#yangyang angst

the shout echoed in your living room before you even spotted him. you could recognize that voice even in your sleep. and there he was — liu yangyang, your childhood best friend, the boy you’ve been harboring secret feelings for the last five years, storming in with wild eyes and a kind of frustration that clung to him like static, restless and loud.

you clutched your towel tighter around your body, still dripping wet from the shower, “dude! i know i gave you my code but that doesn’t mean you can just walk in here with no warning!”

yangyang’s eyes flicked over to you, unimpressed. he didn’t even flinch at your half-naked state — too consumed in his own misery to care. he just groaned and collapsed dramatically onto your couch, burying his face into a throw pillow like he’d been waiting all day for this exact moment, “put on some clothes so i can die in your arms in peace, please,” he mumbled, his voice muffled, pout obvious even without seeing his face.

you exhaled, long and patient, already used to this. already too soft on him for your own good, “fine. but just so you know, i’m out of ice cream.”

“ughhhh, i hate my lifeee,” he whined, dragging the pillow closer like it could protect him from reality. you shook your head and padded toward your bedroom, trailing little wet footprints behind you.

this was his routine now — crashing into your space, sometimes drunk, sometimes stone sober, always wearing that perfect mask on the outside until it shattered behind your door. he’d been like this ever since the two of you got back from your internship in germany and found out that his best friend, renjun, and his girlfriend, now ex-girlfriend, love, had somehow fell in love with each other in the strangest, most heartbreaking way. a box dropping on her head. temporary amnesia. the illness between memories blurred until she didn’t know who was who. by the time the fog cleared, it was already too late, she’d fallen in love with the wrong boy (or the right one) depending on whose story you hear. yangyang had been stuck in the middle of that impossible truth ever since. he played the part so well, too — polite smiles, easy words about being “happy for them” when people asked. but the cracks always showed when the day ended, when he needed someone who wouldn’t call his bluff. so he came here. to you. and through it all — the late night breakdowns, the way he cycled through the same rants until even his tears felt rehearsed, the quiet collapses on your couch — you never once left his side. not when his voice broke. not when his walls crumbled. not even when your own heart kept breaking quietly in the background, knowing he’d never look at you the way he looked at her.

you pulled on a hoodie and your pajama shorts before returning to the living room. yangyang was still sprawled out into the cushions like he owned them, his head tipped back against the armrest, staring at your ceiling like it might offer him a divine answer. you grabbed the remote, flipped on the t.v. for background noise and nudged his leg with your knee, “scoot over,” you ordered.

he grumbled something incoherent but still obeyed, pulling his legs up and folding into a lazy criss-cross on your couch. you dropped beside him, close enough that your knees brushed, mirroring the way he sat. it had always been like this between you two — automatic, instinctive, like your bodies remembered how to fit together in any space.

from this close, you caught the faint tang of alcohol on his breath. your eyes narrowed immediately, “you went to the dream party, didn’t you?”

yangyang shifted uncomfortably, gaze darting anywhere but you. he tugged at a loose thread on the pillow, shoulders stiff, clearly guilty, “uhhh…”

you tilted your head, raising a brow, “now, why the hell would you do that?”

he let out a long, shaky sigh, finally dragging his eyes back to yours. the vulnerability there made your chest ache, “i-i don’t know! i-i just wanted to see her.”

the words hung heavy in the air. you bit the inside of your cheek, bracing yourself. “and?” you prompted, voice harsher than you meant it to be.

yangyang leaned back, hands fidgeting in his lap, like if he didn’t start talking he might actually combust, “and you would not believe what happened—” he said, launching into the story of what went down at the party.

*flashback to earlier today at the dream fraternity*

the music thumped in his chest, laughter spilling in the air, a red solo cup in his hand as he listened to whatever xiaojun and hendery was talking about, plastering on the same easy grin he’d worn all week, the one that said i’m fine. i’m happy. inside, though, every second felt like his ribs were caving in.

he saw them way before they saw him. their matching color palettes weren’t hard to miss — renjun and love wrapped up in pink. side by side. brushing like magnets, smiles soft and too tender for anyone else to miss. he swallowed down the lump in his throat and took another sip, pretending the burn was enough to numb it.

when renjun finally spotted him and made his way over, yangyang braced himself, smile sharpening onto something lopsided, practiced, “dude,” he said, gaze flicking over, “the pink?”

renjun blinked, caught off guard. “what?”

yangyang tilted his head, grin widening just enough to look genuine and pointed at his best friend’s new hair, “it suits you. makes you look… weirdly happy.”

renjun’s shoulders relaxed a little, mouth tugging into a shy smile. “yeah, well. she picked it.”

“of course she did,” yangyang let out a soft laugh. amused. or at least, pretending to be.

a cautious silence threaded between them like they were both balancing glass in their hands. then renjun’s voice dropped quieter, “can we talk?”yangyang didn’t even sigh. he just nodded and stepped off to the side with him.

renjun began, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck, eyes darting everywhere but yangyang’s, “i should’ve told you sooner. but it all happened so fast and next thing i know–”

“you love her,” yangyang said simply. his tone was light, steady, betraying nothing. but inside, it was a knife twisting right in his chest. “i know. i saw it all that night we took her to the hospital.”

renjun’s throat bobbed, “yeah.”

“i already forgave you,” yangyang went on, managing a small, resigned smile, “i just needed a couple days to process and the let the sting wear off. besides, you were right. i wasn’t there. i should’ve seen it coming, really. it just makes sense that the two people i love most would fall in love with each other,” he concludes. not entirely sure if he was trying to convince the boy in front of him or himself.

renjun swallowed hard, “it wasn’t supposed to happen like that.”

“yeah,” yangyang said softly, “but it did. and maybe it was supposed to happen exactly like this.” there was a pause, full of memory, affection, and things left unsaid. yangyang took a sip from his cup, “anyway. the internship called me. i got the job.”

renjun’s eyes widened. “you’re kidding—?”

yangyang grinned, this time genuinely. “nope. full-time offer. i leave right after graduation next year…so really,” he went on, nudging renjun’s shoulder lightly, “it worked out for everyone. i got my future, and you got her. she was always yours, anyway. i was just keeping her heart warm till you were ready.”

“what do you mean?,” renjun asks, curious.

yangyang forced out a grin, pretending every word he uttered wasn't crushing his own heart, “you’ll have to ask her about it.”

renjun’s throat went tight. “yang…”

“don’t get sappy on me now, loverboy,” he warned, letting out a laugh that covered the crack in his chest. he didn’t want his pity. “go. be gross together. and tell her i said thanks for finally getting you to change your hair. i’ve been begging for color since sophomore year.”

renjun snorted, “thanks.” then, after a beat, quieter, sincere, “we’re still best friends, right?”

yangyang nodded once, smile beaming, even though his brain was still screaming a million curse words. “as long as you don’t mess this up.” yangyang says like some sort of wise man. literally, fuck him and his own savior complex. he should be screaming. he should be trashing this place. instead, he’s sporting a beaming smile all for the sake of other people’s happiness.

renjun met his eyes, “i won’t,” he promised. “i’d rather die.”

yangyang let the silence stretch, just long enough for the promise to settle between them. then he nodded once, smile still beaming like it didn’t cost him anything at all. he gave renjun one last look before clapping a hand to his back and heading into the house. the music swallowed him up again, laughter bubbling all around him. the party’s pulse thrummed against his ribs as he moved through the crowd. then he felt the weight of eyes on him. his own gaze flicked up and there she was – love. his ex-girlfriend. renjun’s girl now. for a second, the noise around them dimmed. she didn’t look away, didn’t flinch. just held his gaze across the room, her expression caught between guilt and gentleness, the kind that held both apology and acceptance. yangyang’s chest twisted but he forced his mouth into a small smile. quiet. understanding. and she returned it — a tiny curve of her lips, a silent acknowledgement of everything they had been and everything they no longer were.

*end of flashback*

yangyang’s voice trailed off, the party fading from his memory as reality came crashing back into your small living room. the background noise of your t.v. hummed low, mixing with the sound of his uneven breathing. he looked smaller than usual, hunched forward like the weight of his words was still pressing on him.

“you told him you forgive him?” you asked, incredulous, turning to face him fully, “but….you don’t.” you point out the obvious.

yangyang groaned, dragging both hands down his face before flopping back dramatically against the couch cushions, "i didn’t know what else to say!,” his voice cracked somewhere between exasperation and despair, “what? am i supposed to keep playing the villain and not let them be happy!?”

you stared at him, heart aching and pressed your lips into a thin line, “you’re not the villain, yang.” he tilted his head toward you, eyes glassy and vulnerable in a way he only ever let you see, “—you don’t have to forgive them if you’re not ready,” you added softly.

yangyang sniffled, reaching blindly for a tissue on your coffee table, “i hate this,” he muttered, voice muffled into the tissue as he wiped his nose, “i hate that i don’t even hate them. like…isn’t that what i’m supposed to do? get angry? yell? throw a drink in someone’s face?”

