★

★ not writing at the moment. ★

★ library ★ easter eggs ★ recs blog: @luvleystarr ★

please do not translate and/or copy my writing. while I recognize the sentiment, more bad than good comes from it :’)

In which you see your ex, and you're reminded of what he once meant to you. 

why I love you, why I hate you, and why I miss you

You weren’t supposed to see him. 

You were supposed to arrive just before five and leave just after seven. You were supposed to have a glass of wine, two if your confidence faltered even the slightest. You were to talk to people you hadn’t seen in years, to tell them of your current hobbies, and ask them about theirs. You’d gasp in awe with every old face coming to greet you and hug those that meant a little more to you. 

You were to congratulate your friend on her engagement, wishing her happiness and longevity and grace. And then when the time came, you would have slipped through the deliberately exaggerated conversations and attempts to fill your body with alcohol, not before giving your friend a kiss on the cheek and an embrace of appreciation. 

You were to arrive home, a long breath flying past your lips as your hands peeled the breathtaking dress, both figuratively and literally, off your body. You would have drowned in the comfort of your bed, tears already cascading into your pillow, and whether they were tears of joy or sorrow, you’d have to figure it out later on. Because for now, all you could think about is how you didn’t see him. 

That is what should have happened. 

You were to do everything according to plan. 

And yet, here you stood, arms length from him. Your third glass of wine in one hand, hugging your waist with the other, rather tight. Neither a smile or a frown painted your lips while your eyes reeked of discontent and awkwardness. Discontent with the situation, awkwardness for him. Or at least, that’s what you’d like to believe. 

Because the reality of it all is, he stood before you, eyes glossed over with a certain reminiscence you wished to claw out, lips curved into a gentle smile you ached to see, and not in such a way that made your chest warm – no, you despised that smile — his smile. 

Him, in all his glory, here. 

Your friend said he’d be arriving later in the night, around eight, she stated confidently. And still, with the clock barely showing six, a roar of excitement filled the room as he made his way through the front door.  And then all eyes on him moving off to you, some slow to turn their heads, others irritatingly obviously in their attempts. 

You tried your best to feign ignorance, continuing the conversation you previously paid no attention to. You tried your best to disregard the way your heart quickened and how soon after your breath followed. You tried your best to take no notice of him and his continuous glances towards you throughout the night. 

You tried your fucking best. And it still wasn’t good enough. 

And because you tried your best, and because it wasn’t good enough, you’d somehow find yourself alone on the patio, the cold air infiltrating your lungs, the warmth in your shaking hands never leaving. 

You had hoped a breath of fresh air would rid you of everything you were feeling — before him, during him, and after him. 

So you took one breath after the other, hoping and hoping. 

And he would have seen you make your way from the crowds, his eyes never quite drifting far from you, whether he intended them to or not was something he would often think about later on. He followed you, blind and willing. 

And that’s how he came to stand in front of you, first saying nothing and then not knowing what to say after all. So instead, he shrugged off the leather jacket you once said you loved and placed it over the shoulders he had once kissed. And it was as if you never hated his smile, or his kind eyes. And it was as if you were almost hopeful everything would not go according to plan and you would see him. 

“Thank you.” 

You whispered, slowly pulling your arms through the sleeves because the mere thought of taking off the jacket and handing it back to him only encouraged the uneasiness growing in your body. It was a cold night after all. He nodded, his smile growing and falling back to its original state ever so quickly.

“I didn’t expect to see you here.” 

He did. He made sure of it. Of course, he’d never tell you this. And you’d never ask. 

“Well, here I am.” 

You smiled, genuine. 

“Here you are.” 

He smiled, comforted. 

He shuffled on his feet before sitting on the wooden bench beside you, his eyes ever so slightly falling to the space beside him and then lifting up back to you. Your smile faltered, having understood his dilemma and now having to face your own.

You weren’t supposed to see him. 

But thus far, you have noticed how his brown hair is now blonde, how the necklace around his neck looked almost too similar to the one you’d gifted him a few years ago, how he seems lighter — perhaps happier, perhaps intoxicated, you weren’t quite sure what it was exactly. 

You weren’t supposed to see him. 

But you did. 

If you were to excuse yourself, taking one last look at his hopeful smile and welcoming eyes, resisting the urge to hold his face in your hands and feel the warmth on his cheeks, you’d leave him and he’d watch from the bench he sat on. You’d find your friend, on the verge of melting down with a facade of confidence on display. She’d hold you, you’d congratulate her, she’d notice your demise and apologize before placing a kiss on your cheek. 

You’d go home, and you’d cry. And then after too much thinking, maybe you’d regret not sitting down on that bench. 

So you breathed a deep breath, settling down beside him with just enough space to contain your scattered thoughts away from his lingering eyes. Because he had perfect pitch when it came to you; he’d recognize any note you’d give him. 

That was before. And you’d only come to acknowledge your predicament when his thigh slightly brushed against yours and his touch felt colder than the faint wind blowing against your skin. 

It was never this cold, and you were suddenly saddened by the distinction.

Saddened by longing, saddened by regret, saddened by unfamiliarity – you couldn’t quite tell what it was that brought you to quiver into your skin, to press your nails into the palms of your hands to elicit pain, because at least you’d understand the origin of such discomfort in the midst of your disorientated state; vulnerable, disappointed, relieved. 

You had broken every rule you had set for yourself thus far — you saw him, you smile at him, you speak to him, you breathe him – his scent lingering on your body with the weight of his jacket, and you no longer tried to hold your breath.  

These things once embedded in your nature and now dependent on your instinct. 

One can only grow cold in forced familiarity. 

And still, he smiles at you – slight and soft. He faces forward and lets out a sigh that dissipates into the air in a white hue and all of a sudden you’re thinking maybe the only thing making you cold is the cool breeze grazing your cheek. 

How easily he persuades you to find optimism in the most pessimistic of states. How easily you fall into the pursuit, willing and all. 

And just when you are reminded of the distaste in the back of your throat, you catch sight of the singular pearl centred near his collarbones, the shine of its opacity almost teasing you under the white light of the moon.

You once thought it was pretty like him, he thanked you with a kiss and a promise to never take it off. 

How silly of him to fulfill such a promise. 

How silly of you to catch his eyes and fail to look away.

Your third glass of wine remained tucked between your fingers and your words remained tucked behind your lips. Both, untouched and craving for attention. 

“I never got to congratulate you on finishing your Masters.” 

You blinked, lips parting every so slightly before a chuckle brushed away the significance of his words. “Not something that needs congratulating.” You managed to say, his face contorting in disbelief. 

“Now that is the understatement of the year.” He protested, arms crossing against his chest while he shook his head in amusement. It was. You knew it. As did he. If anyone could testify to the series of struggles you had experienced throughout your masters, it was Felix. 

A shoulder to cry on. Open arms to celebrate. Kisses of encouragement. Words of comfort. He did it all. He went above and he went beyond. So yes, it was something to congratulate. Who were you to downplay his efforts. Who were you to downplay your own. 

“Thank you.” You said, barely audible. Still, he heard you for he smiled, satisfied. 

“Australias been good to you?” You continued, teeth tugging at your bottom lip. On cue, he turned away from you, his chest fully rising before sinking back down. “Yeah....yeah it has, more than what I could ask for.” He admitted, his arms falling to his lap, fingers tangling with one another. 

“That’s good.” You looked away from him. “I know you missed it alot.” 

You could feel your arms begin to tense, his jacket no longer defending you from the low temperature of the night. You couldn’t help but wonder if he was cold.

“I think I have the tendency to miss a lot of things.” He stated. 

“That’s only normal—” You met his eyes, and you suddenly felt the need to cry. For you recognized what it was to long for someone, the feeling settling in the back of your mind when he first entered the house. The same feeling flowing to your chest, then to your stomach and now to your eyes. Your eyes that reflected his. You recognized what it was to long for someone in him, as he looked at you. 

