mika

his mind clears, worrying thoughts fading as he melts into it, the only thing in his head being you. purely you. nothing else could bother him in the times when you’re in front of him, because he’s so fully consumed by your feel — your touch. your entire being is like a breath of fresh air to him.

jisung’s are nervous. rare, hesitant, and fumbling, unsure of where to put his hands. he’ll slowly meet your lips, eyes fluttering closed, hands starting at your face, before sliding down to your neck, waist, and hips. it always ends with him picking you up and placing you somewhere. on a desk, counter, against the wall, his body pressed against yours.

his head is racing, thoughts fuzzy as he’s panicking about everything he might be doing wrong. he pulls away after the nerves get to him, checking your eyes for any honesty. and when he finds none, that familiar awkward smile traces his lips before you’re tugging him in again.

chenle pecks everywhere. your cheek, forehead, temple, collarbone, head. his lips feather dusting your skin as he holds your face in his hands, eyes full of affection. he continues avoiding the singular place he knows you want, until you’re a flustered mess, pawing at his shirt to try and get him to kiss you.

when he finally lets out a small laugh and connects your lips, it’s slow. as if he’s still trying to tease you, his thumb caressing your cheek as he tilts his head, deepening it ever so slightly. he pulls away before it goes any further, grinning at you like an idiot as he watches your reaction, pecking your lips once more when you let out a frustrated huff.

jaemin kisses are constant. vying for attention, kissing you for everything. thank you’s, randomly throughout the day. hooking a finger under your chin and pressing his lips to yours. as if he can’t get enough, which he can’t. every time he pulls away he can’t help but lean back in. you’re too cute, too adorable for him to ever stop.

sometimes they’re sweet. often they’re abiding, like you can still feel his lips against yours hours later, body humming with his touch. his kiss is so ceaseless, almost essential in your routine now. every time he pecks your lips it leaves a smile on your face.

jeno kisses deeply. there’s a reason he’s kissing you, and it’s solely due to the need of feeling you. every time leaves you breathless — inhales uneven, exhales heavy. red painting your cheeks as he smiles at you innocently, like he hadn’t regarded you to a flustered mess with just a short kiss.

his lips trail down to your neck when he’s letting you catch your breath, leaving soft, delicate kisses there, cherishing you, his arms sliding around your waist as he pulls you closer, flush against him, hands tracing your spine, sending shivers crawling up your back.

renjun’s are sensual. it’s rare for him to kiss you anything further than a small peck, but when he does it’s passionate. it’s not deep, but light. his lips soft against yours, his fingers caressing your jaw, leaving you fidgety for more. his kisses are the type where you leave your eyes closed even after he pulls away, trying to savour the feeling.

he won’t lean in a second time unless he can’t help himself, but he’ll keep his hands against your skin, dancing across your jaw, brushing your bottom lip, admiring you shamelessly. watching your eyelashes flutter open, your lips part slightly, your gaze glinting.

haechan’s kisses are messy. frantic, always looking for more. hand’s roaming your body until they ultimately land on your hips. his kisses are biting, needing, pulling away just to admire how flustered you are, nipping at your bottom lip before diving back in.

𔘓Renjun:

Renjun walked beside you, your leash in one hand, the dog tugging lightly ahead, pulling the two of you into the narrow park path. the air was crisp and quiet, and he kept stealing glances at you, careful to keep his expression neutral, but his chest tightened anyway. your jacket brushed against his arm as you adjusted the leash, and his fingers twitched, wanting to linger just a fraction longer than he should, wanting to trace that warmth with no excuse at all. the dog barked at something in the shadows and you laughed softly tugging your puppy along, and the sound pressed into him in a way he wasn’t supposed to let it. he kept his eyes on your profile, the way your hair caught the light, the soft slope of your shoulder under your jacket, the way you tilted your head to smile at the dog. you handed him the leash for a moment to grab something from your bag, and his fingers brushed yours, light and unintentional but deliberate enough for his heart to spike. he let them linger a second too long, letting the warmth sink into him, and he cursed quietly in his mind because every little thing you did made the ache grow, made him aware that casual had already become something else entirely for him. he wanted to tell you he couldn’t do this, that the moments after were heavy, that every brush of your hand and laugh and closeness made him want more than he had a right to want, but the words wouldn’t come. instead he rushes out of his apartment at 2am to walk your dog with you, stays beside you the entire time, shoulders brushing, glances stolen, holding the leash, watching your puppy pee by a tree, laughing lightly as it tripped over itself, trying to cling onto all these memories, waiting till he finally finds it in himself to pull away.

𔘓Jeno:

Jeno sprawled on the couch, blanket draped over his legs, an arm crossed behind his head, your head resting against his shoulder, hair brushing lightly against his neck. the glow from the tv lit the room in flickering shadows, a horror movie playing that you both had insisted on, more for the fun of critiquing than actual fear. he watched your face in the half-light, soft and relaxed, the little curl of your lips when you whispered how stupid the protagonist was, and he felt a warmth spread through his chest. you laughed softly at the scene, eyes sparkling, and nudged him lightly, “do you think i’d get killed off early if we were in a horror movie?” he froze for a heartbeat, thinking, rationally weighing odds, thinking about characters and tropes and logic, and then without thinking, let his arm snake around your waist, pulling you a little closer, heart thudding because he didn’t usually act on impulses like that. “i won’t let you die,” he murmured, voice low, eyes flicking to yours, and you let out a quiet laugh, half-shocked, half-softened by the sincerity that slipped through his usual careful exterior. you leaned further into him, and he rested his chin atop your head, fingers brushing along your arm absentmindedly, feeling the warmth and softness, feeling the ache of want, wanting to be closer than casual rules allowed. the movie continues, lights flashing across your faces, you whispered commentary back and forth, shared small laughs at ridiculous moments, and he let himself stay in that moment, letting the yearning thoughts linger while knowing full well whatever this was, was temporary. he let you rest there, his arm holding you just enough to ground you both, letting the quiet intimacy of 2am fill the room.

𔘓Haechan:

he sat on the edge of the bench, one hand draped over the backrest, watching you stir your drink slowly, fingers tracing the rim of the glass like you were memorizing it. the city lights reflected faintly in the liquid, a quiet shimmer that made him pause. Haechan wanted to tease, to make the tension break the way it always did, but tonight the usual words felt hollow. you looked distant, brows furrowed, lips pressed lightly together, and he felt a tug in his chest that he wasn’t used to naming. he shifted closer, careful. the contact was slight, enough for him to feel your warmth, enough to feel that pull he had been trying to ignore. he wanted to reach out, let his hand rest on your shoulder, but the moment felt fragile, and he hesitated. it was that quiet ache he didn’t expect: the weight of wanting to lett you lean into him, without the safety net of laughter or teasing. “stop running to me when you’re troubled. you know i suck at comforting you,” he said softly, voice low, not exactly joking, and he caught the faintest smile twitch at the corner of your lips. you didn’t answer, just shifted slightly closer on your own, and he let it be, letting the silence stretch between you. tonight the usual tricks felt wrong. he wanted to keep it simple, wanted to make it fun and make you laugh, knowing it’s what you need. but the fact he cared so much made him feel exposed. he was aware of every tilt of your shoulder, every small sigh, every quiet tension in your body. he wanted to be the person who made it okay, who made it easier, who let the world blur around you both. those thoughts alone nearly pushed him to chug the rest of his beer. instead, he just stays close and lets you be, letting the city hum softly around you. he let himself think about how heavy it all was, how something that was supposed to be casual had pulled him into a quiet orbit he wasn’t ready to name, and how he didn’t care that he wasn’t ready — he just wanted to stay with you a little longer.

