Seventeen Weekly!

The tiny little cottage he's renting is quaint, not even on Jeju proper, but instead on the itty-bitty island of Changwido. It's a place almost completely isolated from the rest of civilization and only accessible by ferry twice a day. (When he'd taken the ferry over, he was the only person with any kind of luggage, and the only person not decked out in fishing gear.)

It's a perfect destination for the peace and quiet that he's seeking. And when he settles into bed that night, all he expects to hear is the quiet serenade of the waves against the shore, maybe a little rain and thunder if the storm decides to finally break.

Except.

Except, when the heavens do open up with a mighty crack loud enough to shake the house, he hears it.

A song — a haunting melody that reaches past the cacophony and sinks into Wonwoo's skin until it settles in the marrow of his bones. He doesn't know what could possibly make such a beautiful, soul-wrenching sound, but he is helpless to its whims.

The next thing he knows, he's thigh-deep in the churning ocean, pajamas soaked with rain and saltwater and the shore a distant memory. Rain pelts down on him as the storm continues to rage, wave after broiling wave crashing into his torso and threatening to knock him over.

Above all of this, the song persists.

It tugs at something deep within him, something like heartstrings but deeper, and it makes Wonwoo want. He doesn't know what he's looking for exactly, out here alone in the chaos — only knows that he's desperate to find it, the source of the music. It's the kind of desperation that feels like panic, that feels like it'll swallow him whole and crush him under the weight of his yearning.

A wave crashes into Wonwoo's chest and then—

"I'm sorry."

He gasps in a breath that feels like his first in years, saltwater stinging the back of his throat and sending him into a coughing fit. He looks around wildly and sees nothing but black — black sky, black water, black fear.

"I'm sorry," he hears again, your voice hoarse and cracking with a bitter kind of sorrow. "Please don't listen, please go back. Please."

Wonwoo keeps looking, a different kind of recklessness starting a fire in his veins, and he finally catches a flash of white in the tumultuous black. He keeps himself as steady as he can against the unrelenting waves and stares in wonder as the blip of white reveals itself to be the pale face of you.

You're only a few yards away, your black hair plastered across your forehead and midnight eyes staring at Wonwoo with a startling amount of emotion — sorrow, Wonwoo's instincts tell him.

Your gazes meet, and the music reaches a deafening crescendo.

Both of you flinch and bring your hands out of the water to cover your ears, and that's when Wonwoo notices.

Your hands are black and shiny — scales, his brain tells him — and even in the dark, he can see the way your long fingers taper into sharp points.

Claws.

The music stops suddenly, as does the raging storm, and Wonwoo slowly lowers his hands. He doesn't dare take his eyes off of you. Even though the waves have calmed to a gentle rocking around you, he feels like he's standing at the edge of a precipice.

The rain is now a barely-there drizzle, and it's as if the entire world has stilled.

Wonwoo swallows, wrapping his arms around himself when his body is wracked with a shiver. It's only partially from the cold.

Solid black eyes continue to stare into his.

He hadn't felt like he was drowning before, but he does now. It's not a bad feeling.

"Hello?" Wonwoo calls out tentatively.

You startle like you've been slapped.

"No." Your voice comes out strangled, scared, and before he can even blink, you're gone with a quiet splash, a tail blacker than ink the last he sees of you.

A heavy breath shudders out of Wonwoo's lungs, and not because of the previously icy waves. Previously, because he realizes the water has become surprisingly warm. It almost feels like the sea is trying to give him a hug.

The trudge back to shore is quiet, as is the slow, freezing walk back to his little cottage.

He takes a hot shower, letting the water warm up his trembling muscles in silence. Noiselessly, he slips into a new pair of pajamas and climbs back into bed.

The quiet is what he’d wanted before — was the whole reason he’d even come to this island.

Now, though. Now, he doesn’t know what he wants.

five.

"Seungcheol."

It's the way you say his name that tells him something is very, very wrong. The syllables are weighted, heavy, resigned — two stones dropped in the ocean, sinking fast into a suffocating oblivion.

You say his name like the world is ending all over again.

Seungcheol finishes barricading the door from the pack of roamers outside, goosebumps rising on his skin through his sweat as dread courses through him in an icy wave, and he turns.

The first thing he sees is the blood. It's coated your hand where you have it pressed to your right side, just above the hip.

"Fuck, y/n—" His mind is immediately sent spiraling into an anxious overdrive, wondering when and how and where you could have gotten hurt, whether the basic supplies you have between the two of you will be enough until the roamers leave and you can make it back to camp, if—

And then you lift your hand, revealing the wound. It's messy, flesh torn and bleeding steadily — but despite all of that, it's impossible to miss the distinct impression of a set of human teeth.

You've been bit.

You've been bit, and the world drops out from beneath Seungcheol's feet.

"No." He stumbles closer, trembling fingers reaching out and stopping just shy of the wound, before looking into your watery eyes. "No."

It's a command if he's ever given one — because with all of the things the both of you have had to suffer through, had to see and hear and experience these last few years, this had never been a possibility. Never.

Never like this. Never you.

The hand not covering your bite comes up and fists into the front of his shirt. "Cheol."