“I'm relieved actually.” A hand lifted from his lap, the back of his fingers gracing your cheek sending warmth throughout your face. “It was as if there was something about you that I couldn’t quite remember.” He retracted his hand, almost hyper aware of his actions led by his sentiment. The gentleness in your voice, the face you made when you were about to cry, the way your whole body shook when you laughed — he wasn’t quite sure what it was. But you were here now, and he no longer had to reach into his memories to maintain these details, to maintain you. 

“That happens.” You spoke softly acknowledging the absence of his touch more than you wished to. “It's been two years Felix.” He looked at you, the corners of his lips slightly downwards before they lifted into a fine line. “It's only been two years Y/n.” 

You said nothing — fingers numb, glass wine in hands, tears ready to fall, mind a mess, heart longing. He continued to stare at you — fingers aching to hold, skin cold to touch, necklace forever in place, head clouded, heart hopeful. 

“You left (me).”

“I did.”

“Do you regret it?”

“When I think about you, yes.”

“Do you regret not coming (with me)?”

“When I miss you, yes.”

AN: A gentle or not so gentle reminder that this is written fanfiction. xoxo This was in my drafts for a year or so, totally inspired from the song 'about you' by The 1975. Hope you enjoy my intepretation of the song. Happy holidays! Cheers to a colourful and beautiful year :)

In which he will wait for you, only if you want him to.

to be loved, is to be seen.

“You literally told me you weren’t going to get stupid drunk and now you’re acting all baby and distracting me while I’m driving.” 

“You’re being…..ridicu-lush…’m not even that drunk…Are we th–ere yet!” Minho’s incoherent rambling seemed to melt away any irritation developed from the unexpected request. 

You couldn’t help but smile at his intoxicated state. Rarely does he allow himself the pleasures of inebriation, but when he does, he surely is a source of entertainment. 

“Innie, how much did you have to drink tonight.” You briefly glanced at the youngest sitting in the passenger seat, catching the sight of dimples appearing in response, his eyes squinting as if the sun were upon him.

“Noona, has anyone ever told you how pretty you are.” Jeongin whispered, with his finger finding its way to your cheek and pressing a little too hard for your comfort. 

“Innie, I love you but I’m driving, please remove your finger from my cheek.” You say, swatting his hand away, only causing a frown to form on his lips. 

When your bestfriend, Minho, had called you at one in the morning requesting for a ride home, you left the comfort of your bed with minimal hesitation. Upon arriving, the audible groan that left your lips captured the attention of not only Minho, but three other boys sitting on the side of the road with the silliest smiles on their faces, only indicating their lack of consciousness and the long night ahead of you. 

Now the four boys sat paperlike in your car — folded, bent, and pushed into whatever position they could find comfortable in their current states. 

Stopping at a red light, you shifted your body towards the right, half startled, half amused with the sight of Hyunjins head on your window panel, body limp as he cuddled against the door side. 

Once his eyes met yours, his subtle smile turned sinister. “Come here often?” 

With a roll of your eyes, you turned back towards the front. “What is up with you two getting flirty when you're drunk— Minho, when you called for a ride, you could have mentioned the baggage you had with you.” 

Jeongin pouted at your words, but the wink you sent his way had him giggling, his hand reaching to hold onto the one you kept on the console. 

It was a little too quiet for what you expected from the drama queen himself, but one look in the rear view showcased Minho with his head on Hyunjins shoulder, mouth slightly agape and eyes shut closed. At least one of you would be getting sleep tonight. 

You managed to glance over at Jisung who had been quietly watching the scene unfold, chin resting on the palm of hand, with his eyes already meeting yours. 

“And you?” 

“Don't worry baby, I sobered up the second Minho said you were coming.”

There it was. You expected nothing less and everything more. Jisung had been suspiciously quiet and tame from the moment you arrived. And when you were present, Jisung was never silent and always on the roll. 

Initially, you took his straightforward advances as a sign of acceptance into the friend group, little did you know, it was a sign for you to become his “one and only sugarplum”.

Jisung swore to the heavens and earth that you would be his, to which you would respond with the stick of your tongue or shake of the head. He was humorous in his attempts, and always respectful of your boundaries and discomfort. So simply, you were stuck with him hot on your trail, and you didn’t mind it. But you wouldn’t tell him that. 

“Also, Innie I love you, and I’d kill for you, but I'd appreciate it if you kept your hands off my woman.” Jisung spoke with a pout, eyes fixated on Jeongins hand that enclosed your own. 

Jeongin pulled his hand away, crossing his arms against his chest while shifting in his seat towards Jisung. “Hyung, she isn't even yo-urs yet.” He states in confidence before laying back onto the seat, the alcohol seemingly taking its worst effects, his head leaning onto the headrest.

“Yet?!”

“It's the principle of the situation Innie.” Jisung says, sending a nod of approval to Jeongin and completely ignoring your outburst. 

“Y/n, give my man a break and do something proactive please.” 

“Hyunjin, you’re supposed to be on my side.”

You sent him a playful glare through the rear view mirror, only eliciting the smirk on his face. 

”I’m on the side of love darling.” Hyunjin smugly claims, sending a wink to you and blowing a kiss to Jisung. Shaking your head, you tried to ignore the pair of eyes burning a hold into the back of your head, out of said ‘love’ of course. 

It’s not that you’re completely opposed to the idea of crossing the lines with Jisung, heck— Han Jisung was the epitome of everything you were looking for in a person, if not more. But as much as he would make a good boyfriend, he already makes for a great friend. And who were you to throw a wrench into the friendship dynamic of the group. 

By your logic, destroying something already good for the hopes of something better was not at all ‘better safe, than sorry’. 

So even if he was honey when he spoke to you, sugar with how he treated you and an obvious God favourite by his physical attributes, your fight or flight instincts were evident in your neutralism. 

How ironic of you to remain stubbornly impartial to a man completely obsessed with you given the fluctuations of your heart rate in his presence. 

Ignorance may be bliss, but intentional ignorance can be foolish. You recall the smirk Minho sported upon giving his unsolicited opinion on the situation. 

“I need to pee.” Minho announced, startling you out of your thoughts. 

You quietly thanked the universe for its impeccable timing as you pulled up in front of Jeongin and Chan's apartment. Minho crawled over Hyunjin, almost tripping over himself before sprinting inside the building. 

“How was he literally passed the fuck out a few seconds ago and now moving like he didn’t have an ounce of alcohol?” You asked, mouth ajar from your best friend's actions. Jeongin giggled, a silly grin on his face as he moved closer to your face. 

“Don’t even think about it.” Jisung warned teasingly, to which Jeongin rightfully ignored, pressing a quick peck to your cheek before leaving your car. 

“Thanks y/n, you’re mine until you finally give into Jisung.” 

“Can’t believe I have to share.” Jisung reached over to you, his sleeve pulled over his hand as he dabbed the place Jeongin’s lips had touched you. You chuckled, swatting his hand away with your tongue sticking out. 

“Respectfully, you guys make me sick.” Hyunjin joked, one hand covering his eyes while the other unbuckled his seatbelt. 

You raised an eyebrow, considering that perhaps he was more intoxicated than he came out to be. “Hyun, we aren’t at your home yet.” 

Hyunjin continued to open the care door slowly, as if he were doing something he was told not to do. “I’m too sleepy to make it back to my apartment.” 

Your eyes narrowed at him. 

“It’s literally a five minute drive.” Jisung argued, slightly slouched against the car seat. 

“Five minutes I could be spending sleeping.” Hyunjin stated, his hands crossed over his chest. 

“Thank you y/n, you deserve the world. Minho has probably passed out again so, no need to wait for him. Goodnight.” He exclaimed, nonchalantly blowing you a kiss and making his way out of the car. 

You could only watch him make his way into the building, finding no energy to argue or call out his bullshit, knowing full well why he’d sacrifice going home. A wingman — as good and true as it gets. When he said he was on the side of love, he meant it. 

You softly sighed, shifting in your seat and making eye contact with Jisung. 

“This is fate.” 

“Ji, I literally saw the wink Hyunjin sent you.” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

He looked you dead in the eye, and if it weren’t for the silly smile breaking out on his lips, you would have almost deemed yourself delusional. 