𔘓Jaemin:

he drove slowly through the quiet streets, headlights cutting soft lines across the dark pavement. your jacket was still half-wrinkled from earlier, hair mussed, leaning back in the passenger seat with a faint tired smile. Jaemin liked driving at night like this, the world muted, no one around, the only noise the hum of the tires and the faint music he hadn’t bothered to turn off. he stole glances at you, the way your fingers drummed lightly against your leg, the way your eyes followed the passing streetlights, calm and trusting. he had refused to let you go home alone, always nagging about how dangerous it is for a girl to wander around alone at night. but more than that, he was trying to hold on to moments like this without needing to define it. he reached over to turn the volume down, letting his hand hover near yours, just close enough that you noticed, just close enough to feel it, but not touching. the restraint made the ache sharper. when the car stopped outside your building, you turned to him, sleepy, brushing a strand of hair from your face, and leaned forward for a kiss. it was soft, slow, lingering. and he let it deepen longer than he usually would. when you pulled back, he stayed close a moment too long, gaze on yours, wanting more, wanting to keep it all, to step over boundaries he was supposed to respect. he leaned forward, lips brushing yours again, just a fraction, and felt you shift slightly, letting him feel the closeness but not giving in completely. he hesitated, then realized he needed to pull back, the night already too heavy with everything unsaid. he let his hands fall to his lap, heart still thudding, chest tight with all the wanting he couldn’t voice. “head in, i’ll go when you’re inside,” he said softly, and watched you slip from the car. he waited until he could no longer see the figure of you before starting the engine again, letting the hum of the tires carry the silence, the weight, the ache of something casual that was quietly becoming everything.

𔘓Chenle:

Chenle leaned against the counter, lips pursed, chopping vegetables with far too much care for someone who claimed he was just “throwing something together.” the kitchen smelled faintly of garlic and soy, the low hum of the refrigerator filling the quiet space. you slumped against the island, hair slightly messy, one of his overworn shirts draping your body, letting out a long sigh like the week had sucked every ounce of energy from you. he didn’t say anything, just slid a small bowl toward you, noodles steaming softly, the faintest curl of mischief in his lips. “my specialty,” he said lightly, a small smirk on his face. you shrugged, fingers tracing the edge of the bowl, and he tilted his head, letting the silence stretch like it always did. there was a rhythm between you both in these moments, a give-and-take that felt effortless, even though he could feel the tension still clinging to your shoulders. he passed you the chopsticks, careful to brush your hand with his, just slightly, and you caught it, smirk tugging at your lips. Chenle leaned back against the counter, letting himself watch you for a moment, noticing how your eyes softened when you the noodles to your lips, how the tension in your jaw eased just slightly. he knew exactly how your body worked, exactly how your mind tightened when the world was too much, and he let himself care in little ways that weren’t supposed to matter. light touches, little gestures, warm home-cooked food. he took a bite himself, humming softly, letting the mundane domesticity settle between you. he knew this wasn’t just fun tonight, not completely. the way your body had taken longer to relax, like the stress was still caught somewhere deep, the way you had gone quieter halfway through, less laughter, more softness, like something in you was slowly unwinding without words. he had noticed, even if he pretended not to. the way you exhaled into him like you were finally allowed to breathe stayed with him now, threading quietly through the silence, heavier than it should be. but he didn’t think too much, didn’t name it. he just stayed, letting you exist next to him, letting the comfort of small routines fill the spaces neither of you would ever define. “this is almost too good,” you murmured, and he laughed softly, brushing a stray hair from your cheek, letting the warmth linger. “of course, i made it,” he said, grinning, but the edges of his smile softened as he watched you, knowing tonight was more than just casual fun, but deciding to let it be anyway.

𔘓Jisung:

which of course leaves your fandom, and of course stan twitter as well, debating on whether yuck is a possible love interest, due to the loving emoji in the contact name or just someone lucky enough to call themselves your friend and joke around with.

it isn't until your solo live a few days later where fans notice the initial dangling from the jewelry adorning your neck and attempting to hide in between your cleavage.

the pendant, a cursive 𝓓 made of diamonds, syncs with your every movement while you try your best to dodge any questions regarding the recent rumors tied to your name.

by the time you're saying goodbye and thanking everyone for joining, the internet has already come to a conclusion that you are dating an idol whose name starts with D.

every comment, everywhere consists of arguments over which of the kims — kim doyoung or kim daeyoung is the lucky man. you can only imagine what your fellow idols comments look like at this point in time.

thoigh theh probably couldn't have been as worse as exactly 16 hours later, when one of your members posts a bbl where you both are taking a mirror selca and the lighting is oh so perfect.

so much so that it casts a beautiful light on your necklace, perfectly highlighting the pendant laying flat against your chest.

this time, it's a 𝐇 — with a heart shaped pearl placed in the middle of the dainty letter. and now you have to deal with dating rumors as well as 'being a two timing ass bitch,' like user jaeheearwax said or 'a cheating chopped hoe,' courtesy of doyoungayearner.

you decjde you've had enoufh after reading the fourth comment calling you a cheater and take matters into your own hands, drafting up a bbl message expressing your love and gratitude for your fans, your members, your family's support, and last but definitely not least, your lover.

🍀 y/n 01:27 💬

— to my fans 🤍 thank you for always supporting me. i wanted to share a small piece of my happiness with you. i am currently in a relationship with someone very dear to me, and yes i wear his initial on me, though i've been less strict on hiding it sorry! d & h, are for donghyuck and haechan !! my boyfriends name and the nickname he goes by, thanks to yours truly hehe i hope you can understand and continue to walk with me as i keep doing my best, always. thank you.

𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗎~~~~☆، ﹫cigsaftersuh

the first time you realise lee haechan is going to be a problem, he's sitting far too close to you in class. his desk, technically, leaves enough space between yours to avoid suspicion, but his body doesn't seem to care for boundaries. his elbow brushes yours every few seconds, his knees stretching wide and unapologetically, as though he needs the constant reminder that you're real and right by his side.

"could you—" you hesitate, coughing softly into your fist before continuing, "could you sit a little further from me?"

haechan doesn't budge. if anything, his grin only widens. tilting his head so his messy brown hair falls into his eyes. "why? are you afraid of me?" his voice drops theatrically, the teasing lilt a little too practiced.

when you don't answer right away, he leans closer still, lowering his voice as if he's confiding in you. "or… is it because i'm too close and you're getting shy?"

you shake your head firmly, though your chest gives the faintest, most unwelcome hitch. "no, it's not that," you reply, clearing your throat. "its just—you reek of smoke, and i can't stand the smell of cigarettes." another cough breaks through your words, sharp enough to make you wince. "i have mild asthma, you see."

for once, haechan doesn't have a comeback ready. his smile falters as his eyes widen, tracing over your features like he's replaying your words in his head on loop. "so… you're feeling sick… because of me?"

