’d like that.”

Even though you lied, the way his face brightens feels dangerously rewarding.

You watch, deeply distracted, as he takes a bite of his burger before swiping his thumb through the ketchup at the corner of his mouth and absentmindedly licking it clean. Something about watching him eat is oddly satisfying.

His cheeks are three times their normal size when he talks with food in his mouth, soft and round in a way that should not be as cute as it is on a grown ass man. It gives him this unfairly adorable quality that completely clashes with the fact that you’ve spent at least half the week imagining him in morally questionable scenarios.

“Can you believe that a week ago you were trying to seduce me in a hallway?” he continues, pausing to chew only after speaking. “What an introduction.”

Even more concerning, you’re starting to realize Jisung never seems to finish chewing what’s already stored in his cheeks before immediately putting more food in his mouth.

The man is going to choke, and surprisingly, it will have nothing to do with your hand around his neck.

“Oh my god,” you groan, dropping your forehead dramatically into your palm. “Are you ever gonna let that go?”

“I’m just saying,” he swallows, “most people start conversations by asking about my major or hobbies, not putting their hand on my thigh.”

“In my defense,” you point at him with a fry, “you looked easy.”

“Easy?”

“You were way too innocent to be at that party, what was I supposed to do?”

“Not try to corrupt me?”

“Okay, before we start judging, I would just like it to be noted that the second I found out you had a girlfriend, I backed off.”

Jisung gives you a look over the edge of his glasses before pushing them back up his nose. “Backed off?”

“Yes.”

“You stalked us for a week.”

“That was investigative journalism!”

He laughs again, warm and bright enough that a couple people glance over. “Oh, right. My bad.”

“Seriously,” you reply, trying to hide your smile behind your drink before it betrays how much his laugh affects you. “I could’ve been a terrible person about it, but I wasn’t.”

“You bought a — well actually, I don't know if I can even call it a disguise.”

“Okay first, I didn't buy anything. I had that trenchcoat. Second, my outfit choices are unrelated to my moral integrity.”

“The trench coat was an insane move.”

“It was fashion.”

“It was seventy-eight degrees outside.”

"You know what?" A giggle slips free before you can catch it. So much for maintaining the bit. You quickly pull yourself together, adopting your most serious expression. "You're being really judgmental for a guy who plays League of Legends behind his girlfriend's back."

He gasps softly, a hand gripping his shirt like you’ve wounded him. “Low blow.”

“Be grateful I’m keeping your secret, nerd.”

“We're friends now,” he points out. “You have to.”

“So the reason you wanted to be friends wasn't because you like me? You just didn't want me to tattle on you?” A dramatic hand lands across your heart, little sniffles and fake sobs between your words. “I'm hurt.”

Jisung shakes his head, still smiling to himself as he reaches for another fry off your plate. “Nah, of course I like you.”

Holy shit, get it together. He didn't mean it like that.

His bangs keep falling in front of his eyes every time he laughs, and you have to physically stop yourself from reaching across the table to fix them. (Which is ridiculous behavior. Deeply embarrassing, honestly.)

It doesn't take long. The two of you dissolve into laughter again and again, eventually drawing attention from the handful of other students scattered through the diner. But you couldn't care less.

Jisung’s shoulders shake when he laughs hard. His head falls back against the booth and his arm lands over his stomach. Every so often he smacks the seat beside him or his own thigh, only to immediately wince afterward and grab his wrist dramatically.

Shit, you really like this.

You like having a shared history with him. Inside jokes only the two of you fully understand. They make you feel close to him in a way that’s probably not very smart.

Perhaps you should be embarrassed about how much you're enjoying spending time with someone else's boyfriend. But instead, it just makes your heart ache.

Truthfully, you feel a little guilty about how happy you are that he's not where he was originally supposed to be – with his girlfriend.

But rather, he’s here. Stealing your fries and laughing at your jokes like he genuinely enjoys being around you.

And selfishly, you want to keep him here for as long as possible.

“Thank you,” you say quietly.

“For what?”

You give a small, nonchalant shrug. “I needed to laugh, I guess.”

Goddamn it, there he goes again. You didn't realize a smile could look like that. Small at first before it spreads fully across his face like he just can’t help it. As if you're the charming one here.

Those gorgeous boba eyes practically disappear into crescents, rosy cheeks pushing up high behind his glasses. And the way his smile shows a little bit of his top gums!? Holy fuck, he's adorable. Like a proud kid who just got told he did something right for once.

Your gaze lingers on him for too long. How long? You don't know. Long enough that you catch yourself smiling too, simply because he is.

