accidentally falling back — lee jeno by @haeiheart [part one out of two]
summary! You were bored, a little tipsy, and way too online—so you tweeted a dramatic ranking of your exes, complete with oversharing and emotional damage. You didn’t think they’d actually see it, much less respond. But only one caught your eye. The quiet one. The one who never said much but always seemed to say the right thing. And somehow, Lee Jeno’s reply does something no one else’s could: it makes you feel everything all over again.
pairing! ex! lee jeno x reader
genre! exes 2 lovers, slow burn?, second chance, fluff, angst (that ended up on the 2nd part because i exceeded the word count for one blog post oops T - T)
warnings/mentions! reader interacts with other ex dreamies! sakura (lsrfm) and jiwoong (zb1) as y/n best friends! they both painfully want each other! kind of stupid break up? jeno is a cutie (a real one at that) very sulky asw, not exactly miscom… but beware of the arguements that eventually happens. nct frat once again (bye i cant help myself), some 127 members appear!!!
notes! this is a continuation of “ranking dreamies as ex bfs! post!” I wasn’t planning to give it a written fic continuation but i caved in after someone asked for it which i will gladly give to yall!! i hope you enjoy the two parts i had to make because this was too long that it exceeded the word limit… also this was not proofread so umm hopefully there’s no embarrassing mistakes. here is the twitter thread also the context behind this fic -> here!
word count! 24.1k out of 34.6k
PART TWO CONTINUATION -> here!
You didn’t mean for it to go viral.
Honestly, you thought only your two friends would see it. Maybe thirteen if your mutual with the backpacking addiction was online. But apparently, the internet had other plans, because within an hour your phone was buzzing like it owed someone money.
It was just supposed to be a dumb ranking. A “haha, let’s traumatize myself for content” kind of thing. Seven exes. One tweet. A little chaos. A little emotional bleed through. Cathartic, right?
Because not only did they all see it…
They responded. Publicly. With alarming speed. Like they had Twitter notifs on for your account or something though which would be weird and a little flattering not gonna lie.
But only one response made you stop breathing for a full six seconds.
Of course it had to be him. The emotionally mysterious, manhwa protagonist type ex who barely spoke but still managed to make you feel like every word was worth framing. The one who kissed you once and left you mentally derailed for a week. The one who broke up with you in a single sentence and haunted your Spotify algorithm for months.
You’re still sitting on your bed in full shock paralysis with a hoodie half on, hair a mess, phone in your lap like it just delivered your death sentence when the knock hits your front door.
It’s followed by the very specific, dramatic sound of your front door unlocking with your spare key, which means one thing:
“Y/N, open up before I throw your customized pillows at your face!”
“I brought snacks. Also, you’re a menace.”
That’s definitely Woongie.
You barely have time to sit up before they storm into your room like you’ve summoned them with a psychic cry for help. Which, in fairness, you kind of did. Kkura had texted you thirty seven times in the span of three minutes the second she saw the tweet, and Woongie sent a single “i’m on my way” with a fire alarm emoji.
“You do want him back,” they say, deadpan, in sync, with the audacity of people who know you too well to lie to.
You bolt upright with a dramatic scoff that doesn’t do much to hide the heat climbing up your neck. “That’s not the point.”
Kkura raises an eyebrow, her long lashes fluttering like she’s seconds from staging an intervention. She crosses one leg over the other, perfectly composed as always, like this isn’t her fourth unannounced visit this week to check if you’ve finally unraveled. “That's exactly the point, babe. You tweeted it to be chaotic, but you were feeling things. And now that he responded like a calm, emotionally stable adult, you’re panicking.”
“He replied like a man who knew exactly what he was doing,” Woongie adds from where he’s now casually sitting on the edge of your desk, surveying the situation like a therapist who’s both amused and slightly disappointed. “That’s the scariest kind of ex. The ones who reply once but it leave you spiraling.”
You sink deeper into your comforter, like maybe if you cocoon yourself tight enough, the crushing weight of your actions will disappear. It doesn’t. Jeno’s reply is still pinned to the top of your notifications, simple and polite, the kind of message that would seem harmless to anyone else, except you know him. And if there’s one thing Jeno never does, it’s post without intention.
“He was always good at that,” you mutter into the fabric, barely audible. “Saying so little and making it sound like everything.”
Kkura softens a little, just enough for her voice to lose its edge. “You loved that about him.”
And there it is. The truth you’ve been swallowing for weeks—months, if you’re honest. The reason you’d ranked him first, even though doing so made your heart twist in ways you weren’t ready to name. Because out of everyone, he was the only one who left quietly. No arguments. No screaming. Just a quiet goodbye in the rain and a hand that lingered on the door handle a few seconds too long.
Woongie leans forward, eyes searching yours like he’s trying to decipher how far gone you are already. “You know he didn’t just reply for fun, right?”
You shake your head slowly, voice barely above a whisper. “Then why did he?”
There’s a beat of silence. Kkura shrugs, then nudges a plastic container toward you. “We brought strawberry mochi and spicy ramen in case this turned into a spiral. Which it has. So congrats.”
You snort, despite yourself. It’s not much, but the laugh breaks the heaviness sitting on your chest, just a little. You take the mochi, chewing slowly as your friends settle in around you like they always do when your life takes a nosedive. Kkura starts scrolling through your mentions with quiet horror, while Woongie opens your laptop like he’s about to file your taxes and clean your digital footprint.
And for the briefest second, it feels safe. Like you can pretend this is just another tweet gone wrong, another dumb thing you’ll laugh about next week.
Until your phone buzzes again.
Not a like. Not a retweet.
[Jeno]: is this still your number?
[Jeno]: sorry to bother you but i take it that your tweet means it’s safe to reach out (.◜◡◝)
Your fingers tightened around the phone before your brain could even begin to catch up. The words on the screen were simple. Harmless, even. A string of curiosity wrapped in soft phrasing, like he wasn’t sure if he was still allowed to speak to you. Like he wasn’t the one who left. Like six months didn’t carve out silence between you so heavily, it still echoed when you tried to sleep.
You froze. Not in a dramatic, cinematic kind of way. There was no shattering sound effect or rush of wind. Just stillness. A pause. The kind that made your heart skip, not from excitement, but recognition. Recognition of a voice you hadn’t heard in months, but still lived somewhere in the back of your mind. Familiar. Quiet. Careful. Jeno.
Your memories with him were not a highlight reel of grand gestures or perfect timing. They were quieter than that. Softer. The kind of moments that didn’t look like much from the outside but stayed with you anyway. The way he always waited for you to unlock your door before driving off. The way he remembered your coffee order after hearing it once. The way he’d say your name when you were spiraling, slow and low like he was anchoring you back to the surface.
Six months with Jeno felt longer than it should have. Maybe because you’d let him see parts of you most people never even noticed. And maybe because, for the first time in a long time, you hadn’t been scared to be quiet with someone. There were days where neither of you talked much, just sat together in that easy kind of silence people write poems about. And it had been enough.
And now here he was. Texting you like it hadn’t taken every ounce of pride to keep your distance after the breakup. Like you didn’t spend nights convincing yourself you were fine, that what you had wasn’t meant to last, that people like Jeno didn’t come back.
But he had. Or he was trying to.
You reread the message. Again. And again. Your thumb hovered over the keyboard, and somewhere beneath all the confusion, hurt, and the hint of something that could be hope and you realized: Jeno had never been the type to reach out unless he meant it. Which could only mean one thing.
This wasn’t just a message.
It was the start of something. He was starting something.
Something you weren’t sure you were ready for.
But your heart was already answering the question you hadn’t asked out loud.
“Okay, she’s been staring at her phone for, like, five minutes. Do we intervene or let her spiritually ascend?”
Jiwoong’s voice cut through the quiet like a pebble skipping across still water, light, amused, but not without concern.
You blinked, fingers still curled around your phone. The screen had gone dark, but Jeno’s message might as well have been burned into your eyelids. You didn’t even hear them come in.
“I vote we shake her,” Kkura added, already moving to sit on the edge of your bed, eyes narrowed like a detective trying to figure out if you were having a breakdown or just doing your usual post-existential-tweet routine.
“I’m fine,” you said, your voice a little raspier than intended. The words barely came out before Jiwoong snatched the phone from your hand with a dramatic gasp.
“Lee Jeno,” he announced like he’d just solved a murder. “Of course it’s him. You know, I was betting on Mark.”
“It’s always Jeno,” Kkura muttered, nudging you with her shoulder. “Mark’s nice but he gave you valid reasons to leave. Jeno’s the one who messed you up because he is nice and left minimal room for faults.”
You rolled your eyes but didn’t deny it. They weren’t wrong.
The thing about having friends like them. Jiwoong with his observational wit and dramatic flourishes, and Kkura with her unfiltered realism softened by affection, was that they didn’t let you go insane alone. They also didn’t let you romanticize a boy without dragging you back down with a sigh and a snack.
“I didn’t expect him to actually text,” you said finally.
“Well, you did tweet about him in front of the entire internet like he was a mysterious love interest in a coming of age film,” Jiwoong said. “That’s basically a summoning ritual.”
Kkura leaned back against your headboard, her expression less teasing. “How do you feel about it, though?”
You hesitated. You didn’t know how to sum it up. The confusion, the flicker of hope, the old ache stitched into something new.
“I feel like…” You exhaled, “Like I just opened a door I locked for a reason. And now he’s standing on the other side, asking if he can come in again.”
Neither of them said anything for a moment. Jiwoong looked thoughtful. Kkura chewed the inside of her cheek.
“Well,” Jiwoong said, “if he does come in, he better take off his shoes. And not track any of his emotionally unavailable dirt onto the carpet.”
Kkura snorted, and you laughed for the first time that afternoon. It was small, but it loosened something in your chest.
It had been a week. Maybe two. Time had gone weird like that. Days folded into nights too easily when you were constantly checking your phone for someone who texted you often but never said the thing you were waiting to hear.
Yes, you texted Jeno back. It wasn’t witty or brave. It was a plain message, the kind that read too simple and felt too heavy. Something like “Hey. Yeah, it’s still me.” And since then, there had been messages exchanged. Not every hour. Not even every day. But enough to keep him in your head more than you’d like to admit. Enough to make you hesitate before opening each one.
Still, neither of you had said it outright, but you were both avoiding the question that hovered over all the small talk. When do we see each other again?
You weren’t sure who was more afraid to ask.
But the universe didn’t care about your pacing or your avoidance strategies, which is why it decided to serve you karma in the form of a poorly sealed iced Americano and one particularly clumsy turn.
The spill happened fast. You had turned, your arm bumped something, someone, and the cold drink soaked into soft grey fabric before your brain could fully register what just happened. And then your heart dropped.
Because of course it was one of them.
“Jaemin?” you blinked, stunned and frozen mid-step.
He looked just as surprised, blinking down at his now coffee-stained sleeve before his eyes lifted to meet yours. But instead of irritation or exasperation, there was a smile curling at the edge of his lips.
“Well,” he said casually, “that’s one way to say hi.”
You didn’t laugh right away. You were too busy panicking about the stain and the fact that you were now face to face with another ex. Not just any ex. Jaemin. The one with the most complicated folder in your emotional archives.
The flirt. The charmer. The one who could sweet talk anyone into a good mood and then disappear before you figured out what he was really thinking. Your relationship with him had been fun, fast, a little unhinged and ultimately unsustainable. You were oil and vinegar: entertaining together, but nothing stable ever came from the mix.
Still, time had done its thing. The awkwardness wasn’t sharp anymore. If anything, the sharpness had melted into something you could actually smile at, which you did, slowly, once you realized he wasn’t angry.
“I owe you dry cleaning,” you said.
“You owe me lunch,” he corrected, still smiling. “Come sit. I was just about to get something sweet to offset my very bitter day.”
That was how you ended up across from him, elbows resting on the little round table, hands wrapped around a new drink as he peeled off his jacket and draped it behind his chair like he wasn’t wearing an iced beverage two minutes ago.
And honestly? It wasn’t bad.
Jaemin had always been good at talking. Not just smooth talking but talking. Listening, too. He asked about what you were doing these days, how your apartment was holding up, if you still made those late-night playlists when you couldn’t sleep. You were halfway through telling him about how Jiwoong’s shower once exploded mid winter when you caught yourself laughing a little too loud and realized something:
And maybe more importantly you weren’t hurt by him anymore.
He was a chapter you could finally reread without bitterness, which felt oddly comforting. He still flirted a little, but it didn’t mess with your head this time. It just made you roll your eyes and play along because that’s who he was, and who you used to be with him.
But you weren’t that person anymore. Not fully.
Somewhere in the middle of that realization, your phone buzzed on the table. You didn’t reach for it right away, but you didn’t need to check either. You already knew who it was.
“You know,” Jaemin said, tipping back slightly in his chair as he took a long sip from his new drink, “I can’t decide if I’m just really lucky, or if you’re in your revisiting your ghosts era.”
You looked up, brow raised. “Is that your subtle way of asking why I haven’t ghosted you yet?”
He grinned. “Nah. If anything, I’m flattered. Out of all your exes, I’m the lucky chosen one who gets to share a table with you again.” He leaned in just slightly, eyes gleaming. “I must’ve ranked higher than I thought.”
You couldn’t help but snort softly, settling back into your seat as you cradled your drink in both hands. “You got a solid three out of five, Jaem.”
“Oh?” he perked up, mock offended. “Not even a four? That’s painful.”
“Don’t flatter yourself, you only made a mildly decent rating because I remembered the time you cooked for me when I was sick. Instant two point boost.”
He grinned like he wasn’t offended at all, and you were grateful for that. There were no sharp edges with Jaemin anymore, no guilt, no tension, just the soft fuzziness of something that once was and didn’t need to be anything again.
You let the moment settle before adding, “Actually… you’re not the only one I’ve talked to again.”
His gaze flickered to you over the rim of his cup, his teasing expression shifting just enough for you to feel it.