"hm—i guess you could say that."

the silence that follows is odd for him, but only lasts about three seconds before haechan abruptly shoves his chair back with a screech that makes the entire class look over. without a word, he stalks towards the back of the room where the trash can sits, yanks a crumpled pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, and crushes them in this fist. the sound is almost violent, his knuckles white as he tosses the broken pieces into the bin.

then, in true lee haechan fashion, he turns dramatically to the class, poining a finger at the room with unearned authority. "i won't smoke again until the day i die!" he declared, voice ringing through the classroom. "so none of you are allowed to smoke either! if i catch anyone with a cigarette in hand, i'll—i'll kill you."

a pause.

from the corner, jeno mutters flatly, "you're the only one who smokes in this class, idiot…"

the whole room bursts into laughter, and haechan glares, but his eyes flicker back to you almost instantly—softening, almost sheepish. for someone who usually thrives on attention, his only concern now seems to be whether you're still coughing.

that becomes his new obsession.

within a week, you realise haechan has appointed himself your official-unofficial bodyguard against all secondhand smoke on campus. he barges into the boys' restroom mid-break, wagging a finger at freshmen and upperclassmen alike caught lighting up. "put it out! yn walks this way sometimes. what if she happens to breathe in your poisonous air?!"

his antics are ridiculous enough to cause a stir, yet he's unfazed by the mocking laughter that follows him out. he only beams proudly when he catches sight of you nearby, as though waiting for you to pat his head for being good.

you'd be lying if you said you weren't bewildered—maybe even a little touched—by the dedication.

but haechan's devotion isn't always subtle. he has a way of weaving himself into your routine without asking, as though the two of you had already silently agreed to it. he walks you back to your apartment after classes, even when it means going in the opposite direction of his own dorm. he keeps up a constant stream of chatter the whole way—compliments, complaints, insinuations that if you gave him a chance he'd treat you better than anyone else you've ever been with.

once, you told him he was overstepping. he only blinked, thought for no more than half a second, then said, "yeah… maybe. but you're still walking next to me, so maybe you don't mind that much. right?”

you roll your eyes, but your pen stumbles against the page when you feel the warmth of his gaze linger on you far longer than necessary. his compliments may be shameless, but the way he looks at you—as if you've hung the moon—leaves your chest feeling uncomfortably warm.

the real trouble, however, comes when he decides proximity is non-negotiable.

you're in the library, whispering the requirements of your joint assignment to him, outlining what had to be done and when. you were halfway through your explanation when you realised he hadn't taken a single note. his notebook was blank. instead, his chin rested on his palm, eyes fixed on the shift of your lips with an intensity that prickles your skin.

"...are you listening?" you asked finally, shifting uncomfortably.

"yes," he breathes, then pauses. "no." his gaze flicks down to your mouth again. "i mean—maybe i'd listen better if you, um… repeated everything while kissing me…"

your eyes widen. "haechan."

"yn," he parrots back, lips curling into a grin.

and then, out of nowhere, he leans in, lips puckered slightly, clearly aiming for your cheek.

you jerk back. "what are you doing?"

he looks almost sheepish, then bold all over again. "trying to kiss you?"

"wha—you can't just—"

"why not? you're right here… no one's looking…" his eyes dip to your lips, then back to your face, and for the first time, you realise how much he actually wants this. not as a joke, not as a game—he wants you, in his messy, hopeless way.

"no—because we're not…" you trail off, searching for words. "you can't just go around kissing random girls, haechan!"

he tilts his head, genuinely puzzled. "but i'm not trying to kiss a random girl… i want to kiss you."

"but we're not even dating… you—"

"oh." he blinks, thoughtful as if processing a concept that hadn't occured to him even after all these weeks, then brightens. "okay. then i'll be your boyfriend."

your jaw drops. "that's not how this works—"

"but why not? look… i'll prove it." his hand hovers in the air like he's debating whether to take yours, then boldly presses it against yours. his skin is warm, clammy even, but the weight of his palm is steady. he lifts your hands to his cheek, leaning against them with dramatic flourish, fluttering his eyes shut before cracking one open again. "see? we're holding hands now. that's what boyfriends and girlfriends do… right?"

you gape at him, torn between laughter and exasperation. "...you're unbelievable."

"unbelievably in love with you, yeah…" he says smoothly, though his ears are pink, betraying his nerves. "so? can i kiss you now?"

you don't even have time to argue before he's leaning across the table, heart-shaped lips puckering towards your own. mortified, you grab his arm and haul him out of the library, ignoring the amused snickers trailing after you. he stumbles along, completely unbothered, like a puppy thrilled to finally have your attention.

the moment the doors swing shut, haechan spins back to you, excitement sparking in his eyes. "you wanna go to somewhere more private?! ah—i don't think my roommate's home right now. why not we—"

"haechan."

he freezes, blinking rapidly at your tone. "...hm?"

you're glaring, exasperated and flustered all at once. "why do you think i dragged you out of the library?"

"because…" he tilts his head, lips parting in anticipation. "you're more comfortable kissing me out here?"

your jaw drops. "what? no."

his face falls instantly, but only for a second before the smile creeps back in, sly and boyish. "okay, okay. not now. but soon, right? you'll want to kiss me soon." his voice dips low, hopeful, and you realise, with dawning horror, that this boy has absolutely no concept of shame.

it's ridiculous. he's ridiculous. and yet, there's something about his persistence—the way he throws himself headfirst into liking you, no hesitation, no restraint—that lodges itself in your chest. you're not sure when it stopped feeling like annoyance and started feeling like something heavier, something you're secretly learning to crave.

because for all his dramatics and flirtations, you've noticed how haechan listens. he remembers your ailments. he notices when you're too tired to carry your books and takes them without asking. he hovers just close enough to be overwhelming, but never crosses a line that leaves you feeling truly uncomfortable. and for someone so infamously careless, his care for you is startling in its clarity.

and for the first time—somewhere between the cigarettes he swore off for your sake and the way he lights up every time you so much as look at him, you admit—if only silently, if only to yourself—that you find him pretty beyond his beauty marks.

—huang renjun

renjun’s biggest problem? he thinks rationality fixes everything. so when the argument begins, he goes straight into explanation mode, arms crossed, voice even, expression unreadable. “i’m not attacking you. i’m just explaining why it doesn’t make sense,” he says, which somehow makes it worse. you’re emotional. he’s logical. it’s oil and water. the more upset you get, the more confusion flickers across his face, like he genuinely can’t grasp why you’re reacting that way. but then he sees it: the way you look away, shoulders tightening, eyes glossy. and something in him stops cold. his expression softens instantly. he uncrosses his arms, takes a step closer, voice dropping to something fragile. “hey… don’t cry. i’m sorry,” he murmurs, his thumb gently brushing the back of your hand. he pulls you into a quiet hug, one arm around your waist, the other stroking your hair. “i wasn’t trying to belittle you. i just… talk stupid when i care too much.” and he holds you until your breathing steadies.

—lee jeno

jeno is a logical-first, feelings-second kind of guy. and when you argue, you feel it more than ever. you’ll raise your concern and he’ll immediately respond with something like, “okay, but objectively—” and you want to scream. he doesn’t mean to be cold. he thinks offering solutions is being caring. but sometimes his explanations sound like he’s dismissing your feelings, even when he isn’t. when you snap, “can you stop being a robot for one second?” jeno shuts down. not angrily, just internalizing. his jaw tightens, and he looks away for a moment like he’s recalibrating. when he finally speaks again, his voice is quiet, almost careful: “i’m not trying to invalidate you. i just don’t know how to handle it when you’re upset. i’m trying.” he sits next to you, hands clasped because he doesn’t want to overwhelm you. “tell me what you need from me,” he says honestly. and once you explain it, he really listens and his whole demeanor shifts. “okay,” he says softly. “i can do that. i want to do that.” his effort is clumsy but genuine… and it melts you every time.