A million things go unsaid with that single syllable, but Seungcheol can hear them all, can see each one etched into your devastated expression. And because he will always, always, put your needs above his own, he shoves all the crumbling pieces of his own heart down and down and away, instead making room for you to step into his arms and cry against his chest — a mourning for something that has yet to be lost.

You grieve, and Seungcheol refuses to shed a single tear.

four.

"Y/n? What's the matter— why are you crying?"

You giggled, angelic as always, even through the tears. "I'm just... really happy, Cheollie."

"You are?"

"Yeah, just..." You bit your lip, and without thinking, Seungcheol reached out to smooth his thumb over it. You sighed into a smile and leaned into his touch.

"We've all lost so much, you know?" you continued. "But we were still able to find each other — able to find all the others and make a family. And now we have a relatively safe place to live, and I just—"

You beamed at him, laughing, even as tears continued to trickle down your cheeks. Seungcheol wiped them away as gently as he could, and you brought up the little wildflower you'd been holding, one you must've plucked from between the dozens of others that grew in the abandoned courtyard of your new home.

You continued with a nostalgic grin. "Did you know, the first thing you ever gave me was a handful of these?"

Seungcheol blinked down at the flower. "Really?"

"Yeah, I'd just saved you from the homicidal goose that was lurking on the campus quad, and you ripped out a bunch of these right out of the ground and gave them to me as thanks, and then you said—"

"My knight in ripped denim armor," he continued for you, the memory coming back to him with a smile, "can I take you out on a date?"

You beamed at him, eyes turning into crescents, and Seungcheol thought that the world had never felt more beautiful.

three.

You look dead.

"Y/n, hey," Seungcheol whispers, carefully nudging your bare shoulder. Your skin has lost most, if not all, of its color, and you're drenched in sweat. For a moment, your eyes remain closed, unresponsive, and his stomach swoops in fear, but then your eyes flutter open and he breathes out a shaky sigh.

"There you are," he murmurs, cradling your jaw with one hand. "Drink some water for me, yeah?" You nod, and he brings the nearly empty water bottle to your lips, tilting it slowly so you can take little sips. After a few mouthfuls, you hum to indicate you've had enough, and he sets it back down before gently pulling you to lean against him once more.

You let your head loll against his shoulder, groaning quietly; you start to reach out a shaky hand between the two of you, and he takes it immediately, twining your fingers together. You sigh, content.

For a moment, Seungcheol almost forgets.

"You're gonna need to do it soon, Cheollie," you mumble.

Almost.

His fingers twitch in your hold. He swallows.

A part of him wants to play dumb, wants to put off thinking of the horror of the inevitable as long as possible, but that would be the selfish thing to do, he thinks. So he squeezes your hand and whispers, "I know."

You squeeze back. "And you're not allowed to follow me, okay?"

Seungcheol stills. "What?"

"I know you, Choi Seungcheol, and I know what you're gonna wanna do after— after. But you have to promise me that you won't, okay?"

He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. Something's encased his lungs in a vice grip.

You continue, "I need you to be strong for me, and I need you to get back to the group, and I need you to survive, okay?" Your eyes, redrimmed and glossy as they are, are wide and pleading, desperate in a way he's not sure he's ever seen before.

Seungcheol hadn't known that his heart could break any more than it already has. "Y/n."

"I know you won't want to live at first," you forge on, holding onto his hand like a lifeline, "I wouldn't either. But Shua and Hannie need you, Cheol. Channie needs you. They'll all need you, and you'll need them."

You're the one they need, he doesn't say — bites back behind clenched teeth, you're the one I need, the one I've always needed, the one I won't ever stop needing.

He closes his eyes, your name falling past his lips in a plea or a prayer.

Suddenly, he's being yanked toward you by the collar, coming nose to nose with your fiery, bloodshot gaze. "I need you to promise me."

And for the first time in his life, Seungcheol hates the fact that he's never been able to deny you anything. "Fuck you, y/n," he chokes out past a sob, reaching out to cradle your pallid face and press a trembling kiss to your lips.

"Seungcheol."

"Okay," he croaks, stealing one more kiss before bringing your sweaty foreheads together. "Okay, I promise."

Anything for you. Even this. Even this.

two.

"Lay with me for a bit, Cheollie?"

His smile was soft as he easily agreed, "Of course." He made himself comfortable in the grass next to you, making sure the two of you were connected shoulder to hip.

You both lost track of how long you spent staring at the stars in silence together, but eventually Seungcheol broke the quiet with a murmur. "What're we looking for?"

You hummed. "The way to heaven."

"Heaven?"

"Yeah." Your hand snuck its way into his and gently squeezed. "My aunt believed in capital 'G' God — used to point out all the different constellations to me and then tell me that when Jesus came back for everyone that he'd take us all up into heaven through the stars."

"Hmm." He chanced a glance at your profile. "Is that what you believe?"

You sighed. "I don't know if I believe in anything, anymore."

"Yeah." He squeezed your hand.

A few minutes passed in peaceful quiet.

"Cheollie?"

"Hmm?"

"Promise me something?"

Another squeeze of your hand. "Anything."

You swallowed. "Stay with me forever?"

Seungcheol rolled over onto his side so that he could look down at you, the love of his life, and tilted your face towards him with a gentle finger crooked under your chin. Voice full of a devout sort of conviction, he whispered, "There's not a single place I'd rather be than right by your side, forever and always."

"Forever and always?"

