✧ multistan but have been really into &team lately lol. and if you can't already tell from the pfps and this post, nichojoo have consumed me

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the subtitle was obviously inspired by troye's song strawberries and cigarettes cuz you know nicho and strawberries but i didn't want to write anything romanticizing cigarettes/smoking/vaping so this is what we ended up with lol.

“come on y/n, you need to do something outside of work!”

“i'm not sure having a sleepover with my colleague counts as doing something outside of work,”

ningning scoffs. “i'm not just your colleague! we hang out all the time!”

“yeah . . . at work.”

“because you don't do anything except work which is exactly my point! anytime one of us invites you anywhere you make up some excuse or the other. i know the pay is good but it's not good enough for you to not have a social life,”

“maybe i don't want a social life,” you mutter.

“what's that now?”

“nothing,” you sigh. “if i do this, will you stop bugging me?”

she thinks about it. “for a while, maybe,”

“great, let's get it over with then.”

the only reason ningning had invited you to her place instead of going out was because, like she'd mentioned, you always made up an excuse that whichever place she suggested was either too peopley or noisy or both or something else. but again, like she said, that's what they were – excuses, not the real reason. the real reason was that you didn't feel like you deserved to go out and do anything resembling fun after . . . a certain someone. and it's not like you wanted to go out anyway. it didn't feel like anything without him could be fun, so you had just thrown yourself into work. and even though ningning sensed that there was a reason behind the excuses, you were grateful that she never pushed you to say more.

ningning has been so nice and supportive not only with getting you acquainted to work life since she was also a fresher like you, but also helped you settle in since you were new to the city by telling you about things like the best places to buy things that your parents wanted, which coffee shop near your office gave you a special discount on specific days, which doctor she trusted, etc. and you had missed her birthday dinner two days ago, for which you felt guilty and she'd been bugging you ever since to make it up to her. plus you had been staring at your laptop so much lately it had started giving you headaches. so you figured a sleepover with just the two of you couldn't be the worst thing.

and so here you are in her living room, watching a funny sci-fi movie. she had dimmed the lights, made popcorn and bought some soft drinks. you find yourself actually having a nice time after what felt like forever, and try not to think too much about the gnawing guilt in the pit of your stomach.

ningning pauses the movie for a bathroom break and comes back with two plates of cake pieces.

“dessert already? aren't you going to give me any real food?” you joke as you stick a spoonful in your mouth.

you don't hear what ningning says in reply because the flavour hits you like a bus.

strawberry.

“i need to use the bathroom,” you blurt out, hastily stumbling out of the living room and leaving ningning staring after you in confusion.

one time. the one time you let your guard down this had to happen. for months you had avoided anything and everything strawberry-flavoured. organic, artificial, it didn't matter – desserts, drinks, cosmetics, hygiene products, you were careful to steer clear of it all.

because you did not want anything that smelled like him, that tasted like his lips on yours, anything that reminded you of blissful autumn nights spent with him in his bed followed by midnight showers that you both emerged from smelling like his strawberry-scented body wash (that he had actually stolen from you on a similar night spent in your room, complaining about gender stereotypes and how men's body wash was always some lame abstract scent while women got to have all the flowers and fruits and spices), before you snuck back to your house early in the morning before either of your parents woke up (dating your neighbour had its perks). you didn't want anything that reminded you of the time you'd brought chocolate-covered strawberries to a picnic with him in the park on a beautiful spring day and he had licked the chocolate off your lips and fingers, inadvertently traumatising some poor kid who happened to be nearby. you didn't want anything that took you back to the first time you'd bought a strawberry-flavoured lip balm back in high school one winter and he had kept kissing you so much that day that you made a fuss about him liking the lip balm more than you (but you continued to buy the same flavour from the same brand for years, right up until you broke up). you didn't want anything that reminded you of summers with him and ‘kissicles’, which was the stupid name he'd given for the kisses he gave you with his sugary, ice-cold lips after having strawberry popsicles.

you spit out the bolus of strawberry-and-cream cake into the washbasin. you wash it down with water but the taste remains. his taste remains. on your tongue, your lips, every inch of skin. the longing is so sharp it makes you nauseous.

long nights, daydreams,

pink skies and heartstrings,

i've been a fool,

but strawberries and regrets

always taste like you.

a/n : yes i also modified a bit of the lyrics at the end for the same reason mentioned above. hope you cuties like it! i either disappear for months or post two fics in less than a week. there is no in between lol.