—lee haechan

haechan jokes when he’s nervous. which is the worst combination during an argument. you’re upset, and he keeps trying to lighten the mood, tossing out comments like, “okay grumpy, relax,” not realizing he’s pouring gasoline on fire. when you finally snap, his face falls — like he genuinely didn’t expect it. around the boys he stays composed, pretending it’s fine, but the second you’re alone, he’s unusually quiet. he keeps glancing at you, eyes softening with every second. “what did i do?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper. and when you tell him he hurt your feelings, his entire expression shifts — guilt taking over everything. he moves closer, tucking himself into your space, arms wrapping around your waist from the side. “i’m sorry,” he murmurs into your shoulder. “i should’ve read the room.” he kisses your cheek, nose, temple — tiny apologies scattered across your skin. “don’t shut me out, okay? i hate when you’re upset and i can’t fix it.” and he doesn’t let go until you melt into him.

—na jaemin

jaemin gets quiet. painfully quiet. he isn’t cold, he isn’t annoyed — he’s hurt. he sits still, eyes lowered, thinking too much all at once. when you snap at him, he absorbs it silently, nodding once like he deserves it. “i didn’t know i made you feel like that,” he says softly, which somehow breaks you more. he doesn’t raise his voice, doesn’t defend himself. he just retreats inward, processing. you move away and he follows a few steps, not suffocating, but close enough to show he cares. “i don’t want us to fight,” he murmurs. “tell me how to fix this.” and when you do, he listens like you’re giving him sacred instructions. he reaches for your hand slowly, brushing your knuckles with his thumb. “come here,” he whispers, pulling you into a slow, grounding hug. his chin rests on your head, and he holds you like he’s trying to calm both your hearts. “i’m not going anywhere,” he adds quietly. “even when we’re like this.”

—zhong chenle

chenle reacts fast. talks fast. argues fast. he’ll notice something tiny, as trivial as your mismatched socks, or your forgotten umbrella. he'll comment immediately without thinking. on a good day, you laugh it off. on a bad one, like today, it grates. when you tell him to stop nagging, he scoffs, “i’m not nagging, i’m helping,” without realizing how sharp it sounds. but the moment he notices you shivering in the cold, or your eyes watering, or your silence stretching too long — he stops mid-sentence. “wait. are you actually upset?” his voice softens in a way it rarely does. he shrugs off his jacket and wraps it around you, his hands lingering on your shoulders. “i’m sorry,” he mutters, eyes darting away shyly. “i didn’t mean to be annoying.” he holds your hand as you walk, thumb rubbing circles apologetically. “i just worry about you. too much, probably.” and the sincerity in his voice makes your heart wobble.

—park jisung

jisung panics during arguments. he hates raised voices, even slightly sharp tones. the second he feels tension, he starts stumbling over his words, eyes widening in confusion and concern. “wait—what did i do? i swear i didn’t mean—” he keeps reaching toward you and pulling back, unsure if touching you will make it worse. when you look away, his whole face crumples. “don’t… don’t be mad at me,” he says quietly, almost pleading. he sits in front of you, knees drawn in, trying so hard to understand. “just tell me,” he begs softly. “i’ll fix it, i promise.” and as soon as you explain, he exhales shakily and scoots closer, resting his forehead against your shoulder. “i’m really sorry,” he clings to you while he whispers. “i don’t want to lose you.”

fair enough. a five-minute drive after, you find yourself sitting opposite him at an ice cream parlour. he took a while to choose a flavour — it took a few testers for him to decide on one. jisung even insisted for you to try out the flavours, claims that you should try something new — you suspect that he simply wants to feed you. 

on your way to the car, he comes across a convenience store and tells you he’s craving for gimbap. again, you follow, letting him hold your hand and rub circles against your thumb as he finds for his desired flavour. the raven leans his head against your shoulder as he scans rack to rack. 

“don’t you want to get your favourite?”

you feel the shake of his head against your neck, “wanna try something new.”

“right…” 

it doesn’t end there. he takes the long way home, drives a slow pace with the windows down, and finally — to jisung’s dismay — he parks in your neighbourhood. but he doesn’t unlock the door just yet. instead, he unbuckles the seatbelt and turns towards you.

“it’s a full moon and the weather’s nice outside, shall we take a walk?”

“don’t you have recording early in the morning tomorrow, baby?”

jisung’s lips pucker into a pout — just slightly, but it’s still there. a chuckle slips past your lips before you lean over to peck his. cutely, he chases your lips as you pull away, pouting even more upon seeing you laugh.

“but i really want to go on a walk with you…”

“no you don’t,” you chuckle, “you just don’t want to end our date.”

instantly, a hue of pink grazes his pale skin. caught in his lie! jisung looks away, slumping in his seat. the hopeful glint in his eyes are replaced by one of defeat.

how could you say no to that face? and so, you tilt his face with your hand,

“we shouldn’t go on a walk, ‘cause it’s already midnight and you’ll be tired. how about you stay the night, hm? you can rest and you’ll still have me.”

alas, happiness etches its presence back onto jisung’s face. he’s smiling, wasting no time to press kisses onto your cheek.

...and, the cycle continues on every date. <3

until today. “could you pass the stapler?” you look up, startled slightly by the voice.

he’s leaning just slightly over the low partition separating your desks, eyes trained on the corner of your workspace where your lonely black stapler sits. he gives you a smile. not flashy. not flirtatious. just—nice. warm. gentle. you blink once. then reach for it. “thanks,” he says. you nod. he returns to his screen. that’s it. except… it isn’t. because the next day, he borrows a pen. the day after that, post-its. then tape. then scissors. always returning everything. always smiling. always saying thank you like he means it. and now you’re wondering. is this flirting? some kind of extremely office-safe, hr-friendly version of it? or are you just painfully, embarrassingly overthinking it? or maybe did you have an unspoken crush on him? not that you can be blamed. - lee jeno is attractive. undeniably so. you’ve seen him once—just once—rolling up the sleeves of his white button-down in the middle of summer, and you swear you forgot how to form a coherent sentence for ten straight minutes. defined forearms. slim but strong hands. that razor-sharp jawline, often tilted thoughtfully while reading something on his screen. dark lashes. deep voice. a gym guy, apparently—you overheard it once when he mentioned it to jaemin (you weren’t eavesdropping, you just… have really good ears). you haven’t initiated anything. neither has he. but those tiny moments? the ones that make your heart skip? they’re adding up

────

FRIDAY | 4:30 PM

“soo… still down to try that new restaurant?” jaemin asks one afternoon, casually leaning on your desk during lunch with a fresh iced americano in hand—probably his fifth for the day. “obviously,” you reply, eyes lighting up. “people have been absolutely glazing it online. thanks for getting us a table!” he grins. “see you at 9 then.” just as he turns, he spins back around like a cartoon character. “oh, also—jeno’s coming. hope that’s cool?” you freeze. your face says i’m fine, but your body language screams mayday. “y-yeah. sure. totally chill,” you manage. “coolcoolcoolcool,” you say, immediately turning your head towards your computer, and then you see your reflection on the blank empty screen. you were blushing. hard. jaemin smirks knowingly as he walks off. of course he knows. he always knows. after all, he’s the mastermind who told jeno to borrow your stapler in the first place. ────

