let's go back to life.

It all started the day you made the very reasonable decision that Han Jisung should be yours. The turning point? The moment you realized his girlfriend sucks, and that he seriously deserves a new one. A better one.

You.

You've spent a total of one night talking and dancing with Jisung, and that's all it took to earn your highest respect.

There’s something about his good guy character that’s maddeningly attractive. Not in the corny, try-hard way some guys put on for show, but in the sincere way he carries himself.

The way he kept an arm around you on the dance floor, not to stake a claim, but to protect. The way he kept you close without caging you in, gave you space to breathe and move without letting anyone else ruin your moment.

For the first time in a long time, you felt completely safe with a guy. Not watched, not objectified. Just…safe. Like someone actually had your best interest in mind for once.

And talking to him? God, it was so easy. He wasn’t just waiting for you to say the right thing, or perform the right version of yourself. You didn’t have to play cool or cute or hard to get. You were just…there. And he was there too, without judgment, without pretense.

But beneath all of that warmth and comfort, under all his sweetness and soft smiles – there’s a flicker of something darker. A tiny, dangerous thought tucked into the corner of your mind that will no doubt get you in serious trouble if anyone finds it.

Even more than you want his hands on you, more than you want his lips or his body or that dangerous thrill of imagining him completely undone…

Because as good and honest and respectful and safe as he is, there’s a part of you that wonders what he’d be like if he wasn’t so composed. If all that nerdy good boy energy suddenly broke. Would he beg? Messy and breathless? Greedy and ruined? Desperate for a single chance to be touched by you?

You want his respect.

It’s strange and unfamiliar, this sharp ache in your chest. Why are you so concerned with what he must think of you?

Because with every other guy, it’s always been about being wanted. Needed. Touched. Used. They’d grab your hips like you owed them something, or whisper half-assed compliments right before trying to get their hands down your jeans. You learned how to take that and twist it into something akin to worth, convinced yourself those scraps of respect are enough.

But with Jisung…it’s different.

You want him to look at you and see something valuable. Smart. Kind. Funny. Worthy of being known, not just touched. You want him to remember the way he laughed when you first met, how he tilted his head and called you weird with that fondness in his voice like he actually liked you for you.

It’s the first time in a long time (maybe ever) that you want a guy to care about what’s behind your eyes before he cares about what’s between your legs.

And it terrifies you. But it also makes you want him all the more.

Unfortunately, that's all just wishful thinking. Jisung thinks his girlfriend is the nicest, sweetest girl on campus. Why else would he be dating her?

As much as you believe he needs a new girlfriend, you doubt he would listen to you.

Unless….

Unless, you had proof.

::

You’re crouched low, peeking around the corner of a brick wall, camera app open and ready. Girlfriend is perched on a bench just a little ways away, smiling down at her phone like she’s in a romcom montage.

“What are you doing?”

You narrow your eyes. Probably sexting. Probably lining up her next victim.

You’re seconds away from snapping a photo when--

You whip around, barely managing not to yelp, only to find Jisung leaning over you with his hand pressed casually against the wall above your shoulder like he's trapped you there on purpose. Which he hasn’t (probably). But your heart doesn’t know that; it kicks up a notch anyway.

“I-- uh, nothing,” you sputter, scrambling upright, nearly colliding with his chest.

His brow arches, eyes dancing from your face to your phone. “Nothing? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re spying on my girlfriend.”

You force out a laugh, way too high-pitched. “Spying? Please. Do I look like the type to lurk around corners?”

“Yes."

"Rude."

"You do realize I just caught you crouching behind a wall, right?"

"Okay, wow, somebody's a critic." You glance around as if only just noticing your position before standing up straighter. "Doesn't mean I was spying."

You slowly tap your fingers together, lips curling into a shy smile, voice suddenly far too pleased, “You noticed what I was wearing all week?”

“You’ve been walking around campus in giant sunglasses and a black trench coat all week,” he says, gesturing from your head to your feet as if personally offended. “Indoors. At night.”

Jisung visibly falters, ears turning pink beneath his messy hair. “Yeah, because you looked suspicious."

"Mhm."

“Not because I was paying attention to you or anything.”

"If that's what you need to tell yourself."

"I wasn't looking for you."

"You missed me."

“What? No, that’s not--” he pushes his glasses higher up his nose way too fast, nearly fumbling them in the process. “That’s literally not what I said.”

“I don't know," you sing, swaying from side to side. "Sounds an awful lot like you missed me."

Instead of answering, he just groans quietly, dragging a hand down his face while his ears somehow turn even redder. “Why are you like this?”

You lean a little closer, close enough to whisper, “Because watching you get flustered is one of my favorite hobbies now.”

"And you have to do that while stalking my girlfriend?"

“I’m not stalking anyone.”

“Then why are you taking pictures of her?” The teasing edge in his voice fades when he says it. He's not angry, exactly, but definitely protective.

His shoulders straighten, expression tightening just enough to make it clear this isn’t a joke to him as much as he banters with you.