“you?” you snorted, “please. you’d apologize to the person you threw it at for wasting their drink.”

that earned you the tiniest huff of laughter, just enough to soften the tight line of his mouth. you leaned your head against the back of the couch, watching him. he sat criss-cross again, knee brushing yours, hair sticking up from where he’d been raking his hands through it. his chest still rose and fell unevenly, but at least he was breathing easier now.

“you’re allowed to be hurt, you know. you’re allowed to let the world know how you truly feel.” you said quietly.

yangyang stuffed another tissue into his fist like he could bury all his pain in paper instead. “yeah, well,” he mumbled, forcing his voice into something lighter, “lucky for me, i don’t need the world. i’ve got you. free therapist, 24/7, no copay.”

you rolled your eyes, even as warmth bloomed unsteadily in your chest, “don’t flatter yourself. you’re paying me in pizza next time.”

“deal,” he whispered, smiling weakly. then he let out a long, dramatic sigh, suddenly shifting and tossing the crumpled tissue onto your coffee table. before you could ask what he was doing, his arms reached out and hooked around you, tugging you straight into his chest.

“come here,” he murmured, already nuzzling his chin on top of your head like it was second nature.

you groaned, squirming in protest, “yang, no! you reek of alcohol and i literally just showered!”

“don’t care,” he mumbled stubbornly, holding on tighter, “i need my emotional support teddy bear.”

you shoved lightly at his chest, wrinkling your nose, “you’re gross. you smell like cheap beer and regret.”

he tilted his head down to grin at you, eyes glinting, “you love it.”

“i absolutely do not!,” you shot back, though your voice wavered with a laugh.

“yes, you do,” he said, sing-song, tightening his arms until you gave up fighting, “you’re addicted to me. admit it.”

“addicted? please.” you rolled your eyes, but you didn’t try to move away again, “you’re lucky i’m too tired to throw you off my couch right now.”

yangyang chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest against your cheek, “so basically…you like me enough to suffer through the smell. that’s real love, right there.”

you smacked his arm without much force, “don’t push it.” but your body betrayed you anyway. relaxing. softening. your head finding its place against his chest like it belonged there. his hand absently traced circles against your back, slow and soothing, the kind of touch that wasn’t meant to mean anything but still felt like everything.

the t.v. murmured on in the background, the glow painting soft shadows across the room as the two of you sank deeper into the couch. yangyang’s heartbeat was too steady, too familiar, it lulled you, each breath syncing with his. the silence between you wasn’t empty. it was lived in — a silence that had grown up with the two of you, evolving from playground whispers to late-night facetimes, from library study sessions to these countless evenings on your couch. it wasn’t awkward, never had been. it was a blanket you’d both wrapped yourselves in a thousand times before, stitched together with years of knowing each other’s rhythms, moods and unspoken words. and just when you thought he’d drifted off, his voice came low and quiet, threaded with a kind of sincerity he rarely let anyone hear —

“thanks for always listening to me, teddy.”

the nickname hit like it always did – tugging at the memory of a third grade classroom where it all began. to your favorite teddy bear lying on the floor, head ripped clean off from a game that got too rowdy, to your little hands clutching the broken stuffed toy, tears blurring your vision and yangyang’s panicked face staring at you like he’d ruined the world, crying with you. the very next day, he showed up to class with a brand new teddy bear in his arms — softer, cuddlier, shinier. he’d shoved it into your chest, muttering rushed apologies and awkward promise after awkward promise that he’d never hurt you again. and you, still sniffling, had promised him something too — that you’d be his best friend for as long as that teddy bear stayed with you. and it had. it still did. the years had worn it down, the fur dulled, one ear a little loose but it sat tucked safely in your bedroom. proof of a promise that hadn’t been broken.

you closed your eyes, swallowing the lump in your throat, breathing him in despite the faint edge of alcohol clinging to him. this time, you didn’t protest, didn’t tease him, didn’t make a joke to deflect the way your chest ached. you just let the words settle over you, warm and heavy. and like so many nights before, you drifted into sleep tangled up on the couch together. two best friends, bound by years and promises, still holding onto each other like that was enough.

🧸 SEPTEMBER 15 - TUESDAY - PAINTING II.

out of every day of the week. yangyang has grown to hate tuesdays the most. he didn’t even understand why he needed this class — he was set after graduation, internship locked in, his future lined up in neat little rows. but a degree was a degree and this class was just another box to check off. — painting ii. should’ve been a class he enjoyed. he loved making things, experimenting with brushes and color, letting his hands move faster than his thoughts. now it just felt suffocating because, of course, renjun and love were in this class too. they came in together. side by side. her arm brushing his. renjun leaning close to whisper something that made her laugh effortlessly. yangyang’s jaw tightened but by the time they were in his line of vision, the mask was already back on. that same carefully constructed, almost-too-bright-i’m-fine smile.

“hey,” renjun greeted, his voice careful, still carrying the weight of friday’s conversation.

yangyang just grinned, like it was nothing, “what’s up?” – easy. effortless. like he hadn’t spend the entire weekend sprawled on your couch with romcoms on autoplay.

love gave him a small nod, polite, almost…grateful. like she knew he was sparing them. like she was silently thanking him for playing along.

but where yangyang’s mask held steady, yours did not — from your seat next to him, you glared daggers so sharp they could’ve cut through steel. your sketchbook was open, pencil poised, but your entire focus was pinned on the couple like you were trying to set them on fire with sheer willpower. yangyang nudged your knee under the shared easel, subtle but firm, a small warning, “stop it,” he whispered, voice low enough that only you could hear. your eyes didn’t move, “they don’t deserve your smile.”

he forced a quiet laugh, leaning back on his stool, the sound too casual, “and what? you’re gonna fight them with paintbrushes in the middle of class?”

“if i have to,” you muttered, jaw tight. he couldn’t help it — despite everything, a smirk tugged at his lips. that was the thing about you. he could be unraveling and somehow, you still made him laugh.

“play nice,” he murmured, shaking his head. you rolled your eyes, finally dragging your gaze back to the page.

right then, professor yuta strode to the front of the studio, clapping his hands once to get everyone’s attention. his black hair was tied back loosely, smudges of paint already dotting his arms like he’d been working before class. “alright, everyone,” professor yuta began, his smile sharp, “today, you’re working in groups of four. you’ll be sketching a concept for the university’s cafe logo — nothing final, just ideas. think simple, think clear and most importantly–,” his gaze swept the room, landing on a few nervous students, “-think something i won’t throw in the trash immediately.” a wave of laughter and a few groans echoed throughout the room along with chairs scraping and stools shifting.

you and yangyang didn’t even need to look at each other. it was automatic — you were a package deal. he angled himself towards you, already doodling a goofy smiley face in the corner like he owned the space.

“guess it’s us,” he said, teasing.

“like it was ever going to be anyone else,” you shot back, leaning over to draw another smiley beside his. he snorted softly, the tension in his shoulders easing for the first time that morning. but before he could completely fall into it, shadows fell across your table.

“hey guys,” a familiar voice said. you froze mid-scribble. renjun stood there, love right beside him, her hand brushing his sleeve like it always seemed to do these days. both of them were looking at you and yangyang with polite expressions as if this made perfect sense, as if nothing happened and everything was completely like the way it was before.

“looks like everyone else is already grouped up,” renjun explained, careful, almost apologetic, “mind if we join?”

yangyang’s smile flickered for half a second, the mask threatening to slip, but he caught it just in time. by the time he looked up, it was firmly in place again, “sure,” he said lightly, with a shrug that cost him more than he’d admit. you, however, weren’t nearly as composed. your pencil pressed hard enough against the page it nearly snapped. you forced your lips into a thin line, offering a curt nod that was more grit than grace.

renjun slid into the seat across from yangyang, love sat beside him, right across from you, her gaze flickering to yangyang for a fleeting second, soft and unreadable, before she looked away. yangyang leaned back in his chair, drumming his pen against his notebook like it was just another tuesday. but you knew better.

renjun set his sketchpad down, pencil already moving with the quiet focus he always had. beside him, love leaned over to peek at his lines, her laugh spilling soft and easy when he drew a messy curve. she nudged his elbow, teasing and he caught her wrist in that causal, familiar way. the kind that made yangyang’s stomach twist even if his smile didn’t falter. you had gone still, brush in hand, staring at the blank paper in front of you. yangyang nudged you lightly with his knee again, a silent reminder. play nice. you forced yourself to dip into the paint, sketching out rough shapes.