The kiss, soft and chaste and a universe all on its own, was answer enough.

one.

"Seungcheol."

Your voice is so quiet now, barely a rasp of air, that he almost doesn't hear you even as he cradles you against his chest. "Cheol, it's time."

He wonders if this is what drowning feels like.

He takes a deep, shuddering breath and swallows the lump clogging his throat. "Okay, love. Tell me what you need."

"Sing for me?"

Anything for you — even if it breaks me. "Yeah," Seungcheol's voice cracks, and he futilely clears his throat. "Yeah, of course. What song?"

I might not die, but this is going to kill me. You're killing me.

"S-Something pretty. Please."

Don't make me do this. Please, God, anyone, don't make me have to do this.

"Okay. A pretty song for my pretty baby." With one arm he pulls you impossibly closer to him, and with the other, he slowly reaches for the pistol strapped to his thigh.

He can barely get the notes out past his tears, but he does his best to carry the tune of your favorite lullaby, gently swaying you both in time with imaginary instruments. The gun feels impossibly heavy in his hold, and it only grows heavier as he slowly brings it up behind your head.

For a moment, he considers changing the angle just a bit — just enough.

But he made a promise. He made a promise, and even if it means living the rest of his life as something less than human — not a roamer in body and mind, but in spirit and soul — he'll keep his promise.

For you, he'll do anything.

(zero.)

He pulls the trigger.

You stop screaming then, but it still takes you a few moments of deep breathing before you're able to open your eyes. At first, all you see is the deep green of Vernon's tunic. Which makes sense since you've yet to untuck your face from between his shoulder blades.

So you lift your head only to be hit with a wave of dark brown as the roaring wind whips Vernon's hair directly into your face. You splutter, closing your eyes as you dodge the hair and hook your chin over his shoulder, the leather armor warm under your skin.

You hear Vernon whisper your name, using some of his magic so that he doesn't have to shout over the rushing air. "You're safe, I promise. Open your eyes."

So you do. And the sight before you steals your breath away.

There's so much color.

The greens and browns of the coast bleed into the bright reds, oranges, and yellows of fall, like autumn has set the entire kingdom ablaze. And where sand feeds into the ocean... you never knew so many shades of blue could exist together at once. You're so far up that you can't tell if the little blips of white next to the shoreline are the crests of waves or the sails of the Queen's armada.

Your eyes trail toward the horizon and you can't help but gasp. It's like the ocean has been turned to gold, the soon-to-be-setting sun causing the surface of the water to look like it's covered in glittering jewels across the entirety of where the sky meets the sea.

"Holy shit."

Vernon must hear you because he snorts inelegantly, and you can feel the way his shoulders shake with a silent chuckle.

With a powerful flap of the dragon's wings, you're suddenly soaring even higher, and you absolutely don't squeak in fear, you don't.

Vernon is laughing outright now, and you can't help it — you join in. You laugh, start cackling really, adrenaline mixing in with the happiness and spilling out of you like an overzealous waterfall, or maybe more like the enchanted fireworks Seokmin loves so much.

Your chest is suddenly filled to the brim with so much, too much, and all you can think to do is throw your hands in the air and shout your joy to the heavens.

You almost don't hear it, but Vernon must still have his little enchantment going because even over your yelling and the roaring wind, you hear it — a murmur, almost reverent.

"Gods, I think I'd do almost anything to keep you looking this happy."

Your heart stutters in the marathon it's running in your chest. You bring your arms back down and rest your hands on Vernon's shoulders. "Vernon?"

He doesn't say anything, just keeps his attention on holding the dragon's reins.

You chew on your lip before huffing a breath that gets stolen by the wind. You're a stubborn brat on the best of days, and you're not going to let what sounded an awful lot like some kind of confession float away to join the mist of the clouds surrounding you.

Determined, but carefully so, you press yourself against Vernon's back and wrap your arms fully around his shoulders, leaning your head so that you can look at his profile. He's always been beautiful, you know. But with the golden glow of the afternoon sun on his skin and the endless sky behind him, he looks ethereal.

And maybe it's the adrenaline still tingling through your veins, or maybe you simply left your hesitation and cowardice back in the grassy field you'd taken off from, but for quite possibly the first time in your entire life, you feel a little bit invincible.

"Vernon," you murmur, just as reverent as he had been. "You're the most beautiful person I've ever seen, and I think I'd do almost anything to get you to kiss me."

Vernon's eyes go wide, and they go even wider when he turns to look at you and finds you nose to nose. He swallows, glancing down at your lips before looking into your eyes once again, searching. He says you name like a question, one that you're all too ready to answer.

You press your lips to Vernon's and it's like the whole world stops. The wind still roars around you, whipping into your hair and clothes, but that's not what causes goosebumps to erupt over your skin. No, it's the way Vernon sighs into the kiss, the way you can feel all of the tension bleed out of his shoulders, the way he just melts in your arms.

He tastes like honey is the first coherent thought you have, and then you're grinning so wide that it breaks the kiss.

Bumping your nose into his, you say, "Let's fly together forever, okay?"

if it’s not bad enough he has to put up with you every morning for two hours, cheol and shua beg you to join their group for the upcoming final presentation, which means that jeonghan has to put up with you and your perfect grade even more. joy. jeonghan makes it a point to show that he’s not pleased with this development, and you respond in kind.

the first issue- you can’t decide on a topic. you want to do a skit, jeonghan wants to do a presentation, and so seungcheol and joshua spend the first day of the group project dejectedly sunken into their chairs, watching you and jeonghan yell at each other.