“Yeah,” you said, voice quieter now. You weren’t sure why it felt so serious to say it out loud, but it did. “Jeno texted me.”
Jaemin didn’t react right away, no dramatic double take or smirk. Just a slow, thoughtful nod, his fingers tapping gently against the paper cup.
“Huh,” he said, tone unreadable but not unkind. “I figured he would.”
You tilted your head slightly. “How?”
“He’s always been the most unreadable until it mattered. But once it did, he made it hard not to notice.”
That struck something in you. You glanced down at your drink.
“Yeah,” you murmured. “He texted me the day after I posted that thread. Said he took it as a sign that it was safe to reach out.”
“And is it?” Jaemin asked, voice lighter this time. “Safe, I mean?”
You hesitated. You hadn’t figured that part out yet. But something about hearing it phrased like that made your chest ache in a strange, familiar way. You thought about Jeno’s message, the awkward yet careful way he typed it out, how you could almost hear his voice in those short sentences.
“I think so,” you said. “I hope so.”
There was a beat of silence between you, not heavy but not entirely light either. Then Jaemin chuckled under his breath, shaking his head.
“Damn. I really am just the comic relief in this arc, huh?”
You laughed, genuinely this time. “You’re the emotionally evolved ex with good banter and a sense of timing. That’s an important role.”
He raised his cup in mock salute. “I’ll take it.”
And you both sipped your drinks, a strange, gentle peace sitting quietly between the past and whatever came next.
You swirled what little was left of your drink, the ice clinking softly against the sides. Jaemin had gone quiet after your last answer, not in a heavy or uncomfortable way, just thoughtful. The kind of silence only someone familiar could share with you, where words weren’t needed immediately.
You leaned back a little in your seat and glanced at him again. “How has he been?”
He looked up. There was no confusion in his eyes. No need to ask who you meant.
Jaemin paused for a second, then breathed out a small sigh, leaning his arms onto the table as he thought. “He’s been... quieter since you guys cut it off but we’ve gotten used to it as it became the norm,” he said honestly. “Which is saying something, coming from Jeno.”
Your gaze dropped to your hands, and you twisted the edge of your napkin without meaning to.
You knew they were friends now. It wasn’t something either of them had to explain. You’d seen it online, heard about it through mutuals, noticed it in the way Jaemin occasionally spoke about “the guys” with an ease that included Jeno by default. And it didn’t bother you, not really. You had dated them in different timelines, completely separate versions of yourself, like alternate editions of a book. Jaemin and Jeno didn’t become close until after you'd cut off contact with both, when circumstance and shared routines in the same frat house wove them into each other’s lives without your presence in the equation. It never felt like betrayal. Just the natural course of things moving on without you.
“He still comes to game nights. Still brings those boring snacks he claims are healthy. Still folds his laundry like he’s in the military. But I don’t know... sometimes it feels like he’s showing up to things but not really there, y’know?” Jaemin tilted his head slightly. “I think he’s been figuring things out. Trying to feel normal again.”
The lump in your throat was sudden, unwelcome, but not unfamiliar. You nodded slowly, trying to keep your voice level. “So... he’s okay?”
Jaemin’s eyes softened. He saw right through the question. “Is this the part where I say he’s miserable without you?” he asked lightly.
You smiled a little, lips pressed together. “I mean, if it’s true, you’re welcome to.”
He gave a low chuckle, but his voice was quieter when he answered, “He’s... different. Not broken. Not miserable. But not the same, either.”
That shouldn’t have made your chest hurt. But it did. There was something terrifying about someone still being themselves without you, and something even scarier about the idea that they might not have been.
“You could’ve asked him that yourself,” Jaemin said, not accusatory, just honest.
“I know.” You glanced out the window. “But I wanted to hear it from someone who sees him now. I wanted to know how he’s doing without me.”
Jaemin didn’t say anything for a moment. Then, in a softer voice than you expected, “Sometimes I think he’s still waiting for you. Not in a desperate way, not like he’s stuck. Just... like there’s a door he hasn’t shut yet. He doesn’t say it. But you can kind of tell.”
You blinked slowly, letting his words settle.
“And you?” Jaemin asked, watching you carefully now. “Are you okay without him?”
You didn’t answer right away.
Then he added, a little more pointedly but still light, “I mean, it kinda seemed like you dated someone after him, no? Jisung?”
You blinked, caught off guard, not because he was wrong, but because you hadn’t expected him to bring it up so plainly. You nodded slowly, eyes drifting down to your fingers curled around your cup.
“Yeah,” you said, almost like you were still testing the truth of it yourself. “I did. Briefly.”
Jaemin raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t last?”
You gave a quiet laugh, not bitter, just... honest. “No. It wasn’t bad or anything. Just not right. It felt like trying to hold a conversation in a language you were still learning, doable, but exhausting.”
That seemed to satisfy him. Jaemin leaned back in his chair again, gaze thoughtful. “Guess that’s the thing about some people. You don’t even realize how fluently you spoke them until you try to speaking someone else.”
Your chest tightened just a little, like something half-healed had been poked.
You didn’t answer. But you didn’t have to.
The conversation drifted for a while after that, lighter now, touching on old classmates and mutual friends, a funny story Jaemin had about his roommate locking himself out of their place in nothing but a towel. You laughed, really laughed, and it felt oddly easy. Not like forcing a reunion, but like finding an old playlist and realizing you still remembered the lyrics.
Eventually, Jaemin glanced at his phone and then at you, a small smile tugging at his lips. “So, are we doing that thing where we pretend we’ll run into each other again someday, or are you going to give me your number?”
You rolled your eyes with a grin. “Just say you missed me and go.”
He held his hand out, palm up. “Phone.”
You handed it over without protest, watching him type in his number with the self-satisfaction of someone who was convinced they were still as charming as ever which, unfortunately, wasn’t untrue. When he passed it back, you texted him a quick don’t forget to save me as something embarrassing, and watched him snort when the notification popped up on his screen.
By the time you both stood up to leave, you’d already followed each other back on Instagram, Twitter, and every other cursed app that had once been your mutual stalking grounds. It wasn’t sentimental, it didn’t need to be. Sometimes reconnection wasn’t a dramatic gesture or a second chance at something lost. Sometimes, it was just the comfort of a familiar presence sliding back into your life in a way that felt... okay.
You walked out of the café beside him, shoulder to shoulder, the past quiet behind you and something lighter, something almost peaceful, settling in its place.
The night settled softly around you, thick with the kind of stillness that only showed up when the world outside your window was asleep. Your room feels smaller at this hour, tucked in the quiet hush of 1 a.m., lit only by the string of fairy lights dangling across your bookshelf and the dim blue glow from your phone screen.
You were curled sideways on your bed, one leg half-hanging off the edge, buried in an old hoodie and a nest of blankets that smelled faintly like your fabric softener and sleep. The air had that calm weight to it, the kind that made you feel too awake to sleep, but too tired to move. Your playlist was still running, soft and r&b, looping the same beat that had been playing for the past hour. You hadn’t really been listening.
Instead, your attention was fixed on the last opened chat on your screen.
The conversation had been flowing on and off all day. He had a way of texting like he talked, dry and low effort on the surface, but always a little offbeat and weirdly specific. Enough to keep you amused. Enough to make you wonder if he realized how much you actually liked talking to him.
Your phone buzzed once in your hand, another message from him. You hadn’t even realized how long you’d been staring at the thread without replying.
You tucked your cheek deeper into your pillow and opened the chat.
Next thing you know you’d been texting Jeno. For hours, maybe. The conversation had wandered aimlessly, like the way you used to walk barefoot through your childhood backyard, no real direction, just one thought leading into another. Silly observations. Dumb memes. Random questions. That lowkey rhythm you’d started to fall into with him lately.
He made you laugh in that quiet, nose-wrinkling kind of way. Not loud, but real.
The latest notification lit up your screen, his name appearing like it always did now—predictable, comforting. You smiled without realizing. Your thumb hovered to type back, but another bubble popped up before you could finish.
Then your phone buzzed again.
This time it was different.
Sit up just slightly, propped on your elbow. The room felt a little smaller, or maybe just quieter. You read the message again. The words were simple, casual, like he hadn’t just shifted the entire tone of the night with five syllables.
You stared at your reflection in the black mirror of your screen. Messy hair. Bare face. Hoodie you’d stolen from your sibling years ago and never gave back. You didn’t look like anything special. And yet your pulse had kicked up for no good reason.
A minute later, your phone lit up.
You hesitated for just a second longer than necessary. Not because you didn’t want to see him but because you did.
And then you hit "Accept."
The screen flickered once, twice, then steadied.
His camera angled just a bit off-center, like he hadn’t really planned it out. The lighting was warm behind him, probably from his desk lamp. His hair was slightly messy, pushed back from where he’d probably been running his hand through it. He was wearing a loose t-shirt, one shoulder slightly stretched like he’d tugged at it out of nervous habit.
The first thing he did when he saw your face was smile. And then immediately laugh.
Not a big laugh, just a quiet, breathy thing, more out of disbelief than anything else. His head dropped, his shoulder bumping up toward his cheek like he was trying to hide in plain sight.
“Okay,” he said, already flustered, “this feels way more real than I thought it would.”
You laughed, propping your chin in your hand. “You look like you just got caught doing something illegal.”
“I kind of feel like I did,” he grinned, already a little pink. “I don’t know why I’m nervous. It’s literally just… you.”
“No, no—like, I didn’t mean it like that,” he said quickly, eyes wide. “Not just you—I mean, it’s you, but—” He broke off, groaning. “I’m going to shut up now.”
You bit back a smile, head tilted slightly as you watched him spiral. “You’re really good at digging holes, huh?”
He laughed again, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Yeah, it’s like a talent. Put that on my resume—‘Professional Embarrassment Generator.’”
There was a beat of silence. Comfortable, even if it hummed with nerves.
You shifted a little in bed, the blanket falling slightly off your shoulder. “So. First video call. Are we making history?”
He looked up at that, then gave the tiniest, shy nod. “Yeah. Kinda feels like it.”
His voice had softened a bit. Still light. Still him. But there was something else under it too. Something careful.
You leaned back into your pillow. “I was expecting you to look more put together, honestly. This is disappointing.”
He gasped dramatically, hand flying to his chest. “Ouch. I brushed my hair for this.”
“I can tell,” you said dryly, “with your five strands behaving.”
He ducked his head again, laughing into his sleeve. When he looked back up, his cheeks were a little redder.
“I almost didn’t call,” he admitted. “I was overthinking it. Like, what if it was weird. Or if I accidentally turned the camera the wrong way and you just saw my forehead for five minutes.”
You smiled. “It is weird. But in a nice way.”
“Yeah.” His voice was quiet now. “Nice weird.”
The two of you sat like that for a moment just watching each other. His screen blinks slightly every now and then, the connection softening around the edges of his face. But you didn’t mind. If anything, it made him feel more real.
He rubbed his hand over his mouth, then peeked at you again. “Can I ask you something?”
“Do you ever…” he started, then paused. His gaze dropped for a second, then lifted again, more careful this time. “Think about how different it would've been… if I hadn’t ended things?”
Your breath caught, just slightly.
The question wasn’t loud. It didn’t slam into the air like a confession, it drifted, almost hesitant, like he wasn’t sure he had the right to ask it. Like maybe he’d already been carrying it around for a while and had finally run out of space to keep it.
You shifted in your bed, fingers curling around the edge of your blanket. “Sometimes,” you said. “But I try not to sit with it too long.”
Jeno let out a small breath. Not quite a laugh. Not quite a relief either. Just something in between.
“I think about it more than I should,” he admitted, thumb dragging along the bottom edge of his camera as he stared down at the screen. “Not in, like, a desperate ‘please take me back’ kind of way. Just… I wonder if I gave up too early.”
You didn’t say anything right away. Neither did he. The silence wasn’t cruel but it wasn’t light, either.
Eventually, you asked, “Why did you do it, Jeno? I mean… really.”
He blinked, caught off guard by how direct the question was. Then he smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“I didn’t know how to be with you without dragging everything else with me,” he said quietly. “Like, you were this bright, warm thing. And I was just… trying to keep my head above water some days. I didn’t want to mess you up with my stuff.”
You frowned slightly. “You could’ve just told me.”
“I know.” His voice cracked just a little. “But that’s the thing, I didn’t want to make it your responsibility to carry me. I thought I was being… I don’t know, noble? Or selfless? But mostly I was just scared.”
You swallowed. The air between you was thinner now, almost fragile. But something about it felt honest in a way it never had before.
“Were you really that scared of hurting me?” you asked.
He looked up at you then. Really looked.
“I already had,” he said softly.
You blinked, and something behind your ribs shifted.
The call felt different now, not awkward, not crushing. Just open. Like a door that hadn’t been unlocked in a while, creaking open with slow, careful hands.
Jeno rubbed the back of his neck and gave a nervous little laugh, trying to shake off the weight of it. “This wasn’t where I planned to take this call, by the way. I thought I was gonna show you a dumb meme and accidentally drop my phone on my face or something.”
You smiled. “You still can. I’d honestly be disappointed if you didn’t.”
He grinned, sheepish. “Give it time. I’m still holding out for my chaos moment.”
There it was again, that softness he always carried with him. Nervous and warm. Still kind. Still Jeno.
And maybe, despite everything, this was the kind of conversation you’d needed all along. No dramatic turning points. Just two people learning how to talk again.
The call didn’t end right away, but the conversation faded into a softer kind of silence, not the awkward, fumbling kind that had followed them in the early days, but something gentler. Something earned. You stayed on the line, neither of you in a rush to fill the quiet, as if speaking too soon might undo the delicate thread that had just been woven between you.
Y/N lay back against the pillows, eyes flickering across the screen where Jeno’s face remained lit, a little blurry from the weak camera quality. His expression was unguarded in a way it had rarely been before. Relaxed, not because everything was okay, but because for once he had let it be messy out loud. And somehow, that made it okay.