“so,” love said, tone bright, “maybe something with a coffee cup? simple lines, but kind of cozy?”

renjun nodded immediately, “yeah, and maybe we add steam that curls into letters — N C T U. what do you guys think?”

yangyang tapped his pencil against his page, pretending to consider it, “not bad,” he said lightly, “cozy but still sharp. professor yuta might actually not throw it away.”

renjun laughed under his breath, love’s shoulder brushing his as she leaned closer. the sound of it — soft, unguarded, theirs — filled the small silence that fell over your half of the table. you clenched your jaw. picked up your brush. painted one hard, deliberate line that nearly split the page. and before you could stop yourself, the words slipped out—

“god, could you two just…not? we get it. you’re in love. rub it in, why don’t you.”

the brush clattered a little too loudly against the jar of water when you dropped it. silence. renjun froze, pencil hovering midair, his shoulders going rigid. his eyes darted up to you, almost guilty, then quickly away, jaw tightening like he didn’t trust himself to respond. love blinked, caught between shock and guilt, her hand pausing on the page as though she’d forgotten what she was supposed to be doing.

the air went brittle — and then yangyang burst out an awkward laugh, too quick, too loud, too bright. it cracked through the silence like a sparkle burning too hot. “HAHAHA–” he drawled, arm swinging up and draping across your shoulder, pulling you into the curve of his space like it was all just a joke, “she’s kidding guys. don’t mind her. sarcasm’s practically her love language.” his grin was wide, practiced. the kind of grin that screamed easygoing, no harm done, let’s move on. but the weight of his arm pressed heavier than usual and when he turned his head to look at you, the smile didn’t reach his eyes. that pointed look said it all. and you understood what he was trying to say without even saying anything at all — cut it out. stop. please.

you let out a cough, “yeah, kidding,” you murmured, forcing out a fake chuckle. the word tasted bitter but you swallowed it down anyway, for his sake.

the next forty minutes dragged on like hours. renjun kept his comments short, never quite meeting your eyes. love spoke in measured bursts, careful and polite, her laughter gone. you stuck to clipped answers and yangyang….yangyang was everywhere. he cracked dumb jokes, nudged renjun into laughing once or twice, redirected love’s feedback to you with a soft, “hear that? she likes your idea.” every time the tension threatened to snap, he was already there, smiling over the cracks.

by the time professor yuta strolled past to glance at your group’s progress, it looked decent enough — a cozy coffee cup, steam curling into the letters NCTU, framed with warm tones and textured brushstrokes. he hummed approvingly, lingering for a second, “looks good, you four work well together.”

your laugh almost bubbled up at the irony but yangyang beat you to it, “thanks professor,” he said smoothly. perfect smile, perfect tone, like nothing was wrong.

finally, professor yuta clapped his hands together at the front of the room, “time’s up, brushes down. we’ll review the final drafts next class.” the usual post-class chatter buzzed low around the studio. you shoved your brushes into the case a little too hard, movements sharp, clipped. beside you, yangyang was quieter than usual, his tiredness bleeding through. you caught renjun and love laughing softly at something as they packed up. the sound was small, barely there but it crawled under your skin like barbed wire. you could practically feel your blood boil. yangyang noticed them. he always did. and this time, instead of nudging your knee or shooting you that warning look, he just stood — bag slung over his shoulder, eyes forward. he didn’t say goodbye. he just jerked his chin toward the door, a silent let’s go, and slipped out the classroom. you followed, trying to keep up with his pace. but the moment you were far away enough from the art room, he snapped.

“why did you have to act like that?!” yangyang’s voice was sharp, he whirled on you, brows knit tight, anger crackling off him like static, “you couldn’t just let it go for once?!”

you blinked at him, incredulous, heat rushing to your cheeks, “let it go? yang, are you serious right now?” your own voice shot back, louder than you meant, “—i’m sick of them acting like they can just waltz back into your life like nothing happened. like they didn’t—” you stopped, chest heaving, words catching, “—like they didn't rip your heart out!”

his jaw clenched, “you think i don’t know that?”

“then why are you letting them sit across from you like it’s fine?!,” you threw your hands up, protective instinct spilling over into rage, “you’re the one who’s been breaking on my couch for days, yang! and i’m supposed to just…sit there and watch you smile at them like they deserve it?”

“because its not about you!” he snapped back, louder this time. heads turned from students lingering down the hall, the echo of his voice bouncing off the walls. his own voice cracked on the edges, fraying, “it’s my mess. my pain. not yours to fight for!”

the words hit harder than you expected, cutting deeper than you wanted to admit. you were a package deal. you take one, you take the other. you hurt one, you hurt the other. apparently…not — you stood there in the hallway, silence ringing in your ears, chest tight, fists curled at your sides. yangyang dragged a hand through his hair, pacing two steps away like he needed the space to breathe. his shoulders heaved, every inch of him vibrating with that mix of rage and hurt he usually hid under jokes and easy smiles.

and now, he wasn’t just upset with them. he was upset with you.

“not mine to fight for?” you repeated, your voice low now, shaking with the effort of holding yourself together, “don’t you get it? every time you’re hurting, i’m hurting, too,” you stopped, chest heaving, like the words themselves were choking you.

yangyang’s laugh was hollow, ugly, a sound that wasn’t really a laugh at all. “you don’t get it. i don’t need a bodyguard, okay!? i don’t need you storming in like you’re gonna save me. i just need–” he cut himself off, teeth gritted, fists clenching tight, “i just need you to let me handle it.”

your throat burned, “handle it?! yang, all you do is pretend. pretend you’re fine, pretend you’re over it, pretend their smiles don’t cut you in half. you call that handling it?”

he turned on you, eyes blazing, “because if i stop pretending, i’ll fall apart! and i can’t–” his voice cracked, raw and sharp, before he swallowed it down, "i can't be that pathetic.”

the words slammed into you, heavy and unyielding. you wanted to reach for him. to tell him he wasn’t pathetic. to remind him you’d hold every broken piece if he let you — but he was already pulling back, shaking his head like your closeness was the last thing he could stand.

“just…stop.” his voice was quieter now, but it cut all the same, “stop fighting battles that aren’t yours. stop making it harder.”

you stood there, nails biting into your palms, your heart a mess of fury and ache. for a second, you thought about pushing further, about forcing him to see that you weren’t just some bystander in his wreckage. but the way he looked at you — pleading, furious, exhausted — froze you in place. so instead, you let out a bitter laugh, “fine.” the word cracked like glass. “if that’s what you want, then handle it. alone.”

his jaw flexed like he wanted to take it back, like something inside him was tearing. but he didn’t. he just nodded once, curt and turned on his heel. the two of you walked in opposite directions down the hall, footsteps echoing, backs stiff. neither of you looked back. and for the first time since the third grade, yangyang has consciously broken his promise.

🧸 SEPTEMBER 18 - FRIDAY - MR. BEAR

three days. it had been three days since that fight in the hallway. three days since the last time yangyang has spoken to you. three days of passing each other on campus like strangers, of him veering left when you went right, of group chats where his replies skipped right over you like you weren’t even there.

thirteen years of friendship, and never — never — had it gone this long. you’d shared lunch tables, secrets, and late-night video calls. you’d cheered each other through every minor victory, every heartbreak. you’d even applied to the same internship, bending and shifting your choices to make sure you were in each other’s orbit. there was no version of your life in which he wasn’t there. no version where the silence between you stretched out like this. and yet here you were, trapped in a version you hadn’t chosen. like he’d built a wall and left you on the other side.

your apartment felt smaller than ever. you sat cross-legged on your bed, your textbooks splayed open but ignored. no matter how many times you read the same line, your brain refuses to absorb it. all you could think about was yangyang.

the brown, worn-down teddy bear sat propped up against your pillow, it’s button eyes staring. you reached for it, clutching it to your chest, your frustration boiling over “can you believe him, mr. bear?” your voice cracked through the silence, sharp and small all at once. you jabbed a finger at the bear’s stitched face, “he’s actually mad at me? out of all people?!” you pulled the bear back to glare at its faded smile, your voice rising, “i’m the one who’s been there through everything. i’m the one who picked him up when he couldn’t even get out of bed. i’m the one who stayed when she left! and he’s mad at me?” the bear’s head lolled to the side, its seams sagging, like it was tired of listening to all of your secrets. you laughed bitterly, shaking your head, “it’s like–what? he’d rather i sit there quietly while he smiles through the pain? am i supposed to just watch that?!” your throat burned, your eyes stinging. you hugged the bear close, pressing your face into its worn fur, your words muffled against it. “he says it’s not my fight,” you whispered, raw and hoarse, “but if i don’t fight for him, then who will?”

the silence stretched, heavy and unyielding. the old bear didn’t answer. it never did. you glared at it’s worn down eyes, “you’ve seen everything, you know? every meltdown, every dumb heartbreak, every midnight pizza run. and now the silent treatment! he’s so—UGH!”

you didn’t hear the door creak. didn’t notice the smell of pepperoni hit the air, “wow,” came a voice you’d know from anywhere, dripping with mock astonishment, “three days of silence and you’ve officially lost it. yelling at mr. bear? should i be worried?”

your head snapped up. yangyang stood in your bedroom’s doorway, pizza box balanced on one hand, his expression somewhere between smug and fond. your heart lurched so hard you almost dropped the bear, “what the hell are you doing here?”

he stepped inside your bedroom like he owned the place. “fulfilling my promise, i owe you pizza remember,” he waved the box, “figured three days was long enough for you to stop being mad.”

you sat up straighter, arms crossing tight over your chest, heat prickling your cheeks, “i wasn’t talking to mr. bear.”

he smirked, setting the box down on your desk, “yeah, okay, teddy…next thing i know you’ll be asking it for relationship advice.”