Euijoo shows up at your doorstep one week after you end things with him. It's early for a Saturday morning, even for him – it's barely 7. You wonder if he got any sleep and how long he forced himself to stay in bed before deciding he couldn't wait any longer. You wonder if he knows you've been up for hours too.

If anything, you're only surprised he didn't come sooner – days sooner – because anyone would have, given the vagueness and abruptness surrounding the breakup. There was no big fight that was the last straw, no palpable tension leading up to it – at least not from his perspective. You had not even given him a proper reason other than that it ‘did not feel like love’, and you selfishly, opportunistically, counted on his kindness and good nature to not probe you too much. But you suppose even someone as patient as Euijoo has his limits.

“Hi,” he says with a tight smile when you open the door, because if he doesn't smile he might– he doesn't know what.

It feels weird being at the receiving end of one of the forced smiles he usually reserves for when he's out in public and tired/stressed but doesn't want to be rude to people. He had never felt the need to put up a mask with you – until now.

“Hi,” you say, looking down. He's wearing the sneakers you bought him two months ago. You look away.

“I, uh. Can I come in? I won't be long,”

You would not have blamed him if he had barged in here using the extra key he still has and demanded a clear answer as to why on earth you had so suddenly put an end to 14 months and 2 weeks of what anyone who knew the two of you would have said was a happy relationship – something you yourself could not fully deny. Instead he's here asking for a few minutes of your time as though you would be doing him a favour and not giving him the least of what he deserved. He has always been too nice for his own good.

“Sure, yeah,”

He makes his way to his usual spot on the couch, and you think you see him hesitate for a second before he sits. You chew on the inside of your cheek as you follow, sitting a careful distance away from him.

You are not supposed to feel anything akin to relief or hope at his presence when you're the one who broke things off. You are not supposed to wish that he's somehow here to fight to keep alive something that you had declared dead. And yet.

He clears his throat, fidgeting with his fingers. “I just had– have a few things to say. I've been racking my brain all week and well, it was all just this one big confused incoherent mess at first – and kind of still is – but I've just um . . .” he reaches into his jacket pocket and produces a folded piece of paper, “. . . I've um put together some things that– I don't know, thought you should– That I needed to tell you. Or remind you, I guess, because it's not anything you don't already know.”

“Oh.” Your heart races with anticipation.

“But it's not– I'm not here to– I mean I'm still confused but I respect your decision and I'm not trying to–” he forces a dry laugh, “I mean, you've made it pretty clear that you don't want this to continue so I'm not going to try and talk you out of it again, in case you're worried about that . . .”

You're more worried you'll have trouble sticking to your word and keeping up the facade, acting like you really want this to end. It had been hard enough to hold your ground the last time. But you can't tell him that so you just nod in response, trying to ignore the growing lump in your throat.

He unfolds the letter and stares at it for a few seconds. His face does something complicated, but it's gone long before you can parse it.

He clears his throat and begins,

“I'm by no means an expert on love. But I know your heart skips a beat when I say your name a certain way, even though you try not to let it show. I know the only reason you watch anime is because I love talking to you about my favourite ones. I know the only time I enjoy getting drunk is at the karaoke bar with you because that's the only time I can hear you sing without any inhibition. I know everything in me melts into mush whenever you catch my gaze from across a crowded room and your eyes soften like I'm the only–” he chokes up.

You look up at the ceiling, blinking hard. You should not care. At the very least, you should not show that you care, that seeing him like this feels like being flayed alive, that every word he reads pierces something deep.

But it's torture to sit and do nothing while he's trying not to fall apart. You close the distance between you on the couch, taking his trembling hand in yours and giving it a squeeze. You expect him to pull away, appalled at your audacity to try to comfort him like you're not the reason for this. After all, he had refused a week ago when you had asked him if you could hug him one last time before he left (understandably so, given it was after hours of him pleading with you to rethink your decision and asking you to at least tell him what went so wrong because he genuinely believed you were happy together).

But Euijoo doesn't pull away. Instead, he doesn't so much as squeeze back as he clutches tight, like his life depends on it. You want to cry. But at least your gesture seems to have helped; he takes a deep breath and resumes.