And annoyingly enough, it's attractive. Like, goddamn. He’s defensive over her, and you can only assume it's because he cares that deeply in the first place. Jisung is the kind of guy who notices when someone might be uncomfortable and immediately steps in front of it. The same way he did on the dance floor. The same way he’s standing in front of you now, except he's defending the wrong girl.

His eyes flick briefly toward the bench where his girlfriend sits giggling at her phone before landing back on you, soft and kind, but wary.

“Look, you’re kinda freaking her out, and Minji said she noticed you–”

“Don’t say that cheating bastard’s name in front of me,” you interrupt dramatically, waving your hand like you’re warding off a demon.

“Cheating…?” His brows shoot up so fast they practically disappear into his messy bangs. “Hold on, are you stalking my girlfriend to catch her cheating on me?”

“No,” you snap immediately. “I just said I'm not stalking her. Are you even listening to me?”

Jisung crosses his arms, leaning against the wall beside you while his bicep rudely bulges against the brick. “You just called her a cheating bastard with a conviction I haven't seen since Catholic middle school.”

“Because she is one.”

“You don’t even know our relationship.”

“I know her.” The words come out sharper than you intended.

That catches his attention. Any leftover teasing or fondness slips from his face, replaced with a cautious curiosity. “What does that mean?”

You hesitate.

“She and I used to run in the same circles,” you admit, trying to not look away from those wide, boba pearls he calls eyes. “And trust me, she's...not innocent."

Jisung’s jaw tightens slightly. “Yeah, I know she has a past.”

“A past?” you echo incredulously. “Jisung, that girl used to go through men like free samples at Costco. Trust me, I was there.”

“Can you not talk about her like that?”

“Oh, come on. You can't seriously be this naive.”

“And you can’t seriously think people are incapable of changing.”

You push off the wall with a scoff, pointing in Girlfriend’s direction accusingly. “People like her don’t just magically wake up one day with morals.”

“Minji has been trying really hard, okay?” Whoa. His voice changed just now, in a way that makes it clear you’ve crossed into dangerous territory. “Since before we started dating. And not that it's any of your business, but she's shown me I can trust her.”

“But–”

You almost tell him then. It's right there on the tip of your tongue. Seeing Minji sneaking into your ex’s dorm two months ago wearing that same tiny silver miniskirt she used to wear to frat parties every other weekend.

But the words stick in your throat. There's no way he's going to believe you right now anyway. He’ll probably think you’re lying because you want him for yourself. Which...okay. Valid. You do. But that's beside the point.

You sigh instead, “Look, I just don’t want you to get screwed over. Or hurt."

Jisung studies you carefully. “Why do you care so much?”

The obvious answer: because I like you.

But you're not looking to embarrass yourself and all your future descendants today.

So instead, you shrug and shyly tucking your phone into your trenchcoat pocket, followed by your hands.

“Because you were nice to me at the party. And I don't respect most men, but...I respect you.”

That makes him smile a little despite himself. “Well,” he says gently, “thank you. But if you respect me, then you’ll respect my girlfriend.”

Actually, that's not at all how that works. But you’re forced to show a small, flat smile, even as jealousy twists hot in your chest.

“Fine,” you mutter, though the word tastes like a bitter lie. Girlfriend hasn’t earned your respect, and she never will.

He glances at his phone. “I’ve gotta go.”

“Umm, your girlfriend is that way,” you point out, nodding toward the bench, the opposite direction Jisung turns.

“I know.” He adjusts the bag on his shoulder. “I’m headed to the computer lab.”

Your brow furrows. “The computer lab? But you don’t have a test this week. Not that I would know that."

He chuckles, a little sheepish, a little humorous. “Haven’t been able to play League all week. Figured I’d take my chance while Minji’s distracted.”

“She doesn’t let you play League of Legends?”

“She doesn’t really get the seriousness of it,” he admits nonchalantly.

Translation: she thinks it's stupid.

“But she lets you play it, right?"

“Just, if she asks, tell her I'm studying, okay?”

Before you can argue, he lifts a hand in a quick wave and leaves.

You watch him jog away, stupidly cute, stupidly attractive, stupidly happy for someone defending a girlfriend who seemingly doesn’t even let him enjoy his hobbies.

And all you can think is: how solid of a girlfriend can she really be that someone as genuine and good as Jisung would be defending her so adamantly?

Nah, this bitch is hiding something. And you're gonna uncover it if it's the last thing you do.

::

Your ex-boyfriend is about the farthest thing from a nerd that a man can get--

(Wait, sorry. Let's rephrase that, because he's not a man. Not by a long shot.)

Your ex-boyfriend is about the farthest thing from a nerd that a total shitbag can get.

(Yeah, that's better.)

You dated him for about six months before realizing you were tired of being treated like property that existed only for one bed and one pair of hands.

At first, he made you feel wanted. Cherished, even. He’d pull you into his lap like you were precious, kiss you like he actually meant it, look at you in ways that somehow convinced you he was capable of honesty.