“don’t call me that.” you muttered, your pout deepening even as your chest pinched the way it always did when he said it. yangyang just grinned wider, like he’d been waiting to use it again. he dragged your desk chair over, spun it around, and straddled it backward — his usual move when he wanted to make himself comfortable. his eyes flicked from the bear to you, amusement softening into something quieter.

“look,” he started, voice lower now, “i know i was an ass. i shouldn’t have snapped at you in the hall. i just—” he ran a hand through his hair, messing it up even more, “—i don’t want them to know i’m falling apart…it’s…sad and pathetic. not everyone has to see that side of me.”

your heart thudded painfully against your ribs at the honesty in his tone. “you’re not pathetic,” you whispered, “but you’re human, yang…not a fucking robot. so stop acting like one.”

yangyang tilted his head, that crooked smile tugging at the corner of his lips upon hearing his nickname, “so…truce? or do i need to get mr. bear’s approval too?”

you rolled your eyes, lips pursed in a stubborn line, “three days of silence and you just show up with pizza like nothing happened? like that fixes everything?”

yangyang raised his brows, completely unfazed, he rolled the chair closer until your knees brushed, “i mean…yeah? pizza fixes most things. don’t act like it hasn’t worked the last fifty times we’ve fought.”

“that was different,” you huffed, turning your face away, nose wrinkled, “this was the worst fight we’ve ever had. you were an asshole.”

he smirked, tapping his fingers against your chair, “i was. and you’re still sulking about it like a five year old so i guess we’re even.”

you whipped your head back toward him, glaring, “i am not sulking.”

“oh, no?” he leaned forward, tapping a finger against your pout, then gestured at mr. bear, “so you weren’t just yelling at a stuffed toy when i walked in?”

your cheeks heat instantly, but you cross your arms tighter, chin jutting out, “that’s different. he understands me better than you do right now.”

that got him — yangyang laughed, loud and unrestrained, tipping his head back until the chair wobbled dangerously, “wow. replaced by a bear i bought. didn’t see that one coming.”

you refused to smile, even though the corners of your mouth betrayed you by twitching, “you don’t get to joke your way out of this.”

he leaned closer, grin softening but still teasing, “you’re pouting so hard right now i’m shocked your face isn’t stuck like that...c’mon teddy, just admit you missed me.”

your heart pounded again, the proximity dizzying. you swallowed hard, “i didn’t.”

his eyes glinted, unaware of his effect towards you, voice dropping, “you so did.” you groaned, throwing a pillow at him, which he caught one-handed, still laughing.

“— and i missed you too, you know?,” his voice slipped quieter, softer, the grin fading into something that made your heart skip a beat.

you blinked, your pout faltering, “well, you sure had a funny way of showing it. three days, yang. three.”

he winced dramatically, hand over his heart, “trust me, i felt every second. do you know how boring life is without you? i had to actually…listen to hendery’s girl problems.”

a reluctant snort escaped you, but it melted quickly into a sigh, “you deserve worse than that.”

“yeah,” he said quietly, eyes finding yours, the teasing fading into honesty, “i know. and i’m sorry, teddy. for snapping at you. for acting like i didn’t need you. because i do.”

your throat went tight, the stubborn wall you’d been holding up all week cracking in two, “yang—”

“no, let me say it,” his voice broke slightly, softer than you’d heard it in weeks, “you’re the only one who’s been on my side through all of this. and i…i took it out on you. that was messed up. you didn’t deserve that.”

you swallowed hard, “i only snapped because i care,” you say, voice shaky but firm, “seeing you pretend like you’re fine when i know you’re not—it drives me crazy. i can’t just sit back and watch them hurt you. i’m not as nice as you are.”

yangyang moved onto the bed, even closer now, his usual cocky grin nowhere in sight. just him, raw and open, “i know. and i’m sorry for making you feel like it wasn’t your place. it is. you’ve always been my place.”

your heart slammed against your ribs so hard it hurt. he didn’t mean it the way you wanted him to. you knew that. but the words still stole your breath.

“god, you’re such a dummy,” you whispered, rolling your eyes playfully to hide the blush that was forming on the apple of your cheeks.

he smiled faintly, hand reaching out to nudge the bear against your arm, “yeah, but i’m your dummy, right?”

you let out a shaky laugh, finally leaning into him, into that familiar warmth you’d missed so much, “yeah. you are.” and when his arm curled around you, pulling you against his chest, your pulse went wild. to him, it was comfort. to you, it was everything.

“i’m sorry, too,” you murmured into his shirt, the words muffled but certain.

“don’t worry about it,” he whispered back, pressing his cheek into your hair, “no more silent treatments. ever.”

you hummed, forcing yourself to sound steady even as your heart thudded erratically. “agreed. now let’s eat the pizza before it gets cold,” you finally pried open the pizza box, the smell of melted cheese filling the room, sharp and comforting all at once. yangyang reached over immediately, snatching the biggest slice like it belonged to him by right.

“hey!” you protested, swatting at his wrist.

he smirked around a mouthful of cheese, “what? you need to be faster next time.” rolling your eyes, you grabbed your own slice, too hungry to argue properly. the only sounds were chewing and the occasional crunch of crust, the tension finally bleeding out of the room. when the last of the pizza was gone, you leaned back against the headboard, full and sleepy, mr. bear perched loyally at your side. yangyang stretched out with a groan, flopping back across your bed like he owned the whole thing.

“ugh, i swear, no one makes better pizza than that place,” he said, one hand resting over his stomach, eyes drifting shut.

you gave him a look, “you’re literally about to pass out, aren’t you?”

he cracked one eye open, a lazy grin tugging at his lips, “maybe. this bed’s comfier than mine anyway.”

your heart gave that stupid lurch again. “you can’t just fall asleep here,” you muttered, though your voice lacked conviction.

“why not?” he asked, already burrowing into your blanket like a cat, “we used to do this all the time. remember middle school? after movie marathons? or those all nighters we pulled in senior year?”

of course you remembered. you remembered every one. the sleepovers only stopped when you had your first boyfriend in first year. then was put on hold again when yangyang was dating love. you hesitated, then sighed, scooting down beside him, “fine. but you’re on blanket-sharing probation. you hog it every time.”

“pfft,” he scoffed, already tugging the comforter toward himself, “you’re just bad at blanket defense.”

you rolled your eyes again but didn’t argue, curling up with mr. bear clutched against you. a quiet settled over the room, not the brittle, painful silence of the past three days, but the warm, comfortable kind that wrapped around like the blanket you were reluctantly sharing. your pulse thrummed as yangyang shifted closer, his arm draping over your stomach in that absent, thoughtless way he always did when sleep tugged at him. your body tensed instantly, your heart hammering loud enough you were sure he could hear it. but he didn’t. of course he didn’t. yangyang’s breathing evened out within minutes, his forehead brushing the side of your hair as he slipped under, blissfully unaware of the way every inch of you was burning at the contact. you stared at the wall, hugging mr. bear tighter, trying to steady your racing heartbeat. eventually, exhaustion pulled at your own limbs and you let your eyes close, letting yourself sink into the warmth of him. the last thing you heard before sleep claimed you was his soft, steady breathing — familiar, safe, home. and just like that, the old routine returned. the fight, the silence, the ache — it all melted into the simple truth of where you belonged — pressed against him, even if he’d never know what it truly meant for you.

🧸 SEPTEMBER 20 - SUNDAY - SHOTARO.

sunday evening. 6PM. you needed a release — some way to get yangyang out of your head because the last week had been chaotic. the endless rants, the cuddling, the hallway fight, the silent treatment. you couldn’t even sit through a single class without thinking about him. your frustration needed an outlet, and you knew exactly where to turn. you grabbed your phone, texting the one person that was easy. no pleasantries. no teasing. just a blunt:

y/n: u busy?

shotaro: be there in 5

shotaro arrived just like that. the one person who never asked for explanations. no cuddling afterward, no holding, no lingering — just pure release. as soon as the door shut behind him, your hands were on him, pulling him into your bedroom. clothes became a nuisance, tossed carelessly to your bedroom floor. he was underneath you in seconds, hands and lips working in tandem. you straddled him, letting the heat build, letting the frustration and longing you’d been bottling for yangyang spill out.