“But if you did perhaps see him wink, I think he may have had something in his eye.” You shook your head, a laugh erupting from the back of your throat. 

Jisung watched you, his fondness leaking into a smile. Without thought, he made his way out of the car, opening your passenger door and planting himself beside you. You raised a brow, to which he responded with full preparedness, “What I’m not going to do is let my wife sit in the front alone like some Uber driver.”.

You could only lean against your steering wheel, cheek cold from the material and eyes trained on the boy who was ready to give you the world. 

Maybe it was the fact that it was two in the morning and the fanatics of the night were beginning to drain you, or maybe it was the boy beside you who continued to stare, his eyes drifting from your gaze to your lips and back again. But the thought of kissing him didn’t seem so bad. 

To kiss him and call him yours. Kiss him and have him kiss back. Kiss him and tell him you like him. Kiss him and have him tell you he likes you. Kiss him and feel what it would be like to have the world in your hands, or rather on your lips. Kiss him and never stop. 

Kiss him. 

Kiss him. 

Kiss him. 

“Are you ok baby?” 

You cleared your throat, breaking eye contact as your fingers fumbled to turn the key in the ignition. 

“I’m fine.” 

The heat on your cheeks must have been obvious with the chuckle Jisung let out, and it only grew with the use of his favourite pet name for you. 

You refused to even catch a glimpse of him, eyes locked in on the road ahead. You shook your head to free yourself from the thoughts, astounded at what lack of sleep can conjure — because of course, it was the sleep behind the warm wave in your chest and the cherry wine on your cheeks. Of course. 

With the way you were forcing your eyes open, the exhaustion fell to your mouth, a yawn escaping despite your efforts to hold it in. 

Jisung caught your yawn, hand covering his mouth before slightly chuckling at your state. You bit your lip, a sudden urge making you groan at the favour in the back of your mind. 

“Ji, I’m really sorry but can I use your washroom?”

“I'm not gonna deprive you after you woke up at almost the butt crack of dawn just to drive us home y/n.” 

Jisung pushed open the car door, pulling himself out before making his way towards the driver’s side and mirroring his actions. 

The side of your lips instinctively curled up, taking his stretched out hand and following him into the apartment building. 

“Well, to be fair, I did think it was only Minho….” You teased, to which he dropped your hand, causing you to almost regret your words. Almost. 

Jisung let out a dramatic gasp while laying one hand on top of the left side of his chest while the other rested on his hip.  

“You’re telling me you’d leave the love of your life stranded on the side of the road.” 

“In a heartbeat.” 

You trudged past the door he began to hold open for you, hands in the process of taking your shoes off when Jisung’s hand enclosed yours again. 

“So you admit it.”

He paused, a silly smirk only encouraging the confusion on your face. 

“That I’m the love of your life.”

You tried to speak, tried to argue, to defend your honour against such a treacherous assumption. But he looked at you, with his big eyes, pure and gentle and that smile of his, soft and sincere. All of a sudden, his truth was yours. Because you loved his eyes and you loved his smile. And you couldn’t imagine a world in which his eyes never looked your way and his smile was nonexistent in your presence. 

So you bit your tongue, for you knew better than to lie. 

Jisung watched, slightly taken aback by the lack of confidence in your efforts of denial. You inhaled a sharp breath, your hand falling from his grasp. 

“I need to pee.” You urgently stated. Making your way down the hall and refusing to maintain eye contact any longer. 

Minho was in for an earful the next time you see him. This at least, is truth you would acknowledge. 

★.

“I made ramen.”

Jisung was seated on the couch, a cup of instant goodness in his hand and another on the table in front of him. 

You hesitantly made your way towards him, sinking into the couch you were no stranger to, having slept on it on multiple occasions during your movie nights with Minho. 

But still, you felt unfamiliar in ways you couldn’t quite comprehend, leaving enough space in between you to make Jisung raise an eyebrow but maintain the ongoing silence. 

“You didn’t have to.” 

You tried to lighten the mood you dampened, your hands gripping a little too hard onto the cup as his eyes dragged towards your face once more. Jisung’s lips curved into a smile, motioning for you to dig in. 

“I wanted to.”

There it was again. 

The slight beating in your chest that became all you could perceive, the warmth that somehow travelled from the cup in your hands to your cheeks, the desire to take his face into your hands and kiss him until you melted into his skin. 

Fuck. 

“Thank you.”

You muttered, cowardice in your volume and attempted smile. For if you tried to speak any louder, your thoughts might rush past your lips and smack right against his own. 

Jisung nodded, pausing for a few seconds to observe your sudden shyness before bringing the cup closer to his mouth and slurping away at his hangover meal. You mimicked his actions, zoned in on the task at hand to avoid any and all thoughts that revolved around the boy sitting beside you. 

“Listen, I know this may be weird to bring up right now.” 

You stopped fiddling with the chopsticks in your hand, lifting your head instinctively towards his voice. Your head cocked to the side, an encouraging action to continue his thoughts. Jisung hesitated, his eyes falling from your gaze, somewhat shy to maintain eye contact. 

“If it ever gets uncomfortable, you know the jokes from the guys and myself — please let me know and I’ll make sure it stops.” 

He cleared his throat from the nervousness that accumulated, expectant eyes watching the way your lips fell apart. You took your time to process his words, but no time could prepare you for the heaviness swarming inside your chest. 

“Jokes?” You managed to let out, your face dropping with your tone. 

Your change in demeanour caught Jisung off guard, not sure what to make of it, but alert to quickly clarify himself. 

“The teasing from the guys, me constantly calling you my wife or baby—”

Jisung swiftly set his cup of noodles down, his head hung low while he fumbled with his fingers. 

“You… you kind of shut down after the whole love of my life joke earlier and for that, I owe you an apology. I’m sorry if I’ve made you uncomfortable and I’m sorry for only acknowledging it now.” 

A halting breath flew past your lips, low enough for you to pay no attention in hiding it, concerning enough for Jisung to lift his head, eyes widening at the way your bottom lip fell out with a certain gloss glazing your eyes. 

“Y/n–” 

“Jisung–” 

You bit your lip. He held his breath. 

“I'm sorry–”

“I'm not upset–”

You stared at each other, mouths slightly agape and eyes ever so hopeful. A stifled laugh broke out of your body, one in which Jisung reproduced, his hand coming up to cover his eyes while you repositioned yourself on the couch, now reasonably close to him. 

The last few giggles dissipated into the air, your chest slowly deflating from all the escaped air. Jisung peeked through his fingers, his hand falling as he turned his body towards you. Your lips parted to speak, but no sound was made with the way he looked at you. 

So concerned. So humoured. So genuine. 

Jisung cleared his throat, almost sure he was going to feel some sort of soreness with his repetition of the action. 

“Clearly something’s on your mind and if you’re not upset then you know you can talk to me about whatever it may be.” 

He spoke softly, barely audible in order to not disturb you anymore than he believes he has. 

Little did he know, you strained your ears, catching each word coming from his mouth. How you wished to engrave his voice in your mind, to hold his hands that clenched in his lap, to press your lips on the corners of his outstretched lips. 

Ignorance is bliss. But intentional ignorance is foolish. 

“I am upset.” 

Jisung blinked once: dazed, then twice: confused. 

“But you said…..”

“What I meant is, I’m not upset because I’m uncomfortable.” 

You moved closer to him, the side of your thigh slightly brushing against his. You could feel yourself physically hesitating, your mind running with doubts chasing after it. 

Fuck it. 

“I'm upset because it's all a joke to you.” 

He looked dazed— eyes wide, eyebrows burrowed and lips parted. You bit your bottom lip, unsure of what to say, but more than ready to run out of the door. 

And then his eyes grew bigger than you thought they were capable of while he closed the small space between your bodies, hands on either side of your face before you could react to the sudden close proximity. 

“I can't believe it.” 

His hands pushed into your cheeks, your lips jutting out in the process. 

“I made you doubt my love for you.” 