“you’re the human version of a headache, you know that?” he spits, and cheol chokes on his coffee.

“yeah, well, you’re a human version of a pain in my ass, yoon jeonghan,” you hiss (joshua spits his coffee out on seungcheol as he starts laughing, and cheol runs out of the room with a disgusted “EW!”). “so get your head out of your own damn ass and say yes to the skit!”

cheol comes back into the room with a wad of napkins just as you and jeonghan are about to start brawling on the table and loudly clears his throat, pointing to the enraged librarian who’s looking at you both like she was about to commit murder. almost as quickly as you started fighting, both you and jeonghan fall silent, and cheol uses the precious silence to propose a vote. unfortunately for you, the powerpoint wins, and you throw your straw wrapper at jeonghan when he petulantly sticks his tongue out at you.

it doesn’t get any better from there. you and jeonghan bicker about absolutely everything- the font (you want Merriweather. jeonghan wants Times New Roman), the font size (“20 or higher, dumbass,” you hiss. he bites back with, “24 is proper presentation etiquette, shithead.”), the color scheme (you have made the blue theme the hill you choose to die on, and jeonghan follows suit, yelling about how green and brown looks better). every decision is a fight, and joshua and seungcheol have to separate the two of you every time, sitting you in opposite corners like an MMA fight.

most of the times, the arguments are funny, and cheol and shua take great pleasure in watching you obliterate their friend. their reactions only incites jeonghan (because they’re supposed to be his best friends, and these traitors are here supporting his mortal enemy).

“you have an IQ of 2,” he drawls one day when you accidentally delete a crucial slide. joshua and seungcheol are frantic, desperately trying to retrieve the missing information. you cross your arms as you stalk over to where he sits.

“you’re being about as useful as a knitted condom,” you spit, tired and angry. “maybe do something productive instead of riding on me for a good grade. don’t you get tired of being so lazy?” at that, joshua and seungcheol still. jeonghan sees red. how dare you insult his intelligence, his hard work, his perfect GPA. his knuckles turn white from how hard he’s gripping the arms of the chair- when he turns to lock eyes with his friends, joshua gives him an imperceptible shake of his head, a pleading gesture to not overreact. and jeonghan almost calms down. but then he makes eye contact with you again, and you’re looming over him with an eyebrow raised, foot tapping on the carpet, and something in jeonghan breaks a little.

“y’know,” he starts quietly, shaking his hands out to restore blood flow. “you’re not as smart as everyone thinks you are.”

jeonghan  hears joshua mutter a quiet, “oh shit,” as he rises to his feet, and a twisted part of him crows in pride as you shrink.

“jeonghan, stop,” cheol starts, but jeonghan waves him away, too angry to stop.

“you’re not as smart as everyone thinks you are, huh? that’s why you gotta do this whole teacher’s pet thing, don’t you- you’re too stupid to work for a grade, so you choose to suck up instead, isn’t that right,” he barks out a dry laugh when your eyes fill with tears. the twisted, dark part of him eggs him on, tells him to keep going (you deserve this, the dark voice in his head hisses). “y’know, some of us actually work for our grades. you? you just act like everyone in the world owes you something. so you don’t get to tell me i’m useless, not when you don’t deserve any of the grades you have.”

he wants to keep going, but then he hears you sob, and he stops dead in his tracks, eyes wide and scathing words burning his tongue. seungcheol has already pushed himself between the two of you, pulling you into his chest and rubbing circles into your back as you sob into his sweater. joshua is still frozen by the computer, and he won’t even look at jeonghan. seungcheol pulls you away, a comforting arm around your shoulder- the glare he shoots over his shoulder makes jeonghan’s blood run cold.

after what seems like years, joshua finally clears his throat. when jeonghan turns to him, shua can’t even look him in the eye.

“that was awful,” shua whispers, staring straight at the computer. then, he looks up at jeonghan, and the rage that burns in his best friend’s eyes makes a pool of guilt settle in his stomach, thick and heavy. joshua clears his throat again before continuing, burning a hole through him.

“i don’t even know what to say, jeonghan. that was fucked up.” jeonghan tries to defend himself, but shua just puts a hand up and shakes his head in disappointment, and the words die on his tongue. jeonghan sinks into a chair as he watches shua follow after you and seungcheol.

the door of the workroom closes with a thud, and jeonghan has no idea what to do next.

none of you speak to jeonghan for the next week. work days are spent with the three of you trading ideas and jokes like usual, while jeonghan sits in stunned silence in the corner. every once in a while, you’ll look up while laughing at a joke and make eye contact with him. the light in your eyes dies every time, and jeonghan spends the rest of the work session kicking himself.

after the 8th day, jeonghan decides that he needs his best friends back, so he shows up their apartment with handwritten notes and their favorite snacks, a tradition they started their freshman year when shua got so drunk he puked all over jeonghan and seungcheol’s new shoes. joshua accepts the note with a small smile and a hug, and seungcheol begrudgingly invites him in for a drink. it’s still a little awkward, and all three of them avoid the elephant in the room, but the drinks ease the pit in jeonghan’s stomach. at least for the night.