8:55 PM

the restaurant is low-lit and warm, the kind of place where the wood-paneled walls muffle outside noise, and everything feels just a little more intimate than it should. you arrive five minutes early. out of habit, mostly. or nerves. you’re not sure which. jaemin’s already there, somehow sipping an iced americano even here, scrolling through his phone while pretending not to notice your presence with a dramatic sigh. “i told you 9:00,” he says, without looking up. “it’s 8:55.” “still early.” he glances at you now, then raises an eyebrow. “cute top.” you ignore his antics, he’s just trying to get a reaction out of you. typical jaemin. your heart is already thudding too loudly, because jeno walks in right after. black shirt, sleeves rolled up. clean slacks. a bit of cologne, subtle but warm. his hair’s tousled slightly, and his eyes light up just a little when they land on you. “hey,” he says, with that soft smile. you don’t trust yourself to speak, so you just smile back, scooting over so he can sit across from you. the conversation is light, easy. mostly thanks to jaemin, who fills every awkward silence with a joke, a story, an embarrassing anecdote about your office. jaemin and jeno were friends in school, you get to know that night, they were benchmates. jaemin always chose jeno as his partner for every game, every lab, and jeno just liked his company, so he stood with him always. jaemin talks about you to jeno too—how you both were first day interns and hit it off over a conversation about which seventeen album is truly the best. but every now and then, you catch jeno looking at you. not staring. not even for long. just—looking. like he’s seeing something he's trying very hard not to see too obviously. “so,” jaemin says mid-way through dessert, smirking at you over his spoon, “funny how you two never end up talking at work.” you nearly choke. jeno shifts in his seat. “like, what’s with all the stapler borrowing, huh? no small talk?” you glare at him. he grins. “i’m just saying. feels like there’s some unspoken office tension.” jeno lets out a quiet laugh. and then, after a beat—he looks at you. “i guess i just… wanted a reason to talk,” he says, voice soft. and your breath catches. your heart is thudding again. you manage a smile, small and shy. trying not to mess up words or blabber out something nonsensical. “i noticed,” you reply. the space between you feels full, suddenly. full of every little interaction. every thank-you. every passing smile. jaemin stretches obnoxiously. “well, look at the time! i’ve got a meeting with my bed in ten.” you roll your eyes. “you’re so obvious.” he shrugs. “you’re welcome.” and just like that, he’s gone with the wind. leaving you and jeno, two half-finished desserts, and a quiet restaurant glowing gold in the late-night hush. “i can walk you home,” he says, gently. not pushing. just offering. and something in you says yes. to the walk. to this night. to the maybe that’s been building between you both. ────

10:45 PM

the night is cool, with a breeze just strong enough to lift the corners of your coat and make you tuck your hands into your sleeves. the restaurant’s warm glow fades behind you, replaced by the hush of quiet streets and dimly lit sidewalks. jeno walks beside you, hands in his pockets, his steps matching yours. neither of you says anything at first. the silence isn’t awkward. it’s... full. full of unspoken things. of nerves and glances and the way your arms brush every few seconds and both of you pretend not to notice. “jaemin talks too much,” jeno says eventually, voice low. you laugh softly. “it’s his specialty.” he hums in agreement, then adds, “he wasn’t wrong, though.” you glance at him, catching the way his eyes flicker to yours and then away again, like he’s testing the water, like he’s afraid of saying too much too fast. “i... didn’t really need the stapler that day.” your breath catches. “oh,” you manage, and you’re smiling now. you can’t help it. “i just... i guess i liked the idea of you looking at me. talking to me.” he pauses. “even if it was just a stapler.” you stop walking, just for a moment. jeno turns, realizing you’re no longer beside him. there’s a streetlight above him, casting shadows across his face and soft highlights in his hair. “you could’ve just said hi,” you whisper. he steps closer. barely. but enough to make the air between you buzz. “i know,” he murmurs. “i wanted to. every day. but you always looked so focused. and i didn’t want to ruin that.” your heart is a mess of drumbeats and warmth. “you wouldn’t have.” silence again. then he says, barely audible, “could i maybe get your number... just for office related stuff, of course.” you nod, because your voice has already betrayed you too many times tonight. a soft smile tugs at his lips. the quiet kind. the kind you know he saves for only a few people. he walks you all the way to your apartment. and when he says goodbye, it’s not a hug. not a kiss. just a quiet “goodnight” and a look that lingers longer than it should. but your heart knows. it knows everything. ────

SATURDAY | 9:00 AM

the next day, the office is just waking up. it always feels colder in the morning—half because of the ac blasting too early, half because everyone’s too busy chasing caffeine to talk. desks are still half-empty. monitors glow. the printer sputters. someone sneezes. a mug clinks. you step in, trying to hide the stupid smile that’s been stuck to your face since last night. your coat is too warm for indoors but your hands are cold, so you hold your coffee tighter. and then you see it. your desk. something’s different. sitting neatly on top of your keyboard is a brand-new stapler. blue, shiny, absolutely unnecessary. you freeze. right beside it, a yellow post-it. his handwriting. neat. almost too neat. “thought you could use one that wasn’t cursed.     —jeno :)” you almost laugh. it’s such a him thing to do—dry humor disguised as helpfulness. but your heart? it’s fluttering like it’s stuck in a romcom scene, an angelic choir singing along in tandem. you reach out and pick up the stapler.you didn’t even need one nor were you going to use one. but you want to keep this one forever. cherish it. maybe even pass it on as an heirloom.

just then, you hear someone clear their throat. “new office romance i should know about?” you don’t even need to turn around. jaemin. of course. loud, nosy, iced-americano jaemin. “shut up,” you say instantly, trying to sound bored. your cheeks are already heating up. but he walks past you, grinning like the devil, a bounce in his step like he’s in on the joke you’re still figuring out. and then—your gaze drifts. to the cubicle across. there he is. jeno. typing. or pretending to. his posture is the same—back straight, eyes on the screen—but his fingers are still on the home row keys, just gliding about. and when he feels your eyes, he glances up. It's brief, barely a second. but he smiles. like last night wasn’t just dinner. like it meant something.

a few hours later, a message pops up.

jeno lee “did the new one pass inspection?”

you “it’s still under review by the council. but i think they approve ;)”

jeno lee “let me know if it jams. i’ll personally fix it.”

you smile. a full smile this time. the kind that makes you reach for your coffee, lean back in your chair, and breathe in like something in your world has shifted.

jeno 💗 “what’s your go-to coffee order?”

you “anything except that poison jaemin drinks every day. ‘i like my coffee as dark as my soul’ ahh guy.”

jeno 💗 “haha.” “noted.”

the next morning there’s a cup of coffee on your desk, with yet another post-it note. “it’s the new specialty at a cafe near my place. i thought you’d like it :)”

that was truly the best coffee you had ever tasted. and maybe he started getting it for you every day. ────