His hands found his own face, groaning into them before he combed through his hair, the waves falling back into place when he let go. Your cheeks were still warm from his touch, but nothing would compare to the relief inside of your chest, overwhelming but necessary. 

“Ji–”

“Y/n. Oh my gosh— I didn’t mean it like that. It was never a joke to me. You could never be a joke to me—” 

He stopped himself, a slow breath evident in his sinking chest. 

“I can’t help but notice the slightest change in your expression or mood. I can’t help but know you prefer the window seat in any scenario because you love watching the world. I can’t help but be starstruck every time you laugh because I love the sound of your laugh.” 

Jisung sighed, somewhat relieved to tell his truth but almost shy to look you in the eye. 

“I feel so much for you. Sometimes it's overwhelming.” 

He lifted his gaze from his lap, eyes now pinpointed on the face he adored. 

“But I’d rather be overwhelmed than not experience what I feel for you at all because it's the most beautiful thing that's ever happened to me….. And I know you don’t feel the same and that's totally ok, well — I’m not going to lie, it not the most ideal situation, but our friendship matters—”

“Jisung.”

He paused. As did you, voice strained but present. You ached for his attention, if not more. And now that you had it, you’d be even more of a fool if you didn’t say what you’ve been wanting to say to him. Just this once. 

“Aren’t you curious as to why I'm upset because I thought you thought it was all a joke.”

Jisung inhaled a sharp breath, one to which prompted a soft smile on your face, your hands ever so slightly falling on top of his. 

“I feel alot for you too, and not just platonically. I think about you constantly and I find myself daydreaming about you when you're not around. I look forward to the way you treat me and I get disappointed when you refer to me as y/n and not those silly pet names you have that I most definitely adore.” 

He only continued to stare, almost as if he were absorbing the way your hair fell towards your face with the way you dropped your head for a moment, collecting yourself to continue the complexity of what was your thoughts and feelings. 

“This whole night — all I've been thinking about is kissing you and your pretty lips and it's driving me insane because at the end of the day— At the end of the day, I'm scared. What we have is already so wonderful and while I know we can have something even more wonderful, I…..I just don’t want a life in which you aren’t in it.” 

It was still. Not uncomfortable or awkward or tension filled. Rather relieved, overwhelmed and comforting. Comfort was found in the way in which his thumbs rubbed back and forth on the back of your hands, as if he were saying ‘I’m here, I’m listening’, as he has, as he always does. 

Soon, his hands crawled up your arms, pulling you towards his chest, simultaneously, your hands grazed towards his shoulders, falling into him. 

What was rather an odd position, as your bottom was neither fully on him or on the couch and he strained his back to keep you both afloat instead of falling over, was one you’d think about in times of doubts and hesitations. A hug is sometimes all one needs in times of uncertainty. 

“I’m sorry. I am in genuine shock right now. I feel like if I don’t touch you, I’m going to wake up from the best dream ever and then cry because it was all a dream.” 

Your chest vibrated against his, enticing a chuckle that followed the beat of yours. You closed your eyes, intoxicated with what was this moment. 

Jisung shifted his weight, pulling you down with him as his back leaned against the couch. He held onto you tighter than he would admit whenever you’d tease him about this moment in the coming future. And while you had poured your heart and soul into his hands, he now felt vulnerable, frightened to accidently tarnish what was, you. 

Perhaps that is how love worked. To think for two instead of one. To act for two instead of one. To feel for two instead of one. To love, in consideration. This, he could do. For you. With you. 

“y/n — can I wait for you?”

“Please.” 

“Can I kiss you?” 

“I’d like that.”

AN: A gentle or not so gentle reminder that this is written fanfiction. xoxo

bc sometimes, all it takes is a man with big arms and a kind heart

QuarterbackChangbin! Who has had a crush on you since he first met you in your second year of University, albeit he has never actually told you but makes it painfully obvious. 

QuarterbackChangbin! Who lends you his varsity jacket every chance he gets because he thinks you look adorable with it hanging off your shoulders and gets all giddy over the fact that you’re wearing his name and number. 

QuarterbackChangbin! Who follows you around like a lost puppy on campus, bringing you coffee in the morning when he doesn’t have practice and waiting for you after your last lecture of the day to walk you home.

QuarterbackChangbin! Who asks you to be his plus one to every party he’s invited to, a pout forming on his lips when you tell him parties aren’t your thing but you appreciate the offer nonetheless, a bittersweet smile on your pretty face when you tell him to have fun.  

QuarterbackChangbin! Who frowns upon hearing his teammates telling him you should have taken the hint by now since everyone and their mom(s) are aware of his feelings towards you and with the lack of action on your part, maybe he’s just investing himself into something that won’t work out. 

QuarterbackChangbin! Who is devastated upon the reality that although you haven’t rejected him, you clearly haven’t really been initiating or reciprocating his romantic feelings, rather going with the flow of what you perhaps deem as a friendship (which he respects, he just wishes he had been clear from the start). 

QuarterbackChangbin! Who goes to the library to study with some of his teammates but is pulled in place by Hyunjin, index finger to his lips as he points behind a bookshelf, the sight of you and your best friend in deep conversation rendering him silent. 

QuarterbackChangbin! Who feels himself falling apart upon hearing how much you adore him and are absolutely head over heels for him but find it so hard not to crumble under the pressure placed onto you; people wondering why someone like Changbin would ever go for a plain, ordinary person such as yourself. 

QuarterbackChangbin! Who could care less about people’s indifference towards his feelings for you, however, never considered how you would feel to such reactions.  

QuarterbackChangbin! Who makes you promise to come to the final game of the year, you hesitate but are unable to say no with the way he has his hands clenched over yours near his chest. 

QuarterbackChangbin! Who scores a touchdown five seconds until the game ends making your University the champions of the season. 

QuarterbackChangbin! Who looks directly to your section of the audience, running past his teammates as he makes his way up the stairs. 

QuarterbackChangbin! Who squeezes past people congratulating him and cheering him on, only for his gaze to be locked on you and only you. 

QuarterbackChangbin! Who yanks his helmet off, now standing in front of you, his eyes softening upon gauging your expression of uncertainty. 

QuarterbackChangbin! Who takes your hands into his, pausing before telling you how honoured he is for such an extraordinary, beautiful and graceful person such as yourself to be cheering for someone as clumsy, unfiltered and chaotic as him. 

QuarterbackChangbin! Who holds you in his arms, the cheering around you only growing while one hand comes to hold your face, guiding it towards him until his lips are settled onto yours.

AN: A gentle or not so gentle reminder that this is written fanfiction. xoxo

in which you end up getting partnered with the bad boy but it turns into something meaningful. (Somewhat strangers, to friends)

a little soft, a little boring, but comforting (at least I hope)

Blank minds were accompanied by bored expressions and still your professor ignored the dull atmosphere as her words drowned before reaching your ears. Philosophy of sex and love — while immersive in its contents and literature, it was oddly scheduled in the evening of the day. Naturally, you were drained, ready to crawl into bed and sleep the day away. Showing no interest was not your intention, in contrast, this had to be your favourite class of your crammed university schedule. Your days were filled with due dates after due dates. Exam after exam. One long lecture to another. Life was repetitive at the moment. And one can only enjoy the repetition  for so long.

You couldn’t help but allow your pen to draw minimal doodles onto the loose leaf sitting in front of you, anything to keep you sane. It was obvious you weren’t the only numb soul as the room seemed to be suffocating due to cumulative body heat and exaggerated exhaustion.

You were pulled away from your pointless observations, the door to the class swinging open, disrupting the scattered peace in the room as heads lifted at the sudden noise. Your eyes caught a glimpse of his dark clothed figure before you swiftly turned your head back towards your notebook, already anticipating the reactions around you. 

If it were any other late student, every person in the room would have nonchalantly returned to their business, carefree of the lives outside of their own. Instead, waves of whispers brewed as he confidently made his way towards his designated seat, which happened to be right beside your own.

He gave no attention to the soft chaos his presence ignited, but his plain eyes glared at anyone who daringly gazed for more than expected.

Something about Lee Minho always had people on the edge of their seats. Whether it be the countless rumours surrounding his reputation or the way he detached himself from any social setting. 