“–like I'm the only thing that matters. I know the way your eyes light up and crinkle every time you see me, and I know the golden warmth that giddy smile of yours fills me with even on the coldest days. I know the tickle of your butterfly kisses brushing my eyelids on the nights you come to bed later than me and think I'm asleep. I know the sharp emptiness of not seeing you for a few days when life gets in the way. I know the perfect bliss of waking up with your body curved into mine, the scent of your hair in my nose, and your groggy refusal to let me get out of bed every single time. I know you wait to send me all the funniest clips for when I'm in the room with you so you can see me laugh. I know I like to laugh even at the ones that aren't all that funny, simply because it's you who sent them. I know you cry when I cry, and that takes real skill because I cry a lot,” he says with a sheepish chuckle, pointing at his tear-stained face, then yours.

Something that's halfway between a laugh and a sob escapes you.

“I could keep going, but you say you're not sure if what we had was love. Not sure if all that . . . was love. Y/n, if what we had wasn't love–” his breath stutters, “–then I'm not sure I know what love is, either. If what we had wasn't love, I'm not sure I want to know what it is at all,” his voice breaks twice on the last sentence.

You find it difficult to breathe, like all the air has been sucked out of the room. You want to say something. You should say something, especially when he has just laid himself bare like this. But words don't come. You keep your eyes down on your lap, staring at your hand that is still intertwined with his. You give it another small squeeze, as if to say– you don't know what.

You don't know what he takes the squeeze to mean either because he withdraws his hand from yours and gets up, wiping his face with his sleeve.

“I should go,” he says. He needs to get out of here before he breaks. “That's pretty much all I had to say, so yeah.”

You stare at your empty hand, panic slowly rising in your chest. No, you think. Don't leave. Not now, not like this. But you say nothing.

He's halfway to the door when you finally manage to move, almost tripping over the carpet as you rush forward with your vision blurry from the tears. You still don't know what you want to say, just that you can't let him leave like this. He deserves better.

“Ju– Euijoo, wait,” you try grabbing his arm but he pulls it free.

“You don't have to worry about me, please, I'll be–” He freezes when he feels your arms closing around his waist from behind, your face pressing against his back.

“Please just . . . stay,”

Silent tears stream down his face, the grief rupturing through his restraint. He knows he's supposed to leave. You told him you wanted to end it, that you couldn't see a future with him. But then why are your arms locked around him like you're just as terrified of letting go? Is it just pity? Force of habit? Or something else? He wants to believe it's something else. He wants to believe there's more to this – something that makes sense, something that can be mended. He wants to believe you wouldn't do this to him. But what if what he wants to believe is merely wishful thinking?

He extricates your arms from around him, and at first you worry that he's still going to leave, but he turns to face you. You don't know what he sees in your eyes then, but his face contorts and he draws you close, curling into you. Whatever relief you feel at his not leaving is drowned out by aching guilt at the sound of his sobs. You clutch fistfuls of his shirt, helpless, as your own tears flow unbridled.

The fact that he still trusts you enough to let himself fall to pieces in your arms shifts something in you. Maybe a part of you had already intended to do it when you asked him to stay, but you decide right then that you'll tell him the complete truth even if it kills you to. If you were going to break his heart, he at least deserved to know why.

When you both regain your bearings enough to be able to speak, you tell him you haven't been completely honest with him.

⋆˚⋅

Now he sits watching you from the couch, silent, as you pace back and forth, wondering how best to put something you've never tried to articulate into words to anyone before.

“Right. Okay, so. Alright, I'm doing this,” Your heart is in your throat, and you force yourself to look at him once to remind yourself why you need to do this. He deserves to know. “Okay, when I said that it didn't feel like love, there were two layers to it. One is that it's not exactly that it didn't feel like love, but that it didn't feel like mine. Like, it didn't feel meant for me. Because it just didn't make sense for you to love me. Look, I've never been in love before, I've never even been in a relationship before, you know this. And maybe it shouldn't be a big deal, but it always has to me because it's not like it didn't happen because I didn't want it – quite the opposite, actually – but it just never worked out for me. And I'm aware of how frivolous this sounds, trust me, but it wasn't that I just wanted some fairy tale romance to boast about, no I just– I really wanted, for once, to be loved by someone who had no obligation to, to know what that felt like, to have someone consciously, deliberately choose me over others,” it terrifies you to be saying all of this out loud, and you dare not look at him as you continue.