“god, is this about yangyang again?” shotaro murmured against your skin, teasing in that familiar, knowing way.

“don’t say his name.” you sneered, as you grabbed a condom from your night stand and handed it to him. he wrapped his member with ease, smirking up at you with a teasing grin. you groaned, eyes squeezing shut, “don’t look at me like that…just…fuck me.”

his grin widened, sharp and wicked, before he grabbed your hips and sunk you down. the stretch burned, the ache was sharp but it was exactly what you needed. you rode him, let the world shrink down to skin, heat and sweat. no words, no names, just sex. he whispered little taunts under his breath, teasing you for your obvious crush, obvious to everyone except your best friend himself, but it only made you grind harder, your mind too scattered, too desperate to focus on anything else.

“fuck,” shotaro groaned, his hands gripping your thighs, watching the way your body moved against him, “you’re always so tight when you’re wound up like this.” you didn’t answer, just rode him harder, chasing the friction, chasing the distraction. your hair fell into your face, your chest heaving, nails biting into his shoulders as you moved. shotaro chuckled, low and teasing, “why don’t you just tell him? save yourself the—agh—trouble of coming to me every time you get worked up over your best friend.”

“shut up,” you moaned, slamming down harder on him, chasing the sharp crack of pleasure, “i didn’t call you here for advice, i called you here for dick.”

he laughed amusedly, “say less.” and in one quick motion, he flipped you onto your back, pinning your wrists above your head with one hand, driving into you deep, fast, relentless. the shift knocked the breath out of you, a cry tearing from your throat. “this what you needed?” shotaro’s voice was ragged now, his mouth brushing your ear as he thrust harder, rougher, "something to get him out of your head?”

“fuck—fuck, just like that—fuck me—just fuck me—” you arched beneath him, words breaking into high-pitched moans, nails dragging down his back. the rhythm was sharp, unforgiving, each thrust grounding you in the heat of now, pulling you further and further from the ache that had been gnawing at you all week.

•ᴥ•

yangyang let himself into your apartment, unannounced, like he had been doing for the past month, ever since you gave him the code to your door. it was supposed to be like always — raid your fridge, sprawl on your couch, crash out about the same things over and over again until he gets tired enough and falls asleep. but halfway to your bedroom, he froze. the sound hit him like a slap — your voice, high and breathless, tangled in sharp moans. the wet rhythm of skin slapping against skin, faster, harder. the kind of noises he shouldn’t be hearing coming out from you.

“…fuck me—just fuck me—”

his stomach dropped. his brain short-circuited. he should leave. god, he should leave. but his feet stayed rooted, his chest tight, his throat dry. he couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t stop hearing you. the words punched through him and then the answering growl from a man he didn’t recognize. deep. smug. taking you apart. he staggered back, heart racing, palms sweaty. he couldn’t go closer. but he also couldn’t bring himself to walk out. so he dropped into your couch instead, head in his hands, staring blankly at the dark t.v. screen. the sounds from your room carried — every moan, every gasp, every filthy slap of skin against skin. they painted pictures in his head he’d never once let himself imagine. pictures that had his cock twitching, heat pooling low in his gut before he even realized it.

“shit,” he whispered under his breath, shifting uncomfortably. but nothing helped. every noise made it worse — you’d always been his best friend. his constant. he’d never thought about you like this, not once. and now all he could think about was what your face looked like when you cried out, what your body looked like under someone else’s hands. he sat there, trapped, every muscle locked tight, his heart thundering out of control. listening as another man fucked you in a room he’d wandered into a thousand times before.

•ᴥ•

you came undone with a gasp, fingers digging into shotaro’s shoulders as his hips snapped up one last time. he groaned, body tensing before spilling into the condom, the both of you collapsing into the sheets at the same time. for a moment, the only sound was heavy breathing. then, as always, the spell broke. no kisses. no cuddles. no gentle aftermath. just silence and the faint, sweat-slick smell of sex. you pulled the hem of your oversized t-shirt, you’re sure is yangyang’s, letting it fall just enough to cover your thighs, “get out,” you muttered, already reaching for the water bottle by your nightstand.

shotaro just laughed, eyes crinkling with that easy expression he always had, “efficient as ever,” he rolled out of bed, tugging his cargo pants up without a care, “but damn…worth it.”

a few minutes later, shotaro padded out of your bedroom, running a hand through his already misheveled hair. you didn’t bother walking him out the door, staying rooted at the ede of your bed. but the second he stepped into your living room, he froze.

“uh…hi,” yangyang blurted, voice loud enough to snap you right back into your body.

“yang?” you stumbled out of your bedroom and into the living room, in nothing but your best friend's shirt and your blue underwear, heart leaping into your throat, “what are you doing here?”

he stuttered immediately, eyes wide, trying to ignore the fact that you’re wearing his shirt, “i—i just got here, i’ll just, uhm go—“

shotaro, completely unfazed and clearly enjoying the tension, cut in smoothly as he headed towards your door, “no worries, man. i was already on my way out.”

the casual tone, the little smirk on his face, the way yangyang’s ears burned bright red made the air between you sharp, electric, almost unbearable. and then the door clicked shut behind your fuck buddy.

for a second, the apartment was too quiet. just you. just yangyang. just the faint scent of sex lingering and his oversized t-shirt clinging to your skin. yangyang leaned back into your couch cushions, smirking like he had the upper hand, though his posture screamed otherwise. you could tell he was trying to look casual but the way he shifted, one of your throw pillows clutched across his lap, gave him away.

“so…” he drawled, lips twitching, “you and shotaro, huh?”

“shut up,” you shot him a glare but he only laughed.

you marched past him toward the kitchen, snatching up the abandoned empty pizza box you still needed to throw out, just to have something to do with your hands, “we just fuck sometimes. that’s it. don’t make it a big deal.”

yangyang let out a low whistle, rocking forward on the couch, “damn. my best friend’s got a whole secret sex life i didn’t know about.” his eyes sparkled with mischief, “kinda proud, teddy. lowkey impressed you snatched mr. dancing machine.”

you shot him a look sharp enough to cut glass, “i should’ve never given you the code to my door. you muttered, tossing the crumpled pizza box into the trash with a little too much force.

when you turned back, you caught him shifting uncomfortably, one of your throw pillows suddenly clutched across his lap. he tries to play it off, “what? no way. best gift you ever gave me. unlimited therapy session. plus i get to waltz in whenever i want. it’s like—“ he made a sweeping gesture, pillow still in place, “a VIP membership to your life.”

“yeah, a VIP membership to walk in on things you really shouldn’t,” you shot back, raising a brow.

he groaned, tipping his head back against the couch dramatically, “okay fair, but how was i supposed to know you’d be…you know…” he waved vaguely in the direction of your bedroom, like he could erase the memory with a gesture.

you crossed your arms, trying not to grin too much, “that’s why next time, maybe text first?”

you couldn’t help but notice how tightly he was clutching your throw pillow, fingers digging in like he was holding on for dear life. the fabric stretched under his knuckles and the way his arm trembled slightly didn’t escape your attention. “yang…” you said, tilting your head, voice playful but pointed, “why are you gripping my pillow like that?

he froze instantly, the pillow almost molded to the shape of his hand and a faint flush crept up his neck, “i-i’m not…” his voice trailed off and he shifted awkwardly on the couch, trying to loosen his grip without actually letting go.

“mhmm,” you crossed your arms, smirking despite your own heart hammering in your chest as you stepped closer, “—that’s a very relaxed way to hold a pillow, don’t you think?”

his jaw tightened, eyes darting away, but the tension radiating off him was impossible to ignore, “i-it’s just comfortable,” he muttered, still holding the pillow like it was shielding him from the world.

you laughed softly, crossing your arms, pretending to inspect him critically, “i see everything, you know. every little thing you try to hide,” you said, voice teasing, eyes sparkling as you let your words hang in the air.

his ears burned bright red, a mix of exasperation and embarrassment in his expression, “shut up,” he muttered. you walked over and with one swift motion, you yanked the pillow out of his grip before he could stop you. the second it left his hands, you caught the undeniable confirmation — the hard outline pressed against his sweats. your jaw dropped, then you burst into uncontrollable laughter, clutching your stomach, “you did not seriously get a boner over that. are you a teenager?!,” you gasped between laughter, pointing at him.

yangyang’s face blazed, “can you really blame me? that was like…audio porn!”

you laughed even harder, slapping your knees, unable to believe what you were seeing. he scowled for a moment, then suddenly lunged at you, toppling you backward onto the couch, “okay, you asked for this!,” he declared. the tickle fight that followed left you squealing, squirming beneath him, his hands grabbing at your sides and ribs, laughter spilling out of both of you. but as your bodies pressed together in the struggle, you felt it — the hard, unmistakable heat of him pressing right against the thin cotton of your panties.

yangyang froze for a split second, his eyes wide as he realized you might feel it too. the laughter caught in your throat, replaced by a sharp inhale. both of you were suddenly hyper-aware of just how wrong it was to be half-naked and ridiculously turned on while pretending to have a childish tickle fight. the room feeling heavy and charged —playfulness collapsing into something dangerous.

yangyang cleared his throat and rolled off you like the couch had burned him. you scrambled upright, tugging the hem of his shirt lower, refusing to meet his eyes. the silence was unbearable. so you reached for the remote and flicked the t.v. on. you curled up at the far end of the couch, he leaned against the opposite armrest, still flushed, the pillow back on his lap, pretending to look interested in whatever nonsense flashed on screen. but you could feel the weight of him. the silence between you wasn’t just awkward, it was suffocating. finally, desperate to cut through it, you risked a sideways glance at him and muttered, “...do you, uh…need help with that?”

yangyang’s head whipped towards you, eyes blown wide, like you’d just detonated a bomb in the middle of the room. his lips parted, no words at first. color rushed up his neck, burning his ears. he scoffed weakly, shaking his head, “you’re joking.”

were you? you weren’t even sure. you’d do anything for him if he asked. but of course, he didn’t need to know that.