It struck her then, quietly but deeply, how much more open he was now. Not louder or more confident, not some big, shiny version of himself but real. Sharper in the ways that mattered. She’d spent so much of their relationship trying to understand the parts he didn’t say, trying to read what lived behind his silences, but it was like holding smoke. Now, it felt like she could see him clearer. The lines of his worry. The shape of his care. His voice wasn’t always steady, but it was honest.
Maybe time hadn’t changed him. Maybe it had just let him breathe.
They weren’t the same people anymore, she could admit that. And they weren’t together. But tonight had unfolded like a quiet reminder that the version of them that hurt wasn’t the only one that ever existed. There was still something here. Not romantic, maybe. Not yet, or not again. But something real.
For the first time in a long time, Y/N didn’t feel like she was speaking into a version of Jeno that folded in on itself. He met her words, mirrored them back. His fears are no longer disguised as indifference. His guilt is not left to rot in silence. There was pain, yes, but also clarity. A shared understanding that hadn’t quite been there before.
And somehow, that was enough. For now.
Not quite a reunion. Not quite a second chance yet. Just two people who had once meant everything to each other learning, finally, how to speak in the same language.
You were in an outfit crisis at the moment, but it wasn’t entirely your fault. The reason being was the devil taking the form of Na Jaemin, who had suddenly walked back into your life with an obnoxious grin and zero consideration for your social anxiety. He was dragging you to fuckass frat boy parties at a college you had absolutely no connection to—except for, well, him. You didn’t even know half of the people in the school he called his “friends,” but Jaemin, as always, refused to let you off the hook.
“Come on, it’s for old times’ sake,” he’d said, as if it was a convincing argument. As if you and Jaemin didn’t have a long history of throwing yourselves into the chaos of college parties, drinking too much, and barely remembering any of it. But this time? It felt different. Maybe because Jeno was there. Maybe because you weren’t the same person who used to stumble around with Jaemin at every party like it was a sport. Whatever the reason, you were already second-guessing your decision before you even got dressed.
The outfit on your bed had been through more repetitions than you cared to admit. You tried one look but it was too casual. The next was too much. Then there was the one that made you feel like you were trying too hard, so you threw that on the floor in frustration. What was even the point? Jaemin had promised it would be “just like old times,” which, of course, was the most obnoxious thing anyone could say, especially when old times meant you wearing the same tight dress you swore you’d never wear again and pretending like you weren’t watching every guy at the party for one specific face.
You sighed, staring at the clock, already feeling late. Of course, Jaemin would be punctual for once, not that he’d care if you were fashionably late or actually late because you couldn’t decide what to wear.
When your phone buzzed, it was Jaemin, unsurprisingly, already outside your door. “I’m not waiting, Y/N. Get your cute ass downstairs, or I’ll come drag you out myself.”
You could practically hear his sing-song tone through the text, and you cursed under your breath. Why was it so easy for him to convince you to do this shit?
Reluctantly, you grabbed the simplest outfit that didn’t make you feel like you were playing dress-up and tossed it on. The moment you stepped out of your room, you were greeted by the most annoying face imaginable, Jaemin, standing in the doorway with his signature mischievous grin.
“Finally,” he said, leaning in the frame with a dramatic sigh. “You’re really making me miss our party days.”
You rolled your eyes. “We were never that wild.”
He gave you a deadpan look. “We definitely were. You forget those nights on purpose, huh?”
“Maybe I’ve learned my lesson,” you muttered, grabbing your jacket and heading for the door before Jaemin could drag out the inevitable argument.
The car ride was uneventful, aside from Jaemin’s occasional jab about how you were going to have the best night of your life, even though he wasn’t actually making the case for it. The thought of an entire evening filled with strangers, loud music, and potential awkward interactions didn’t help ease your nerves, but Jaemin was, as usual, already hyping himself up for a night of his own chaotic fun.
By the time you pulled into the parking lot of a frat house you didn’t even know existed until an hour ago, your nerves were a little more than on edge. You barely had a chance to take a breath before Jaemin was out of the car, practically dragging you behind him like it was all part of his plan.
“C’mon! You don’t even know anyone here, right? So you have to make it memorable,” he said with a smirk, his arm slung over your shoulder, steering you toward the front door.
You hated how easily he could make you feel like you had to be there.
The party was a chaotic mess, as expected. The moment you walked inside, you were hit with a wall of noise, music thumping so loud you could feel it vibrating in your bones. The air was thick with a mix of cheap cologne, spilled drinks, and the unmistakable scent of something burning that you didn’t want to think too hard about. Jaemin was already lost in the crowd before you could even process what was happening, his laughter echoing over the music. You could see him in the distance, pulling some poor soul into a dance circle while shouting something about “the last one who doesn’t dance buys shots.”
You rolled your eyes and made your way to the kitchen, where a group of people were clustered around the counter, sipping from red solo cups and chatting about nothing important. You tried to ignore the growing knot in your stomach as you looked around, wondering if this whole “old times’ sake” thing was actually a good idea.
A girl with bright pink hair waved you over. “Hey, you’re Jaemin’s friend, right?” she asked, a half-smile on her face. She had one of those names you could never quite remember, but she seemed nice enough.
“Yeah,” you said, offering a small smile back. “Y/N.”
“Nice to meet you! I’m Giselle.” She extended her hand, and you shook it. “You came with him, huh? He’s always dragging people here, like an unofficial mascot,” she continued, her voice warm but tinged with amusement. “Don’t mind him though. He’s harmless. You’re gonna love it here.”
“Harmless?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow, though you had no doubt she was right about Jaemin. “I’m not so sure.”
She laughed and leaned in slightly, lowering her voice like she was sharing some juicy gossip. “Trust me, he’s trouble, but in the best way possible. You’re definitely gonna be part of the ‘fun’ crowd before the night’s over.”
You tried to nod along, though all you could do was look around, feeling out of place among all the unfamiliar faces. The vibe was different from your usual circle, and for a moment, it hit you just how much you’d changed. These weren’t your people. But Jaemin was already off somewhere, getting into trouble, and there was no turning back now.
You tried to strike up small talk with Giselle, but the conversation never felt natural. She was sweet enough, but everything around you was so loud, the constant shuffle of feet and clink of glass distracting you from what you really wanted, familiarity. The kind that came with your old group of friends. But no. Jaemin wasn’t here for that. Jaemin was here to show you new things, drag you into unfamiliar territory, and probably make sure you had fun whether you wanted to or not.
When you noticed Jaemin across the room, getting even more animated in a dance battle with some guy in a neon shirt, you took a moment to collect yourself. There was a pressure building in your chest, not quite anxiety, but something else, a kind of anticipation you didn’t want to give in to.
Finally, after what felt like ages of dodging overly-friendly strangers and pretending you were okay with the environment, you found a small corner in the living room, near a window where the music wasn’t as overwhelming. You leaned against the wall, closing your eyes for just a second. The buzz of conversation was background noise now, but there was something comforting about the quiet chaos of a party.
You let your thoughts wander, fingers tapping absently against your cup, until you felt a tap on your shoulder.
You turned around quickly, startled, and froze when you saw him.
Now, you would think the face that tapped your shoulder would be the one you’d been waiting to see all night, the one that made your stomach flip with excitement and nerves. But no. It wasn’t. Instead, the face that greeted you was one you never wanted to see again. The one face you thought you’d escaped, only to find it lurking in the most unexpected of places.
“Haechan?” you said, your voice betraying a hint of surprise as you took a step back.
He grinned, that familiar cocky smile stretching across his face, and for a split second, it was like nothing had changed. He looked the same, mischievous, a little smug, like he owned the room. “Well, if it isn’t my favorite ex,” he teased, his tone light, playful, and annoyingly familiar. “Didn’t think I’d run into you at a party like this. What, you're still hanging around Jaemin now?”
You rolled your eyes. “What are you doing here?” The question was almost rhetorical. You knew the answer already. Hewas always invited to the parties by friends from other schools. He liked to show up like he was the main event, making everything about him.
“Got invited by a friend,” Haechan shrugged, leaning casually against the wall. “I have to make the rounds, you know? Plus, I didn’t know you were still hanging around Jaemin’s chaos,” he added with a smirk.
You didn’t know how to answer that. Haechan had always had a way of making you feel like you were lucky to be in his orbit. Like he was the main character of some long, complicated, irritating drama and you were just his supporting cast, at least when you were together. You hadn’t seen him in months, but somehow, it felt like nothing had changed. The bickering, the sarcasm, the way he made everything feel so effortlessly about him, it was all there, like he had never left.
“So,” Haechan continued, ignoring your coldness, “how’s life been since… well, you know. Since we ended?” He said the word “ended” with a raised eyebrow, almost like he was challenging you to respond.
You raised an eyebrow, meeting his gaze. "It’s been a while, Haechan," you said, your voice steady but laced with the underlying weariness of someone who'd been around him long enough to know how he worked. "A long while."
Haechan chuckled, that low, teasing sound you remembered all too well. "Yeah, well... it’s hard to forget the unforgettable," he said, leaning closer, as if trying to provoke a reaction. But it didn’t come. You weren’t the same person who’d let him make everything about him anymore. The annoying arrogance, the passive-aggressive jokes, they just didn’t have the same effect on you anymore.
The last time you saw him, it had been a mess of emotions, of things unsaid and doors closed for good. You didn’t hateHaechan; there was no real hatred there, just an exhausting chapter that had ended a long time ago. It was more like you’d grown tired of the person he used to be when you were together. And yet, here he was, still doing what he did best: irritating you and somehow making it feel like a reunion.
"So, what? You just show up at random parties now?” you asked, trying to steer the conversation in a direction that wasn’t going to bring up old baggage.
Haechan shrugged, the casualness in his posture belying the way his eyes still darted around, like he was always on the hunt for something to stir up. “I have my connections. I like to keep people on their toes. You know me.”
“I do know you,” you responded dryly. "You're good at that."
His lips twitched into a smirk. "And what about you? Reconnecting with Jaemin? You two seem like trouble.”
“I could say the same about you,” you shot back, your tone more playful now. It was a relief, honestly. The sting of his old antics had softened with time. It had been a long time since the two of you were anything more than exes, and despite how things ended, you had learned to be civil. He had changed a bit too, slightly less arrogant, more... self-aware, maybe.
“True,” Haechan agreed, stepping back and leaning against the counter with that same old relaxed demeanor. “But I don’t mind causing trouble. It’s who I am.”
You sighed, looking over at the rest of the party as people danced and mingled in the background. "Well, I’m not here to cause trouble," you muttered, more to yourself.
“I’m just here for the entertainment,” Haechan said, eyes glinting with that familiar mischievousness. "And to see how long it takes for Jaemin to start a dance off."
You glanced at him, your lips curling into a faint smile. “Honestly, I wouldn’t bet against him.”
For a moment, the silence between you and Haechan felt... comfortable…which was something you never expected to say when it came to him. The teasing was still there, but it didn’t feel as suffocating as it once did. Maybe it was because enough time had passed that the sharp edges of your old relationship had dulled. Whatever the reason, you realized you weren’t actively annoyed anymore.
Haechan noticed the change too. His smirk softened into a more genuine smile, like he was surprised, but also a little relieved. "You know," he started, shifting a little on his feet, "I forgot how easy it is to mess with you."
"Yeah, well," you shrugged, your lips curling into a small grin. "You’ve always been good at that."
He let out a low laugh, the kind that made you smile a little too. "I’m not that bad, am I?"
You rolled your eyes, but the tension between you two was finally gone. “You’re definitely a dumbass,” you said, but there was no bite to it. You were laughing now, genuinely laughing.
“Dumbass?” he feigned offense, putting a hand to his chest. "That hurts, Y/N. You wound me." He looked up, dramatically placing a hand over his forehead. "You know, I do have feelings, too."
"Uh-huh," you responded sarcastically, but there was no annoyance in your voice, just amusement. "Sure, you do, Haechan."
He grinned, the cocky attitude still there, but it was different. It wasn’t irritating anymore. “I always did,” he said with a wink, then paused. “Look, I know we didn’t exactly part on the best terms, but... I’m glad you don’t hate me anymore. That’s a relief.”
You blinked, surprised at the sincerity in his voice. It caught you off guard. The Haechan you knew would never have said something like that, not in a million years. He was always too busy playing the role of the annoyingly cocky ex. But this was... different.
“I don’t hate you,” you said quietly, catching his eyes. “I mean, it was annoying when you acted like you were the main character of everything, but we’re adults now. I can be civil with you.”
His smirk returned, but it was softer now, more relaxed. "Good. 'Cause you know, I’ve changed a little. Not much, I'm still the same charming guy you definitely remember. But, you know... less of the pissy attitude."
You raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Is that a promise?"
"Maybe," he teased, but there was something in his eyes that made you believe him.
You smiled, just faintly, before your gaze wandered again, eyes scanning across the growing crowd, the shifting lights, the blur of moving bodies. You weren’t even being subtle about it, not really. You were looking for someone. Waiting, hoping. But nothing. Just strangers. Too many faces that weren’t the one you were hoping to see.
Haechan leaned in a little, his grin tugging wider as he watched you scan the room for the third time in less than a minute. “Okay,” he said, with that all too familiar smirk. “Now who are you actually looking for?”
You blinked, caught, but didn’t turn to him just yet.
“Oh, don’t even try to deny it,” he added, voice low and amused. “You’ve been doing that weird head-tilt thing for the past five minutes. Who’s the lucky guy? An enemy? A secret hookup? A crush? Should I be concerned?”
You huffed a quiet laugh. “You’re so dramatic.”
He gasped. “You’re deflecting. That’s worse.”
Finally, you gave in, leaning against the counter next to him, arms crossed. “Fine. There’s someone I was kinda... hoping to run into tonight.”
“Oooooh.” He grinned wider, already way too smug. “So there is someone. Is it someone I know?”
“No. You don’t know him.”
Haechan repeated it under his breath. “Jeno... hmm. Doesn’t ring a bell. What’s the story there?”