You never understood it really, the way people obsessed over him. He was popular, for all the wrong reasons. It was either romanticising his ‘cold’ personality or scowling at his existence. How he became known as the bad boy will always remain ridiculous to you. 

Some claim he spends his nights at clubs, some say his personality speaks for itself, others believe only people involved in illicit activity would stain their skin so “excessively”, thrown off by the tattoos visible when his arms were out in the open. Stereotype after stereotype was all it was. You found most of these reasons to be baseless, filled with the flaws of people's own beliefs and values. 

Sure, he wasn’t the friendliest person, but that doesn’t justify the shit he received on a daily basis. Even if what people said was true, what did it have to do with them? He was just living his life. And still, people managed to bury him six feet under. 

He never seemed bothered by the distaste he received, rather amused, a smirk flourishing on his lips with every new story created in his name. Even when all eyes were on him or when assumptions about his life were brought about in conversations, he always stuck to himself, never talking to anyone, a facade of oblivion hanging above his head. 

The only people you’ve ever seen welcomed into his own little world were his group of friends, specifically, Han Jisung and Bang Chan. But even then, he remained conserved, only giving small reactions in contrast to their big personalities. You always wondered how they got along. Jisung was known to be a social butterfly on campus, always waving, always laughing, a person one can’t help but be drawn to. One time, he mistook you for someone else and gave you a back hug, spending the next five minutes on his knees profusely apologizing for touching you. Chan was more laid back, but he enjoyed the company of other people. He always lightened the mood with his cheerful and calm persona.

Their relationship took the concept ‘opposites attract’ and played it into reality. It was comforting knowing such a friendship existed in a complex world. 

“Can I borrow a pen?” The request came from your right, somewhat hidden in your professor's speech about Vrangalova’s association of love and commitment to sex. You met eyes with him, face stoic and reserved, expectant of your generosity. It wasn’t the first time he had asked you for a pen, and it wouldn’t be the last time you held one towards him. “Thanks.” He muttered, eyes already gone from your sight. You smiled in response, even if he couldn’t see it. It was moments like this that solidified your liking towards him. 

In a way, you cared for Minho, watching from the sidelines, stealing little glances whenever he was in the room or catching yourself frowning every time his name was carelessly thrown around. It’s not that you had a crush on him, or that you pitied him, but it’s the same way you get concerned when you see a friend stumble. You flinch as you imagine their potential pain. You hope they're ok. And then you move on with your life. It is possible, and it does happen — caring for someone you know nothing about. The same way you can hate someone you know nothing about. 

You sucked in your bottom lip as your pen tapped a rhythm onto the table. His body became clearer in your peripheral, bringing the rhythm to a pause. His thigh slightly brushed against yours, sinking into the chair with his body shifting into a comfortable position. And like clockwork, the wave of gossip diminished as time passed by, and your eyes only continued to fall, forcing you to use all your energy to keep them open. 

“I’ll be ending the lecture early. But I am assigning a group paper since it seems as though you all would not be able to complete one on your own, judging from the lack of enthusiasm. To make things simple, your partner will be whoever is sitting to your right. All you need to do is research……” Her voice echoed into the air as you hesitantly moved your head to the right. Your eyebrows trailed up in surprise due to the set of eyes already directed at you. 

Minho raised his hand to his cheek, resting against his fingers as he cocked his head to the side. “Y/n, right?” An unconscious smile bloomed upon hearing your name, to which he straightened his posture. Your smile threw him off. He could always guess a person's intentions by their smile. It’s either genuine, or it’s not.  And he almost always received the latter. But with you, that wasn’t the case. He found himself fascinated at how quickly the smile came and left. It was an authentic reaction.  

It was new to him. And he simply didn’t know how to react.

“You know my name?” 

“I’ve been stealing your pens for a whole semester. How can I not?”

He was talking more than he was used to. What should have been a yes or no answer turned into an invitation to continue the conversation. And he again, didn’t know why. The side of your lips dropped at the sudden coldness glazing over his face but you thought nothing of it as you nodded and began to pack your things. “We should start the project tomorrow, are you available?” Standing, you twisted your head to look at him once again to which he just nodded before pushing himself off from his seat. 

Your fingers curled under your notebook, instinctively tightening your hold to no avail as he seized it from your hands. A sound of confusion choked from the back of your throat, prompting the questioning look you sent him as he began to write something down. Bringing his head up, he processed your stare, an unexpected wave of caution flooding his system as he placed the notebook back in your hands.

“My address.” The awkwardness he displayed was fresh compared to the certainty he previously held in his actions. “Unless you’d like to work on campus, I just assumed you wouldn’t since everyone is camping out here with the semester coming to an end—” Your shoulders vibrated from the amused giggle in your throat.

He was rambling, and you quite enjoyed it.

His nostrils flared upon hearing your stifled tune. It was odd, he found himself trying his best to ignore the urge to smile along with you. It was barely a success as he patiently waited for you to speak, a hand coming to rub his warm ear. “Maybe we can head to your place together after class tomorrow?” You advised, bag already over your shoulder and coat hanging from your arm, you were eager to leave. But the quick interaction with the stranger who always had your attention lined your thoughts amidst the fatigue. “Yeah— yeah, that works.” He said with a curt nod. Twisting in place, your hand flew in the air, fingers waving ever so slightly.  “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

His lips fell apart, watching as you marched your way out of the room. He couldn’t read your mind, but he so badly wanted to. Because the many questions swarming in his head just about drove him crazy. You were weird. At least in the sense that he didn’t mind your presence. He didn’t mind how easy going you were or how you made him conscious of himself. He didn’t mind that you laughed at him or how he so easily talked to you. You intrigued him. You had ever since you were paired to sit together. And it scared him. He always wanted to talk to you — really talk to you, none of this pen borrowing bullshit he settled for even when his pencil case lay untouched in his bag. 

And now that he has, your voice echoed in his head like a soft melody, to which he paused the tune, frightened to dance along to the beat. 

“Are you feeling any better?” 

“I think so.” He managed to moan out. 

You turned your head away from the screen of your computer, waist twisting in place as you caught ahold of his weary eyes, soon widening at the sudden eye contact. It was a few hours after class had ended. You weren’t really keeping track. But you were constantly checking up on the boy who lay on the couch you leaned on.

“You sound like shit. And you still look like shit.” Your observation fell on deaf ears, your eyes blurred against the rays of the white screen staring back at you. “I’m fine.” He sniffled, buried in the blankets you had wrapped around him with care.

And to think a few hours ago, you were frustrated with him, having travelled from University to an unknown area with the only hope that the address messily written in your notebook would lead you to Minho. The frustration grew with each second you loitered in the apartment's hallway. You didn’t want to assume anything when Minho never showed up for class. So you took it upon yourself to find out what was going on.

And there you stood, a deep sigh collapsing along with your eyes as your knuckles came in contact with the door one last time. Pulling your hand away, you clicked your tongue against the top of your mouth, analyzing the options you had left. God seemed to take pity on you as the door swung open, sending you staggering backwards, hand over your chest with your eyes now wide open. 

Although his face was barely visible with the hood that covered his head, his feline eyes peeked through the fringes of his hair naturally covering his forehead. The scowl on Minho's face melted upon recognizing your startled figure. Tucking his hands into the pockets of his grey sweatpants, his body fell onto the doorframe. He was very much surprised with your visit, but his blank stare intimidated you into thinking your efforts may have gone to waste. 

Guilt crawled into his skin, unsure whether to explain himself or let you assume what you wanted. He would usually give less than a fuck, but with you — with you, he didn’t know what to do. A sigh of relief was given as you felt somewhat reassured by Minho’s presence. 

Readjusting the bag hanging over your shoulder, you paused as you felt the reassurance being replaced with confusion. You were ready to bombard him with the questions clouding your mind. Why wasn’t he at school? Did he expect you to finish everything yourself? Did he really not give a shit? Did he not like you? 