WEDNESDAY | 9:00 PM

it's another day at the office. rain taps gently on the windows, a soft drumbeat to the silence of overworked employees and abandoned coffee mugs. you’re still at your desk & so is he. the fluorescent lights overhead are dimmer than usual, humming low like they’re tired too. you stretch your back, glancing at the clock. 9:04 pm. “still here?” comes his voice. you look up to see jeno leaning on the edge of his cubicle wall, sleeves rolled up, tie a little loosened. “so are you,” you shoot back. he smiles. “want company for the walk back?” you nod before your brain catches up.

the streetlights blur against the wet pavement, reflecting like oil paint smudged across the road. jeno’s shoulder brushes yours every few seconds—neither of you move away. he talks about the weird way jaemin eats ramen. you laugh. you tell him about your favorite childhood cartoon. he says he watched it too, and suddenly it’s three blocks later and you’re still talking. at a red light, you both stop. he glances down at you. you glance up. it’s a pause so charged you swear the rain quiets. “...you looked really pretty today,” he says suddenly. his voice isn’t confident or smooth—he says it like a secret. you don’t respond right away. just tuck your hair behind your ear, your face heating. he notices. the light turns green and you simply walk on. on reaching your apartment building you stop at the steps. he’s still holding the umbrella. you don’t say anything. he doesn’t either. there’s that moment again—that pause like the world might tilt if either of you moves. “i’m really glad you came to dinner that night,” he finally says, voice quieter than before. “been wanting to talk to you properly for months.” you blink. “...really?” jeno chuckles. “you had the office’s only decent stapler. of course i had to make a move.” you laugh—nervous and shy and full of everything you’ve been holding back. he takes a step closer. just one. not too much. “but also,” he adds, and this time his voice is a little more sure, “i like you. not just the lunch break, passing-notes kind. the kind where i want to sit and mindlessly watch silly romcoms with you, the kind where i want to walk you home every day and make sure you had dinner. the kind where - " he goes on. but words fall on deaf ears. you feel your heart clench, sweet and sharp. you’re about to respond when— “...so, if you’re okay with it,” he continues, scratching the back of his neck, “can i officially take you out sometime? like, not just coffee machine and post-it flirting. a real date.” you blink. once. twice. your face is warm. your chest feels like it’s glowing. “...yes.” you don’t even hesitate. his smile is soft. wide. genuine. and when he hands you the umbrella and waves goodnight, walking back with his hands in his pockets and a quiet bounce in his step. you think, maybe this started with a stapler. but it’s gonna end with something a lot more permanent. ──── BONUS : FEW WEEKS LATER | 2:00 PM

you, jeno, and jaemin were perched on the edge of the rooftop, paper lunchboxes balanced on your laps, chinese takeout - courtesy of jeno. the breeze is nice, the sky a little overcast, and jaemin's halfway through an enthusiastic rant about the company’s new vending machine layout.

“and like .. why did they move the green tea to the bottom row? what kind of criminal.. oh, thanks man.” he says as jeno hands him a napkin mid-rant, like muscle memory.

you say while giggling, “you guys are like an old married couple.”

jeno chokes on his rice. you pat his back helpfullly , still giggling.

jaemin just shrugs. “what can i say? i raised him well.”

jeno glares at him. mouthing ' stop. talking.' he knew jaemin could slip up any moment. for he always did.

jaemin does not stop talking.

“i mean, not to brag, but if it weren’t for me, he’d still be hovering awkwardly near your desk pretending he needed your stapler.”

you blink. “wait. what?”

jeno drops his chopsticks.

jaemin freezes. realizes.

“oh..." he mutters.

your jaw drops. “waitwaitwait. you told him to borrow my stapler?”

“in my defense,” jaemin says, holding up both hands, “i was just trying to save him from dying of heart failure every time you walked past. it was either that or fake a paper jam crisis.”

jeno is silent. fully hiding behind his lunchbox now.

you slowly turn to him. “is this true?”

“…maybe,” he mumbles.

you snort, trying to hold in your laughter. “oh my god. so all this time..”

“don’t act like it wasn’t genius!” jaemin interrupts. “you’re welcome, by the way. this whole slow-burn coffee shop romcom office love story? all me.”

jeno groans. “can i push him off the roof.”

you lean into jeno’s shoulder, grinning. “you should’ve just said hi.”

he sighs. “i wanted to. but every time i tried, you were always typing so fast. and glaring at your screen like it personally insulted your ancestors.”

you snort. “fair.”

jaemin raises his water bottle. “to true love, born from borrowing office supplies.”

jeno snatches it from him and takes a sip without asking. you think that’s revenge enough. read more ❤︎ please like, reblog and let me know your reviews (๑>◡<๑) this work is a piece of fiction and is not intended to reflect the real personalities, actions, or beliefs of the individuals portrayed. the idols mentioned are used purely as fictional characters for storytelling purposes. no harm, disrespect, or objectification is intended. everything written here is entirely imaginative and not based on real-life events or relationships.

“babe, kiss please.”

chenle’s voice is light and teasing, as though the request is the most natural thing in the world. his lips are already puckered, his chin tilted upward just enough to let you know he’s fully expecting to get his way. his arms are sprawled comfortably on the couch, legs stretched out, one sock-clad foot nudging yours beneath the blanket draped over both of you.

you glance at him, already feeling the warmth creeping up your neck. his confidence is unshakable, and it’s maddening how he knows you so well—knows you’d never outright deny him, especially when he’s in one of these moods.

“but le,” you stammer, your voice slightly higher than usual, “that’s the tenth one today.”

your face is already flushed, the heat blooming across your cheeks as you avoid his gaze. you fiddle with the hem of the blanket, trying to appear unaffected, but the small, traitorous quiver in your voice gives you away.

“no one told you to keep count, baby,” he replies smoothly, his lips quirking into a grin that deepens the dimple on his left cheek.

“i know, but…” you trail off, words slipping away as he leans closer, his eyes locked on yours with that mischievous spark that always sets your heart racing.

“kiss?”

his voice is softer now, more of a coax than a command. the single word lingers between you, playful and persistent, as if daring you to resist. his proximity is overwhelming, the faint scent of his cologne that vaguely reminds you of fresh laundry mixing with the warmth radiating from his skin.

you shift slightly, trying to steady your breath, but the couch feels impossibly small. “le,” you murmur, barely audible, and your eyes flit nervously to the muted television.

he tilts his head, his dark eyes wide with mock curiosity. “hmm?”

the late afternoon sunlight streams through the windows, casting soft, golden patterns on the walls. outside, birds chirp faintly, their song weaving into the cozy stillness of the room. the scene is peaceful, but the fluttering in your chest is anything but.

“i just think…” you pause, your fingers curling tightly around the edge of the blanket. his presence is so close, so consuming, that forming coherent sentences feels like a monumental task. “i just think you’re doing this on purpose.”

his grin spreads wider, and there’s a twinkle in his eye that confirms your suspicions. “maybe i am,” he says, his voice low and lilting. his hand drapes casually over the back of the couch, fingers brushing lightly against your shoulder. “but what are you going to do about it?”

you puff your cheeks slightly in frustration, your lips pressing into a thin line. “you’re impossible,” you mutter, though your tone lacks any real bite.

“and you’re adorable,” he counters effortlessly, his teasing edge softening into something sweeter. his gaze lingers on your face, taking in every shy glance and nervous fidget.

the quiet stretches between you again, and for a moment, all you can hear is the rhythmic ticking of the clock on the wall. the weight of his attention feels heavy yet comforting, like a blanket wrapping around you.