But slowly, those feelings began to rot.

Texts stopped being intentional unless they led somewhere physical. Compliments became predictable. Conversations got shorter and less interesting. His attention was only fully locked onto you when he wanted something.

And sure, you were used to feeling appreciated only in pieces instead of as a whole person by other guys. But he was supposed to be different. He was your boyfriend. The person who’s supposed to make you feel safe when the rest of the world makes you feel small. Supposed to spoil you, support you, value you.

Not sit in a group chat with his shitbag friends gossiping about their girlfriends’ bedroom habits like they’re reviewing products online.

Even you have more class than to treat intimacy like entertainment for an audience. It's called common courtesy.

And yet, you stuck by him. For much longer than you probably should have. It wasn't until after you found out he had a side piece that you accepted he didn’t actually see you as special. Just available.

You broke up with him a few days later.

And then the little fuck nugget had the audacity to act confused as if the breakup came out of nowhere. Like he hadn't spent the last several months slowly turning your relationship into a glorified situationship with anniversary dates which he never celebrated.

Saying things like, “You knew what I was like before you started dating me. I don't get why you're so upset. I just did what everybody else does."

You haven't spoken since. Haven't really seen him either, aside from the time you saw Minji (yuck) sneaking through his dorm room window at butt crack o'clock in the morning.

Ah yes. You almost forgot why you're hovering outside the campus gym in the middle of the hottest part of the day. Minji is on the dance team and has practice today. So she'll be walking out soon. The perfect chance to "coincidentally" run into her for a short interrogation conversation.

Okay, perhaps Jisung had a point with the whole stalking thing, but it's all for the greater good.

Unfortunately, when you turn around, you see the last person you expected to see walking straight towards you.

“___?” His voice hits your ears like nails against concrete. “What are you doing here?”

Oh, yeah.

You forgot your ex practically lives at the campus gym. Which, honestly, explains a lot about how he met Minji in the first place. Species in their natural habitat and all that.

You, meanwhile, have absolutely no business being anywhere near athletic equipment, given your personal fitness routine mostly consists of dodging emotional vulnerability and running from your problems.

Annoyingly enough, he looks…good.

Which is deeply offensive.

He’s lost some weight since the breakup, enough to sharpen his jawline, and his new haircut actually suits him stupidly well. It says, ‘I started using expensive shampoo, so I’m emotionally evolved now.’

Loser.

“None of your business, Jae,” you reply, immediately defensive.

His eyes drag over you with open confusion. “Relax, damn. I was just surprised to see you voluntarily within fifty feet of a treadmill.”

“And I'm surprised you think I give a fuck what you have to say.”

That wipes the sultry smirk off his face for a second.

Jae folds his arms across his chest, tank top stretching over muscle you absolutely refuse to acknowledge. “Still doing that, huh?”

“Doing what?”

“Acting like I’m the asshole because your feelings got hurt.”

You bark out a dry laugh. “My feelings got hurt because you acted like an asshole.”

“No,” he says bluntly. “You got upset because I treated you the same way everybody else does.”

Your jaw tightens and you angle your body away. “Shut up. You're being a jerk."

“Aha! There it is,” he declares, pointing at your face like he’s proven something. "That right there."

"What?"

"You acting like you’re okay with people treating you casually, but then getting upset when people actually do."

You stare at him in disbelief. “Wow. Therapy must be going great for you.”

“Actually, it is. You should try it sometime. Maybe it'll help with the bitch tendencies.”

Your laugh comes out sharp and humorless, a sigh of faux relief paired with a mocking slow clap. “A round of applause, ladies and gentlemen. I was wondering how long the fake personal growth thing would last.”

“See?” he deadpans. “That’s exactly what I mean. The second someone calls you out, you have to make it into a fight.”

“No,” you shoot back, “I just stopped pretending your behavior is charming. Sorry if that bruised your little ego, but we can't all afford to be toxic.”

“Whoa, back up, ___. You walk around acting like sex is no big deal and guys can use your body and you don’t care. But then suddenly when I do it, I’m toxic?”

“I was your girlfriend!”

“And?”

That one word lands like a slap across your face. Your chest sinks so fast it steals your breath.

Because there it is. The real issue. Not the group chat. Not the disrespect. Not even the cheating.

To him – girlfriend or hookup – it never actually mattered to him what you were. He never cared.

You swallow hard, forcing your expression flat before he can see how deep that one cut.

Jae scoffs, looking away for a second before dragging his hand through his hair. “You know what? Forget it. I don't have to deal with this. You dumped me. You got what you wanted, and I'm over it.”

Something bitter twists in your stomach at how casually he speaks about it. Like the relationship had been some exhausting inconvenience for him. Like he was relieved when you ended things because it meant he didn’t have to keep pretending to care anymore.

(Not that he had been trying very hard in the first place.)

“Yeah!?” you yell after him before you can stop yourself. “Well, me too!”

He doesn’t turn around.

“And thank god I broke up with you!” you yell louder, voice echoing across the sidewalk now. “Best decision I ever made!”