the next day, jeonghan shows up at the library with some pep in his step- then you breeze past him without even giving him a second glance, and he deflates. he tries to act normal, tries to crack jokes with joshua and seungcheol, but he finds himself looking at you, hoping you’ll give him any kind of reaction. you don’t. jeonghan falls silent, guilt eating him alive. the air reeks of awkward laughter and bad jokes, and joshua has to step away to breathe. he returns with coffee, and as he hands jeonghan a cup, he breathes, “fix this.”

can’t joshua see he’s trying?

jeonghan watches you gleefully accept your cup from joshua, and he gets an idea.

the next day, jeonghan waits outside of the library with a cup of coffee. he’s scribbled an apology on the side of the cup, accompanied by a frowny face and a heart. he knows it’s the right order (he saw it on the side of the cup joshua handed you the day before), but he still feels nervous as he waits for you to show up. when you round the corner, he stands up straight and clears his throat.

“i got you coffee-” he starts, but you walk straight past him with no inclination you heard him. seungcheol, who was coincidentally right behind you, laughs at his failed attempt, and claps him on the shoulder before nudging him into the library. he silently places the coffee next to you on the table before settling into his seat, far away from you.

this continues for two more days- jeonghan waits for you outside the library with a cup of coffee and an apology, you ignore him, seungcheol laughs at him, he leaves the coffee at your seat, and you leave it untouched. jeonghan tries not to pull his hair out every time he has to throw the cold coffee away.

on the fourth day, jeonghan is determined to get you to at least take the coffee. when you round the corner, he jumps in front of you. you give him a confused glare, trying to step around him, but he follows your footsteps. frustrated, you look up at him with a glare, and he just offers you the cup with a cheeky grin and a, “i’m sorry, ok? i am. and i got your order perfect. i swear.” you crack a small grin at his desperation, and something in him feels a thousand pounds lighter. you accept the cup with a whispered note of thanks, and he feels like he could fly. joshua does a double take when he sees the cup in your hands, jeonghan’s familiar chicken scratch adorning the side. he says nothing, but seungcheol gives him an encouraging thumbs up and a smile. the coffee doesn’t go untouched today, and you throw the empty coffee cup in the trash at the end of the day. jeonghan feels the pit in his stomach shrink.

this becomes a habit for you- jeonghan waits for you at the door of the library with a cup of coffee (he’s started writing little corny jokes on the side, desperate to see you warm up to him), you accept the cup with some apprehension, and jeonghan feels like he can fly. soon, the apprehension melts off your shoulders, and jeonghan starts seeing traces of the person you used to be around him- you’re still wary, giving him nothing other than soft smiles and making only the most necessary conversation, but jeonghan will take what he can get (when you make eye contact with him while laughing a stupid joke joshua makes, you don’t look away, and he has to stop himself from pumping his fist in victory).

one day, you accept the coffee and laugh at the joke jeonghan had scrawled in a hurry, and he looks up at you in a shocked silence (it’s the first time since that day that you had laughed at him). when you cock your head at him in confusion, he just shakes his head with a small smile and waves you inside the library (he tries not to think about how his heart stopped at the sound of your laugh). he feels like he’s floating the entire three hours at the library, and joshua has to bring him back to earth more than once. seungcheol gives him a knowing smirk, and he bites back a victorious grin.

the next day, you accept the coffee in jeonghan’s hands with a joke of your own, and you grin at his incredulous laugh. your smile makes his head feel like its filled with cotton, and he has to shake himself out of his reverie as he follows the sound of your laughter down the hall.

as the weeks go by, your jokes turn into little quips, and jeonghan bites back cautiously. you shove his shoulder with a loud laugh, and he watches you with is most likely the stupidest, dumbest smile on his face. working sessions feel normal again- he makes dumb jokes and you laugh, call him an idiot, and he lets you. he lives to see your smile, feels his heart grow wings every time because your smile is the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. he feels his heart leap into his throat every time you bite back at something dumb he says with a grin, and then it all finally clicks-

oh. oh, fuck.

he knows. he knows what it is- the way your smile makes his day, the way walking you into the library, watching you drink the coffee he brought you, the order he memorized makes him feel like his head is in the clouds- he knows what it is.

but he also knows that you don’t feel it.

how could you, so soon after he hurt you? and so he quells his aching heart, works quietly next to you, brings you your coffee, walks you home. in silence. because he’s afraid that if he opens his mouth, the butterflies that live in his stomach will come tumbling out, and then he’ll have to face the fact that you don’t feel the things he does. instead, he tries to be happy with just being your friend (he’s still eternally grateful you forgave him)- he laughs at your jokes, offers you a shoulder to cry on, tires to be supportive when you whine about failed dates during work sessions. he prays you don’t notice that his smiles are a little tighter, that he grips the coffee cup a little harder, that his breath stops in his throat every time you brush past him in the library.

but seungcheol notices. and ever the blabbermouth, he tells joshua. now, work days are filled with jeonghan desperately trying to avoid cheol’s wagging eyebrows and shua’s all knowing smirk. they capitalize on your new habit of offering jeonghan little sips of your drink and little bites of your food. jeonghan never refuses, and joshua teases him like there’s no tomorrow, because apparently, “honey drips out of his eyes” every time jeonghan looks at you. like the true best friends they are, they can’t ever let things be, so they decide to complicate jeonghan’s life even more by inviting you to their apartment.  