The realization hits you like a slap to the back of the head. Oh, you are so down catastrophically bad.

You clear your throat quickly and look down at your basket of fries instead, suddenly very interested in the three lonely fries left at the bottom.

“You know,” you say after a while, nudging fries around in circles, “most people would’ve asked why I was crying by now.”

Jisung tilts his head curiously, eyes dipping low to catch your downcast gaze. “Do you want me to ask why you were crying?”

You shrug one shoulder, not really nodding but definitely not shaking your head. “I don’t know. It's whatever. Just saying.”

And that’s the truth. You’re not even sure why you brought it up. Normally, if people ask personal questions, you dodge them with inappropriate humor or flirt your way out of it until the conversation moves on. Vulnerability has never really been your thing.

But Jisung just sits there quietly. No pressure. No pushing. He studies you, gaze softening as he takes in the way you’re nibbling absentmindedly at the corner of a fry instead of eating it properly. The way your shoulders keep tightening every few seconds like you’re bracing for some kind of impact.

Then, very gently, he asks, “Why were you crying, ___?"

A small breath escapes your lips, a hesitation some might say. But then you decide there’s no point in avoiding honesty when Jisung has never given you any reason to.

“I ran into my ex.”

“Yikes.”

“And he’s still the same jerk I left three months ago.”

“Why’d you two break up?”

“Because it felt like I only mattered to him when he wanted something from me,” you admit quietly. “And then I found out he cheated.”

“Oh…”

“Yeah.” You let out a small laugh even though there's nothing funny about it. “But apparently I wasn’t allowed to be upset.”

“What do you mean?”

You shrug, even though the motion feels stiff. “When I confronted him, he basically said it was my fault. Said I treat sex too casually, and I let guys use me, so I have no right to get mad when he did the same thing."

The words leave a sour taste in your mouth all over again, as if tasting them for the first time.

“Jerk,” you mutter under your breath, blinking quickly as you look away.

Jisung goes quiet after that. Not awkwardly. Not dismissively. He just lets the silence settle for a moment when he notices your eyes starting to gloss over again.

“Is it okay if I say something?” he finally asks.

You nod. “Please.”

Jisung adjusts his glasses before continuing, quieter this time. “Honestly? When you first sat down next to me at that party, I felt uncomfortable and really nervous.”

Okay, ouch. But before embarrassment can fully crawl up your spine, he quickly adds, “Not because I thought you were bad or annoying or anything. I just…I didn’t really know what to do with that version of you.”

Your gaze lands on his only to find those precious boba eyes sparkling back at you.

“But the more we talked that night, the more I started seeing the real you underneath all that hypersexual facade.” His voice softens, immediately softening the knot in your chest as well. “The way you joked. The way you talked. The way you flirted with me and then pretended to get upset when I turned you down–”

“Not pretending, but go on."

“--that version of you? The real one. I actually liked her. A lot.”

An unstoppable heat creeps up your neck.

Is it just you or did the diner suddenly get way too warm to be sitting inside? The air goes thick, and you can't seem to get enough oxygen breathing through your nose, so your lips part and you take in a deep, slow breath.

“That’s the person I actually wanted to keep talking to after the party," he admits. “That’s the person I want to be friends with.”

Right about now is typically when you would fire off some snarky, sarcastic comeback to leave him flustered and fumbling.

But nothing comes out. Your throat suddenly feels too tight for sarcasm.

Well, shit.

How did he say all that so simply? As if your most heavily guarded insecurity was so obvious to him? What, does he have x-ray vision or something? Fuck, you weren't ready for that. And the longer you let his words hang in the air, the more you realize just how absolutely insane what he just said is.

Guys are not supposed to make you nervous! That’s never how this works. You make guys nervous. You’re the one who leans in first. The one who flirts first. The one who leaves boys red-faced and fumbling over their own name.

But right now?

Looking into Jisung’s eyes is making your stomach twist and your nerves tingle. And for maybe the first time in years, you feel shy. Legitimately shy.

“Okay, hold on,” you blurt out, waving a hand through the air to cut the scene.

Jisung watches you for another second before the corner of his mouth lifts into something softer. “What?”

“Really? Are you serious right now? You're just going to say that while looking at me like that?”

His gaze goes right and left and then comes back to you. “Looking at you like what?”

Your face lands in your hands. “Oh my god, it's so stressful.”

“What is?”

“You! And your relationship status.”

He just stares at you. Somehow this man is both the most intuitive and yet oblivious person you've ever met. In a matter of minutes, he's able to make you cry, stop your crying, make you blush, and make you want to punch a cement wall.