Facts! That jerk doesn’t deserve another second of your mental energy, let alone the amount of emotional space you've allowed him to occupy. In your opinion, he’s a liar, a scumbag, and an emotionally constipated bonehead. An absolute bottom tier man.

Why should you care that he doesn’t care?

You don’t. Obviously.

You’re over it. Completely moved on. Stronger heart. Stronger mind. Stronger body.

At least, that’s what you tell yourself while aggressively speed-walking across campus.

Honestly, he should’ve been grateful for the chance to date you in the first place. Instead, he took everything you gave him for granted -- the trust, the attention, the respect you handed over so easily just because he carried the title of boyfriend.

Stupid.

That’s the last time you ever let yourself fall for a guy first. From now on, men can fall at your feet like nature intended.

“Oof—!”

Strong hands catch you by your arms before you manage to lose all your balance and end up on the ground. Familiar hands with rough little calluses along the fingertips and the sides of his palms.

“Oh,” Jisung says softly when he recognizes it's you, “hey, ___.”

You blink up at him from where you've crashed into his chest, momentarily distracted by the way his glasses have slid slightly down his nose and how warm he feels through his hoodie. He looks unfairly cozy today. Which is deeply inconvenient right now considering it would be socially unacceptable for you to climb inside his hoodie with him.

“Sorry,” you mutter automatically, trying to step around him.

But he doesn't let you go just yet.

Instead, his expression changes the moment he gets a good look at your face.

“Are you crying?”

You freeze.

Your hand gently comes to your cheek, fingertips brushing damp skin.

"Oh. Look at that. Funny." You wipe at your face with the back of your hand, turning your head away with a sniffle. “I’m fine."

Jisung gives you a look. Not judgmental, but definitely not amused.

“It’s nothing,” you mumble, rubbing under your eyes harder than necessary. “My eyes are just watering because I'm allergic to this stupid campus.”

Jisung’s mouth twitches faintly. He knows that’s complete bullshit, how could he not? But he lets you have it anyway, and you're thankful for his empathy in this moment.

His hands loosen around your arms slowly, fingers dragging down your sleeves as he lets go. The friction sends a small, unexpected shiver up your spine.

Maybe it's because you just ran into your ex or maybe it's because you're feeling particularly vulnerable right now, but your body has decided now is the perfect time to become hyperaware of him.

He slides his hands into the front pocket of his hoodie, shoulders hunching slightly, and for one deeply humiliating second, your brain offers up the image of shoving your own hands in there too. Warm fingers tangled together, standing too close, his lips on your forehead–

Oh, no. You better shut that thought down violently. Abso-freaking-lutely not. Even if he is in a relationship with the devil herself and even if you are actively trying to expose her, you can't let yourself follow that path.

Jisung, blissfully unaware of your psychological warfare, pulls one hand back out to check his phone, his brows knitting together at whatever notification pops up on the screen.

“Well,” he says after a moment, putting his phone away again, “I was actually on my way to get food with Minji, but she just cancelled on me.” Something ugly twists in your gut at the mention of her name, but before you can mask it, he adds, “Would...you want to...?"

You stare at him. “Huh?”

"Go get some food? Together?"

There's no pity in his eyes. No weird tension, no awkward tone. For a second, it seems as though he genuinely wants your company. Which somehow makes your tears return full force.

You clear them away quickly. “You’re asking the girl who's stalking your girlfriend to go get food?”

A small smile pulls at his lips. “Technically, you’re retired now, right?”

Despite yourself, a weak laugh escapes you. And damn him for it, because it feels kinda nice to laugh at something a guy said for the first time in god knows how long.

“Are you sure your girlfriend won't mind?”

He pulls out his phone, sends a quick text, waits a moment for a reply, and then offers you a sure smile.

“She's good.”

“Okay,” you sigh dramatically. “But not somewhere healthy. I need something fried.”

“Deal.”

::

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"Tadaaa!" you beamed, hands clasped behind your back. "I made dinner."

Chan’s jaw dropped slightly, a soft, dimpled smile spreading across his face. "Wha—you did this for me? Sweetheart, you shouldn't have." He walked over, wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his face in your neck. "It smells incredible. I'm actually starving."

"Sit, sit!" you urged, gently pushing him into a chair. You scooped a generous portion of the noodles into his bowl and handed him a pair of chopsticks, watching him with wide, expectant eyes.

Touched by your sweetness, Chan’s eyes softened. "Thank you, love. Let's eat."

He lifted a large tangle of noodles, blew on them slightly, and popped them into his mouth.

As he chewed, his internal gears ground to a screeching halt. The expected balance of sweet and savory never came. Instead, an absolute tidal wave of pure, unadulterated sodium hit his tastebuds. You had somehow managed to use a catastrophic amount of soy sauce. It tasted like a block of salt dissolved in the ocean.

Chan froze. His jaw locked mid-chew as his brain frantically calculated how to swallow the culinary weapon without gagging.