“hey.”

you glance up at him hesitantly, and he takes the opportunity to tilt his head slightly, his expression now devoid of the teasing smirk. “you don’t have to if you’re uncomfortable,” he says, his tone sincere in nature.

the sudden shift in his demeanor catches you off guard, and your heart skips a beat. you realize then, with the way his gaze softens and his teasing fades into genuine care, that this is why you never deny him.

your hand hesitates, but eventually, you reach out to brush your fingers against his cheek. his eyes widen slightly in surprise before his grin returns, smaller this time but somehow warmer.

“okay,” you whisper, your voice so quiet you’re not sure he hears you until he leans in again, this time slower, giving you all the space in the world to pull away if you want.

but you don’t.

your lips press against his for the briefest moment, featherlight and shy, but it’s enough to make his heart swell. when you pull back, your cheeks are aflame, and you can’t bring yourself to meet his gaze.

“see?” chenle murmurs, his voice tinged with a mixture of pride and affection. “not so bad, right?”

you swat at his arm, grumbling under your breath, but he just laughs, leaning back against the couch with a contented sigh. “eleven,” you mumble after a moment, counting softly under your breath.

“what was that, baby?” he asks, feigning ignorance, though the grin tugging at his lips tells you he heard every word.

you glance at him from the corner of your eye, a small smile tugging at your own lips despite yourself. “that’s the eleventh one today.”

chenle chuckles, leaning over to press another quick kiss to your temple, his voice low and teasing.

And now, somehow, you’d segued into philosophical thought experiments and “what if” hypotheticals—What if the internet shut down globally? What if black holes contained entire civilizations? What if you and he were enemies in an alternate reality? What if the person who invented ice cream… hadn’t?

No matter the topic, he loved hearing you talk. Even when you drifted into “If I were a zombie, I’d eat your brains first” territory, it was always entertaining. Time moved differently around you—faster, lighter. Especially when you were on one of your rolls, your brain and mouth fully activated, like you could talk forever.

“So here’s the thing,” you continued, eyes bright. “Theseus’s ship has thirty planks. As he travels, the planks start to rot, so he replaces them, one by one, until eventually, none of the original planks remain. So… is it still Theseus’s ship? Or is it a completely different ship?”

“Hmm, interesting question,” he hummed, pretending to ponder deeply for a few seconds before adding, “What do you think?” That was the magical sentence.

“Glad you asked!” your eyes lit up instantly, as if you’d just been waiting for the invitation to dive deeper. “We have to ask ourselves: what actually makes Theseus’s ship his ship? If we say it isn’t the same ship after replacing all the planks, then how many planks need to be changed before it becomes something else? Like, where’s the line?”

Your hands moved as you spoke, passion flooding your tone. “And think about us. Our body cells change every day. Some die, others regenerate. Does that mean we’re a completely different person over time? Or are we still ‘us’ even after all that change?”

“Hmm, difficult question,” he nodded thoughtfully, watching as you nodded back with enthusiastic agreement. “So this ties back to what you said about what makes a thing that thing, right?”

“Exactly! I’m getting there,” you giggled, visibly delighted. “So, some philosophers say that…”

He stayed quiet, listening as you rambled on, occasionally nodding or humming to show he was still with you. And he was—just not exactly in the way you'd think.

At some point during your monologue, he stopped focusing on your words and started focusing on you.

The way your brows furrowed at each contradiction, the way your smile bloomed when you hit on an idea you found satisfying, the way your hands waved through the air in wide, expressive gestures, it all captivated him. But more than that, what really got him was how free you looked. How natural. How completely yourself you were around him.

It wasn’t just about the random facts or philosophical tangents. It was the way you trusted him with every thought that passed through your mind—like you wanted to let him in on the world inside your head.

And god, he loved it.

He loved the way your eyes sparkled when you got excited, how your voice picked up speed like it couldn't wait to catch up to your thoughts. He loved the little creases that formed between your brows when you were deep in explanation, and how you'd pause only to grin when you realized he was still watching you, really watching you.

“—and that’s why some argue identity is more about continuity of function than physical components,” you continued, eyes bright, hands still moving, completely immersed in your train of thought. “But that was only one of the theories. There’s another one that…”

You trailed off when your eyes met his again.

There it was, that warm, soft gaze, like he was looking at the most precious thing in the whole world. His eyes almost pulsed, like hearts of their own, and his lips curled into an enamored smile that made your chest flutter… but also…

Yeah. That was definitely the look of someone who hadn’t heard a single word you’d said in the last five minutes.

“Hyuck… you’re not listening to me, are you?” you deadpanned, crossing your arms as you started to sulk.

He laughed, not even trying to deny it. “Yeah, I’m not.”

“At least you’re honest,” you muttered, eyebrows knitting together, a pout already forming on your lips.

“I was too distracted,” he added, and that soft tone again, like he was speaking more to himself than to you.

“You could’ve just said you weren’t interested,” you said, eyes dropping to the side, voice quiet and maybe even little wounded.

Another chuckle escaped him, even softer this time, as he scooted closer. Gently, he cupped your face, coaxing you to meet his gaze again.

"I am interested," he said, voice lower now, more sincere. "Just... more in you than in what you were saying.”

God, how he loved looking at you up close like this, close enough to take in every single detail of your pretty face, from the curve of your lips to the spark in your eyes.

“Plus, you can’t really be mad at me,” he added with a playful grin, pinching your cheeks lightly before gently squishing them between his hands. “I did listen to everything you said, up until a few minutes ago.”

He tilted his head, eyes softening again.

“I don’t know about Theseus’s ship,” he murmured, “but I do know you’ll be mine forever… no matter what parts change.”

You blinked a few times at the sudden declaration. If he was trying to make you less mad with such a ridiculous statement… well, damn it—it was working.

“That was so cheesy, oh my God,” you said, your tone lighter, a smile creeping onto your lips despite your best efforts. You didn’t look mad anymore. As stupid and over-the-top as it was, your heart was doing those annoying, giddy flips that you pretended not to notice.

He laughed, clearly pleased with himself, then leaned in to press a kiss to the corner of your lips. “What? I’m just showing you that I love you,” he said, the smirk on his face growing as he pressed another kiss, this time to your cheek.

You tried your best to hold a straight face, but the warmth of his words (and those sweet kisses) were melting away your sulk faster than you'd ever admit.

“You’re so annoying,” you muttered, a small smile betraying your attempt to sound irritated.

“And yet,” he said, stealing one more kiss, this time right on your lips, “you love me anyway.”

You rolled your eyes, but didn’t pull away. “Yeah, yeah… lucky you.”

His grin only grew wider, because yeah, he was.

↝ taglist: @nebularsung, @spacejip, @peterm4rker, @sinisxtea.

based on this request! thank you for sending it in anon and i'm sorry it took a while for me to write 😭 i hope you (and everyone else!) enjoys this one!!

The romantic season has finally started, and that also means that sweet treat of early leave that you applied for at the start of the year. You're keen on using the leave to spend more quality time with your loved ones, especially your boyfriend Park Jisung.