“Because I've never been that to people. And I get it, I'm nothing special, pretty average really, I'm not the kind of person people would turn to look at twice and it's not like I have the personality to make up for it either, pretty bland in that area too, I'm well aware,”

“Y/n–”

“No it's fine, you don't have to say anything, I know you may not agree. It's harsh but it's just the truth. And this constant longing was just such an inextricable part of who I was, and the thing with wanting– needing something for so long and not getting it is that the more you see it happen to everyone else but you, the more you convince yourself that you don't deserve it, or simply that you aren't meant for it. Some people aren't meant to get what they want and it's unfair but it's life. And I'd accepted that, or maybe I hadn't, but either way, I was living with it. I went around like none of it mattered – I had to pretend it didn't matter because admitting it mattered would mean giving in to the humiliation of wanting what you can't have. And so I pretended there was nothing to want but I felt its absence constantly, like an albatross around my neck. But then. Then you happened and it was just, it was ridiculous in a way, you know? Because you were everything I wanted and more. I mean, when you first told me you liked me I was half-convinced it was a prank,” you joke, mostly to keep yourself from crying again.

“But it somehow wasn't a prank and then you said you were in love with me, which was even more crazy because it didn't make sense for anyone to love me, much less someone as sweet and kind and smart and just so beautiful inside and out as you. But the thing is, at first I did not care that it didn't even make sense because I was so selfishly caught up in how wonderful it felt and how you softened the sting of everything bad. But as time went on, I couldn't ignore how foreign such unreserved love felt and it terrifies me because I keep thinking, oh no I've fooled him somehow. That has to be the only logical explanation because you're obviously too nice for this just to be some big mean joke. I genuinely don't see what is there to– what you could possibly see in me so I must've inadvertently created a perfect image that you're in love with – some sort of mirage – and you're going to see the truth eventually and then what?” The inside of your throat seems to be lined with barbed wire.

“And the other layer is that as much as I feel so much for you that it quite literally feels like my heart might explode at times, I can't seem to separate my love for you from my gratitude to you for loving me and I keep thinking, what if I don't really love him either? What if I'm just grateful he loves me when I thought myself incapable of it? Because I don't know what love is supposed to feel like and again it none of it makes any fucking sense, it makes no sense for me to get to have this or for you to be stuck with someone like me, and earlier when you were crying I just couldn't– and still cannot, for the life of me, fathom how or why you're hurting so bad over me because just the idea of it is insane. And I know it's unfair, I should've told you all this before you got into this mess and I'm sorry I really am but I didn't want you to pity me or something because God that would've killed me and it's killing me now to tell you this because I know how absolutely pathetic it all sounds but I'm telling you anyway because I can't have you beating yourself up wondering what went wrong and because you deserve better than whatever the hell this so please, just leave me,” you hitch, breathless, from all the pacing around or from the tears that started somewhere along the way, you don't know. You grab a bunch of tissues from the table nearby and bury your face in them, afraid of even accidentally catching a glimpse of Euijoo's expression after you've just completely turned yourself inside out, spilling out all of the ugliness.

You're prepared for him to make up some excuse and leave because you can't imagine anyone staying after that.

Euijoo stays.

He walks over and envelopes you in his arms, which you're not prepared for. He ignores your weak attempts to push him away and holds you so tight against him that you feel a different kind of breathless, the kind you can breathe through. He cups your face and wipes your tears even as more continue to cascade down, and cries with you. He kisses your forehead and your eyes and your cheeks and all the while you don't know if you want to sob in relief or scream in frustration because didn't he listen to anything you just said? What is he doing??

“I'm sorry,” he says softly, caressing your cheek with his thumb. “For being so blind,”

The utter absurdity of him apologizing jolts you. You pull away. “You're being ridiculous.”

“Y/n. I love you,” he reaches for your hand and you step back. The words seem almost taunting given the context, though you know he doesn't mean it to be.

“No.” The you that he loves does not exist. Could you have been any more clear? He doesn't know what he's saying.

“Y/n.” His voice is tight.