But is he going to take responsibility for all this?

Don't count on it.

No, instead he's just going to sit there with his head tilted and his bangs gently falling in front of his eyes. Fuck, you just want to kiss his stupid, pouty lips until they're swollen and he's breathless underneath you in the corner booth.

“I don't get it,” he replies slowly, brows knitting together cutely.

“Okay,” you start by sitting forward and placing your hands on the table, a deep breath to prepare yourself. “Look, I’m aware you don’t want me commenting on your girlfriend."

Jisung immediately groans under his breath. “Oh no.”

“But,” you continue anyway, holding an innocent hand out, “Just hear me out. I just have to say it.”

"Why do I feel like I’m about to get bullied?”

“Because you are low-key.”

He leans back cautiously, already looking not prepared.

“Minji does not deserve you.”

“___," you can't say that--"

“No, listen to me.” You cut him off before he can argue. “I genuinely hope one day she realizes what a ridiculously good guy she has. Because it's actually stupid that she would cancel any chance she had to spend time with you."

Jisung’s ears start turning pink already. He tries to play it off by adjusting his glasses and swallowing nothing, but it's too late, you've already noticed and memorized the pretty color.

“You’re dramatic.”

“I’m correct.”

“You barely know me.”

“And yet somehow I already know you’re too nice for like eighty percent of this campus.”

He huffs out a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he reaches for his drink again.

You watch him for a second before adding casually, “Or, alternatively, I hope she never figures it out and dumps you, so I can have you instead.”

Jisung nearly chokes, a small spill of his drink leaking from his lips.

You grin innocently while he coughs into his fist, face flushing pink all over again. Oh yeah, you just found your new favorite color.

“Oh my god,” he mutters, avoiding your eyes now. “You can’t just say stuff like that.”

“Why not? I believe in honesty.”

“I think you believe in causing chaos on purpose.”

“That too.”

He laughs despite himself, ducking his head as he pushes his glasses back up his nose. Goddamn, that smile tugging at his mouth, so small and unassuming, like he’s trying not to enjoy this conversation as much as he is.

You don't understand why he doesn't just admit he enjoys it when you flirt with him. It's not like his loser girlfriend is doing it for him. Nor could she! He already admitted she doesn't give him the physical attention he would like. You can only imagine what kind of emotional attention is missing from his relationship too.

And yet, at the same time, Jisung continues to demonstrate one of the reasons you respect him so much: he sticks up for his girlfriend regardless of her presence. Whether she's here or not, he's not willing to speak ill of her – even if the things you're saying are a hundred percent true.

With your stomach in knots, you're the first to break eye contact, fixing your gaze on your straw instead.

Jisung drops his head into one hand with a quiet sigh, shoulders shaking from embarrassed energy and laughter at the same time.

“You know, I meant for this conversation to make you feel better because you were crying,” he says, eyes sparkling with each word, “not psychologically torture me.”

“Psychologically torturing you does make me feel better."

“Be serious."

“I am. You're too cute when you're flustered. Can't help it."

You intended that line to once again show you that adorably addictive shade of pink on the tips of his ears. But instead, he just looks at you. Not dramatically. Not defensively. Not embarrassed or flustered at all actually.

He just…looks at you.

And for some reason, that’s so much worse.

Because there’s no annoyance in his expression. No discomfort. Just those big, boba brown eyes fixed on you with this quiet, unreadable softness that makes your chest tighten unexpectedly and your toes curl in your shoes.

It lasts maybe two seconds. Probably less.

But it feels intimate enough during those brief moments that you feel a pinch of guilt in your side, making you sit up straight and pull your feet closer under the table.

“Fine,” you mutter, trying to sound nonchalant. “I’ll stop flirting.”

“Promise?”

You place a hand dramatically over your heart and raise the other into the air. “I promise to stop verbally hitting on you while you're in a relationship."

A shy smile slips onto his face. “Thanks,” he says quietly.

The thing is, technically, you keep your promise. Your mouth behaves for the rest of the meal, no instances even though plenty of opportunities present themselves.

Your eyes, however, are another story entirely.

Because every time he laughs, your gaze lingers too long on his mouth and that little glimpse of his gums when he smiles really big.

Every time he pushes his glasses up his nose, you notice that little bit underneath the band that's paler than the rest of his honey skin.

Every time he ducks his head while smiling at something stupid you said, you notice the natural part in his bangs and how he shakes his head to get them out of his eyes.

And every time he says your name, you notice the way the syllables seem to melt off his tongue and rest on his lips for a moment longer, as if being kissed before they finally reach your ears.

::

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