You hesitated, your fingers absentmindedly tapping the edge of the counter. “We used to date,” you admitted. “Broke up a while ago. Not messy. Just... complicated, I guess.”
Haechan raised an eyebrow, mock gasp now gone. “Wait. You got complicated?”
You shot him a look. “Don’t act surprised.”
“I’m just saying,” he shrugged. “Back then you always pretended like relationships didn’t get to you.”
“That was a long time ago,” you muttered. “And he wasn’t like you.”
He tilted his head. “Ouch.”
“Not like that,” you added, though a small smirk tugged at your lips. “Jeno’s... quiet. Sweet. Kind of awkward in a weirdly charming way. You’d probably make fun of him, actually.”
“Probably,” Haechan said without hesitation, but his expression was more thoughtful now. “So you’re hoping to bump into him here?”
You nodded, keeping your tone casual, but your fingers hadn’t stopped tapping. “Jaemin invited me. And he said Jeno might come.”
Haechan followed your gaze across the room once more, then back to you. “And if he doesn’t?”
You paused. “Then he doesn’t. It’s whatever.”
But it wasn’t really whatever. Haechan didn’t say anything for a moment, just looked at you. Then he nudged your shoulder lightly, and to your surprise, it wasn’t in a teasing way. “Well,” he said, “I hope he does show. Not because I care, obviously, but just so I can judge if he’s worthy of your recent emotional glow-up.”
You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling again. “You’re still such a menace.”
“And you still love it,” he replied with a wink.
The night kept moving around you, music pulsing louder, lights strobing against the high ceilings, drinks changing hands like candy. More people filtered into the frat house, most of them strangers to you, all of them louder than necessary. But you didn’t really hear any of it. Your eyes kept wandering. Every few minutes, they’d drift toward the entrance like your brain had given up pretending you weren’t still hoping.
Haechan was long gone now, dragged into a chaotic game of beer pong he swore he didn’t care about but was now shouting over like his pride was on the line. You weren’t sure how long you stood near the back of the room, nursing your drink, letting the buzz of the party blur around you.
Not in the music. Not in the air, really. But in you. Because your gaze flicked toward the door out of habit, and this time, there he was.
You nearly choked on your drink, not because of the sight of him, but because it really was him. Not just the version you remembered from late night calls or old photos or hazy thoughts on days where you let your mind wander too far. This was present-tense Jeno, walking through the door like he wasn’t two hours late and like he hadn’t just set your heartbeat into a minor panic.
He looked good, too good, honestly. Hair is a little messy like he’d run his fingers through it one too many times. A plain hoodie layered under a denim jacket. He wasn’t trying, but somehow that made it worse. He always did look better when he wasn’t trying.
And then, as if pulled by some invisible thread, his eyes found you across the room. You blinked. He blinked. Neither of you moved.
You waved. A small, awkward one.
He hesitated, then waved back. Same awkward energy.
The people between you parted just enough for him to make his way over, and it was only when he was five feet away that it hit you just how stupidly long it had been since you were in front of each other like this, no screen, no late-night buffering or muted mics, no text bubbles... just him.
“Hey,” he said, standing slightly too stiff.
“Hey,” you replied, already fighting a smile because God, he looked nervous.
He scratched the back of his neck. “This is weird, right? This feels weird.”
You laughed, soft, unsure. “Yeah. Definitely weird.”
You both looked around at the same time, pretending to be casual, as if the wall behind you was fascinating. Then, almost at once, you made eye contact again. He smiled, small, a little crooked. The same one that used to make your chest feel warm for no reason.
You tilted your head. “You came.”
“I almost didn’t,” he admitted. “But... I kind of figured I’d regret it if I didn’t.”
There was a pause, quiet, a little charged, but still gentle. Jeno shifted his weight like he wasn’t sure what to do with his hands.
“Do you wanna... maybe go somewhere less loud?” he asked. “Not like leave-leave, just... somewhere we don’t have to scream over the music?”
You nodded before he even finished. “Yeah. I was thinking the same thing.”
He smiled again, relieved, and motioned for you to follow him, his steps still awkward but the way he glanced back to check if you were behind him made something flutter in your chest.
It was weird. It was awkward.
But it was also him. And you.
And somehow, that made it kind of perfect.
The backyard wasn’t much, but it was quiet. A string of half-working fairy lights zigzagged over a fence that had definitely seen better days, and there were a few foldable chairs scattered around a fire pit that hadn’t been lit. The thump of the music was dulled by the walls behind you, replaced by the gentle hum of night air and distant shouting from inside.
Jeno stood beside you, just far enough to feel the space, just close enough for the tension to settle there between your elbows. You hadn’t said anything yet, both of you standing awkwardly still, looking everywhere but at each other. It should’ve been uncomfortable. But somehow, it wasn’t.
It was almost... peaceful.
He shifted beside you, hands stuffed in his pockets, then looked at you from the corner of his eye. You met his gaze, your expression somewhere between soft and amused.
And just as the words started forming on his lips—
Jaemin’s voice cut through the moment like a car alarm at 2 a.m.
You barely had time to brace yourself before both of his arms swung around your shoulders and Jeno’s in one dramatic swoop, locking you in like he was about to start singing a football chant.
“There’s my two favorite introverts!” Jaemin declared, grinning wildly, cheeks flushed pink with alcohol. “God, look at you guys, so broody, so serious. This isn’t a therapy session! It’s a party!”
“Jaemin,” you croaked, your shoulder squished against Jeno’s.
“Dude,” Jeno muttered, barely holding in a laugh as he tried not to fall over. “I think you broke my spine.”
“Nonsense,” Jaemin grinned, tightening his arms. “You two needed this. Fresh air. Moonlight. Tension.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “Is that what this is? Did I interrupt a moment?”
You turned your head just enough to glare at him. “I’m going to throw you into the bushes.”
He gasped, dramatically offended. “You wouldn’t dare! You love me.”
“I regret every memory I have of you.”
Jeno chuckled under his breath, and when you looked at him again, he was already smiling down at the grass, his cheeks tinted red, not just from the cold. Your annoyance with Jaemin dissolved a little at that.
“I’m gonna go make more drinks!” Jaemin announced suddenly, peeling himself off the both of you with a theatrical spin. “Don’t hook up without me!”
“You’re insane,” you called after him.
He winked. “You’re welcome.”
And just like that, he was gone, off to wreak havoc elsewhere.
You and Jeno stayed in place for a beat longer, shoulders still slightly touching from the aftermath.
“Very Jaemin,” you finished for him.
He laughed. You smiled. The moment had shifted, sure, but it hadn’t disappeared.
If anything, it just became a little lighter. A little easier.
Eventually, you and Jeno ended up in the conversation pit.
It sat a few steps below the main level of the backyard, a sunken rectangle framed by low, built-in benches and strung-up lights that flickered like lazy fireflies. In the middle, the fire pit glowed soft orange, flickering low but warm, as if someone had bothered to light it earlier and then promptly forgotten. The place was half-empty now, a few scattered red cups and someone’s abandoned flannel thrown across one bench. But for the most part, it was quiet. Yours.
You both sank into the bench across from the fire, the tension between you noticeably thinner now, carved out by Jaemin’s dramatic interruption and the way his ridiculous energy had somehow made everything feel... less fragile.
Jeno exhaled like he hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath since he walked in. Then he glanced sideways at you, a lopsided smile forming on his lips. “Okay. I actually think I needed him to do that.”
You huffed a soft laugh, curling your legs under you. “Tragic but true. His chaos really is a public service.”
Jeno leaned forward, elbows on his knees, gaze fixed on the small fire. “I was so sure this would be weird the whole night.”
“It was weird,” you pointed out, nudging his foot lightly with yours.
He grinned. “Yeah, but now it’s... I don’t know. Manageable weird.”
You nodded. “Tolerable weird.”
There was a short lull after that, the kind where neither of you rushed to fill it. Just the two of you, lit in soft orange glow, the fire crackling low between.
Then, Jeno shifted beside you, barely noticeable, like he was trying to psych himself up for something. He cleared his throat, eyes on the flames but not really seeing them. His hand moved to rub at the back of his neck, the classic Jeno Tell that something embarrassing was about to leave his mouth.
“I, um...” he started, voice a little hoarse. “You look really pretty tonight.”
You blinked, turning to him.
He didn’t look at you, at first. Just kept his eyes trained forward, brows drawn, his knee bouncing slightly.
“I mean, not just tonight. You always do. I just—” he laughed under his breath, flustered. “I don’t know why I said it like that.”
Your chest tightened in that dumb, nostalgic way. his way.
He finally glanced at you, nervous and boyish and real.
“I noticed you the second I walked in,” he admitted, a little more quietly. “Even with all the noise and people. It’s stupid, but... I guess I still do that. Look for you.”
That was the thing about Jeno. He wasn’t the loud type, never had been. But when he said things, when he meant them, it always hit in that quiet, aching way. Like a whisper that somehow left a mark.
You didn’t say anything at first. You didn’t need to.
Because even in the stillness, in the way your gaze softened and stayed on him longer than you should’ve let it, in the gentle shift of your leg brushing against his under the bench—
It was enough to let him know you heard him.
That maybe, you still looked for him too.
The fire cracked again, low and warm, painting soft shadows across Jeno’s face. He was already handsome in that quiet, clean-cut way, but right now, smiling shyly at you, cheeks flushed in the glow, he looked like the kind of boy you couldn’t unlove, even if you tried.
He wasn’t even doing much. Just sitting beside you, nerves in his shoulders, foot tapping gently against the dirt. But he looked happy in a way that felt familiar. A little more free. A little more like the Jeno you used to know, but softer around the edges. A version you hadn’t quite gotten to meet before.
And somehow, you realized, you wanted to.
“You got better at this,” you murmured, half-teasing but mostly sincere. “Talking. The awkward stammering is still there, but, y’know... you’re saying stuff now.”
He let out a breathy laugh, glancing down like you’d caught him. “Yeah. I’m trying.”
You tilted your head. “Why now?”
His fingers played with the hem of his sleeve, brushing over the frayed threads. “Because I didn’t want to mess this up. Again. Not even just with us, but... talking to you like a person. I don’t think I really did that properly when we were together.”
That surprised you a little. But not in a bad way.
It was honest. Not overdramatic. Just real.
“You weren’t that bad,” you said gently.
“I could’ve been better,” he said, then looked at you. “You deserve someone who could talk to you about things. Not just be there and hope you understood.”
The way he said it made your heart squeeze. Because it wasn’t just an apology. It was him seeing you now, not just as someone he used to date, but someone he still wanted to understand.
You smiled, a little helplessly, trying not to get pulled too deep too fast. “I think we both weren’t the best versions of ourselves back then.”
He nodded, like that thought had comforted him too. “But it’s weird, right? Sitting here now... it doesn’t feel like the past.”
Your eyes flicked to him again. He was looking at you in that way. The way someone does when they think you're beautiful, even when you're not trying. Even when all you're doing is sitting there and talking about things that used to hurt.
And you realized he looked beautiful too. But not in the shallow way. In the someone-loves-you way. In the way people start to glow when you remember how safe they once made you feel. In the way his smile made you want to keep saying things, just to keep it on his face.
“It doesn’t,” you whispered.
And for a moment, there was nothing heavy in the air. Just a feeling that something had shifted. That maybe it wasn’t about getting back what you had. Maybe it was about what you were learning now.
Maybe Jeno was becoming someone you could fall for all over again.
And maybe, this time, he’d be ready too.
Time passed the way it always does at parties like these, blurry around the edges, slipping through fingers like beer foam and laughter. You weren’t even sure when exactly you’d gotten drunk, only that your cup had been suspiciously full every time Jaemin was nearby, and that somewhere between fire pit conversations and leaning into Jeno’s shoulder when you laughed too hard, your limbs had gone warm and heavy and loose.
“One drink,” you had told Jaemin earlier that night.
To which he had responded, “Perfect! One drink... every round!”
Now, here you were, definitely a few rounds deep and being dragged, physically, by Jaemin’s octopus arms into the middle of the backyard where the music was louder, the lights a little harsher, and a rowdy circle of people had started gathering.
“Don’t you dare bail on me!” he yelled gleefully, arms thrown over both your and Jeno’s shoulders like he was the ringleader of some stupid, beautiful circus. “You’re in this with me now!”
Jaemin reeked of tequila and victory. You, of regret.
Jeno, on the other hand, looked both amused and horrified. He was pink in the cheeks, grinning helplessly, clearly not sure if he should resist or just let the night consume him.
Before you knew it, someone had handed you another drink, someone else was screaming rules to a game you were definitely not sober enough to follow, and someone else, probably Jaemin again, was shouting “Truth or Drink!” like it was a holy rite.
You ended up sitting cross-legged on the grass beside Jeno, who was still trying to figure out if he’d been dared to kiss someone or confess a crush. You leaned into his side, giggling, and he looked down at you with this kind of panicked softness like how did we get here?
His eyes crinkled as he laughed, the sound loose and genuine. You barely remembered what he’d said, only that he fumbled it with his usual awkward charm, and Jaemin cheered anyway like it was the most heroic answer of the night.
It was dumb. It was chaotic. It was a mess.
But it was also kind of perfect. Because somehow, somewhere between Jeno’s flushed cheeks and your shared glances, between the blurry warmth in your chest and the way he kept finding you in the circle even when he wasn’t looking—
It started to feel like maybe you weren’t just having fun.
Maybe you were remembering what it felt like to have him.
After that, everything else blurred.
Not like a movie blur. Not poetic or soft-focus. More like your brain had dropped the camera and you were just catching glitchy little flashes of the night, Jaemin fake crying when he lost a round, someone chanting your name, Jeno’s laugh way too close to your ear, your own voice louder than you ever remembered being.
The grass was colder than expected. Someone poured a shot wrong and it dripped down your wrist. At one point, you and Jeno were shouting and laughing about something dumb, someone’s outfit? a game rule? the way Jaemin tried to flirt with the Bluetooth speaker?
