highschool bsf!hee × f!reader
unrequited maybe later requited love, smut | angst | comfort,what not. friends with benefits, happy ending maybe, maybe a little toxic idk.
synopsis : he only knocks when he’s broken. and every time, you let him in. even when he’s never been yours to begin with.
but maybe this time, when he returns, it won’t be to borrow your love. maybe it will be because he finally knows that it's always been you.
funny. he doesn't even remember leaving his sweater here. and now it clings to his shoulders like an old piece of him that he's getting back after a long while. a piece you could never throw away.
he walks around, looking at things that feel familiar, too familiar.
like the frame of your highschool graduation that lays cold on a shelf nearby. graduation, the day he decided to let go and find another home. in someone else. someone who wasn't you.
he ends up finding his way to your kitchen. leaning against the doorway with hands in his pockets, a used towel hangs around his shoulders, damp hair letting drops of water trail down the back of the old sweater he’d left here months ago. ten, maybe.
the fabric smells slightly musty, with echoes of known memories.
his eyes fall on you, you're standing at the counter with your back to him. you quietly cook, shrugging off the weight of his faraway gaze on your shoulders.
it's too careful, too distant. he doesn't see you.
always from afar as it always has been, he's busy searching for something else in your presence, never allowing himself too close.
your shoulders stay stiff, afraid that if you turn, you'll be met with eyes that don't really look at you.
he wants to move closer. wrap his arms around your waist, feel the warmth of your skin, the rise and fall of your breath. but he doesn’t.
instead, he walks to you—near you and settles at half an arm’s length away. he rests lightly against the counter, you don't notice him as his gaze flicks to the stove.
“ramyeon?” he asks, voice soft enough to come out as a whisper.
you startle, sighing once you catch sight of him beside you. “hm? yeah...”
a low chuckle escapes him. “that’s my favourite.”
and you're thrown off for a moment. right, it's his favourite, you remember as you glance at the pot infront of you. you didn't even realise.
“oh... i just... i had it in the fridge,” you murmur, words stinging your throat as you avoid his eyes. it’s been so long. do you still know each other like you used to?
you steal a glance at him, quick and nearly hesitant. he looks different now. a little broader at the shoulders, arms slightly bulkier, but he's still the same in all the ways that hurt.
the way the corners of his eyes still crease when he smiles. the way his voice softens and his head dips lower whenever he speaks to you.
does he know that you see it all? see him all? but none of that belongs to you anymore, and it hasn't for a long time.
you're afraid to reach out, even when he’s right here. he's not yours to hold, you know it. his heart belongs to her.
you eat in silence. the air around warm, but nothing less than stifling to you. you smile once or twice when your eyes meet. small, forced smiles that make your chest hurt more the longer he sits there.
for him though, sitting down across from you at the small table, rain pouring outside, hot bowl of food infront of him, it feels like home. a place he's longed to be at before he even left. you're being so kind, but he’s not sure he deserves it.
his mind races with things he wants to say as he erratically shakes his leg under the table. he's got questions to ask, things to clarify, although you haven't asked for anything, not what happened, why it happened, how it happened, but his words are barricaded by something he can’t name.
you glance at your phone buzzing on the table, then at him. "excuse me."
the formality. he notices it sharp and biting. none of you had ever been used to talking this way with each other.
his fingers curl, fist tightening. then again, what right does he even have...to feel this way anymore?
he heaves out a shaky breath.
he hears you mumble sweet endearments to the caller. he wants to ask. who was that?
but the question knots in his throat. and before he can prepare himself to speak, you set the phone back down.
“my niece,” you tell him, light and offhand.
he exhales, relaxing. of course. how could he forget the little kid whose advice could've saved him years of what he believes to be an unreciprocated heartbreak?
later, as he helps you clear the table, his hand brushes against yours. unintentional but the brief heat of his skin against yours only makes your heart thump louder. you both pull back, quick in action.
and when the time comes to say goodnight, he stands infront of you in the hallway, gulping like a toddler afraid of getting yelled at for not finishing his homework.
"good night." he mumbles, arms cautious before he wraps it around your shoulders.
your arms stay still at your sides, you can barely hug him back. “goodnight.” the feigned smile on your lips somehow aches straight through your ribs.
his hold tightens, just a bit too tight, and lingers just a second too long. with his breath warm on your temple, you would assume he's hesitating to let go. as if he never really wanted to. but you know better than anyone else to ever let yourself do that again.
his fingers trail away from your arms slower than they should. gaze unreadable but there's a flicker, of guilt—hesitation—yearning in the way his hands hover midair before falling to his sides.
with a sigh, he watches you leave to your room. keeping himself company in the dark for a while with agony huge enough to devour you both, before he settles himself in your guestroom.
@hseungie , @snowprincehoon , @keehoes , @nodoubtily
do you know what he's searching for? does he? in your presence, your embrace, your silence?
incase you did not consent to being added to my taglist well—
