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As the semester wore on, you lost track of how often you’d been distracted by him. It was both a great advantage and terrible curse that your chair was pointed in his direction, while his desk made him face the window. It meant you could stare as much as you wanted without him seeing you.

There were a few simple things you’d learned about in that time; judging by his papers, he was a music major (and he hummed like he was talented), he changed his hairstyle a lot (from pink to black and everything between), and you never saw him without caffeine (coffee for cold days, cola for warm).

You also learned more complicated things whenever he had a friend with him; he was bad at receiving compliments (he shook them all off and scrunched his nose), he expressed affection through actions not words (according to teasing, he was always quietly paying for stuff without telling anyone), and he would have done anything in his power to merely make the people he loved happy (even staying up all night to help them finish assignments for classes he wasn’t in).

Safe you say, you had developed quite the crush.

You interacted five times that semester. The first time, you came in late one day, buffeted by wind and rain outside, holding a dripping umbrella. You flopped into your chair in relief, and lay there with your eyes closed a moment, gathering your breath. And when you opened them… he was looking at you.

His head was tilted to one side, curious, and his dark eyes were almost concerned. But the second you caught him looking, his gaze whipped back to his own paper. You watched surreptitiously a moment longer, seeing how his ears turned red. And that was all.

The second time, you dropped an entire armful of papers, books, and pens by your chair. While you scrabbled on the ground, muttering annoyance, you suddenly saw his pretty pale hands come into view. Wordlessly, he helped you clear it all up. When you thanked him, he simply nodded, and returned to work. 

The third time, you passed him as he went down the stairs, and when your eyes met, he said “your chair’s currently occupied, by the way.” You were too stunned to respond, and he kept walking quickly without giving you a chance to recover. You went to find a different place to sit, smiling because he’d noticed it was your spot, and actually bothered to tell you. 

The forth time was during the days leading up to exams. In the middle of studying, a friend from your class called you, desperate for you to help her, and you agreed to meet her in five minutes for coffee. You stared at the take away cup already in your hand, glanced up and the music boy, and acted on impulse. 

“Hi, sorry to bother you,” you said, and he looked adorable when his attention jerked to you in surprise. “I have to go meet a friend for coffee, but I just bought myself this one - haven’t even drunk any yet - so do you want it?”

“Oh,” he looked down at the cup in your hands, and a shy little smile spread over his face. “Yeah, I- thanks.”

You handed it to him, and quickly gathered your things to leave. It was only after you were halfway down the stairs that you realized he’d already had a cup of coffee on his desk.

The fifth time was in the thick of exams. You were buried in your notes, getting stressed about everything you still had to get done, when a quiet throat-clearing made you look up.

“Hey, sorry to bother you,” he said, almost precisely repeating your own words. “I just finished study for the day. Actually, um, I’m about to go to my last exam. But I never ate all the snacks I got. So, do you want this?”

He held out a fully sealed pack of your favorite snack on earth. Your lips parted, and you were already nodding.

“Wow, yeah, if that’s okay,” you looked up at his as he thrust it into your hands, and his cheeks were pink. “Thank you.”

“No problem. I was going to eat it, but time got away with me. It’s no big deal.”

For some reason, you felt like he was lying. It couldn’t have been a coincidence. He must have seen you eating the same thing, and from what you gathered from seeing him with his friends, he was probably trying to subtly pay you back for the coffee. Or express concern over your stress levels. But you didn’t call him out.

“Good luck with your exam,” you said.

“Thanks,” he replied, and then hesitated. “I’m Jihoon, by the way.”

“I’m Y/N,” you said.

He smiled like the word was music.

“I’ll see you later, Y/N,” he said.

“See you, Jihoon,” you echoed, and you watched him walk away.

-

Now, it’s second semester. Your first day back. And so far, there’s no sign of Jihoon. You feel a little crazy to care so much about seeing him. Before, you had considered him a distraction, but suddenly you’re worried he was the opposite, and it might now be impossible to focus without him nearby. 

But he comes through for you, the first of many times he’ll do so. As you try to read the same paragraph for a third time, the sound of familiar footsteps makes you look up. And there he is. 

Jihoon is looking at you shyly as he walks toward his usual desk… and then right past it. He comes to a stop in front of your chair.

“Hi,” he says carefully.

“Hi,” under his piercing stare, you feel suddenly very self conscious about how you look.

“This is weird, but I have to say it,” he says, and you notice his whole face is red. “This whole break… I kind of missed you.”