It was all a mess of light and sound and heat. Spinning. Sparkling. Too much and not enough.
And then it wasn’t anything at all.
You didn’t even remember saying goodbye. Or finding a bed. Or if you’d even made it back to your dorm or someone else’s couch. All you knew was that your limbs felt heavy, your head was swimming, and the last coherent thought that passed through your mind before the blackout hit was—
Never. Go to a party with Jaemin again.
But in the deepest corner of your drunk, scrambled brain, one memory still hovered quietly, Jeno’s arm brushing yours in the circle, his shy smile meeting yours through the chaos, like some kind of quiet tether in the loudest storm.
It stayed with you. Even in the dark.
You woke up to the worst headache of your life.
Your brain was pulsing behind your eyes, your mouth felt like someone had stuffed it with cotton and regret, and your entire body aches like you'd run a marathon in heels. The ceiling above you spun in gentle, taunting circles, and the faintest movement made your stomach lurch with the elegance of a dying fish.
You groaned. Soft. Pitiful. Dying-star-level miserable.
For a second, you debated not opening your eyes again. Maybe if you just laid still long enough, you could ascend. Or at least fall back asleep and deal with the consequences of last night sometime next year.
And that's when the panic started to override the pain.
Your eyes cracked open against the hint of daylight streaming in from a cracked window, and you slowly, so slowly, turned your head. The room was unfamiliar but not unrecognizable. Posters on the walls, a neatly cluttered desk, a jacket you remember seeing on someone slung over a chair—
Then, just a few feet away from where you were (thankfully) lying fully clothed on top of a blanket-covered bed...
Jeno. On the floor. In a sleeping bag.
Sprawled out. Mouth slightly open. One arm crooked above his head like he’d just crash-landed there mid-dream.
And tall. Why the hell was he so tall even when horizontal?
It hit you then, all at once.
The party. The drinks. Jaemin’s screeching laughter. The fire pit. The circle. The moment you think you saw Jeno staring at you for a little too long, right before everything turned to confetti in your memory.
You squeezed your eyes shut and muttered under your breath, voice barely audible through the pain.
“Never. Ever. Go to a party with Jaemin again.”
But even as you said it, a flicker of something warm pressed against your headache, like maybe, just maybe, there was something worth remembering about last night. Even if it was buried under a hundred shots and Jaemin's devil-level influence.
And sleeping bag or not, Jeno being here wasn’t the worst way to wake up.
You debated going back to sleep and pretending none of this was real.
Unfortunately, your bladder had other plans.
With a wince and a groan that could rival a dying engine, you slowly swung your legs over the side of the bed and stood. Bad idea. The room tilted dangerously. You grabbed the bedpost like it was a lifeline.
Jeno didn’t stir. Still dead asleep in his sleeping bag like some sort of angelic camper who happened to be six feet tall and unfairly pretty.
Bathroom. That was your goal. You just had to find it without making it obvious that you’d woken up in a boy’s room, in a frat house, with zero recollection of how you even made it here last night.
You stepped into the hallway, squinting like a vampire. The air smelled like yesterday’s pizza and someone’s citrus body spray. The house was surprisingly quiet, save for a distant TV somewhere and a faint hum of voices.
Your plan was to locate the bathroom, do your business, and sneak back to pretend you were never seen.
What actually happened was that you took two turns, opened one wrong door (a closet full of cereal boxes—why?), and ended up walking straight into the kitchen.
Where four of the frat boys were gathered like it was the morning after a camping trip and not a rager. The only reason you recognize their names being the slideshow Jaemin had made for you beforehand which you are incredibly grateful for at this moment.
Johnny was standing barefoot at the stove in sweatpants and a tank top, flipping pancakes like this was a resort and not a frat house. Yuta leaned against the counter with a mug in his hand, shirtless, of course, because of course he was. Jaehyun sat at the island with his hair pushed back and a banana in one hand like a casual health icon. And Winwin… well, he was seated silently, staring at a glass of water like it had personally wronged him.
All four turned to you at once.
You froze like a criminal. In their kitchen. In last night’s clothes. In a house you definitely didn’t belong in.
“Oh,” you blurted. “Uh. Sorry— I was just looking for the bathroom.”
Johnny’s face split into a grin immediately. “You’re good. Welcome to our place.”
Yuta raised his mug. “Water’s over there. Pancakes in fifteen if you survive.”
Jaehyun gave a little nod, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “You Jeno’s friend?”
You blinked. “I— uh… I guess? I mean, yeah. I mean, we… It’s not like that. I was just—”
“You stayed over?” Winwin asked flatly, still staring at his water.
You were about to stutter your way through a clarification when Jaemin came bounding into the kitchen like a menace, hair a mess, eyes bleary but mischievous.
“THERE SHE IS!” he shouted, arms out like you were a long-lost cousin. “My drinking buddy! You’re alive!”
“Barely,” you muttered as he threw an arm over your shoulder, ignoring the way you winced.
“She was with Jeno,” Jaemin told the room smugly, grabbing a cup of water for you like a weirdly competent caretaker. “Slept in his room. Nothing happened— he’s too awkward for that. But still. That’s something.”
Johnny laughed. Yuta looked like he was about to make a comment but mercifully sipped his coffee instead. Jaehyun looked amused in the most terrifyingly quiet way. Winwin blinked and looked away like not my business.
“Bathroom’s that way,” Johnny said, pointing. “Second door on the left.”
You mumbled a thank you and practically power walked out of the kitchen, cheeks burning, water in hand.
Frat boys. Too calm. Too casual. Too themselves.
But the weirdest part? As embarrassing as it was…
It was like stepping into a sitcom. Loud, chaotic, and far too comfortable for a stranger. And maybe… maybe that made sense.
Because if Jeno belonged here, shy, gentle Jeno, then it made sense the whole place felt strangely safe.
Even if you were now known as the girl who woke up in his room.
After finally finding the bathroom, you took a moment to splash cold water on your face and stare at yourself in the mirror.
Hair: a mess.
Eyes: bloodshot.
Vibe: slightly feral but functioning.
You patted your cheeks and muttered something about survival before stepping back out, intending to make a direct route to Jeno’s room and pretend none of this ever happened. But the smell of pancakes still lingered in the hallway like bait, and against your better judgment you found yourself drifting back toward the kitchen.
Jaemin was there waiting like he knew you’d return, leaning against the wall with two mugs in his hands.
“Water or black coffee?” he asked, lifting both.
You took the water. “Don’t push your luck.”
He smirked. “Wasn’t planning to. You looked like you were about to pass out in the hallway earlier.”
“Because you got me drunk.”
You rolled your eyes but followed him back into the kitchen anyway, pulled in by the gravitational field that was this oddly welcoming frat breakfast scene.
Yuta was now flipping through a Spotify playlist on the speaker, still sipping his coffee like he had no hangover to speak of. Johnny was plating pancakes with a level of precision that made you question his frat boy status. Jaehyun was still lounging with that unreadable expression, and Winwin had somehow found a way to look peaceful and over it at the same time.
Then came the sudden sound of footsteps thundering down the stairs.
“Oh hello stranger!” he sing-songed the moment he laid eyes on you, arms already open like a long-lost relative at the airport.
Jaemin didn’t. “She’s new. Be gentle.”
“Oh, I’m always gentle,” Jungwoo said with a friendly grin, stopping just short of invading your personal space. “I’m Jungwoo, by the way. Resident extrovert. I talk too much but I mean well.”
You blinked at him. “Y/N. Resident hangover victim. I don’t talk much but I mean well.”
A beat passed before Jungwoo stepped forward and hugged you anyway.
And just like that, the tension broke.
You sat on one of the stools at the island while Jaemin hovered beside you, not overbearing, just present. Yuta offered you syrup. Johnny asked how you were holding up. Jaehyun raised a brow when you said “better now,” like he didn’t fully buy it, but he let it slide.
Even Winwin passed you the butter.
Jungwoo, of course, wasted no time pulling you into some chaotic conversation about weird college majors, conspiracy theories about vending machines, and how Yuta once accidentally microwaved a fork and claimed it was “for science.”
You weren’t even fully following the topics, but it didn’t matter.
You were laughing. Deep and sore from the stomach kind. The kind that made your headache feel like background noise.
The frat house wasn’t what you expected. Less beer pong, more oddly sweet domestic chaos. And even though you were still wearing your clothes from last night and smelled like bad decisions, you weren’t being judged. You weren’t an outsider.
You were Jaemin’s friend.
And for some reason… that earned you a place at the table.
“Alright,” Jaemin said, bumping his shoulder against yours after a while, “you survived initiation. You’re one of us now.”
You raised a brow. “Is that a good thing or a curse?”
“Bit of both,” Jungwoo said with a wink.
You snorted into your coffee, already dreading the inevitable teasing that would come once Jeno woke up.
You were cradling your mug of water like it held the secrets to the universe when a familiar presence crept into your peripheral vision.
A sleepy-looking Jeno hovered at the threshold of the kitchen, rubbing the heel of his hand against one eye. His hair was a soft mess, flattened slightly on one side, and his hoodie was bunched awkwardly like he’d thrown it on in a daze. The quiet confusion on his face as he took in the sight of you very much awake, chatting in the kitchen with half his frat was almost comedic.
“Oh,” he blinked. “You’re… here.”
“I didn’t break in, I swear,” you said, tilting your mug toward him.
That made a small laugh bubble out of him as he stepped further in, barefoot, clearly still half-asleep.
“You disappeared,” he said softly once he was close enough, voice scratchy with sleep but amused. “Woke up and thought you got kidnapped.”
“I was kidnapped,” you deadpanned, flicking your eyes toward Jaemin. “By him.”
“Hey,” Jaemin grinned, unbothered. “You liked the pancakes.”
Jeno’s gaze lingered on you a second longer, eyes trailing from the curve of your smile to the way your fingers curled around the mug. Then he ran a hand through his hair and looked away, suddenly bashful.
“Glad you’re… okay,” he said, almost too quietly.
You weren’t sure what it was, maybe it was the way his voice softened when it was just for you, or the way his eyes briefly locked with yours before flicking away but your stomach did this dumb little flip.
Jaehyun, without looking up from his phone, spoke up at the worst moment. “Jeno, your girl fits in. She’s been roasting Jaemin with us for the past ten minutes.”
Jeno blinked. “She’s not—”
“I’m not—” you said at the same time.
Jungwoo snorted. “They’re so in sync.”
Jaemin, of course, looked delighted. “I think we all knew this was inevitable.”
Your eyes met Jeno’s again, and he was already looking at you this time with cheeks faintly pink, lips fighting a smile.
You cleared your throat. “Anyway. Um. You’re awake.”
“Yeah. I’ll… be back. Just need to… wash up.”
And just like that, he disappeared down the hall again, hoodie sleeves too long and socks half-off his feet. You were still staring after him even after he’d left the room.
“Cute,” Jungwoo murmured under his breath, not even trying to hide it.
You sipped your water to hide your grin.
As soon as Jeno shuffled off toward the bathroom, you slumped back into your chair and let out a dramatic sigh.
“Okay,” you groaned, “does anyone here know how to cure a hangover that feels like it was crafted in a lab by demons?”
Winwin raised an eyebrow. “Water. Sleep. Regret.”
Johnny, seated at the counter munching on a granola bar like a dad who didn’t party the night before, offered, “I think bananas help. But also electrolytes. You need something salty, something sweet, and something with a soul.”
You blinked. “Something with a soul?”
He shrugged. “It’s how I survived my years here.”
Jaehyun tossed a pack of instant ramen across the counter toward you. “Here. It’s a frat house staple. You’re welcome.”
“You guys are weirdly prepared for this,” you mumbled, catching the ramen and squinting at the instructions like it would suddenly save your life.
“We live with Jaemin,” Yuta deadpanned.
“Fair,” you muttered, then paused. “Also… Jeno’s probably more hungover than me. He looked like death’s understudy just now.”
“Oh, Jeno’s a baby when it comes to drinking,” Jungwoo added, tone light. “He gets all red and apologetic, even if no one remembers what he did. It’s kind of adorable, actually.”
Yuta stood, heading toward one of the cabinets. “Alright, you’re on nurse duty then. We’ll help prep the supplies.”
A few minutes later, you left the kitchen with your arms full: water bottles, a banana, ibuprofen, and two mystery packets handed to you with suspicious smiles (Johnny called them “magic powders,” which wasn’t comforting).
As you tiptoed back into Jeno’s room, it was quiet again, dim morning light slipping through the blinds, the air smelling faintly of laundry detergent and whatever boy-scent Jeno always carried.
He was already back inside, hair damp and shirt changed, sitting cross-legged on his bed with a towel around his neck and the dazed look of someone trying to piece together what year it was.
When he saw you with the supplies, his eyes widened slightly. “You… didn’t have to.”
“I didn’t,” you said, dropping the bundle on the floor beside him before sitting down at the edge of the mattress. “But your little frat brothers basically volunteered me as tribute to nurse duty.”
He smiled, soft, slow, like it was sneaking up on him. “Thanks.”
You handed him water and a tablet. “Take this. And if it tastes weird, blame Johnny.”
He laughed under his breath. “That bad?”
You hummed. “He said it has a soul. So. Good luck.”
He took the tablet anyway, obedient as ever, but when he glanced back up at you, there was something a little quieter in his expression. Something gentle. Grateful.
“Seriously,” he said, voice a little hoarse, “thanks. For… sticking around.”
Your heart did a quiet little roll in your chest, but you played it off with a shrug.
“Someone had to make sure you didn’t wake up in a bush.”
He chuckled, dropping his head back against the wall. “That sounds like a Jaemin thing.”
There was a pause that was comfortable, warm. The kind where you both sat in the silence, not needing to say much. The hangover still throbbed, sure, but it didn’t feel so bad when he looked at you like that. Like you were some kind of constant.