But the wandering questions were easily dismissed upon noticing the way Minho couldn’t seem to hold himself up, continuously leaning against the door frame. It wasn’t until frail sniffles came from the boy in front of you, his head tossed to the side as if to silence himself. It was then you noticed how his cheeks were painted in a harsh shade of pink, the way he tried to softly clear his throat, the shadows under his eyes. 

“I couldn’t go to school today and I didn’t know how to contact you—”

“You look like shit.”

The statement shot through his already weak state, but he wasn’t offended. Instead, a loose chuckle caressed his tongue as you smiled in return. You began to rock on your feet, unaware of what to do or say. Minho observed your actions, carefully stepping aside as his hand pointed towards the inside of his home. He didn’t approve of what he was doing, but he didn’t necessarily oppose it either. He was just as lost as you were.

Your body failed to move, eyes blinking while you began to comprehend his gestures. “What? You didn’t come here just to check up on me.” Dropping his hand to the side of his body, Minho raised an eyebrow, eyes glazing over the words that barely made their way out of your mouth.  “I think you should use this time to try to get better, I’ll just finish the project—“ “I can’t let you complete it by yourself.”

Your eyes fixated on the back of his head as he trudged into his home, leaving you to gawk at his figure, hesitation confronting you as you consciously entered through the door frame that separated you from the outside world. Minho watched as you observed the surroundings. It was nothing like you’d imagine, but also seemed to fit him very well.

The living room consisted of a brown leather couch and a circular glass table. Nothing seemed out of place, every decoration he had with a purpose. “Why hello there.” You crouched down, hands fluffing the cat that arrived at your feet. You directed your gaze to Minho. “I didn’t take you for a cat dad.” Minho picked up the cat at your feet before placing him on a cat tree tucked away in the corner of the room that you failed to notice. “I have three.” He managed to say. 

Nodding in awe, you set your bag down onto the wooden floor in front of the table, your body sinking as your jeans hit the cold ground. Burrowing his eyebrows, Minho gazed at you with curious eyes. “You can sit on the couch?” You lifted your head as you set your laptop on the table, a smile growing on your face while your hands strung your hair into a loose bun.  “I prefer the floor.” Your causality ignited a comfortable atmosphere to which he found himself drawn to. His feet carried him towards the couch behind you as he slumped onto it, his sick body hindering him from acting any further. The simple fact that you spit out about yourself traced through his mind, unknowingly settling in the depths of his memory. 

“You can rest for now, I’ll let you know when I need your help.” Your focus was directed towards the screen of your laptop, completely oblivious to the boy whose lips were ever so slightly curved into a smirk. “That’s not how it’s supposed to work.” A string of coughs followed his response, much to his dismay. “Yeah well, we have underlying circumstances so just listen and I don’t know, heal?” There it was again. That light tune that so easily infiltrated his thoughts. The sarcasm laced in your voice only humoured the smirk on his face, somehow guiding it to curve into a light smile as he continued to stare at the back of your head. 

How odd it was for him — for him to do as he pleased, not having to shelter himself into the colourless character he lived. How odd it was for him to lie there on a random Friday, a mere stranger on his living room floor as he tried to get some sleep. Well, at least he knew your name. He liked your name. And he was so at ease with the person linked to the name. “Why did you want to work here?” Your question halted his thoughts. “I don’t like public places.” He said with eyes closed. You absently nodded, fingers typing away. “Why don’t you like public places?” He remained quiet for longer than anticipated. “I don’t really like people.”

Silence corrupted the air, bringing your chest to slowly rise in contrast to its previous pattern. 

Your eyes soon landed on his face, as your head twisted in place, focus no longer directed towards the gleaming screen of your computer. It occurred to you that the line of questioning was heavy, too heavy and you were in no position to ask him such heavy questions. Especially with his weak state. Minho opened his eyes, his gaze trailed on the ceiling, avoiding your hard stare as the two of you shared the understanding that explanation was to follow. Although you were aware of the reason.

“I'm sorry.”

The apology was louder than a whisper but not quite full in tone. You inhaled, slowly turning back around as the hot air left your nose. The tapping of your fingers began again, spelling out a sentence that lacked your attention. “Why do you prefer the floor?” Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, nonchalantly resuming as your shoulders moved up and down in oblivion. “I’m not sure. I just find it more comfortable.” He hummed in acknowledgement, making an effort to rise from his place but immediately groaning while trying. 

“Now what happened in the span of a day that you went from being all healthy to barely being able to move?” You asked, still typing away on your computer. Minho sighed, embarrassed and hesitant to explain the ridiculous events that occurred the previous night. But with the way your expectant eyes gleamed in the dark room, his lips betrayed him. “Jisung made me dance in the rain last night because you apparently only live once.” His voice was barely a whisper towards the end but that only solidified the giggle shaking your body. Minho smiled, conscious of the highs and lows of your laugh and somehow harmonizing with the one coming from his sore throat.

You listened to Minho’s laugh, fully aware that this was the first time you had heard it. It was pretty and contagious. And you couldn’t help but think about how nice it would be to hear it more often. “So you’re telling me, you’ve lived every girl's dream.” Your cheeks were full with pressure from the grin on your face. Minho’s smile melted into a smirk. “Jealous much?” You nodded before standing up. “Very much so.” 

Minho found himself searching for you as you made your way out of his sight. But soon enough, you returned, a bowl in one hand while you kneeled beside him. You hesitated before laying your hand flat against his forehead, falling to his cheek. “I think you have a fever.” Minho weakly hummed, unsure what to say. So he continued to watch you dip a towel into the bowl, lifting his bangs up before placing it on his forehead. The cool material felt nice against his hot body, prompting him to close his eyes.

He felt vulnerable. He was vulnerable. Never would he allow someone so physically close to him unless it was his friends. But here you were, hand to his cheek with no ounce of refusal in his gut. You were as close as anyone could get with him, and it only took you a few hours to do so. Perhaps that’s why he continued to speak, susceptible to you in ways he couldn’t quite understand. “People let you down.” His voice was frail, but you caught his words. “It's like they’ve pieced my life together without even asking me about the details.” He didn’t need to ask whether you understood what he was referring to, because with the way your face slightly fell, he knew you weren’t immune to the rumours. 

“People suck.” You left the towel on his forehead, turning away as you settled back down in front of your computer. “We make assumptions in order to help us understand the world. Even if our assumptions are ill-mannered. What makes sense to us, protects us.” You paused, now looking at him. “I’m sorry you’re experiencing the consequences of other people’s actions.” You spoke quietly, your bottom lip slightly pushed forward.

Minho said nothing, offered no expression of regard. Instead, he cleared his throat, letting his eyes fall shut. You bit your bottom lip, unsure how to interpret his nonchalance and choosing to continue whatever you were typing. “I’d like for you to hear about them.” Your fingers lay still against your keyboard. “The details.” The breath you were holding blew past your lips, subtly. “Well, you can tell me all about them while I finish up this paper of ours.” You stated, a smile threatening to break out on your face, a low murmur of acknowledgement coming from behind you. 

“How many pages have you done?” 

“Two.” 

“How many do we need done?”

 “Twelve.” 

Minho’s eyes shot open. “I— what have you been typing this whole time, I thought you had this shit locked and loaded.” You swiftly faced him, arms crossed over your chest. “I’m sorry for being invested in our conversation.” Your tone was entirely satire and he could only groan in disbelief. You both stared at each other, your face relaxing while his lit up, smiles breaking out as laughter filled the air.

“Should we ask for an extension?” Miho forced himself up, now sitting against the couch. “I emailed her the minute I opened my computer.” You shrugged, reaching for the towel that was now lopsided on his forehead. Minho could only stare at you with wide eyes. “Why’d you stay?” You tilted your head in confusion, as if it were obvious why you had been here for the past hour or so. “I wasn't going to leave you here to rot.” His lips parted slightly. 

He had your voice paused in his mind, replaying it to familiarize himself with your tone. He liked you. This he knew. And was more than willing to accept. It was new for him to welcome someone so eagerly into his small world, but with the way you dipped the towel into the bowl of water and casually placed it back onto his forehead, he knew a new friend would do no harm and probably more good than he deserved. His soul welcomed your presence. Something he’d never come to regret.