“Yeah?” you can’t stop your smile blooming.

“Yeah. I, um, know we don’t really know each other. But I want to know you. I spent last semester wishing I knew how to talk to you, to be honest.”

“I wanted to talk to you too,” you admitted, laughing a little.

Now Jihoon can’t stop smiling.

“Really?” he says, eyes sparkling. “Do you want to go out with me sometime, then? Maybe get to know each other more?”

“I’d love that,” you say. “I really would.”

You were bent forward, furiously shaking off the excess water in your hair with the towel, tired eyes closed and wishing for sleep.

But nope, not now when you could smell something really good cooking, almost making you salivate from the richness of the different flavors mixed just right. You were simply too busy during work that you only had time to get a couple of granola bars from the vending machine at the lobby and eat them while working. And even then, it was the bland, gross kind that tasted like cardboard, so you couldn’t really enjoy it.

You straightened up and fluffed your hair a little bit more before tossing the towel into the laundry basket. You stepped out of the bedroom, inhaling the savory smell of dinner.

A moan escaped you, eagerly going over to the breakfast bar to perch on one of the stools. “That smells so good, oh my god.”

Asahi chuckled and turned around from the stove, holding two generous servings of pot roast in each hand. “I’ve never actually tried making this before,” he said, rounding the counter and setting down a plate in front of you. “I really hope you like it, though.”

When he’d settled down onto the chair, you gave him a small peck. “I’m pretty sure I’m gonna like whatever you make, Asahi.”

“Well, let’s dig in.”

“That was amazing,” you moaned, hunched over the breakfast bar and completely ready to pass out from the delicious meal you just had. “My stomach’s so full I feel like I’m ready to hibernate for about ten years.”

You could hear your boyfriend laugh, the rough bass sending shivers down your spine. God, you loved how he laughed.

“Don’t be going to sleep on me now, Y/N. We still have dessert.” A gust of air from the fridge made you flinch, goosebumps rising on your skin. You heard the thump of it closing and Asahi’s slippers softly slapping the wooden floors.

You sat back up and stretched, the air bubbles in your joints popping like firecrackers. “You made dessert?” Your eyes were closed as you relaxed, but when you opened them it was completely dark.

Save for a single candle stuck in the tiny cupcake in Asahi’s hands.

“Happy birthday to you,” he sang, coming to stand on the other side of the breakfast bar. “Happy birthday to you.” He set the cupcake in front of you and took one of your shaky hands in his. “Happy birthday, happy birthday.” Asahi brought you hand up to his mouth and pressed a long kiss to it. “Happy birthday to you.”

You were speechless. It was one thing to offer to cook dinner when you were dead tired from the world. It was another thing completely to remember your birthday when you yourself had been too busy and stressed to even register the date. You had no idea how you got so lucky to have Asahi in your life, but at this point you were too grateful to care.

It took a few tried to suppress the sob building up in your throat, but you made no effort to stem the flow of tears from your eyes. “Thank you,” you choked out, gripping the hand that held yours tightly the knuckles turned white. “Thank you so much.”

Asahi’s thumb brushed your knuckles gently, soothing you, calming your nerves. “I love you so much,” he whispered in the dark, and you could just make out the loving smile on his face.

You let go of him, only to cup his face in both of your hand and pull him to you in a kiss, that said all the things you didn’t have the strength to say yet.

See, you prided yourself on being a handy person, able to go from cooking to sewing to piecing together an Ikea cabinet in one try. It was the first thing out of your mouth when introducing yourself—“Hello, everyone. My name is Y/N and I can build an Ikea cabinet.” It would always have everyone laughing and made for a good conversation starter.

The people who knew you really well would say that you knew so many tips and tricks to so many things—like how to get wine stains out of white shirts without all the unnecessary scrubbing, or how to properly clean your tools, and (most famously) how to open a stubborn jar without breaking your wrist.

Never have your tips on the jar opening thing failed anyone before. If one trick didn’t work, then you’d have two or three more to suggest, and your friends’ jars always opened. It was proven that wearing a rubber glove while opening the jar had the highest success rate, so you tried it when the lid refused to budge.

You sighed, setting the jar on the counter and swiftly pulling the rubber glove off your hand.

Damn it, that trick always worked. What manufacturer decided to seal the jar so tightly that it was nearly impossible to open?

You weighed your options, which were none, come to think of it. Your jar opener was broken and you hadn’t had time yet to look for another one. The heating for the tap was broken as well, so you couldn’t run it under. And to top it off, the crust had almost finished baking, so you had to act fast.