He was quiet for a moment, looking down at the pill now resting in his hand like he was still debating whether it was friend or foe. You tilted your head, watching the slow way he moved. His posture was relaxed but heavy. His shoulders slouched more than usual, eyes just a little glassy.
“You’re still kinda drunk, aren’t you?”
That made you smile, the soft kind, the kind that lingers even when your mouth stops moving. “Lightweight.”
He let out a sleepy, sheepish sound and leaned his head back against the wall again. “You drank more than me. And you’re not dying.”
“I pace myself. You… don’t.”
“That’s not true,” he mumbled.
“You were doing shots with Jaemin, Jeno.”
He groaned, like even the memory hurt. “Oh my god. I forgot about that. Why would I do that?”
“Because you were trying to act chill in front of a bunch of strangers.”
“I am chill,” he insisted, then winced. “Okay. No, I’m not. Whatever.”
You let yourself really look at him for a second. His skin was still a little flushed in the cheeks, eyes soft from sleep and leftover alcohol. And maybe it was the light coming in through the blinds, or maybe it was just the morning stillness making everything feel a little suspended in air — but something about him looked clearer now. Easier to read.
He looked tired, yes. Hungover, for sure. But also a little… honest. Like all the walls he usually kept up had finally dropped somewhere between the alcohol and the sleep-deprivation. And he wasn’t trying to rebuild them yet.
“You look pretty like this,” you said before you could really think about it.
Jeno’s eyes flicked to you, wide and startled, like that was the last thing he expected to hear from you this morning.
“I mean—” you paused, awkwardly fumbling for a softer landing. “Just… you’re very you right now. Like you’re not trying to be anything else.”
He stared at you for a moment longer before something in his features softened. His smile wasn’t big, but it was real. Gentle. Quiet.
“Same to you,” he murmured, voice still a little rough. “You looked pretty last night, too. Like… really pretty.”
Your throat caught, but you tried to play it off with a breathy laugh. “Okay, you’re definitely still drunk.”
He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Maybe. But I mean it.”
There was another pause, but this time it wasn’t awkward. Just full.
You glanced at him again. “Do you remember much from last night?”
“Bits and pieces.” He looked toward you. “I remember you laughing a lot. I remember Jaemin trying to stack empty cups on my head. I remember you and I talking by the firepit.”
Your lips lifted at that. “That part was nice.”
“Yeah.” His voice dipped a little. “It was.”
There was something different about this version of him, this quieter Jeno, still a little disoriented, a little open, but… not shutting himself off. And in a strange, hungover sort of way, it felt like you two could talk about anything now. Even the things you never touched back then. Even the parts of yourselves you’d been afraid to show before.
It didn’t feel like stepping back into the past.
It felt like you’d finally met each other in the present.
“I feel like my bones are made of rice paper,” Jeno mumbled, curled into a very loose fetal position on his bed, the blanket barely clinging to his legs.
You stifled a laugh. “That’s oddly poetic.”
“I’m serious,” he groaned. “They’re soft. Like soggy crackers.”
“Soggy crackers don’t have bones.”
He blinked at you, his lips twitching into a lazy grin. “You always have a comeback, huh?”
“Someone has to keep you grounded.”
“I’m grounded.” He paused. “I’m just floppy right now.”
You shook your head with a quiet smile and passed him the banana you’d brought from the kitchen earlier. “Eat this. Your brain needs it.”
Jeno took it with both hands like it was the most fragile item in the world. Then peeled it with slow concentration, mumbling, “You’re kind of good at this. The whole… taking care of me thing.”
“I’ve had practice,” you teased, sitting cross-legged beside him.
He smiled again, that shy, scrunch-nosed one he did when he was trying to play cool but wasn’t really fooling anyone. “I didn’t let you take care of me before, huh?”
You tilted your head at him.
“I mean,” he clarified softly, “back then. I never really let you see me when I wasn’t fine.”
That tugged something in your chest. A soft ache, but not the painful kind. The kind that made you want to pull him into a hug and tuck him under your chin like some delicate creature learning how to be held.
“No,” you admitted. “But I think you wanted to.”
Jeno didn’t reply right away. He just nodded, eyes down on his half-eaten banana like it had the answers to all his repressed emotions. Then—
“I get weird when I like someone a lot,” he blurted. “Like I try too hard to seem normal.”
He kept going. “And then I get quiet ‘cause I’m scared I’ll mess it up. But then I end up messing it up anyway.”
He looked at you finally, cheeks pink, lips slightly pouty. “What?”
You gave him a small smile. “You’re being very… you right now.”
He blinked. “Is that bad?”
“No. It’s actually… really nice.”
Jeno sat up straighter, like a sleepy kitten finding its balance. “You think I’m nice?”
“I think you’re adorable,” you corrected.
He immediately groaned, collapsing dramatically against your shoulder. “Stop. I’m not strong enough for this.”
“You’re clingy when you’re tipsy.”
He hummed, not moving from your side. “Only with people I like.”
Your heart fluttered, maybe because it sounded almost like a confession. Or maybe because you knew it wasn’t just the alcohol talking. This was Jeno, in his softest form. Unfiltered. Comfortable. His weight against your side, his voice gentle, his presence warm and unguarded. This was the Jeno he never let the world see. And now he was here, leaning on you, whispering his habits and fears like you were safe.
And in that moment, you understood: he’d always wanted to be seen like this. Not as the cold, quiet guy people assumed he was. But as this shy, sweet, full of funny little thoughts and awkward bursts of honesty. Someone a little clumsy with his feelings, but not afraid to show them anymore.
You let him rest there a bit longer, letting the quiet sit between you like it belonged. Jeno was always worth waiting for. But this version of him, warm, talkative, lovable, felt like he was finally ready to be heard.
The room was still dim, sunlight barely filtering through the blinds, casting soft lines across the walls and carpet. You were both leaning back against the headboard now, Jeno freshly washed but still a little bleary, hair damp and cheeks flushed from warmth and residual tipsiness. He looked gentler like this. Sleepy, loose-limbed, and unguarded in a way that made him seem almost younger.
Your fingers were fidgeting at the edge of the blanket, just idly tracing the fabric, until Jeno’s hand quietly slipped into yours.
It wasn’t dramatic, no big lead-up, no question. Just a shy but sure movement, like he’d been wanting to for a while now but hadn’t known how to ask. His thumb brushed lightly over yours as if to test the waters, and when you didn’t pull away, he relaxed beside you.
You glanced at him, catching the soft grin curling his lips.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he muttered.
“Like you think this is cute.”
He groaned and tilted his head back with a dramatic sigh. “You’re going to bully me again.”
You laughed. “I’ve been nothing but nurturing to you this morning.”
“I brought you a banana and Advil.”
“And you called me a clingy lightweight.”
“You are a clingy lightweight.”
Jeno gave you a sulky side eye, but the corners of his mouth twitched up again like he couldn’t hold it. “You like it though.”
You squeezed his hand gently. “Maybe I do.”
He went quiet for a moment, his gaze dropping to your intertwined fingers, the rhythm of his thumb moving again. It was steady, almost absentminded like his body had found a new kind of muscle memory with you. Something small, but comforting.
“Feels like we’re… fitting better now,” he said softly.
You didn’t say anything at first. Just let his words hang in the air, soaking into the walls of the room you’d once walked away from each other in. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable. It was filled with the kind of peace that only came from mutual understanding, like all the pieces were finally softening into the right place.
“I think we’re learning each other better,” you eventually replied. “Or maybe just letting each other in more.”
He hummed, the sound low and pleased, before leaning his head to lightly bump against yours. “You make me brave.”
You smiled to yourself, turning slightly to nudge your nose against his cheek. “You were always brave. You just needed someone who didn’t make you feel like you had to hide.”
His ears went red again, but he didn’t hide his face this time. He just sat there, hand in yours, smile tugging the corners of his mouth, eyes soft.
There was nothing loud about it, no big declarations, no dramatic gestures. Just two people finding their way back. Quiet, natural, and easy. Like slipping into a version of home you didn’t realize you’d missed until it was right beside you again.
And neither of you said it out loud, but the way you both held on, fingers interlaced, shoulders brushing, said enough for now.
The silence was warm. Your thumb was tracing lazy shapes against Jeno’s knuckles now, and he hadn’t let go once, not even when his eyes fluttered shut for a second, like he was just soaking in the comfort of you being there.
His head rested gently against yours, breaths syncing, the kind of quiet where the world felt smaller. Softer. A private bubble that neither of you wanted to pop.
Which was, of course, the exact moment the door creaked open.
“Am I interrupting something?” came a too casual voice, laced with amusement.
Your heads snapped toward the doorway, both of you a little too slow, like being yanked from a dream. Johnny stood leaning against the frame, arms crossed, eyebrows up. The faint smirk on his face said he knew exactly what he’d walked in on.
Jeno, to his credit, tried to stay cool. But the boy could barely keep his voice level when he replied, “N-no? Just talking.”
“Right,” Johnny nodded slowly, gaze flicking down to your still intertwined hands resting in your lap. “With your fingers braided together like some heart fluttering fanfic? Classic conversation pose.”
You rolled your eyes, but your cheeks betrayed you, warmth rushing up your neck fast enough to match Jeno’s. He had already covered his face with his free hand, letting out a strangled groan of embarrassment.
“We’re not—” he started, muffled behind his palm. “It’s not like—”
“Hey, I’m not judging,” Johnny held up his hands. “I came to drop off extra water bottles. But clearly I’ve walked in on, like, a Moment.”
You gave Jeno a look, one that teetered between should we defend ourselves and just let it die. He was too busy melting into his own hoodie, so you turned to Johnny with a sweet smile instead.
“Thanks, Johnny. You can leave the water on the desk and pretend none of this happened.”
Johnny grinned as he set them down. “My lips are sealed. But if Jaemin hears about it, it’s definitely not from me.”
Jeno let out a pitiful whine, and you reached up to pat his arm as Johnny backed out, still smug.
And just like that, your bubble had a few fingerprints on it. But when Jeno turned to look at you again, a little bashful, still pink-cheeked, but smiling, it was obvious neither of you minded.
The first few days after that awkward yet somehow sweet moment passed by in a blur, but with each one, it became easier to slip into the rhythm of their world. Even though you weren’t part of the same university, Jaemin’s frat house had quickly become a place where you felt like you belonged, at least on the periphery.
It wasn’t just the parties or the chaos that made you feel comfortable. It was the quiet moments in between. The hangovers. The random bursts of laughter. The lazy afternoons where you found yourself hanging out with the guys in the kitchen, watching them mess around and tell dumb jokes.
You’d grown used to the sound of Jaemin’s booming laugh echoing from the living room, of Johnny’s chill demeanor cutting through the stress of exams, of Yuta’s sarcasm punctuating every conversation like a clever little weapon. But, of course, Jeno was the one who had crept up on you.
At first, you didn’t think much of it. He was the quiet one, the one who hung back and watched, often keeping to himself when the group got rowdy. But the more time you spent with him, the more you realized just how much he wanted to be part of it all, how his introversion was more of a shield than anything else.
There was a softness to him, one that was reserved only for certain people, and, it seemed, that certain person might be you.
You began learning his habits, how he’d always stretch after waking up, pushing his arms above his head like he was trying to shake off the weight of sleep. Or how he always kept a spare hoodie around, just in case someone needed one, even if no one ever asked. You’d catch him humming when he thought no one was around, tapping his fingers along to some rhythm only he could hear.
And then there were the little things. His awkward smile whenever you caught him staring at you, his eyes shifting away too fast, like he hadn’t realized he was looking at you for too long. Or the way he’d quietly help with something without asking for attention like grabbing a cup of water when you were tired, offering you his hoodie when it was cold, brushing off your hair when it fell in your face.
It was in these quiet moments that you realized how much he cared. How much he really cared.
And the rest of the guys? You got to know them in different ways too. Jaemin, as always, was the loudest, but his personality didn’t just shine in the parties. When he was serious, when he wasn’t trying to put on a show, he was surprisingly thoughtful, always trying to make sure everyone felt included. You learned that despite his chaotic energy, he was one of the most self aware in the house.
Johnny, too, had a way of making you feel at ease. He wasn’t one to force deep conversations, but when he spoke, his words had weight. He made everyone around him feel like they could be themselves, and that meant more than any joke he cracked or teasing he gave.
Yuta had this quiet, almost cynical edge to him that you quickly realized was just his way of showing care. He’d never outright say something nice, but when he’d pull you aside with that sly grin, offering you a snack or joking about a class you didn’t care about, you knew he was showing you in his own way that you mattered.
It was Jungwoo, though, who became the ultimate surprise. The guy who you thought would be loud and obnoxious all the time turned out to be a mix of energy and warmth — the kind of guy who would talk your ear off but also sit with you quietly, offering a comforting presence without making a big deal out of it. He’d somehow always know when you needed cheering up, but never in an overbearing way.
And every day, you learn something new. Whether it was about their pasts, their quirks, or just the way they saw the world, it felt like the pieces of their personalities slowly pieced themselves together for you, bit by bit. You weren’t just an outsider anymore. You were part of the gang.
But through all of this, Jeno remained the one you’d come to rely on the most. As each day passed, you noticed more about him, how easily he got lost in his thoughts, how fiercely he protected the people close to him, and how much effort he put into the small things that made others feel cared for.
And every time you saw him smile, especially in those moments when his shyness melted away and he let his guard down with you, you couldn’t help but feel a flutter in your chest. You didn’t know where it was going, but there was something about him that made your heart race in a way that felt both familiar and new.
And the more time you spend near him on that creaky old couch in the living room, half listening to Jaemin yell at Jungwoo for stealing his snacks, or walking side by side to the nearest convenience store just to get drinks neither of you really needed, the more that feeling stuck with you. It followed you like a shadow. Quiet, but constant. Soft, but impossible to ignore.
Jeno had this way of making everything feel simple, even when your thoughts were anything but. He didn’t push or pry, but he listened. And when he did speak, it wasn’t filler. It was real. You found yourself looking forward to his little comments, the way he’d tilt his head slightly when you rambled, like he was actually trying to understand you instead of waiting for his turn to speak. The way he always sat a little closer now though never quite touching, but never too far either. That space in between felt... safe.