“I’ll invite you next time.” “Next time?” You continued to pat the towel down, retracting your hand and making eye contact. Minho nodded. “When Jisung asks me to dance in the rain with him.” You blinked slowly. You didn’t think much of Minho when you first sat beside him in class, other than his obvious physical attraction, you knew nothing but his fabricated reputation. And yet, here you sat in his living room, worried and cautious over him while simultaneously laughing and enjoying his company.

You were unaware that he would soon become someone you’d think the world of, someone who’d make you laugh a little harder and feed your soul. Until then, he remained the boy who borrowed your pens, had a pretty laugh, and was sick from dancing in the rain.

“I’d like that.”

AN: A gentle or not so gentle reminder that this is written fanfiction. xoxo

end of The Last series.

“I’ll always appreciate it, because it led me to you.” Changbin took a deep breath, chest slowly falling as he processed your words, your stories — your lived life. He began to fiddle with his thumbs, words overwhelming his mind but finding no way out of his body. 

Although he was in a state of conflict, you melted into his features. The light from the window danced on his face, on his eyes that lay on his hands, his nose that held his glasses, and his lips that formed into a slight pout. Lifting your hands, you brought them to his cheeks, cupping them into your palms. He smiled then, his cheeks now full against your fingers. Giggling at his humoured expression, you let your hands fall to hold his.

“You are the eighth.” “The eighth.” He repeated, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “So which one does that make me?” Your lips curved as  you repositioned yourself onto his lap, his hands instinctively making their way to your waist. With your faces inches away, you felt your breathing slow with him being so close. 

“You are all of them.” You spoke quietly.

“You are who I love. The boy on the pedestal, the fantasy, the make belief things that are actually true. You are what I love. The depth, the inside jokes, the best friend. You are when I love. A new history is being started with you. We are the young lovers our older selves will someday reminisce about. You are where I love. Because I’d go anywhere, just to be with you. You are why I love. Because before you, I didn’t truly understand what I was looking for. And now that we’ve found each other, you have given my past and future meaning. You are how I love. Because I now know how it is to be loved and how it is to love.” You paused, heart heavy with emotion. “You are my will to love. It is with you I am able to love and it is with you that I am loved.”

You welcomed the silence, eyes rested on his face, your shoulders falling into your body. He lay you onto his chest, hand climbing up your back, only for it to fall back down – on repeat. You both allowed time to pass by, fading into the moment that would soon turn into a memory. He placed tender kisses on your skin and you relished in the warmth each one left. “You are the last.” You whispered, sealing your words with a kiss of your own.

AN: A gentle or not so gentle reminder that this is written fanfiction and again, NOT MY ORIGINAL WORK (kind of, sort of) as it has literal script from the YouTube video “the last” produced by WongfuProductions. Of course, if you’ve noticed, I have added my own writing to make things make sense for fanfiction. Thank you for reading. And remember, why waste this life, not loving! xoxo

seventh part of The Last series. epilogue

Will you loved was your ex boyfriend.

He was your first real adult relationship. In the highs and lows of your twenties, he was there for it all. 

You didn’t think you could care so much for a person. It was almost as if, with him, you explored all the things you liked and disliked about love. It was also a time in which you truly felt what it was to be loved by someone. 

You can’t really pinpoint when things weren’t the same. While you both tried your best to mould yourselves into each others lives, you just couldn’t get it right. 

The day the two of you broke up, there weren’t much tears. Instead you laughed and reminisced on the relationship the both of you had already been grieving. It’s weird to think you were mourning something that was still there. But you acknowledged that while the relationship progressed, the both of you didn't.

He made you ask myself if you will ever love again. And then after a while, he made you rediscover your will to care for someone, your will to love. And that’s something you will always appreciate.

He was silent, and so were you. But this silence was something you had grown fond of, secure and familiar. “What’s got you smiling so much?” Seungmins hand tightened around yours, eyes trained on the cam recorder in his spare hand. It was then that you acknowledged the way your lips curled up, almost silly in a way. “Nothing.” You mumbled, your smile only growing as he stepped away to record the sky. You managed to quickly snap a photo, reminding yourself to share it with him later. “I like it.” He turned to you, catching your attention, albeit confused. “Your smile.”

AN: A gentle or not so gentle reminder that this is written fanfiction. xoxo

sixth part of The Last series next part

How you loved was a friend's older brother.

You had just turned twenty one and with a four year gap between the two of you, it was like he was always out of reach in some way. But in the years you had known him, awkward greetings turned into overfamiliar hugs, and shortened words turned into late night talks. 

Even if these are normal occurrences in most platonic relationships, they were enough to encourage your wandering heart. In fairness, he never really crossed any lines. 

But there were times in which you felt how it may be to be loved by him. Like when you would catch his eyes in a crowded room, only for him to look away after a few seconds. Or when he’d pull you away from the busy street and secure you against his side. He was always taking care of you, intentionally or not. And you remember thinking, if this is how it feels to be loved, please let me have it. 

Although you never truly knew how it was to be loved by him, he certainly taught you how it is to want to love, to cherish it and to have it. 

“Delete that photo.” “Chan, that is the most genuine smile I have ever seen on your face, so no.” You screeched as he lunged towards you, flinging the phone under your body while he continued to reach for it. His fingers found their way to your stomach, cautiously digging into your skin causing you to giggle against him. “I can’t breathe.” You managed to laugh out, pushing him away while he snatched your phone. He stared at the photo, fingers hesitating above the trash icon. “You looked too happy for me to not take a photo earlier.” He turned to you, amused. “Spend more time with me and you can see how happy I really can be.”

AN: A gentle or not so gentle reminder that this is written fanfiction. xoxo

sixth part of The Last series next part

tw: mention of death

Why you loved was a close friend of yours who passed away. 

He told you after he was diagnosed that death was not what saddened him the most. But the fact that he never really felt like he had fallen in love. He wouldn’t get to have those emotions. Good and bad. Of being hurt, and of being held.

After he passed, those words stuck with you the most. Teaching you to see that one of the greatest gifts we have of being alive is, the ability to give and receive and even lose love.

There are so many like him, whose lives end before having any of those experiences. What a waste, if we don't strive to love in our lives.

He made you understand why. Why waste this life, not loving.

“Are you feeling ok?” “With you, yes.” You let out the breath you were unintentionally holding in, eyes set on the boy who walked beside you. Jeongin noticed your anxious state, a slight giggle leaving his lips before he threw an arm over your shoulder. “I’m ok, really. I’d tell you if I wasn’t.” A pout replaced the frown you fostered, your own arm falling around his waist. “Is there anything specific you want to do today?” He aimlessly looked around before his dimples appeared in sight. “I just want to spend time with you.” He muttered, his shoulders shrugging. You couldn’t help but pinch his cheek. “Aweh, you love me.” You teased, looking onward as you continued to drag him down the street. “Yeah, I do.” He whispered, capturing the smile you sent him and embedding it in his memory. 

AN: A gentle or not so gentle reminder that this is written fanfiction. xoxo

fifth part of The Last series next part

Where you loved was the boy you met in Paris. 

You never intended to stay there that long. It was supposed to be a six month internship after graduating.

But it all changed when you met him.

Soon, a year had passed and somehow another year after that. You couldn't leave the city. You couldn't leave him. 

Maybe it was my desire to be on your own. Or prove something to everyone back at home. But he helped you accomplish so much over there, with a relationship reflective of the city you were in. A new energy and new experiences that really pushed you to mature more than anyone. Or anywhere else.

When people ask what city you love the most, you say Paris. The city of love. The city where you loved the most.

“You’re my muse.” You claimed proudly, showing Hyunjin the photo you had just candidly taken of him. He glanced at your phone, a silly smiling soon forming on his lips. “My favourite photos are the ones you take of me.” He said softly, his hand finding yours. “Why?” You asked, trailing behind him as he slowed his pace. He stopped in place, body now facing yours. “Because I’m never really looking at the camera. I’m looking at you.” He tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, gaze drifting from your eyes to your lips. “You’re the first thing I always see.” 