jeonghan comes home from class and stops dead when he sees you nursing a drink at the kitchen counter, head thrown back in a laugh. his heart aches a little at how familiar this feels, how right it feels to have you in his home, sitting in his kitchen. you wave him over with a grin, offer him a sip of your drink as you fill him in on all the gossip. joshua gives him a raise of his eyebrows as he sips at his own drink, and seungcheol watches the interaction with an almost paternal grin. jeonghan feels weak in the knees when you sip on the same straw that he used, feels like a dumb little middle schooler (technically, you used his straw. that’s almost like kissing, the middle schooler in him crows). when you leave, you make a promise to come back for another margarita night next week and offer everyone a quick hug at the door. maybe it’s his imagination, but you hug him for a second longer than you do joshua and seungcheol. he sleeps like a baby that night.

the margarita nights continue, and you and jeonghan fall into a comfortable friendship. he still wishes you were his, but as long as you keep smiling at him the way you do, he’s honestly fine with whatever (“you’re a loser,” joshua scoffs one night, long after you’ve left. jeonghan just hums as he continues to do the dishes, dopey grin gracing his face). seungcheol has also started making him walk you home, and he does the socially mandated whining- on the inside, he's cheering at the opportunity to have you to himself for a little longer.

on a weirdly cold april night, jeonghan walks beside you as you make trek back to your apartment. you’re unnaturally quiet, staring at the stars with a pensive look. when jeonghan prods, you look over at him and ask, “han, do you believe in love?”

jeonghan balks, terrified that he’s been found out. when he looks over at you, trying to school his facial expressions, you’re looking at him with a curious smile. he clears his throat, and you turn back to the sky, continuing to trudge along the sidewalk.

“yeah, i believe in love,” jeonghan breathes, staring at you. “why, you don’t?”

“i think love is different things at different times,” you say matter-of-factly. “i don’t know what it means to me right now.” you shiver, and jeonghan immediately shucks off his sweatshirt and offers it to you without another word. you accept gratefully, and the conversation trails off into a comfortable silence. you whisper a sleepy, “good night, jeonghan,” as you shut your front door, and for the first time, jeonghan wishes he could have told you how he felt. the next day, you show up to the library in his sweatshirt, and jeonghan chokes on his drink when he locks eyes with you. when you go to offer it back to him, he tells you to keep it with a resolute grin. you keep making eye contact with him as you make finishing touches on the presentation, and jeonghan freezes every time, words frozen on your tongue.

on the day of the presentation, jeonghan finds you pacing outside the lecture hall, stressed and panicky. seungcheol and joshua are at your sides, trying in vain to calm you down. when jeonghan worriedly grabs you by the shoulders, seungcheol and joshua choose to give you some alone time.

“hey, hey, look at me,” jeonghan tilts your head up so he can see your teary eyes, and his heart breaks. “what’s wrong?”

“wh-what if you were right?” you whisper tearily, and he stops wiping the tears off your face to give you a confused quirk of his eyebrows.

“what if i’m not smart,” you clarify, and jeonghan freezes in his place, hands frozen on the sides of your face. “what if i don’t deserve my grades? what if i fuck this whole thing up?” you bury yourself in his chest, and he can’t do anything other than rub circles against your back as you sob. the pit from weeks ago settles back in his stomach, and guilt seeps into his bones, cold and heavy. he pulls you back with gentle hands, runs a thumb under your eyes to catch any stray tears.

“i was wrong to say that,” he starts, soft and heartbroken. “it was fucking awful of me to say. i was awful and insecure and i took it out on you, and i’m so, so sorry.” he feels his own eyes well with regretful tears and leans into the hand you place on his cheek.

“you’re probably the smartest person I know,” he breathes, willing himself not to cry. “you’re smart, and capable, and funny, and amazing. and you’re gonna kill this. i know it.” he gives you a watery smile that you mirror hesitantly. seungcheol and joshua reappear with Kleenex and start cleaning your face. your hand finds jeonghan’s, and you give him a reassuring squeeze.

he pulls you aside after the presentation (that goes off without a hitch, thanks to you), holds your hands in his and asks, “do you actually believe what i said?”

you’re silent for a long time before you answer.

“i used to. for the first few weeks.” jeonghan feels a dagger rip at his chest, and he squeezes your hands to stay steady. you squeeze back, will him to look at you. when he looks up, you’re giving him a soft smile, and the dagger doesn’t hurt as bad.

“but then i realized that only i decide how i feel about myself. and you apologized. i know we both were harsh that day. i owe you an apology too.”