“of course, i’m joking,” you forced out a teasing grin, leaning back against the cushions, “go to my bathroom and take care of it.”

he groaned, rolling his eyes and threw the pillow at you, “shut up. let’s just…talk about something else and it’ll go away.”

you tossed the pillow aside, smirking, “okay, what do you want to talk about?”

he cleared his throat, clearly grateful for the subject change, though his voice was still rough at the edges. his mind wandered back to the real reason he’d come over in the first place. “i saw them again today,” he started, eyes fixed on the t.v. though he wasn’t really watching. you sighed, sinking back into your side of the couch, already bracing yourself for another one of his renjun and love venting sessions.

•ᴥ•

later that evening, when yangyang shut the door to his room and collapsed onto his bed, it all came rushing back — the sound of your moans, the sight of you in his shirt, the feel of your body warm beneath his. and then your voice, low and teasing, brushing the edges of something dangerous.

“...do you, uh…need help with that?”

what if he’d said yes? would you really have done it? would you have dropped to your knees for him, lips wrapping around his cock, swallowing every ragged sound he’d make? the thought made his whole body tense, his cock throbbing so hard it hurt. a groan tore out of his chest as his hand slipped beneath his waistband, wrapping around himself. he was already leaking, already too far gone from hours of being so fucking hard. his strokes were rough, fast, chasing that impossible image of you — your mouth stretched around him, eyes flicking up, smug and playful even as you hollowed your cheeks. the more he pictured it, the more unbearable it became, until his hips were snapping into his fist, muscles drawn tight as wire. heat coiled sharp and low before it snapped all at once, spilling across his stomach in thick, messy ropes. his head tipped back against the pillow with a guttural curse, relief hitting so hard his thighs trembled.

all he could do was breathe. and when his chest finally slowed, as the sweat cooled on his skin, the guilt crept in — he stared at the ceiling, jaw tight, trying to shove the images away, trying to convince himself it didn’t matter. that it didn’t mean anything. that he was just pent up, just needed a release. that it wasn’t about you.

he wiped his hand on a tissue, tossing it blindly toward the trash and dragged both palms over his face. never again. he told himself. this can’t happen again. because you were his best friend. the one person he could be stupid with, unfiltered with. the one person he trusted more than anyone. he couldn’t let a few reckless urges ruin thirteen years of friendship. he wouldn’t. he swore it to himself, jaw set tight in the dark. she’s my best friend, he thought. that’s all she is. that’s all she can be. but even as the words repeated in his head, he felt how flimsy they were. like paper trying to hold back a flood. because even as exhaustion pulled him under, the realization hit him hard. for the first time in weeks, the thought of you had replaced the thought of her.

not his ex. not the best friend who broke his heart.

just you.

and somehow, that terrified him more than anything else.

🧸 SEPTEMBER 22 - TUESDAY - JEALOUSY.

it had only been a week since the four of you last sat in this class together. a week wasn’t long. the classroom hadn’t changed. the paint-splattered stools, the faint smell of paint, the hum of pencils scratching against sketchbooks.

but yangyang felt completely different.

a week ago, all he could see was them – renjun and love. sitting just a few feet away, whispering into each other’s ears, trading smiles so soft they might as well have been knives. watching them had been torture. watching them had cracked him open, ripped at his scars until they burned fresh again.

but now…now all he could think about was you.

you, sitting right beside him, bent over your sketchpad as you finalized the outlines for the cafe’s logo. the brush of your arm against his, the warmth of your thigh grazing his under the table — it was all suddenly unbearable. at one point you leaned just slightly closer to point out something on your paper and yangyang swore he forgot how to breathe. a week ago, this wouldn’t have registered. he would've been too wrapped up in heartbreak, in hating how much renjun and love looked like the perfect pair. but today, his focus had shifted. things he never noticed before, things he brushed off as meaningless, now had his pulse stuttering in his veins. every laugh you let slip, every time you slapped his thigh when the laughter was too much to hold in, every absentminded brush of your fingers against his, every small, careless detail of your presence, every innocent point of contact — felt like a jolt to his system.

renjun slid his sketchpad forward, tapping his pencil against the rim of the drawn coffee cup, “i added a little more detail to the cup,” he explained, casual but confident, “just to highlight the main focus.”

you leaned in to look, lips curling into something polite and careful, “that’s actually really nice,” you said, your tone smooth, deliberate, “the way you shaded the curve makes it look sharper. good detail.”

you were playing nice. yangyang knew it. he was the one who begged you to not make things harder and you were just doing exactly what he wished for. but now — all yangyang heard was the softness in your voice when you praised renjun, all he saw was the way you leaned in to look closer. his hand froze mid-stroke, pencil hovering above his page. his thoughts consuming him. why do you have to lean in like that? why do you sound so impressed when you talk to him? jealousy burned in his gut, hot and sour. his ex-girlfriend had already chosen renjun over him. would you, too?

renjun looked between the two of you, then casually asked, “what do you think, yang? too much shading?”

yangyang blinked, yanked back to the conversation. “yeah. probably. it’s a little overdone.” his voice was sharper than he meant it to be, his pencil pressing too hard against his own page.

renjun frowned, looking at his sketch. “i was just trying to—”

“—make it perfect, i know,” yangyang cut in quickly, forcing a laugh that didn’t land, “classic renjun, mr. detail.”

you shifted slightly, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. not a word — just a look he understood immediately. the one that asked, what’s wrong with you?

then you looked at renjun, muttering out an encouraging, “i like it. don’t listen to yangyang.” before redirecting your gaze back to your best friend, searching for answers. finally, he shook his head, sharp and small, and when he didn’t elaborate, you exhaled softly and turned back to the page.

yangyang forced his pencil back to the paper but the jealousy didn’t fade. class went on. renjun and love whispered to each other across from him, trading notes and soft smiles, while yangyang continued to sit stiff beside you, pretending to sketch. every time you leaned forward to ask renjun a question or murmured something polite, his chest tightened, green burning under his ribs. he didn’t say a word though. just let it fester, chewing on the inside of his cheek until class finally ended.

the four of you packed up. renjun and love left first. you slung your bag over your shoulder, waiting for yangyang to grab his things. it wasn’t until you stepped out into the hallway, the classroom door swinging shut behind you, that he finally spoke, “you were being awfully nice,” he said, low, almost casual but not really.

you blinked, glancing sideways at him, “huh?”

he shrugged, eyes fixed forward, like it was no big deal, “to them. to renjun.”

your brow furrowed, piecing the pieces together, “okay, wait—” you stopped walking, forcing him to stop too, “so, let me get this straight. last week you literally ignored me for being mean to them and now you’re mad that i’m nice?”

yangyang’s jaw clenched. he didn’t have a good answer and he knew it, “i’m not mad.”

you scoffed, “you sound mad.”

“i’m not,” he insisted, sharper this time. but his voice cracked halfway through, betraying him.

your eyes narrowed, “then what is it?”

his jaw tightened, “nothing.”

you folded your arms, not letting him off that easy, “bullshit. you’ve been sulking since renjun showed his sketch. so go on…say it. what’s actually bothering you?”

yangyang looked at you then, finally meeting your eyes and for a split second something raw flickered there. but just as quickly, he shoved it down. “it’s just—” he faltered, then forced a laugh. “you don’t have to praise him like he’s picasso, okay? it’s just a coffee cup.”

you stared at him, incredulous, “that’s what this is about? you’re jealous over…shading?”

his ears went red, “i’m not jealous.”

you raised a brow, “right. whatever you say.”

he groaned, dragging a hand down his face, “god, you’re impossible.”