From the introduction from mutual friends, you've known Jisung for a long time. Long enough for him to know your favourite drink and your comfort food. Long enough for him to send you cute hamster videos, and comfortable enough for you to reply with a "That's you!" to which Jisung reacts to the message with a blushing emoji; his face perfectly depicted that emoji too.

The exchanges became pretty limited when you got into a relationship. Yes, Jisung is glad you were able to fall in love, but the dried tears on your face whenever he catches a glimpse of you make him feel otherwise. The one-year toxic relationship would continue for a few more months. Some of your friends were understandably frustrated with how you wouldn’t leave, and despite explaining that words aren't easily acted out, the stress only made your room swallow your sobs even more. In the end, when things were better, you confronted all and cut off some.

The reality is that, we could always be prepared for something, and give others advice but when it happens to us, the world stops. Rational thinking may follow after. At that time, you need to surround yourself with healthy and supportive people. That’s who how Park Jisung is to you.

Jisung really did take care of you, every step of the way. Whether it was sending groceries to our house, sending daily affirmations, and despite his lack of experience and nervousness, helping you draft an email to your boss for a short break to take care of yourself. He's open to telling you that he's not sure what to do, but through simple communication, Jisung was the key for you to escape your toxic ex-boyfriend, and the dreadful aftermath of the relationship. That relationship was ages ago, and now you're happily in a relationship with Jisung for a month.

"Ah," Jisung pouts at the reminder. "You're bringing that up again?"

"I can't help it!" You chuckle at your date who takes another spoonful of his soup, adjusting his scarf after to hide his blushing cheeks. "You said I was hot like soup and then confessed right after!"

If the table could come alive and swallow Jisung up, he would appreciate that very much. "But I really did mean it! You've always been hot but that day you were just, you know...amazing and beautiful...I couldn’t help but say my thoughts…"

Every time you bought this up, Jisung would always become flustered. Just like every other time, his cheeks and the tip of his ears flare, his eyes smile but look away from yours, and sometimes his speech stutters due to his racing heart. But this time, maybe it's the heart-shaped decoration by the entrance of the sore, the roses in the middle of the table, or the way that Jisung called this a date. The environment is bustling but not in the sharp clanging of cutlery on porcelain, but the laughter that wraps the both of you in a loving embrace. 

Last month, as Jisung delivered his feelings for you smoothly like the ice cream in your hands, your gaze on him softened. You doubt it was the ice cream that spread warmth through your chest and your cheeks. You’ve realised your growing feelings for him throughout the past year, but never dared to speak up; not after your relationship even though you know Jisung is nothing like your ex. Your love for Jisung grows after each date, after each brush against his skin and the kisses he places all over your features. Everything that Jisung did in your presence, reminds you that your feelings for him are reciprocated.

"I thought we agreed that I would pay next," sulking at the fact that you lost the credit card battle once more.

"There will always be a next time," pressing a quick peck on your lips.

Jisung's words have always seemed so confident, but just like the soup from dinner earlier, you're sure that the redness across his cheeks isn't from the cool weather. Even with thick winter gloves, you can feel Jisung's hold like you both were skin-to-skin as you walk along the illuminated footpath from open stores. You talk about everything that came up in your mind, taking turns to nod when Jisung does with yours. Your words are always safe with him, the same way his words are safe with you. Your stories continue to be shared, but it wasn't overbearing; not like how you were treated in your past relationship.

Similarly, Jisung loves to tell you about his day, and coo about the two birds leaning against each other not too far away. Jisung loves to go into detail on the things you talked about on text, all the while observing the windows of the shops for things you liked. You fall in love with his voice which pulls you back into the present whenever your mind drifts somewhere else. Whenever those times hit, Jisung has picked up on some things: the glimmers in your eyes fade, your fingers grow weaker or stronger around his, and your hums would be monotonic and randomise between the middle of his sentences instead of the end.

You're habituated to the shoes shuffling on the gravel, so when you stop, you immediately turn your head to Jisung who's a step behind you. Your eyes widen and your lips tremble at the realisation that you missed parts of his stories.

Your heart drops at your actions. I'm sor-"

"Are you alright?" He interjected. Your hands untangle from his as Jisung fixes your scarf. "Don't want you getting cold," lifting the material to cover your lips and chin better. His eyes resemble a smile when he's satisfied with the adjustment and he rests his palms on your shoulders.

"Sorry, I'm just thinking again," eyes downcasted to your shoes that pointed to his.

"No, it's okay," your boyfriend reassures. "I love listening to your voice. I can never get enough of it."

"Really? I just don't want you to feel like you have to listen to all these things because you really don’t have to-"

"But I love it," he cuts you off once more. Jisung slips a glove off, his palm cupping your chilly cheek. Your head tilts, meeting the reflecting Christmas lights behind you, and how clear your reflection from his orbs. "I love hearing all this because that means you trust me and are comfortable with me telling me all these things."

"Of course, I am, Ji," placing emphasis on the affirmative words. "I just hate how you've always treated me right from the start but I keep on doing this thing where my mind goes to the past and I just bring us down and-"

"You're not bringing us down. You're not bringing anybody down," Jisung shakes his head hurriedly. "I promise. We'll take this step by step remember?"

You focus on the soothing glides that his thumb did on your cheekbones, closing your eyes to savour the gentleness. Jisung steps closer to you, wrapping your body with his arms. His deep tone soothes your mind, and you place an ear to where his steady heart is. All the negative thoughts subside slowly, but surely.

"What you went through was scary, bubs," he whispers, "and I don't expect you to just get over it. You're allowed to be scared."

"But it's not fair on you, Sung..."

"What's not fair is you thinking that it's not fair.” A tear or two escapes your eyes, and your lips shudder at the sincerity of his voice. Your hand lifts, only to clasp onto the hem of his jacket. Jisung guides your breathing, messaging his fingers onto your scalp reassuringly. “You’re not being fair to anyone if you act like nothing happened. I want you to always be open with me, okay? I want to support you. Always.”

“Okay,” your answer comes out hushed, and you’re worried that Jisung didn’t hear it. 

You lift your head from his chest, intending to repeat your answer to make sure it gets across. But all words halted when Jisung’s lips fell upon your forehead dearly. The pink deepens into red across his cheekbones, and Jisung hides his eyes behind his overgrown bangs as he stares down at his shuffling feet. For yourself, the heat rises to your cheeks, and you’re sure that Jisung could feel them even through his gloves. And just if that wasn’t enough to make you melt in this winter, Jisung confesses his feelings for you once more as wills himself determinedly to look into your eyes.

“I love you. So, please be fair to yourself.”

There was no way that you could say anything to that, not with how he hits you the words filled with honesty. You see the way his eyes slowly morph into uncertainty at your silence, worried that he made you uncomfortable.

“I’m sorry-” His words are cut off with a kiss on his cheek.

“Don’t be,” you beam at him with the cutest smile, brighter than the sunset behind you. “I love you too, Sungie.”

Delighted with the positive response, Jisung lowers his back to be at eye level with the person that he loves. His thumb traces along the bottom of your lip, index following the shape of your jawline as he gulps at where he puts his finger. You’re met with Jisung’s eyes, and no words are needed when you understand what he is asking for. Your sure nod left Jisung almost sweeping you off the ground, joining his lips with yours sweetly under the warmth of the sunset. 

navi/masterlist!! 🤍 nct dream masterlist

tags: @k-films @kflixnet @starlit-network @kstrucknet