“no need,” he breathes, relieved. he’s about to say more, but seungcheol runs past you two and drags you away, screaming, “PARTY TIME, MOTHERFUCKERS!” jeonghan can only watch on with a smile, and follows after the sound of your laughter.

later that night, after a couple beers and way too many rounds of rage cage, jeonghan is nursing a cup of water against the wall, desperately searching for you in the crowd (how seungcheol threw this party together so fast escapes him, but he’s grateful for the cheap alcohol and the chance to let loose). he wades through the crowd, only to find you trying to push some drunk guy off of you. you look uncomfortable, curling in on yourself as he keeps trying to pull you in for a kiss. jeonghan feels fire race through him, and stalks over just as he hears the guy slur, “come on baby, you can have fun. you’re-”

“taken,” jeonghan finishes the sentence as he lands a solid punch against the guy’s jaw. he drops to the ground with a groan, but before jeonghan can do anything else, you’re dragging him away, hand around his wrist. you don’t let go until you’re outside. you drop his wrist with an exasperated, “taken, jeonghan?”

he feels the blood rise to his face, and his face heats up as he scrambles to form sentences.

“i-”

“you don’t speak for me, yoon jeonghan,” you seethe, poking a finger into his chest. “I don’t need you to speak for me, because you’re not my boyfriend-”

“but i want to be.” you stutter off into silence when jeonghan interrupts you.

“you…what? what?”

“i. want to be. your boyfriend,” he clarifies, reaching down to grab at your hand. he uses your stunned silence to continue, using his thumb to trace shapes on the back of your hand.

“i love you, and i’m pretty sure you know that. remember when you asked me if i believed in love?” he stops long enough for you to nod, open-mouthed and in shock. “well, i said yes because i love you. i love that you drink the coffee i bring you, i love that you make fun of shua and cheol with me, i love your smile and i love when you laugh at my jokes, because god, your laugh makes me feel like i’m floating. and i hate that i hurt you and I’ll spend every day making that up to you, but i love that you wear my sweatshirts and i love that you always have the best comebacks to what i say, and yeah. i just- i love you.”

when he finishes his tirade, there are tears in your eyes, and he starts to freak out.

“oh god,” he breathes, running a hand under your eyes (this is starting to feel like déjà vu). “please don’t cry, please don’t, i can take it back- i hate when you cry, do you want me to take it back? i can take it back, just don’t-” you shut him up by yanking him down to your level by his necklace, and he trails off into a silence.

“you love me,” you clarify. when he nods, you press your lips to his, and he sighs in absolute elation. he has to remind himself to be a gentleman, especially when you moan against his lips, soft and loving. when he pulls back, you whine, and he almost falls to the ground right there. he holds you close to him, too afraid to let go in case this is all just a dream.

“you love me,” you breathe against his neck, and he nods against your hair. he doesn’t force you to say it back- he’s just happy you haven’t stomped on the butterflies in his stomach. he’ll take what he can get. he walks you home with his hand intertwined in yours, kisses you against your front door, so full of love he could burst. he walks home on air, ignores the wolf whistles from seungcheol and joshua.

the next morning, he’s awoken by an incessant banging on his bedroom door. he’s hungover and cranky, and he yanks the door with an aggressive “WHAT?” before his eyes land on you and he immediately softens. you grin up at him, and he melts. he notices the cup of coffee you have in your hands before smirking and asking, “this for me?”

you nod shyly before pressing the cup into his chest. you look directly at the floor as he reads the words that decorate the side of the cup.

 I love you a latte.

he stills. looks down at the cup. looks up at you. looks down at the cup again.

“you….love me?”

“yeah, of course i do, dumbass. you spent like $2000 on coffee for me. how could i not love you?”

he scoffs at your smartassery, gently sets the coffee on his desk before yanking you into his room as you shriek. you laugh as he presses you against his now closed bedroom door, and hiss, “jeonghan! what if seungcheol and joshua hear?”

“fuck ‘em,” he groans against your neck, pressing hot kisses against the place where your pulse thunders under your skin. “i gotta show you that i love you a latte too.”

If he were anyone else, he would probably be concerned about the apparent lost time. But this isn't the first time he's woken up in bed after passing out at the studio. Both he and Soonyoung are no strangers to being forcefully dragged home by worried members finding them having worked themselves half to death.

Though "woken up" is a very generous term in this instance. He's still mostly in dreamland, and he's tempted to let himself tilt all the way back into the warm and comfortable darkness, but something keeps him from drifting off completely.

Whoever's behind him sighs, long and heavy. It's the kind of sound someone's lungs make when they're filled with a helpless kind of worry — the kind that doesn't come with an easy fix and so it steadily rises inside them, a slow and murky flood.

If Jihoon were more awake, he'd be worried. And he is worried, but his body and mind are still so exhausted that it's taking every ounce of willpower to hold onto his thin sliver of consciousness.

It's quiet for a while, long enough that Jihoon wonders if the person behind him fell asleep. And then — there's a touch so gentle that he thinks he's imagining it at first. Furtive fingers trace barely-there patterns into the base of his neck, and then they slowly trail up to curl in the ends of his hair.

Something within Jihoon both warms and freezes at the touch.

It's not that the touch is unwanted. In fact, the touch is very much wanted, craved even. But— but. The part of him that's always so angry and sad and confused, the shadow that lives inside him and begs him to sabotage every good thing — it is so very good at convincing him that he doesn't deserve that kind of softness. That his edges have become too sharp, too jagged.

While the shadow sleeps, Jihoon lets himself soak up the feeling like a sponge.

The fingers leave after a few moments, only to be replaced by a warm hand curled around his sheet-covered shoulder. A thumb moves back and forth across the fabric, a comforting metronome that almost sends Jihoon back into a peaceful slumber. But then the thumb pauses, and he thinks he hears whoever's behind him whisper fuck it, and then someone's nose is tucked up against his back between his shoulder blades and an arm is wrapped over his waist and tucked up near his chest.