"How is it?" you asked, leaning forward on your elbows, practically vibrating with excitement. "Is it good? It's my first time making it!"

Chan looked up. He saw the pure joy radiating from your face, the hopeful sparkle in your eyes, and the sheer pride in your smile. His heart melted entirely. There is absolutely no way I can ruin this for her, he thought.

Forcing his throat to work, he swallowed the bite with superhuman effort. He didn't even wince. Instead, he forced a bright, breathtaking smile to his face and reached out to squeeze your hand.

"Oh Wow" Chan said, his voice entirely sincere despite the dehydration rapidly setting in. "This is amazing. Seriously, it's so good. I could eat this every day."

Your smile widened, a joyful flush creeping up your cheeks. "Really?thank god. Well luckily I made enough."

As you turned to grab a glass of water, Chan took a deep breath, steeling himself for round two. His kidneys were going to hate him tomorrow, but looking at your happy face, he decided it was worth every single bite.

Leeknow

Minho knew exactly what your kitchen track record looked like. He had seen you accidentally set off the smoke detector while making toast and fully understood that "cooking skills" was a phrase that didn't belong anywhere near your resume.

So, as he stood by the front door adjusting his jacket, ready to head out for a long day of schedules, he didn't expect any culinary send-offs. But just as his hand touched the doorknob, you called out his name, hurried down the hallway, and thrust a small, wrapped bento box into his hands.

"I made you lunch," you announced, a tiny, nervous flush creeping up your neck. "For your break later."

Minho stared down at the box, his eyebrows raising in genuine surprise. A slow, amused smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He looked up at your expectant face and felt a sudden rush of affection. "You did?" he asked softly. He stepped closer, wrapping one hand around your waist to pull you in. "Thank you. I'll make sure to eat every bite." He leaned down, pressing a sweet, lingering kiss to your lips before heading out into the morning chill.

Hours later, the dance studio fell quiet as the group finally took a lunch break. While the other members ordered takeout, Minho sat on the floor, leaning his back against the mirrors, and pulled your bento box out of his bag. He unclipped the lid, highly intrigued by what you had managed to create.

When the lid came off, a quiet chuckle escaped his throat.

It was a beautiful, chaotic mess. You had clearly attempted to make a classic gimbap and a side omelette, but the execution had gone slightly rogue. The omelette was completely torn apart, looking more like a jagged jigsaw puzzle than a side dish. The gimbap rolls hadn't survived the journey either; they had broken apart completely, causing the seasoned rice, colorful vegetables, and seaweed to spill out and mingle into a disorganized heap at the bottom of the container.

Minho smirked in sheer amusement, shaking his head. He could practically see you in the kitchen, frantically trying to roll the seaweed and losing the battle against the sticky rice.

Picking up his chopsticks, he scooped up a chaotic mouthful of the deconstructed lunch. It wasn't exactly a culinary masterpiece—the rice was a bit too mushy and the seasoning was entirely uneven—but as he chewed, his smirk softened into something incredibly fond. It tasted like your effort, and to him, that was the best part. He ate every single bite, enjoying the mess thoroughly.

Once the container was completely spotless, Minho snapped a quick photo of the empty box. He opened his chat with you, attached the picture, and typed out a message: Completely cleared it. Literally the best lunch I’ve ever had, jagiya. Thank you.

Changbin

You knew the absolute fastest way to Changbin’s heart was through a plate of fried chicken. It was his ultimate comfort food, so you had spent hours scrolling through recipes, determined to master the perfect crispy, golden crunch all on your own. It turned out to be a lot harder than the internet videos made it look. After a chaotic battle with popping oil and flour splatters, you finally managed to salvage two chicken drumsticks, presenting them proudly on a plate the moment he walked through the door.

"Ta-da!" you announced, holding the dish out to him. "I made your favorite."

Changbin blinked, his eyes dropping to the plate. He took a mental step back. Instead of the beautiful, honey-gold crust he usually drooled over, the two drumsticks were a deep, unmistakable shade of charcoal. The outer skin was completely burned to a crisp, looking more like campfire embers than dinner.

He looked back up at you. The initial pride in your expression was already crumbling, replaced by a tense, nervous twitch of your lips. You bit your lower lip, your fingers tightly gripping the edge of the plate as you watched him, practically holding your breath.

Changbin’s heart completely melted. He knew how terrifying hot oil could be, and the fact that you had braved the kitchen just to make him his favorite food meant everything to him. There was no way he was going to let your hard work go to waste.

"Wow, you made this for me?" Changbin beamed, his loud, bright voice instantly filling the room to cut through the tension. He grabbed one of the drumsticks without a second thought. "I'm so lucky."

He took a large, brave bite. It was exactly what he expected—a heavy, bitter wave of burnt carbon, followed by a slightly dry interior. It was definitely burned. But as he looked at your wide, anxious eyes, he forced his throat to swallow and immediately let out a loud, theatrical hum of pure delight.