“and you’re ridiculous!” you shot back, but softer now, playful. you sighed, letting your arms drop, “i was just trying to do what you asked me to do. be nice. keep the peace.”

that silenced him. his throat bobbed as he swallowed, guilt flashing across his expression before he shoved it away again. for a moment, neither of you said anything. the hallway buzzed faintly with other students passing by but between you two, the tension pressed thick and heavy.

yangyang finally muttered, barely audible, “yeah…i know. i just…don’t like it.”

you blinked at him, then let out a short laugh before a smirk took over your face, casual, easy, “relax. i’m not about to run off and join their little lovefest. you’re stuck with me, dummy.”

that tugged a reluctant chuckled out of him, low and quiet, but enough to soften the edges of his jealousy. the two of you walked on, the tension easing into something familiar again – banter layered over the unsaid, like always.

🧸 SEPTEMBER 25 - FRIDAY - SEVEN MINUTES IN HEAVEN.

the bass downstairs rattles the floorboards, the whole riize frat house alive with drunk laughter and chants. someone’s passed you a red solo cup that’s been refilled too many times already and your head is pleasantly fuzzy, heart beating too fast in your chest. you hadn’t planned to be here. you only came because yangyang dragged you, promising “just one beer, chill night, we’ll leave early.” but somehow just one beer became just one shot and then just one more until you were giggling against the upstairs hallway wall, watching couples stumble into a closet as the next victims of seven minutes in heaven.

you’d been content to watch — until shotaro, grinning at you like the devil he is, suddenly points right at you, “yo, i nominate them,” he says, voice carrying over the cheers, “our favorite besties! yangyang and y/n!” he smirks, saying your name with way too much glee. the crowd roars. your stomach drops. and if looks could kill, shotaro would be five feet under while you fake cry with a bouquet in your hand.

yangyang laughs it off at first, waving them away, “nah, nah, pick someone else—”

but his refusal only made the chants louder, “YANGYANG! Y/N! YANYANG! Y/N!”

then shotaro delivers the killing blow, “if they don’t at least make out, they gotta streak from this room all the way to pool. naked. right now.” yeah, you were about ready to book his funeral date.

the crowd erupts even louder. someone pounds on the closet door for emphasis. you glance at yangyang, mortified. his cheeks are already pink from the alcohol but the flush deepens as his eyes meet yours. yanyang lets out a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of hic neck, “guess we’re screwed, huh?”

before you can argue, hands are on your backs, shoving you both into the closet. the door slams and the lock clicks. the crowd outside starts a countdown, muffled through the wood but relentless, “SEVEN! MINUTES! IN! HEAVEN!”

the closet is pitch dark, the smell of coats and cologne hanging in the air. yangyang stumbles into you, shoulder knocking yours, both of you giggling awkwardly. the sound dies fast. something about being trapped in this tiny closet, being this close, hits you hard. he exhales, voice low, trying to keep it light, “okay, so…either we streak naked in front of like, half the frat…” his pause is long, deliberate, “or…we make out.”

your heart lurches, all those times you’ve been at your best behavior, trying not to ruin your friendship, trying to keep your feelings at bay, just for it to crumble down over a silly little party game. you scoff, trying to keep his light tone, “i’m never letting you drag me into a party again.”

outside, someone yells, “WE’RE LISTENING!," followed by laughter.

yangyang curses under his breath, hiding his own nerves under a giggle. then, after a beat, he adds, softer, almost testing, “honestly? i’d rather kiss you than have our nudes all over social media.” you couldn’t argue with that. plus you had more to lose than he did. the seconds stretch, your pulse thundering in your ears. and then yangyang moves, slowly, his hand brushing your wrist like he’s asking permission.

“you cool with it?”

“yeah,” you whispered, hoping he doesn’t catch the way your voice shook or the way your heart is pounding so loud you could barely hear the roar of cheers outside.

and before you could even register what was happening, he softly tilted you towards him, a finger under your chin — lips on yours in a soft, slow kiss, tasting faintly of beer and hesitation. it lasted five total seconds before you pulled back an inch, breathless. he did too. for a suspended moment, it was just the sound of your heavy breathing. then, as if drawn by the same thought — you both leaned in again. at the same time. firmer this time. mouths slotting together in a rush that felt inevitable. the longer it lasts, the less funny it becomes. his hand slides to your waist, tugging you closer in the tight space. your fingers fisted in the front of his shirt. the kiss grew hungrier, teeth clashing a little, tongues tangling in a way that made your knees week and a whine slip from your lips.

“OH THEY’RE DEFINITELY DOING SOMETHING!,” someone yelled from outside.

yangyang chuckled against your mouth, lips trailing dangerously close to your ear. his breath was hot, his whisper meant only for you, “guess we should give them what they want, huh?” he kissed down your jaw, lingering at your neck until a moan slipped out of you before you could control it. the crowd howled like they’d just won a prize. minutes blurred, heat and alcohol tangling until you weren’t sure where your laughter ended and your moans began. the world outside blurred into static as your world narrows to yangyang’s lips moving hungrily against yours, body flushed, fingers digging into his hair like you've been waiting years for this. which, technically, you have.

by the time someone outside banged on the door and shouted, “TIME’S UP!” you were both panting, clothes rumpled, lips swollen.

yangyang leaned his head back against the wall, laughing breathlessly, eyes gleaming even in the dark, “think we bought ourselves out of streaking duty?”

you couldn’t even answer, too busy catching your breath. his thumb brushed your lower lip, almost absent-mindedly, wiping away your smudged lipstick, like now that he’s touched you like this he could no longer stop.

the lock clicked, the door swung open, and the roar of the party came crashing in. everyone’s faces lit up at the sight of you two flushed and disheveled, shotaro looking prouder than usual. someone even shouted, “DAMN, THEY WENT IN ON EACH OTHER!”

your face burned. yangyang just slung an arm around your shoulders, calm and collected, like nothing happened, grinning lazily, “relax,” he murmured in your ear, sensing your embarrassment as if you weren’t both flushed and rumpled, “we just won the game.” you rolled your eyes, forcing a laugh but your pulse was still racing. the crowd quickly lost interest, moving on to drag their next victims towards the closet while you and yangyang slipped back into the swarm of bodies downstairs. the bass was heavier here, lights flashing orange and white across sweaty faces. yangyang steered you toward the kitchen, “shots?”

you looked at the alcohol like it hasn’t already gotten you in enough trouble for the night, “definitely.” the two of you lined up side by side at the counter, tossing them back one after the other. the tequila burned but it was better than the heat still lingering on your lips. better than the way your chest tightened every time you remembered how’d he pressed you against the closet wall.

you both laughed too loudly, moved too quickly, like if you just kept pouring and swallowing, you could wash away the last seven minutes. back in the living room, ningning pulled you onto the dance floor. yangyang followed instantly, a goofy grin plastered on his face, body moving to the beat with exaggerated moves. you bumped shoulders, trying so hard to act like it was just another party. just another night with your best friend. but every time his hand brushed your waist in the chaos, the memory of his mouth on yours came roaring back. so you drowned it in another shot. and another. and another.

yangyang mirrored you drink for drink, laughing, joking, throwing his head back like nothing in the world had changed. you didn’t notice the way his smile would falter in the moments between — how his gaze would drop to your lips before he tore it away, burying it in the crowd, the music, the liquor.

neither of you could stop drinking, like the burn in your throats was easier to handle than the fire that had just set between you.

•ᴥ•

the party was still raging when you and yangyang finally slipped out, laughter ringing behind you, the smell of alcohol clinging to your clothes. the cool night air hit your cheeks, the two of you stumbling down the sidewalk, drunk giggles bubbling between hiccups of silence.

“my feef hu-urrgh,” you muttered, tripping over a curb.

yangyang caught your elbow, though his own balance was barely steady, “what?” he laughed, blinking hard like it would steady the street spinning under his feet.

“my. feet. hurt.” you repeated slower, enunciating each word like it took every ounce of concentration.

that only made him double over with laughter, his arm looping around your shoulders just to keep the both of you upright. you clung to him, laughing so hard your ribs ached. every step was a stumble, every laugh another collapsed into each other’s sides, until the two of you were gasping for air like idiots. by the time you made it up the stairs to your apartment, your faces ache from laughing. at what? neither of you even knew anymore. yangyang nearly fell against the keypad, both of you struggling to remember the code while giggling like kids sneaking out past curfew. somehow, you got it in, and the door slammed behind you with a heavy thud. shoes kicked off somewhere near the entryway while you stumbled in tandem through the dark before collapsing in a tangled heap onto your bed, too drunk to care about the lights or the mess. the mattress groaned under the weight, the room spinning in dizzy circles, “a-are we spinning?” you giggled into your pillow.