Desperate, you took the jar and hurried outside to the hallway, the small voice that nagged at you for inconveniencing another person screaming at the back of your mind as you knocked on the door in front of yours.

The door swung open a few seconds later, revealing a tall(really buff, really cute) guy, with a confused, but curious expression on his face.

“Uh, hi?” he said, uncertain.

“Hi,” you said. “So I’m making this cheesecake, right? The crust is almost done baking, and I’ve finished the filling, but I can’t get this stupid jar open—can you please help?” you rushed out, holding the stubborn peanut butter jar out to him. He had muscly looking arms. He could probably get it open, right?

He wordlessly took the jar, still looking confused, but not so much that he asked any questions. Gripping tightly, he easily twisted it, popping the seal and opening the damned thing.

“Thank god,” you said, hurriedly taking the peanut butter from his hands and stepping backwards into your apartment. “Thank you so much, whoever you are—I owe you a slice for saving my cheesecake!”

“No problem, I guess?” he said, leaning against his doorframe with an amused smile on his face. “And you don’t have to, really. I just opened the jar.”

“Yeah,” you answered, “and that’s a big deal for me, so you’re still getting a slice.” You smiled gratefully at him. “Don’t go anywhere, okay?” And with that, you closed the door, leaving no more room for argument.

You turned to your little kitchen. “All right, cheesecake. Let’s finish you up.”

A knock on the door popped Daichi’s bubble of concentration, and he gratefully slid out of the dining chair and rolled his shoulders on the way to the door. He would take anything to get away from Calculus, even for only a few minutes.

He was greeted by you again, standing excitedly, one hand holding a plate with a big slice of cake on it—probably the cheesecake you said you were making earlier.

“One slice of cheesecake, as promised,” you said, grandly presenting the plated dessert to him.

Daichi chuckled. “Thank you. Again, you really didn’t have to give me one,” he said shyly.

“And again, I owed you one,” you said, smiling gratefully at him again. “Now my debt is paid and I get a review of my first peanut butter cheesecake. Win-win!”

“Ah, oh no, I’m not very good with reviews,” Daichi said, taking the plate from your waiting hand.

“Nonsense—you just have to say if it’s good or not. Nothing to stress over.” You beamed up at him, obviously excited.

“Okay,” he said after a few moments. He pushed his apartment door further open. “Come in?”

Your already big smile widened even further. Daichi felt his heart skip a beat, and he turned away to lead you to the breakfast bar. As Daichi rummaged in his drawers for a fork, you busied yourself with looking around the space from your perch at the bar.

“So,” Daichi said after finding a fork and settling himself beside you, “cheesecake.”

You nodded, a tiny smile blooming on your face. “Yep. First time I’ve made this one.”

Daichi snapped his head your way. “What, really? So I’m technically your first customer?” If Daichi wasn’t nervous enough letting a pretty stranger into his home, then he was really panicking now.

Giggling, you nodded your head. “You are, so hurry up and take a bite!”

The boy didn’t doubt that the cheesecake would be good—the crust was even and baked golden, the filling holding up, with decorative swirls of what he figured would be the peanut butter on top. The fork went through easily, and Daichi scooped up the piece.

Your eagerness was palpable as you watched him eat. Big worried eyes melted into excitement as his face scrunched up in delight and he let out a groan.

“This is really good,” he said, getting another piece and shoving that one in quick, making you laugh.

“Experiment success!” you exclaimed, clasping your hands together. “I’m glad you like it.” You stood up and excitedly made your way to the front door. “On that note, I have a drink that I think goes well with the cheesecake, and I’d love for you to try it. Hold on, let me get it right now,” you said, not waiting for him to comment before going straight for the door.

“Ah, wait—uh—,” Daichi called, stopping short when he realized he didn’t know your name.

You stopped, already having flung the door open. “Oh yeah, I haven’t really introduced myself, haven’t I?” An embarrassed giggle escaped your mouth. “Sorry, I forget my manners when I’m excited. My name’s Y/N.”

“Daichi,” he said, smiling at how unintentionally cute you were being.

You aimed another bright smile at him, and Daichi swore he kind of died a little bit. “Okay, Daichi. You just sit tight, ‘kay?”

He nodded as you slipped out the door. Daichi turned back to the cheesecake, part of him not wanting to finish it so you could stay longer, and wondering what would happen if he asked you to stay when he did finish it.

Just then, you slipped through the open door, carrying a small tray laden with another slice of cake, and two steaming teacups.