"Oh, wow!" he exclaimed, widening his eyes and nodding vigorously as he chewed. "Babe, this is so good! The crunch on this is incredible. It’s got that deep, smoky flavor, you know? I love it!"

The sheer relief that washed over your face was instantaneous. Your shoulders dropped, and a massive, radiant smile broke across your lips. "Really? You don't think it's too dark?"

"Are you kidding? It's perfect," he lied smoothly, taking another huge bite to prove his point, completely ignoring the bitter aftertaste.

Unable to contain your happiness, you threw your arms around his neck, burying your face in his shoulder. "Thank you! I was so scared I ruined it." You pulled back just enough to press a sweet, lingering kiss to his cheek, and then another right on his lips.

Changbin grinned into the kiss, happily holding you close. His tastebuds were suffering a little, but seeing you this happy made it the best fried chicken he had ever had.

Hyunjin

The front door clicked open, and Hyunjin stepped into the apartment, rolling his shoulders to ease the tension from his workout. He was wiping a stray bead of sweat from his forehead with his towel when a sweet, powdery scent caught his attention. Intrigued, he followed the aroma into the kitchen and stopped in his tracks, a surprised smile immediately gracing his lips.

There you were, standing at the counter, completely covered from hands to apron in white cornstarch.

"What's all this?" Hyunjin asked, leaning against the doorframe with an amused glint in his eyes.

You looked up, a smudge of flour on your cheek, and beamed. "I'm making strawberry mochi! I've always wanted to try it, and the video looked so easy. It didn't seem like it would be that hard."

Hyunjin let out a soft chuckle, crossing his arms as he watched you attempt to handle the sweet rice dough. It was clearly putting up a fight. The dough stretched wildly, sticking to your fingers and refusing to cooperate as you frantically tried to dust more starch over the sticky mass. You let out a frustrated huff, blowing a stray lock of hair out of your eyes.

"Well," Hyunjin said smoothly, stepping closer to the counter. He tilted his head, a playful smirk playing on his lips. "If you happen to need a professional taste tester for your creations, you know I'm always available."

Your eyes lit up at his offer. "Really? Perfect timing, because the first one is actually done!"

With an excited flourish, you carefully scooped up your first masterpiece and held it out to him on a small plate. Hyunjin looked down at it, and one of his perfectly shaped eyebrows cocked upward. It didn't exactly look like the plump, round mochis from a cafe. It was remarkably flat, spreading out sideways on the plate, and it looked so intensely sticky that he wondered if it might permanently glue his jaws together.

He hesitated for just a fraction of a second, looking from the sad little blob of dough back to your eager, hopeful face. He couldn't possibly say no to you.

"Alright" Hyunjin murmured, picking up the flat confection. It stretched precariously between his fingers as he lifted it to his mouth and took a brave bite.

The texture was an immediate challenge—it stuck to the roof of his mouth instantly—but the real shock was the flavor. You had clearly gone completely overboard with the sugar. It was an overwhelming, blinding wave of pure sweetness that made his teeth ache. It tasted like straight syrup.

Hyunjin froze for a brief moment, his throat working hard as he forced himself to swallow the sugary bomb. He managed to keep his expression perfectly neutral, smoothing out his features before looking back down at you.

"How is it?" you asked, leaning in close, practically vibrating with anticipation.

"It's really good," Hyunjin lied flawlessly, offering you a warm, brilliant smile that reached his eyes. "Very sweet. You did a great job for your first try."

A huge, triumphant smile broke across your face. "Yes! I knew I could do it!" Entirely reassured, you turned back to the counter, instantly re-energized and humming a little tune as you began tackling the next stubborn piece of dough.

Hyunjin quietly reached for a glass of water, watching you with an incredibly fond smile. His teeth were still ringing from the sugar rush, but seeing you so happy made it entirely worth it.

Han

Jisung had been practically living at the studio lately, burying himself under an endless mountain of tracks and lyrics. Yet, no matter how exhausted he was, he always made sure to come home and give you his undivided attention, never letting his grueling schedule get in the way of your relationship. Deeply grateful for his constant effort, you decided to surprise him with his absolute favorite comfort food: dwaeji galbi. You spent the entire afternoon marinating the pork ribs, making sure the kitchen smelled like a high-end Korean BBQ restaurant by the time his key turned in the lock.

"Babe, I'm home," Jisung murmured, dropping his backpack onto the floor with a tired sigh. But the moment he walked into the dining room and saw the spread, his eyes went wide. The grilled ribs looked absolutely picture-perfect—perfectly caramelized, glistening under the warm light, and garnished neatly with sesame seeds.

"Surprise!" you smiled, pulling out a chair for him. "You’ve been working so hard lately, so I wanted to make you something special."

Jisung’s chest tightened with pure affection. He was so deeply touched by the gesture that for a second, he just stared at you, a soft, vulnerable smile breaking across his face. "You did all this for me? Wow... thank you, jagiya. It looks incredible." He eagerly sat down, picked up a succulent piece of meat with his chopsticks, and popped it into his mouth.

He chewed once, and his entire world stopped.