And you weren’t stupid. You noticed the way the others sometimes exchanged glances when you were around him. The smirks from Jaemin, the not so subtle eyebrow raises from Johnny. Even Winwin once muttered something under his breath that made Yuta laugh too hard for it to be innocent.
Still, no one said anything outright. Maybe they were waiting to see if you would.
You told yourself you were just friends. That this was nothing new, that people got close all the time. But you also knew better. There was a tenderness in how Jeno started waiting for you before meals, how he always found ways to check in, how his gaze lingered a little too long when you weren’t looking.
And you? You were softening too. Letting yourself smile more easily. Laugh louder. Stay longer.
It was strange. The kind of strange that didn’t feel scary. Just… unfamiliar.
So when Jeno’s hand brushed yours one evening while you were both leaning over the kitchen counter, pretending to argue about how much sugar to put in your tea, and neither of you pulled away, you didn’t look at him, but you didn’t move either. The silence stretched, warm and full.
That was the thing about him. He didn’t rush it. He didn’t need to. You were starting to fall, not just for the version of Jeno you once knew, but for the version he was now. The one that was slowly unfolding right in front of you.
And maybe, just maybe, he was falling too.
Just as your thoughts began to spiral soft, fluttery things that didn’t have a clear beginning or end, the front door clicked open. You blinked, momentarily forgetting that anyone but you had access to your apartment.
“Kkura?” you called, already halfway out of your room before she even shut the door behind her.
“Home sweet—” She didn’t even finish her sentence before you tackled her in a hug, practically knocking the suitcase out of her hand.
“You’re back,” you mumbled into her shoulder.
“You act like I’ve been gone for a year,” she laughed, squeezing you just as tight. “It was three weeks.”
“Three weeks of chaos,” you pulled away, eyes wide, face flushed with the overwhelming need to unload.
Kkura narrowed her eyes knowingly. “You have that face.”
“The I have something to tell you and it’s so much that I don’t even know where to start face.”
You stared at her. She wasn’t wrong.
She kicked off her shoes, wheeled her suitcase into the corner like it wasn’t about to sit there untouched for days, and flopped onto your couch like she owned the place. “Alright. Hit me.”
You didn’t need more prompting. The second you sat next to her, it was like your brain finally found the play button. You told her everything. The Jaemin invitation, the frat house party, the chaos that unfolded that night — “I blacked out, Kkura. With Jaemin. That should tell you everything.” — and then, of course, Jeno.
The way her eyes widened when you said his name alone was priceless.
“And you woke up in his room?”
“In a frat house, Kkura. In a frat house.”
“Oh my god, are you—” Kkura held up a hand, processing. “Are you part of a frat now? Is this a college AU? Did I miss a whole season of your life?!”
You laughed, flopping down next to her. “I’m basically a background character that snuck into the main plot. And no, I’m not in the frat—Jaemin’s just a menace who keeps dragging me to things. But they’re all nice, honestly. Like… way nicer than I expected.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Even Jeno?”
You hesitated. “Especially Jeno.”
There was a beat of silence before she raised a brow. “Uh-huh.”
You rolled your eyes and hugged a pillow to your chest. “Okay, okay, but that’s not the point. Point is, there’s another party coming up. They just finished exams, so they’re celebrating. Again.”
Kkura snorted. “Are they okay? Do they need hobbies?”
“They’re party-crazed but like… weirdly wholesome about it? It’s kind of endearing,” you said. “And they’re sweet. Loud. But sweet.”
She tilted her head. “So...?”
“So… Do you wanna come with me?”
There was a pause as Kkura considered it, then she gave you a teasing smirk. “Only if I get to wear something that makes frat boys cry.”
You grinned. “I’ll allow it.”
The mood eased after that. You were curled up in the comfort of old friendship, your heart a little lighter knowing you weren’t facing the chaos alone this time. Even though the last party had left your memory patchy and your head pounding, the thought of seeing Jeno again, this time with Kkura in the mix, felt exciting in a way you weren’t fully ready to admit.
Still, a part of you was nervous. Not because of the party itself, or even bumping into people you possibly know again but because Jeno had become something steady. And steady things had the power to shake you if they moved.
But that was something to worry about later.
For now, there was a party to prepare for. And a wardrobe to destroy in the process.
You were mid sentence, something about needing to find a top that said “I’m hot but approachable” when your phone buzzed on the coffee table.
You leaned forward and glanced at the screen.
[Jeno]: Are you free right now?
Your heart did that thing again. That subtle little flutter that made you both nervous and stupidly soft. The kind that was quiet but impossible to ignore.
Kkura leaned in, squinting. “Is that… Jeno?”
You blinked, sitting up straighter. “Maybe.”
She didn’t even hesitate and just snatched the pillow from your arms and tossed it across the room. “Go.”
“What?” you laughed. “I can’t just— what if he didn’t mean right now right now—”
Kkura was already standing, grabbing your hoodie and tossing it into your lap. “He literally said right now. You’re not gonna ghost a soft spoken cutie who somehow made it through the Hunger Games of frat life with his soul intact.”
You pulled the hoodie over your head, cheeks warming. “He’s just probably bored or something.”
“Bored of not being around you,” she shot back, folding her arms. “Go. I’ve been gone too long, I need to assess the boy who’s got you smiling at your phone like a loser.”
You stuck out your tongue at her but stood up anyway, fingers already texting back.
[You]: yeah i’m free, what’s up?
As you grabbed your bag and slid your shoes on, Kkura appeared in the hallway like a mom sending her kid off to school.
“Use protection. By that I mean sunscreen. But also, y’know, if you guys—”
The door shut behind you before she could say anything else, and you tried to pretend like your stomach wasn’t flipping as you walked down the street.
You didn’t even have to knock.
The door swung open before you could lift your hand, revealing Jeno with the biggest, most boyish grin on his face, one that made your chest warm in the most annoying, fluttery way possible.
“You’re here,” he said, and stepped back dramatically like he was unveiling something.
And then you burst out laughing.
He had set the entire room up like a movie marathon wonderland. Blankets stacked like a nest in the middle of the floor, a projector already on standby, popcorn in a giant mixing bowl, and what looked like an unnecessarily large lineup of snacks. There were also two pairs of matching slippers, one pink and one grey, set right by the makeshift blanket fort.
“Jeno,” you said slowly. “Did you… plan a theme?”
“Movie day,” he beamed. “It’s serious business.”
You stepped inside and kicked off your shoes, grinning at the sight of the pink slippers. “You got me bunny ones?”
“Of course,” he said, like it was obvious. “They looked like you.”
He bent down to grab the grey ones for himself just as Jaemin suddenly poked his head in from the hallway.
“You’re such a loser,” he announced to the room.
“Jaemin,” Jeno said without turning around, “Get out.”
But he was still smiling, that same soft expression you’d seen before when he was quietly grateful for this little pocket of peace with you. And even if the party was looming on the horizon, and even if your heart didn’t totally know what it was doing around Jeno just yet… Being here with him, warm and close and laughing, made the idea of showing up to another chaotic frat event feel less daunting. Almost comforting.
You weren’t sure what the party would bring, but for now, it was just Jeno and a movie you were definitely not watching, and the kind of quiet between two people that felt like something was slowly, gently growing.
The house was already buzzing by the time you and Kkura stepped out of the Uber. Actually, buzzing was an understatement, it was throbbing with noise and lights and people. The lawn was crawling with students you didn’t recognize, solo cups in every hand, music bleeding out of every open window, and a suspiciously large inflatable flamingo bobbing from the roof like it had claimed it as home.
You blinked. “Did they— did they rent a fog machine?”
Kkura stared with wide eyes. “Is that a DJ booth in the front yard? What the hell kind of end of exams party is this?”
“I told you they go too hard.” You tugged her arm gently as you stepped around two people tangled in glow necklaces and what looked like matching temporary tattoos. “This is three times worse than the last one.”
“Three times worse?” she repeated, looking around. “No, babe, this looks like it’s three times international. I swear that guy in the Lakers jersey just flew in from New York.”
There were bodies packed against every wall, music so loud it buzzed against your chest, and the sharp scent of beer and perfume mixing in the air like an olfactory warning sign. Still, there was something stupidly infectious about it, the hum of celebration, the wild laughter from someone trying to climb a tree for no reason, the lights flickering from inside like a club scene about to go off.
“Where are your people?” Kkura leaned in to shout over the music.
“They live here, remember?” you said, guiding her toward the side entrance. “Somewhere in this chaos are my favorite frat rats.”
You pushed open the door, the hallway instantly swallowing you in heat and overlapping conversations. It was wild. You didn’t think you’d seen this many students gathered in one place outside of a graduation ceremony.
Soon enough you were halfway through explaining to Johnny and Yuta how you once saw a guy chug half a gallon of milk at a party and immediately regret his life choices, when someone shoulder checked you from behind.
Not a hard bump, just enough to make you stumble slightly mid story.
“Woah—” you turned instinctively, hand still gesturing in the air, only to come face to face with—
“Oh no,” you muttered under your breath.
Because there he was, in the flesh and smiling like the human equivalent of a smirk: Haechan. Hair perfectly styled, drink in hand, and that familiar look of amused mischief glittering in his eyes.
Now, you would think the person who interrupted you was the face you’d been scanning for all night.
It was the face you never really expected to see once again... until the universe, in all its twisted humor, plopped him right back in front of you. Again.
“Y/N,” he greeted, like you’d just bumped into each other at a corner store. “You always pop up at these things when I least expect it.”
“You’re the one who popped me,” you deadpanned, one brow raising. “What are you even doing here? Again.”
Haechan shrugged, taking a sip. “What can I say? I’m a social butterfly. Got invited by a friend. I go where the good chaos is.”
Johnny, who was watching with vague interest, leaned in just enough to make it obvious. “Y/N,” he said casually, lips quirked up. “Friend of yours?”
You opened your mouth, closed it, and then sighed. “Uh... this is Haechan. We used to…date. A long time ago.” Feeling the embarrassment creep up your neck.
“Ohoho,” Yuta laughed, leaning closer with narrowed eyes and entirely too much enthusiasm. “Now this just got good.”
“Oh my god,” you muttered under your breath, glaring at them.
Haechan, the little shit, just grinned and raised his cup. “Pleasure. But don’t worry, I’m just here to admire from afar and mess with her for sport.”
Johnny gave him a knowing look. “Well, good luck, man. But don’t mess with her too much and keep a safe distance or else we might have to, you know…casually throw you out the second floor window.”
Yuta nodded. “Yeah. Casually.”
You rolled your eyes so hard you nearly ascended. “Jesus Christ.”
Haechan only laughed, completely unbothered. “Glad to see you’ve upgraded your bodyguards.”
And for a moment, despite the teasing, the noise, the crowded house, it felt surprisingly... easy. Not tense like it could’ve been. Just playful enough to feel like maybe, just maybe, the past really had faded behind the both of you. And honestly, that was a relief.
Until, of course, the boys started muttering something suspicious about how Jeno would loooove to hear about this.
You lingered with them a bit longer, the conversation swerving wildly between roasting Yuta’s ancient phone model and Johnny pretending to be your overly concerned fake older brother, asking Haechan questions like:
“So, what are your intentions with our dear Y/N?”
Haechan leaned against the wall with a crooked smile. “Strictly to make her roll her eyes at least five times tonight. Maybe six if I work hard.”
You shot him a look. “That’s your love language, huh? Mild emotional torture?”
“Yours is biting sarcasm and selective affection, so don’t even start,” he fired back.
“Selective?” You scoffed. “I was literally the nicest to you out of everyone you’ve dated.”
Johnny blinked. “Wait, how many people has he dated?”
“Too many,” you and Haechan said at the same time, which made the group laugh.
And then, right on cue, just as you nudged Haechan with your elbow in mock annoyance, Yuta’s eyes flicked upward right past your shoulder.
“Well, speak of the devil,” he muttered, barely concealing his grin.
You turned just as Jeno appeared from the hallway, hoodie slightly rumpled from the crowd, but still as composed and tall and very much Jeno. He looked a little flushed, maybe from the warmth of the room, maybe something else, but he clocked the group in an instant.
And then his eyes landed on you.
Then... your proximity to Haechan.
You could practically see the gears turning in his brain. He was doing that thing again, quietly observing, trying to mask whatever emotion flickered across his face.
“Oh,” you said, voice tilting a bit higher than usual. “Hey. You made it.”
Jeno gave a small nod, eyes still flicking between the people surrounding you. “Yeah, sorry. Got caught helping Jaehyun fix the speaker.”
Haechan glanced between you two, a grin slowly spreading across his face like he had just realized something delicious.
“So this is Jeno,” he said, amused. “The boy you were scoping the room for back at the last party.”
You felt your soul leave your body. “Haechan, I swear to God—”
“What?” Haechan lifted his hands innocently. “I’m just connecting the dots.”
Jeno looked between the two of you, something unreadable behind his smile. “Didn’t know you two were...friends.”
“We’re not,” you and Haechan said at the same time.
Then Haechan shrugged. “Okay, we’re like... very chill acquaintances who used to date and now lightly bully each other.”
“That’s worse,” you muttered.
Johnny chuckled and patted Jeno’s back. “Don’t worry, man. We already threatened him.”
Jeno raised a brow. “What?”
“Casually,” Yuta added with a wink.
Jeno looked at you again, eyes a little softer now, like he was trying to read how you felt in the moment, not just about Haechan, but being here, with them, with him.
And it made your chest warm. Because even though this whole interaction was ridiculous, the way Jeno’s presence settled beside you again though quiet, familiar, and grounding, you felt that same gravity you always did when he was near.
“Wanna go find a drink?” you offered, gently breaking the awkward tension.
Jeno gave the smallest smile, one that felt just for you.
“Only if you promise to save me from any more surprise exes.”