“Were you not listening to what I said?” you scoff in exasperation. “Euijoo, this is a mess. I'm a mess and I don't know what I want and this has already gone on for longer than–”

“You know what you want. You're just scared to admit it. You said it yourself.”

“I– That's–”

“I remember you saying you had a crush on me even before we became friends. Which means you liked me before it got complicated. So just, for one second, don't think about who deserves what or why, okay? Don't think about anything and just please answer this: do you want to be with me or not? As simple as that, yes or no. Forget ifs and buts and shoulds and should nots. Do you like being with me?”

Does the earth revolve around the sun? “More than anything,” you whisper.

“That's all I need to know,” he breathes, taking your hands in his. “And if you later realise that you don't love me after all then I'll accept that and let you go. But I'm not letting you go now just because you're afraid to want me,” he sniffs.

“That's not how it's supposed to–”

He cups your face. “Y/n, it's okay if you don't understand why I love you just yet. I'll spend the rest of our days trying to make you see why; we have time for that. But for now, can you please just trust that I sincerely do, for whatever reason? Can you trust that I'm capable enough of discerning lies from the truth and that I won't let myself be so easily deceived as you fear?”

He's so close it's hard to think beyond him. You don't even want to think beyond him, you want to lose yourself in the warmth of his hands against your cheeks, his breath mingling with yours, his eyes gazing into yours.

“And you have to stop thinking of yourself as some evil mastermind plotting my downfall,” A hint of a smile tugs at your lips despite yourself. “And if that's difficult, then just think of it as me being smarter than you give me credit for, hmm? It's not that easy to fool me. Although I wouldn't mind being a fool for you . . .”

“Euijoo.”

“Right, sorry. Strike that. Also, none of that makes you a ‘mess’. It makes you human, and it makes you braver than most for admitting it. Not everyone can. And I'm not saying your feelings aren't valid or trying to trivialize it. I'm just saying you don't have to wait to be perfect to love and be loved,”

You're silent for a long time. He's not wrong but you also know your issues are not just something that can be fixed with logic and compliments, convincing as he has been. But then he didn't say he'd fix it, and nor is it his responsibility. He's simply asking that you let him stay with you through it all. That he wants you despite it all.

“Say something?” he pleads. His eyes are still puffy, and the sight of them is adorably heart-wrenching. You trace the half-dry tear streaks down his cheeks.

“I'm sorry,” you say. His face falls. “For making you cry, I mean,” you clarify quickly, realising how it must have come off as.

“Oh . . . That's okay,”

You sigh. “It would really do you some good to get mad at people other than Nicholas, you know,”

“Hey, that guy lives to ragebait me. Can you blame me? Besides, I was furious when you said the love of my life is mid-looking and has no personality and other bullshit. But I didn't want to interrupt you,”

“Well you did interrupt me. Anyway, not the point.”

“What's the point then?”

“The point is . . . Yes, I'll try to do all those things. I'll trust you,”

He blinks a few times as though he's not sure he heard you right. Then he hugs you. “Thank you,” his voice is thick.

When he pulls back, his gaze lingers on your lips before flitting back to your eyes. “Can I–” he starts, but you're already pulling him into a kiss. He lifts you off the floor as he kisses you back feverishly, and the rest of the world fades for a few minutes.

When you open your eyes after, out of breath and trying to remember how to speak, his smile is like the sun breaking through the clouds.

a/n #2 : also i suck at coming up with titles and i only decided on this clicheass one bc some of the lyrics of midnight rain seem to kind of fit the story kinda – 'i broke his heart 'cause he was nice // he was sunshine, i was midnight rain'

it wasn't even so much the fact that you guys had ditched him at the last minute as much as what you all had ditched him for – some stupid guy's party. was a party really so important? even to you? he had missed you the most out of all of them. and he assumed it must've been the same for you, but considering that you so enthusiastically responded with a “we will!” when he sarcastically asked you guys to enjoy yourselves, he supposes not. that was another thing – could you of all people really not tell that nicholas was clearly being bitter and sarcastic when he asked you guys to have fun at the party? you have always been good at reading him, even over text. apparently not anymore.