Something had gone horribly, catastrophically wrong with the marinade. Instead of the sweet, savory harmony of garlic, soy sauce, and pear puree, a bizarre, jarring taste exploded across his tongue. It was like a confusing mixture of straight baking soda and an accidental overdose of vinegar. It was practically inedible.

Jisung froze mid-chew, his eyes widening in subtle panic. He glanced across the table at you, expecting a warning, but you were completely oblivious. You happily picked up a rib, took a bite, and chewed with a content, relaxed smile. Apparently, your tastebuds were entirely forgiving today, or you were just caught up in the joy of the moment.

Suddenly, you caught him staring. You paused, leaning forward on your elbows with an expectant, bright grin. "How is it? Is the marinade okay?"

Jisung’s internal survival instincts kicked into high gear. He couldn't possibly break your heart or ruin this beautiful moment after you had spent hours cooking for him. Forcing his jaw to move, he swallowed the disastrous bite with a heroic effort.

Instantly, a bright, dimpled smile plastered across his face. He quickly reached for another piece of meat, stuffing it into his mouth to prove his enthusiasm. "Mmm! It's delicious!" he mumbled around the food, nodding his head vigorously. He gave you a thumbs-up, continuing to chew through the awful flavor while making enthusiastic noises. "Seriously, babe... so good. You're the best."

Your smile widened into a radiant, happy beam, completely satisfied with his reaction. As you turned to grab a side dish, Jisung took a quick, desperate gulp of his drink, bracing himself for the rest of the meal. It was a culinary disaster, but seeing the pure happiness on your face made every terrible bite worth it.

Felix

You usually ruled the kitchen with absolute confidence, so when you announced that you were stepping out of your culinary comfort zone to surprise Felix, he was absolutely thrilled. He knew you were a fantastic cook, but you had never attempted a Korean dish before. The moment he walked through the door and smelled the rich, simmered sauce, his eyes lit up with pure excitement.

"I made tteokbokki!" you announced proudly, placing a steaming bowl of bright red rice cakes right in the center of the table. "I wanted to make something traditional for you."

Felix beamed, his beautiful smile crinkling the corners of his eyes as he sat down. "Wow, honey! It looks so good," he praised, genuinely touched by the effort you had put into learning a dish from his culture. He rubbed his hands together in anticipation, picked up his spoon, and scooped up a generous rice cake drowned in the thick, crimson sauce. "Let's taste it!"

He popped the rice cake into his mouth.

The reaction was instantaneous. The moment the sauce hit his tongue, Felix’s eyes widened in sheer shock. It wasn't just spicy; it felt like a literal solar flare had ignited inside his mouth. The heat tore through his throat, making his eyes water immediately. You hadn't just made it spicy—you had created a biological hazard.

"I wanted to make sure it had a nice kick," you explained proudly, leaning forward with a bright, satisfied grin. "So I used a whole lot of gochujang and an extra heavy handful of gochugaru to give it that rich color!"

Felix’s throat locked up. He let out a sharp, choked cough, his hand flying to his mouth as he desperately tried to process the volcanic heat. He swallowed heavily, the spicy paste burning a painful trail all the way down to his stomach. His chest heaved slightly as he tried to regain his composure, his ears rapidly turning a bright shade of pink.

He managed a tight, strained nod, his voice a full octave lower than usual. "Yeah... cough... I can definitely tell, love."

You blinked, tilting your head as you noticed the tears welling up in his eyes. "Oh, wait. Is it okay? Do you like it?"

Felix coughed again, a soft, breathless sound as he frantically grabbed his water glass. But looking at your hopeful, eager face, he couldn't bear to let you think you had failed. He took a quick sip, forced the burning sensation down, and flashed you a dazzling, reassuring smile despite the sweat breaking out along his hairline.

"I love it," he wheezed out, pointing at the bowl with his spoon to emphasize his praise. "It's great, sweetie. Really... really flavorful. Best tteokbokki ever."

Your face instantly illuminated with joy, entirely missing his internal battle. "Yay! Go ahead, eat as much as you want!"

As you happily reached for your own plate, Felix took a deep, silent breath, preparing his burning tongue for round two. He was going to need an entire carton of milk after this, but seeing the sheer happiness on your face made the fiery sacrifice worth every single bite.

Seungmin

The rich, bubbling sound of a stew drew Seungmin away from his book and toward the kitchen. As he stepped over the threshold, a highly unusual aroma hit his nose. It was unmistakably kimchi jjigae, but there was a strange, unidentifiable undertone to it that made his internal alarms go off.

"What are you up to?" Seungmin asked, leaning his shoulder against the counter as he watched you diligently stir the pot.

You looked up, your face flushed from the heat of the stove, and gave him a bright, triumphant smile. "I'm making dinner! I found this recipe on tiktok that made it look so easy, so I decided to finally give it a try."

Seungmin hummed softly, stepping closer to peer into the pot. The color looked right, but the scent wafting up was definitely peculiar—almost sweet in a way that traditional kimchi jjigae should never be. Seungmin opened his mouth to say something, but seeing the pure excitement in your eyes, he quietly closed it. He didn't want to rain on your parade before you even finished.