AN: A gentle or not so gentle reminder that this is written fanfiction. xoxo

fourth part of The Last series. next part

When you loved was your first boyfriend in highschool. 

It’s a bit unfair because he embodies the combination of both, love and youth. The feeling of young love is unique and impossible to replace or replicate, because we can only be that age once. 

High School was the time of innocence, discovery, and adventure.

You share these three elements together in things like: your first kiss, late night sneaking out, and fantasy movies. All of which have now become a nostalgic love. Preserved in a time that neither of you can touch, but know it’s there.

Even though the both of you were just kids, there's not a doubt in your mind that when you were there, you were in love.

“Lee Felix! Smile!” You giggled, letting the camera fall from your hand, your steps carrying you towards your soon to be ex boyfriend. He reached for you, pulling you into his chest as his arms wrapped around your body. “Can’t believe I agreed to this last date idea of yours.” He mumbled, his grip on you tight and desperate. “One last time before you move away.” You whispered against his chest, looking up towards him, eyes blurry with him being the only thing in sight. He leaned down to kiss the corners of your glistening eyes, his thumb melting away your tears before he spoke, “One last time.”

AN: A gentle or not so gentle reminder that this is written fanfiction. xoxo

third part of The Last series. next part

What you loved was an old friend. But he was so much more than just a friend. 

You met early in college and kept in touch through the years after. You saw each other grow and change, and through multiple relationships. You saw his different girlfriends come and go. He was also there for every boyfriend and breakup of yours. Personality, humour, taste. It was all there. You and him were almost perfect. 

The only thing that wasn’t perfect was your timing. The both of you were never single at the same time. And what you loved about each other was never enough to leave who you were with. This is something you eventually had to face and accept. So you left behind what you had. More than friends, less than lovers.

“Ji, you look pretty.” “I’m not even looking at the camera.” You sent the boy standing beside you a glare. “Still pretty.” You murmured. He looked at you bewildered, a knowing smile forming on his lips. “To you, yes.” You caught his gaze, the quietness emphasizing the beating in your chest. He was pretty, and you prayed to God to allow him to acknowledge it. What you would give to make his smile permanent. “Are we still up for dinner tonight?” Jisung shook his head, seemingly from his own thoughts before pulling his lips into a thin line. “I’m sorry.” He sighed, eyes briefly shutting. “I forgot it’s date night—” “Don’t apologize.” You interrupted him, shrugging your shoulders as a giggle left your throat. “There’s always next time.” You stated, unaware of the hand reaching for yours as you continued to walk.

AN: A gentle or not so gentle reminder that this is written fanfiction. xoxo

second part of The Last series. next part

Who you loved was a guy from college. You weren't exactly close to him, but with some superficial facts and a few interactions in the semester, it felt as if it were just you and him against the world. 

You know, like most girls fanatsizing over a boy they barely know. You filled the blanks like a fairytale author. And who he became in your head was probably more than the reality of it all. 

He was a third year. Dance captain. And you were an infatuated freshman.

But the several times you got to spend together outside of class, it really allowed you to see he also had a good heart and a bright spirit. 

The only problem was, so did just about every other girl. 

And while he turned you down nicely, you swore there were times where it seemed like the cliche popular guy, may have felt something for the typical awkward freshman.

“Why didn’t you smile in the photo?” You bluntly asked, eyes trained on the photo you had just taken of Minho. He watched you scowl, amused at the sight of a pout forming on your lips. “I was distracted.” He stated truthfully, a subtle smile on his lips as he stared at you before looking away, his smile now bittersweet. 

AN: A gentle or not so gentle reminder that this is written fanfiction. xoxo

This very mini series is a literal fanfiction adaption of the Youtube video, The Last, by Wong Fu Productions. Some adjustments were made in order to include all the members and to add onto the story. However, literal script, word by word, was taken from the video which I do not claim as my own writing. I thought this was a beautiful concept and was intrigued to see how it could be written into fanfiction. That is all I can think of for now. Please Enjoy.

tw: mention of death, mentions of heartache.

You watched the curtains sway in the soft breeze that reached your cheek. The light falling through subtly grazed your face, a comforting heat that stayed throughout your body. The heart beat beneath your ear played a tune with the hazy breath leaving your lips. You adored this, craved it even; doing nothing but feeling everything at once. The warmth of your lover settled the running thoughts in your mind, muting it to a comfortable silence between the two of you. Your arms wrapped around each other, tight enough to allow the tenderness to seep through your fingertips, loose enough to flee from the tension life brings. 

How you loved him. 

“I have a question.” Your eyes fluttered open against his chest that vibrated from his words. You hummed in acknowledgement, to which his thumb caressed your cheek. You raised yourself from his body, curious to his endeavour, but more than willing to indulge in his spirit of inquiry. He cleared his throat, pulling himself to a sitting position, the black of his head finding a place against the wall. He reached for your hand, holding it before he began to trace little nothings on your palm, almost soothing you. “How many were there before me?”

The corner of your lips curled slightly, tilting your head in amusement as you stared at him. “What do you mean?” A delicate sigh left his mouth. “How many people did you love before me?” You paused. “Love?” You mumbled slightly. His eyes remained on you, an encouraging smile on his face. You dropped your gaze downwards, lost in the depths of your memory. His thumb caressed the back of your hand, prompting you to raise your eyes towards him once more. 

“Seven. I’ve loved seven people before you.” He slowly nodded at your response. You couldn’t help but fall into the flashbacks playing in your mind, an absent smile entertaining your lover. “What were their names?” He asked. “Who, What, When, Where, Why, How and Will.” You whispered. His shoulders jumped up and down from the small chuckle erupting from his body, a somewhat contagious act as you reflected his glee.

“Can you tell me about them?”

Who; lmh

What; hjs

When; lfl

Where; hhj

Why; yji

How; bch

Will; ksm

Epilouge; scb

AN: A gentle or not so gentle reminder that this is written fanfiction. xoxo

tw: mentions of murder for hire and a gun, Chan is an assassin in this one y’all 😭

AssassinChan! Who never asks questions, never gets personal with his assignments and never fails to pull the trigger. 

AssassianChan! Who freezes in place, your hand outstretched to him with what he swore was the softest smile he had ever laid his eyes on as you muttered a string of apologies for bumping into him and thus causing him to fall, unaware that the accident had been planned by him. 

AssassinChan! Who quickly makes his way home, pulling his documents while searching for the name of the target and making sure he was following the right person. 

AssasianChan! Who pauses in the midst of his deep dive, staring at a photo of you smiling at him, with the same soft smile you had sent him earlier today and wondering what the hell brought you into this. 

AssassinChan! Who becomes a regular at the bookstore you work at, the stack of books you have recommended to him sitting beside his bed and only growing as does the questions he asks you, even if he already has the answers to most. 

AssassinChan! Who convinces himself he is only trying to get close to you for the sake of his assignment and simultaneously pushes away the fact that he does want to get to know you, not as a target, but as a person.  

AssassinChan! Who often stares at you, eyes wandering your features as you go on and on about the new book you swore he had to read, oblivious to the smile planted on his face that you reflected. 

AssassinChan! Who becomes a constant in your life, learning every answer to all questions; how you take your coffee, what you think about when you can’t fall asleep, your favourite colour, and how you feel about him: “deeply” you once whispered, the memory firmly fixed in his mind .

AssassinChan! Who asks you if you trust him, pain embedded in his expression as he watches you slowly nod with tears tempting to fall from your pretty eyes, the muzzle of his gun pressed into the side of your stomach and his chest pressed to yours. 

AssassinChan! Who acknowledges his one goal: he was supposed to kill you. This job was nothing new to him. So why is he now protecting you from the very people who want you dead. 

AssassinChan! Who asked questions, got personal with his assignment and failed to pull the trigger, a man unfamiliar with regret as his lips pressed onto yours, his unspoken promise to protect you, with his life.

AN: A gentle or not so gentle reminder that this is written fanfiction. xoxo