and who is this stupid guy whose party you all were all so excited about anyway? when did you get this new friend and why hasn't he heard of him before? whatever. it's fine – nicholas is not upset. why should he be? he is just a little disappointed. that is all. and also maybe feeling a little betrayed. but that's it. he has totally not been sulking at all for the entirety of his four-hour flight. he is a-okay 👍🏼

he grabs his suitcase from baggage reclaim and heads towards the escalator – there's way too many people waiting for the elevator and his suitcase isn't that heavy anyway, considering he only packed for a few days. as he steps onto the escalator, his eyes land on the crowd of people waiting at the bottom. some of those stepping off the escalator head to their loved ones in the crowd, huge smiles on their faces. ugh, he thinks. of course the universe has to rub it in.

and then– wait, is that... as soon as nicholas spots maki and his shit-eating grin, he immediately knows: there is no party. he knows maki can't have come alone, and his eyes immediately search for you. he can't even find it in himself to be mad that you all most probably pranked him because that's how happy he is. when he finds you, he can swear he feels his heart leap upon meeting your gaze. he can't help smiling despite himself. you really came. then everything else just fades into the background. he's smiling so wide he's sure he looks like an idiot but he can't help it. you smile back, and he wants to run to you. why is the stupid escalator taking an eternity (40 seconds) to reach the bottom? if it weren't so crowded – or at least if he and everyone else didn't have their suitcases and bags blocking the way, he would've squeezed himself through the crowd to get to you.

you're feeling no less impatient; your feet are itching to run to him but considering that running up an escalator that's coming down (not that there is any space in the first place) would just be stupid, you have no option but to wait.

your eyes don't leave his the entire time. it weirdly feels like your heart beats louder and louder the closer he gets. are you actually nervous to meet your best friend? no, it's probably excitement – yeah that makes more sense. it's normal to be this excited to see one's best friend. right?

when he finally does get off the escalator, he barely has the time to haphazardly half-drag, half-drop his suitcase to the side so it doesn't get in other people's way before you're in his arms, both of your delighted laughs echoing in each other's ears.

euijoo and maki share a knowing look and roll their eyes; they know they might as well not exist for the next few minutes.

“hi,” you say, breathless, when you pull back from the hug that didn't last as long as you would've liked, because it was getting hard to ignore maki clearing his throat loudly multiple times.

“hi,” nicholas says back, trying to stop smiling so damn wide because his cheeks hurt now.

he feels stupid that he can't think of anything to say even though he had a million different stories to tell you just a while ago. although you're not hugging anymore, you still are standing a little too close for him to be able to form coherent sentences – or thoughts, for that matter. he tries to avoid your gaze while desperately trying to come up with something casual to say (it has to be casual to cancel out how not casual he is feeling right now).

he has always had trouble looking into your eyes, but this is different. just a few seconds ago your eyes had been glued to each other, but now he cannot bear looking into them – or at any part of your face for that matter – for too long because he has this insane and irresistible urge to kiss you. sure, this isn't the first time he's thought about kissing you, but all the other times he has just brushed them off as intrusive thoughts – everyone has those, right? now, though, he feels like he has to make a conscious effort to hold himself back. for the first time, he wonders if his friends are right – is this more than just friendship?

while he can't bring himself to properly look at you, you on the other hand are having trouble looking at anything but him, as though if you look away for too long he might disappear. you don't even want to think about the fact that he has to leave again in a few days.

he keeps averting his eyes and you don't know why, but for the few seconds that you do manage to hold his gaze, there's a certain softness in them that you don't think you've seen before, and it does something to your heart. and you can't stop thinking about how effortlessly handsome he looks, which makes your stomach flutter in a weird way. in a good way. what is even happening right now? for the first time, you wonder if maki and euijoo weren't just trying to get on your nerves all those times – do you actually like him as more than a friend?

“i was half-afraid you might be too mad to greet us,” you chuckle nervously.

“well i was, until i saw you guys,” nicholas admits, sheepish. until i saw you, he wants to say. “you got me good,”

“don't blame the guys too much though, this was my plan,” you confess as you both make your way over to maki and euijoo.

“of course, only you'd be evil enough to come up with this,” he jokes.

“i can't believe you fell for it, though. i thought you'd clock us immediately and be like ‘yeah right, there's no way you guys became friends with someone and didn't tell me, you tell me everything’,”

he shrugs. “i just thought you found a substitute karaoke partner while i was gone,”

“right, like anyone can be annoying enough to replace you,”