A few minutes later, you turned off the burner and proudly ladled a generous portion of the steaming stew into a bowl, setting it right in front of him with a flourish. "All done! Try it, try it!" you urged, folding your hands beneath your chin as you watched him with absolute anticipation.

Up close, Seungmin instantly noticed that something had gone terribly wrong. The broth lacked its characteristic depth, and a strange sheen floated on top. He picked up his spoon, dipped it into the soup, and took a cautious sip.

His face remained completely blank, a testament to his incredible self-control. It was awful. It tasted like someone had tried to make stew using ketchup and a random assortment of spices instead of proper ingredients. It was sweet, sour in the wrong way, and entirely lacking flavor.

"Well?" you asked, leaning in closer, practically vibrating with hope. "How is it?"

Seungmin hesitated for a brief second, his mind scrambling for the right words. Instead of answering right away, he set his spoon down and offered a calm smile. "Hey, can you show me that recipe you found? I'm just curious about the ingredients they used."

"Sure!" You unlocked your phone and handed it over, pointing at the screen. "See? It has thousands of views."

Seungmin scanned the page, and it took everything in him not to scoff out loud. The recipe was absolute bullshit. It called for regular cabbage, apple cider vinegar for "acidity," and a massive spoonful of sugar. It wasn't a traditional recipe at all; it was a culinary crime.

You tilted your head, noticing his quiet focus. "You don't like it."

Looking up from the screen, Seungmin saw the sudden touch of worry in your eyes. His heart softened instantly. He deleted any sarcastic comments from his brain, smiled bravely, and reached out to gently squeeze your hand.

"No, I really do like it," he lied smoothly, his voice warm and entirely reassuring. "The effort you put into this is amazing, jagiya. But hey... how about we cook it together next time? I can show you the recipe I always use, and we can make it the traditional way."

Your worry instantly evaporated, replaced by a happy nod. "I'd love that!"

As you happily reached for the bowls, Seungmin secretly breathed a sigh of relief. His tastebuds were going to suffer through this meal, but the prospect of teaching you the right way next time made it completely worth it.

Jeongin

Jeongin was entirely accustomed to the fact that your presence in the kitchen usually resulted in a disaster. He never minded it, of course; he was always perfectly content to pull out his phone and order takeout, or simply beg Minho to whip up a meal for the two of them. But lately, you had started to feel a lingering sense of guilt about it, so you decided it was finally time to take matters into your own hands.

When Jeongin unlocked the front door and walked in, the first thing he noticed was you standing by the stove. A playful, dimpled grin instantly broke across his face.

"Hey, did you get lost in there?" he called out, leaning against the kitchen counter with an amused sparkle in his eyes.

You let out a soft chuckle, shaking your head as you stirred a frying pan. "No, I didn't get lost. I actually want to start cooking from now on. I can't rely on delivery apps forever."

Jeongin blinked, genuinely surprised by your sudden determination, but a warm wave of affection rushed through him. "Really? Wow, okay. I’m impressed."

"I decided to start with something simple," you proudly announced, gesturing to the stove. "Egg fried rice. Look, I even plated some for you!"

With a flourish, you handed him a small plate. Jeongin leaned down and took a breath. He had to honestly admit to himself that it smelled pretty good—savory, warm, and comforting. Genuinely excited, he scooped up a large spoonful and popped it into his mouth while you turned your back to him to grab a fork from the drawer.

He started to chew, but his teeth instantly hit something incredibly hard and sharp. A loud, distinct crunch echoed in his mind.

Jeongin froze. Moving his tongue with practiced stealth, he managed to maneuver the foreign object to the front of his mouth and subtly pulled it out with his fingers. He looked down. It was a jagged, unmistakable piece of eggshell. His eyebrows furrowed in a brief frown, but the moment he heard your footsteps returning, he quickly flicked the shell into the trash can.

"So, how did I do?" you asked, handing him the fork, your eyes wide and shining with hopeful anticipation.

Jeongin quickly plastered a bright, reassuring smile on his face. He didn't want to crush your new culinary confidence on day one. Instead of speaking, he held up a enthusiastic thumbs-up. He carefully kept his jaw completely still, strictly avoiding any actual chewing so you wouldn't hear the ominous grinding of the remaining eggshells still hidden in the rice.

"Oh, awesome!" you beamed, visibly relieved. You grabbed your own spoon, eyeing the frying pan. "Let me try some too—"

"Wait!" Jeongin jumped forward, his voice a little muffled as he gently grabbed your wrist to stop you. He swallowed the crunchy bite with an intense effort. "You know what? The guys at the dorm are absolutely starving today. I should really give the rest of this to them as a gift. How about I cook something special just for you tonight?"

You blinked, a bit confused but incredibly touched by his thoughtfulness. "Oh... wow, really? That's so sweet of you, Jeongin."

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.

:: 

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