You snorted. “No promises. You’re at a frat party, Jeno. Chaos is literally in the air.”
As soon as you slipped out from the crowd with Jeno, winding through the mess of limbs and laughter and bass heavy music toward the kitchen, you could feel it, that lingering energy around him.
Not tense exactly, but… quieter. Like someone had dimmed his brightness by a notch.
You stole a glance up at him. He was still walking beside you, still Jeno in all his calm and collected glory, but you could tell. His shoulders weren’t as relaxed. His brows kept furrowing every now and then. And he hadn’t made a single dumb comment about the party decorations, which was his usual specialty when he was in a good mood.
And maybe it was selfish, but you didn’t want Jeno like this, closed off and clouded over. Especially not tonight.
So once you both reached the kitchen, finally away from the buzz, you leaned against the counter and handed him a water bottle instead of the soda he’d been eyeing. He blinked, confused, until you gave him a look that said, I know you better than that.
He twisted the cap off, lips barely upturned in a thank you, and drank.
“Okay,” you said, slowly, like it was a spell. “Tell me what’s going on in that big, genius brain of yours. Because you’ve said approximately three words in the last five minutes, and two of them were ‘yeah’ and ‘okay.’”
Jeno side eyed you, chewing his bottom lip before murmuring, “It’s nothing.”
You leaned closer, bumping his arm playfully. “Jeno.”
He sighed, almost like he hated how easy it was for you to get him to talk.
“I just…” he paused, looking down at the bottle in his hand. “Didn’t expect Haechan to be that guy.”
“The one you dated.” He said it simply, but his voice was quieter than usual. “I just… didn’t think he’d be so…close.”
You tilted your head. “Jeno.”
His eyes snapped up to meet yours. “No. I mean— okay, yes. A little.”
You tried not to smile. “A little?”
He exhaled, resting both hands on the counter behind him as he leaned back. “It’s not that I think you still like him or anything. I know you don’t. It’s just… when I saw you with him, and the way he was talking to you, it made me feel—” he broke off, shaking his head, “stupid. For being so obvious.”
Your heart tugged at the sight of him, shoulders drawn in slightly, bottom lip stuck out in that soft pout of his, the kind he probably didn’t even know he was doing. Jeno didn’t often wear his emotions so openly, but tonight, between the haze of lingering tipsiness and the vulnerability of jealousy, he couldn’t help it. He looked so boyish like that, a little sulky and unsure, but still trying his best to seem put together. Like he was caught in between wanting to retreat into his shell and also hoping you’d pull him closer instead.
You did. Of course you did. You stepped forward and closed the distance, standing in the space between his arms as they rested on the counter behind him. “Jeno,” you murmured, gaze soft as you tilted your head to meet his eyes properly, “you’re not stupid. And if you think you’re being obvious… then so am I.”
He blinked, the furrow between his brows easing just a little, but that pout remained, his lips parted like he was about to say something but hadn’t quite decided if he should. Still, his gaze held yours, studying your face like he was trying to memorize every inch of reassurance written on it.
“I don’t care what Haechan said. Or how long we used to know each other,” you said, quieter now, like it was just for him to hear. “He’s part of my past, yeah. But you… you’re the part that feels like home right now. The part I want to keep walking into.”
Jeno let out a tiny sound at that, somewhere between a breath and a scoff, then muttered under his breath, “That’s not fair…” He was still pouting, still refusing to drop the act completely, but his ears were turning pink and you knew he was melting inside. “Why do you always say stuff like that when I’m trying to be mad?”
You smiled, a slow, knowing one. “Because it’s cute when you pout.”
That got him. His lips twitched like he was fighting a smile, but the sulk hadn’t quite left yet.
“And besides,” you added, nudging him playfully, “do I look like someone who’d flirt by talking about water bottles and our last diarrhea trip if I still liked that little twerp?”
Jeno finally let out a small laugh, reluctant, but genuine. “Okay, yeah. That would be weird.”
He leaned in just a little, forehead nearly touching yours, voice low and uncertain. “I’m still getting used to this.”
“To what?” you asked, even though you already kind of knew.
“You. Saying things like that to me. Letting me feel this close to you,” he said, gaze dropping for a second before flicking back to your eyes. “It’s weird in a good way. Like I don’t know what to do with myself.”
You gave a soft chuckle and nudged his arm with your knuckles. “Well, maybe don’t overthink it. Just… be you. That’s the version I actually like hanging out with.”
That made him blink, slowly, the corners of his lips lifting like the compliment needed a second to register. “You like hanging out with me?”
You rolled your eyes, amused. “Wow. Groundbreaking information, I know.”
His smile finally broke through, sheepish but warm, and the tension from earlier seemed to melt off his shoulders.
“Thanks for cheering me up,” he said, voice quieter now, a little rough around the edges but more honest than before.
You shrugged, casual but kind. “It’s in the job description now, apparently.”
“Oh yeah?” he teased, his tone lighter now, almost playful. “Does that include benefits or…?”
You raised a brow at him. “Depends. What are you hoping for?”
He mock-thought about it, tapping his chin. “Hmm… occasional emotional support? Priority in your attention? Maybe mild bullying privileges?”
You snorted. “So basically everything you already get.”
He grinned, boyish and bright. “Guess I’m living the dream then.”
You shook your head but your fingers lingered in his, both of you pretending it wasn’t a big deal even though it was. And in the way he looked at you, like you were something new and familiar all at once, it was easy to feel like whatever this was… it was starting to become something more.
The night spun on with a dizzying rhythm, bass thumping through the walls like it was trying to sync with your heartbeat. Everywhere you looked, bodies swayed and drinks clinked, laughter spilling over like beer foam from red solo cups. You’d lost count of how many people were actually packed into the house by now. The place looked like it doubled as a secret portal to every college campus in the country, new faces, old ones, all dancing in that same late night haze.
And somehow, in all that chaos, Jeno kept finding you.
Or maybe it was the other way around.
Neither of you were nearly as obliterated as that first time (thank god), but your heads were still foggy, your bodies warm, your laughter louder than usual. You’d been riding a comfortable buzz for a while now, light on your feet, like gravity had been dialed down a few notches. You weren’t sure if it was the drinks or the music or the fact that every time Jeno looked at you, he did that thing where he bit back a smile and got all pink in the ears.
He was, in a word, adorable.
Also: a complete lightweight.
You watched him now across the room, cup dangling lazily in his hand, cheeks flushed a rose pink that rivaled the solo cup itself. He’d tried to keep up with Jaemin and Jungwoo earlier, poor soul, and now he was tucked near the kitchen, leaning on the counter like the tiles were the only thing keeping him from floating off the planet.
When he spotted you, his expression brightened like a switch had been flipped. “Y/N,” he grinned, stumbling a little as he crossed the floor toward you. “You’re… you’re still upright. How.”
You took a dramatic bow, nearly tipping forward. “Pure talent and spite,” you declared.
He giggled and it was the kind of sound that made your brain pause for a second. His hand found yours clumsily, fingers curling like he was trying to remember how to hold hands in the middle of a carnival ride.
“You’re pretty,” he mumbled. “Just had to say that. You’re always pretty but right now, I think it’s mind boggling.”
You snorted. “Jeno, that was barely a sentence.”
“Wasn’t trying to win an essay competition,” he pouted, eyebrows furrowed like he was actually mad about it. “Just wanted to tell you. You should know.”
You should’ve said something normal. A joke. A thanks. A flirty comeback. But instead you just stared at him, your own heart swaying under your ribs, pulled in by the look he gave you, like you were a song he’d been trying to hum all night.
“You’re really close,” you murmured.
“I know,” he breathed. “Wanna be closer.”
And that was all it took.
Maybe it was the liquor or the late hour or the way your brains were mush and hearts were soft, but your lips found each other like they’d been trying to do it all along. It wasn’t rushed or messy. It was slow, sweet at first, like a curious question. His hands didn’t even know where to land, one hovering near your cheek, the other loosely on your hip. He tasted faintly like whatever punch they’d been handing out, mixed with a bit of boyish vulnerability and something wholly, undeniably Jeno.
You kissed like you’d been waiting for the right excuse. And when he pulled back just slightly, breath warm against your lips, he whispered, “...Still not used to this either.”
You laughed, forehead brushing his. “What, kissing girls at frat parties?”
He shook his head, that smile coming back. “No. Kissing you.”
And before either of you could think too hard about it, you leaned in again, this time messier, bolder, your drunk minds quiet for once, your bodies speaking instead.
Somewhere nearby, someone whooped at the sight, and Jeno groaned, hiding his face in your neck.
You grinned. “Later. Let me enjoy this first.”
The second kiss was different.
The first had been hesitant, like a question whispered in the dark. But this— this was the answer neither of you knew how to say out loud. There was no more fumbling. No more nervous hovering. When your lips met again, it was with a quiet kind of hunger. Not rushed. Not desperate. But deliberate. Like both of you had made the decision to lean in and just feel.
Jeno’s hand slid to your waist, fingertips curling into the fabric of your top like he needed to anchor himself. His other hand, still clumsy from the drinks, ghosted along the line of your jaw, then up— his thumb barely brushing your cheekbone as if to ground himself. You could feel the warmth of him everywhere, even in the tiny space that still lingered between your bodies.
And then he kissed you deeper.
Slower, like he wanted to memorize the shape of your mouth. His lips were soft and warm and unfamiliar in the most addictive way, moving with a shy sort of confidence, like he didn’t quite realize just how good he was at this. You responded instinctively, molding into him like your body already knew the rhythm. Your fingers found the front of his hoodie, curling into the fabric, tugging slightly, not to pull him closer, but to remind yourself he was real.
And when your teeth accidentally grazed his lower lip, when you half smiled into the kiss because you felt his breath hitch, he let out the smallest sound, something between a sigh and a curse.
It hit you all at once then: how close you were. How flushed his face had become. How the warmth between you was no longer just from the alcohol. It was something else now. Something that prickled along your skin and made your head buzz louder than any drink had that night.
Jeno pulled back barely an inch, lips parted, eyes dark under the soft glow of the hallway light. His gaze flickered to your mouth before returning to your eyes, and there was something electric in it, like a storm waiting patiently to break.
“You can’t just look at me like that after kissing me like that,” you murmured, voice low, breathless.
He blinked, lips twitching into a crooked grin. “I was about to say the same thing.
The air between you crackled. There were footsteps around the corner, laughter in the kitchen, music thudding somewhere in the living room. But here, in this pocket of space, it was just you and Jeno and this quiet, burning thing that had officially woken up between you.
Neither of you said it out loud. Not yet. But something had shifted.
And from here on out, it wasn’t going back.
You weren’t sure who moved first after that second kiss but all of a sudden, it was like the world around you melted into a blur of muffled bass, distant voices, and heat. Pure, electric heat.
Because the next kiss came harder, quicker. Teeth grazing. Breath catching. Jeno’s hands were everywhere, gentle and searching, but firmer now like he was scared to let go. And maybe you were too, because your hands slid up the back of his neck into his hair, tugging lightly, making him groan into your mouth in a way that sent a jolt straight through you.
There was no pause this time. No nervous giggle or break for air. Just mouths colliding and breaths tangled, like every moment you hadn’t kissed before this had been building into this exact explosion. Like two magnets finally snapping together after being held apart for too long.
He pressed you back against the hallway wall like it was second nature, like you belonged there and he was just finding you again. One of his hands flattened against the wall beside your head while the other gripped your waist, like he needed to hold onto something solid or he’d float away.
“Fuck,” he whispered against your lips, voice low and shaky. “You’re gonna kill me.”
“Right back at you,” you gasped, not even realizing you were pulling him in again until your lips met his. Every time he kissed you, it was messier, needier, more addicting.
And then there were your bodies glued together like you didn’t know how to exist with space between you. Every slight movement sparked friction: his knee bumping yours, your fingers fisting into his hoodie, his nose brushing yours when he kissed you sideways, deeper, like he needed to taste every piece of you he’d missed.
Jeno's lips dragged over your jaw, and his hand skimmed lower, fingertips grazing the hem of your top like he was trying to commit every inch of you to memory. His breath was hot against your skin, and you could feel the ache in the pit of your stomach building fast, dizzying.
"Fuck, I can't stop," he murmured against your neck, his voice low, needy. “You taste so good, what the hell—”
And just when you were about to whisper something back, something equally wild, just as desperate—
A loud, slurred voice cut through the moment like a wrecking ball, and Jeno flinched like he’d been caught stealing.
“Why do y’all look like you’re seconds away from fucking against this drywall?”
You both whipped around to see Jaemin, leaning against the hallway doorway with a half empty bottle in one hand, grinning like a menace. His cheeks were flushed, shirt untucked, eyes gleaming with every ounce of chaotic drunk energy he was known for.
“I feel left out,” he announced dramatically, blinking at the two of you. “Is it orgy time? Should I drop my pants or...?”
Jeno groaned, forehead falling to your shoulder as your laughter exploded before you could stop it.
“Jaem, get the fuck out,” Jeno mumbled, voice muffled against your skin. “Seriously.”
“You say that,” Jaemin sing songed, wobbling slightly as he pointed at Jeno, “but your hand was halfway down her back and she was grinding like it was the final boss level lap dance hour, so I really can’t be blamed for walking into the foreplay corner!”
You bit your lip, still breathless from the heat of the kiss and now completely dying at the situation.
“Jaemin,” you wheezed. “Go away before I start throwing things.”
He raised his hands in surrender but winked. “Okay okay, damn. Just… tone down the energy before someone walks in and actually gets turned on a.k.a me.”
As he turned and swaggered back toward the party, you and Jeno were left in the hallway, slightly breathless, slightly ruined, and still very much pressed together.
“...Wanna pick up where we left off?” Jeno asked under his breath, voice hoarse.
You grinned, tugging him close by the hoodie. “Thought you’d never ask.”
note: unfortunately if i continue on to the next part i fear it will be too long and exceeding the word count so i had to seperate this into two parts (beware the next part is the angst part…)