Suddenly, maddeningly, Jihoon finds himself being held.

And it's nice. So nice. He can't remember the last time he let himself be held like this, let himself be cradled without overthinking every square inch of touch.

The person sighs again, the weight of the world fanning out across Jihoon's back in a warm breath that seeps through the thin layers of fabric and directly into his skin.

"I wish you'd let us love you, Jihoonie."

The voice is a murmur, barely audible in the silence of the bedroom, but Jihoon hears it. He hears it and knows it and he realizes — it's you.

Then the words process in his sleep-addled mind, and his heart aches. It whispers, I don't think I know how.

"I wish... I wish you'd let me love you. Let me take care of you." The words keep tumbling near-silent out of your mouth, a secret only barely given breath. "And not just when you're asleep. You—" You hug Jihoon tighter against your chest, and Jihoon's never felt so conflictingly filled and hollowed out, exhaustion swirling everything up inside him. "If you aren't going to take care of yourself, love yourself, then you have to let us do it for you."

I don't think I know how, Jihoon thinks again, helplessly. The melancholy in your voice hurts him, but he's held onto consciousness too long already, and he feels himself slipping back under, his thoughts falling away like sand between his fingers.

"I love you so much, Jihoonie." A vow, one you must think is swallowed by the silence for no one else to hear.

Jihoon hears.

"Please let me."

Most of the time, you don’t remember your dreams. You might wake up with a lingering feeling or the barest remnants of a scene playing against the back of your eyelids before disappearing with a blink, but most of the time you wake up with nothing.

You wish you always woke up with nothing. Because the few times you do remember...

It’s never dreams that you remember, but nightmares.

This one had been especially bad, and the thought of closing your eyes again sends an involuntary shiver down your spine. So you slowly get out of bed, careful not to disturb the sleeping giant behind you, and tiptoe your way to the kitchen.

You don’t want to think right now — to remember — so you dedicate all of your concentration to making yourself a cup of hot chocolate from scratch.

Exaggeratedly slow, you silently take a small saucepan out of the cupboard and set it delicately on the burner. Then you collect the ingredients you’re going to need: milk, cocoa powder, sugar, vanilla extract, and cinnamon. Step one: pour the milk into the pan, start the burner, and wait for the milk to heat up.

And wait.

It takes about thirty seconds for you to realize the fault in your plan. Waiting means there’s room to think, and having room to think means memories of the nightmare fighting to be acknowledged.

You don’t realize how far you’ve sunken into your own internal battle until there’s suddenly a hand on your shoulder and you’re startling so hard you nearly knock the pot off of the stove.

“Shit, sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

It’s Mingyu, sleep-rumpled and confused as he takes in the scene in front of him. The comforter from your bed is draped over his bare shoulders like a cape and his hair is sticking out in at least three different directions. There’s a crease across his cheek from where it’d been smushed into the pillow and the little furrow in his brow tugs at something in your chest — something that would normally have you reaching out with gentle fingers to smooth it away.

But everything inside you still feels tense and tangled — your heart a cornered animal — and you don’t know how you’re supposed to act anymore. All you know is you don’t want to think — don’t want to remember the horrible images your brain came up with — blood, blood, so much blood, you can’t stop it—

“Hey, breathe for me.”

You’re not sure when Mingyu got so close or when your breathing started getting too fast and choppy, but that doesn't matter. All you need to do is focus on him — on his hands gently cupping your shoulders, his head ducked down so he can be eye-level with you.

“There we go, let’s keep breathing, okay?”

He breathes with you, never taking his concerned eyes off of your face, hands sliding slowly from your shoulders to your elbows and back — a tender metronome.

It only takes a few moments for you to get your breathing back to a steady inhale, exhale — but even that is enough to completely drain you.

Exhausted, you let yourself fall into him, and he moves his arms so one is wrapped around your back and the other is cradling your head to his chest.

“I’m here, baby,” he murmurs. “I’m here, it’s okay.”

And, surprisingly, it is. In the circle of his embrace, under the fluorescent kitchen lights at who-knows-what o'clock in the morning— it’s okay.

You can still feel yourself trembling, and flashes of the nightmare are still fighting for dominance at the back of your mind, but Mingyu is here. Mingyu is here, holding you, safe and sound and warm and whole — and your heart knows it’s going to be okay.

He hums when you bring your arms around him and squeeze, like you're trying to pull your body into his, and he holds you just as tight. Careful of the blanket pooled at your feet, he starts to gently sway the both of you back and forth. His hums melt into gentle singing, the notes honey-warm where you can feel them reverberating in his chest, and you think that this is what dreams must feel like.

Soft, warm — suspended in the heart of a moment. Comfort like bottled sunshine.

You sigh, pressing your cheek tighter against his chest (his heart). He doesn't stop his quiet singing, but from the way he holds you tighter for just a moment, you know that he heard everything you didn't say.

Thank you for holding me. Thank you for loving me. Thank you for making me feel safe. Thank you. I love you, I love you, I love you.

The beginnings of your hot chocolate sit abandoned on the stove, and exhaustion weighs heavy in your bones, but you think that you could stay like this forever — two slow dancers, last ones out.