“yeahhh,” yangyang slurred, rolling onto his back beside you, the mattress dipped, his arm brushing yours, his knee bumping your thigh. neither of you moved away. you turned your head, ready to tease him — only he was right there. closer than you expected. close enough to see the glassy gleam in his eyes, close enough to feel the heat of tequila on his breath. and just like that, the air shifted. the laughter died, choked out by the thud of your heart pounding too fast in your chest. his eyes flicked to your lips, then back to your gaze, lazy but sharp, like he was fighting to decide if he’d imagined what happened earlier.

for one suspended second, you swore the room stopped spinning.

then his lips were on yours again — this time sloppy, desperate, all the tension from the night finally slipping over. the second his hand slid to the back of your head like he’d been starving for this, your body gave in. you gasped into his mouth, the sound swallowed whole as the kiss turned hotter, hungrier, tongues tangling, teeth clashing, both of you desperate enough that precision didn’t matter. his body heat drowned out everything, pulling you in until you were chest to chest. his hands slid under your shirt, fumbling, tugging you on top of him with a growl muffled against your mouth. you straddled him without hesitation, knees sinking into the mattress, fingers fisting the fabric of his hoodie.

somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew you were crossing a line. but with yangyang’s lips moving against yours, breath ragged, hips pressing up into yours — there was no stopping it now.

“fuck,” he groaned, teeth grazing your jaw as his head tipped back, “we shouldn’t—”

“then stop,” you whispered back, dragging your mouth down his throat.

he didn’t. he couldn’t. his hands drag over your waist, clumsy but hungry, pulling your shirt off and tossing it to the side. every brush of his fingers made the blood roar in your ears, making the world tilt. clothes fell away in pieces — his hoodie yanked off, your jeans kicked off the bed. every barrier stripped felt less like a choice and more like inevitability. like this had always been where you were headed. by the time you were both bare, your skin slick against his in the dark — the air was thick with heat and alcohol. and when his hips bucked, the hard press of him against you made your stomach clench. your lips trailed lower, tasting the salt of his skin, kissing down the hard lines of his chest, your hands roaming, desperate to touch everything you’d never let yourself have before tonight. his breath hitched, hips jerking when your lips reached his stomach. and when you finally wrapped your hand around him, hard and heavy against your palm, yangyang’s head tipped back against the pillow, eyes squeezing shut, a hoarse curse tumbling out of his lips, “shit—” he groaned, hips bucking up helplessly. his knuckles went white, twisting in the sheets, his head thrown back, hair sticking damp to his forehead. the first slick drag of your tongue had him gasping, the second had him choking on a broken moan that sounded nothing like the playful, smug best friend you knew.

“you’re—shit—you’re bigger than you look,” you giggled before your lips sucked around his tip, collecting his leaking pre-cum.

he let out a strangled sound, a mix between laughter and a groan, his hips jerking helplessly, “don’t—f-fuck—don’t say that,” his voice cracked, raw and desperate, “god, teddy—shit, don’t stop, please don’t stop—”

the nickname nearly undid you. you sank your lips further down his length, the weight of him hot and heavy on your tongue, until your throat burned and your eyes watered, but you didn’t care. the more you took, the more you wanted. you were dizzy on the taste of him, the way he was begging, the way his thighs trembled around you, the way his hand clutched your hair like it was the only thing tethering him to reality. yangyang’s voice cracked again, hoarse and pleading, “please—please, more—,” his hips jerked like he was trying to fuck your throat, “you’re so—shit—you’re so good at this.”you choked around him and he nearly fell apart, the sound vibrating throughout his body, his voice breaking into a strangled cry as his cock twitched on your tongue, hips jerking harder.

“f-fuck, i’m gonna—,” his voice pitched high, desperate, like he didn’t even want it to end. his free hand fisted in the sheets, pulling them tight. his eyes rolled back, sweat beading at his temple, voice cracking on your name as he broke off in a long, drawn-out whimper, spilling hot into your mouth. you hollowed your cheeks and swallowed him down, drunk off of the way he fell apart for you, whiny and ruined and begging like he’d never known how to beg before.

you were still catching your breath, lips wet and swollen, when yangyang suddenly surged up, his hand gripping your waist. in a messy blur, he flipped you onto your back. your mind way too drunk to catch up, “yang—,” you gasped as his lips closed around your nipple, teeth grazing, tongue dragging clumsy but desperate.

“shut up,” he mumbled against your skin, breath hot, laugh muffled, “y-you think i’m letting you be the only one? fuck no.”

he was sill so drunk. both of you were. but the hunger in the way he mouthed at you didn’t feel dulled — it felt sharpened, frantic. his mouth blazed down your body, leaving sloppy kisses and bite marks until he shoved his shoulders between your knees. the first drag of his tongue had you gasping, head feeling back against the pillow. the second had you crying out, your fingers tangling in his hair.

“yang—ahh—,” the ceiling tilting above you. there was nothing polished about the way he ate you — just raw hunger. he groaned at the taste, pressing deeper, tongue messy, unrestrained, loud slurps, wet sounds, shameless moans that made your whole body shudder, his face buried deep like he couldn’t get close enough.

“holy shitt—you taste—,” his words slurred into nonsense, “—so fucking good—been wanting—god, i’m so—,” he cut himself off with a groan, nose pressing against you as his tongue worked deeper, sloppy and desperate. your thighs trembled, your hips rolling helplessly into his mouth. his grip only tightened, pinning you down, making you take everything he gave you. his hair was damp with sweat under your finger, his own moans muffled against you as he devoured you like he was starving.

“yang—fuck—fuck—,” your back arched, toes curling, the heat in your stomach bulding as his tongue dragged over that perfect spot again and again. you pulled at his hair, desperate for something to anchor yourself to and that only made him shove deeper, his nose bumping your clit as he tongue-fucked you. then two fingers pressed inside you without hesitation, the stretch clumsy but so, so deep, curling until your cry broke sharp and high. every noise he pulled out of you made him groan louder, rutting into the mattress below him. the bed creaked with his pace, each thrust of his fingers matched by his frantic grinding. his cock rock-hard again and leaking all over the sheets but he was too wrecked to care about the mess he was making. not when you were writhing underneath him.

“god, teddy—,” he whined shamelessly, his rhythm stuttering as your walls fluttered around his fingers, he curled them harder, faster, desperate to hear more of your noises, “you’re so hot like this. fuck–please—”

you sobbed out a whine, back arching, nails scraping his scalp and the noise he made was downright wrecked. his hips snapped against the bed, chasing friction, chasing relief. every time you moaned, he whimpered, rutting harder against your bed, smearing precum over your sheets without shame.

“please—please—,” the word tumbled from his lips, incoherent, half begging you to come, half begging himself not to finish again. his tongue lapped around your clit, “you sound so good—taste so good—god, i could—shit—i could do this for hours.

“yangyang—” your voice broke, shivering as his fingers curled impossibly deeper, hitting that spot that made stars burst behind your eyelids.

“say it again,” he gasped against you, tongue moving messier, wetter, more frantic, “please—please say my name—” you screamed it this time, back arching off the mattress — and he broke with it. he moaned loud into you, his release spilling against the sheets as he came undone a second time, grinding into the bed like he couldn’t stop. and he didn’t stop. even as he shuddered, even as his cock twitched against the bed, he kept his fingers pumping, his tongue pressing until your climax hit hard — violent, wracking, tearing a broken cry from your throat as yangyang’s tongue and fingers pushed you over the edge. your whole body arched off the mattress, thighs clamping around his head as you came.

“yang—fuck—i’m—” your voice broke, the rest swallowed in a silent moan as you pulsed around his fingers. heat flooded every nerve, your vision going white at the edges. he drew every last shudder from you, swallowing down your release. when you finally sagged back into bed, chest heaving, your vision swam in dizzy stars. yangyang collapsed against your thigh, face sticky, lips slick with you, hair damp with sweat. his cock softening against the ruined sheets but his body still trembled faintly, spent from his own release.

netiher of you spoke. neither of you could. the alcohol, the mess, the sheer exhaustion weighed down your limbs. you reached blindly for him and he came up without hesitation, dragging himself up onto the bed beside you. the sheets were ruined, sticky with sweat and sex, but neither of you could care. you were too drunk, too spent, too wrapped up in the haze of each other’s bodies. you curled into each other automatically, his arm slung heavy around your waist, your forehead pressed against his chest. and just like that, tangled in the wreckage of your choices, you both slipped under.

🧸 SEPTEMBER 26 - SATURDAY - A MISTAKE.

sunlight cut across your room far too bright for your pounding head. the dryness in your mouth hit first, then the throb behind your eyes and then the heat pressed against you.

you weren’t alone.

the realization landed the same second yangyang stirred. his arm was around your waist. your bare chest flush to his. the sheets clung to your legs, tangled between your bodies. you blinked hard, vision swimming, just as his lashes fluttered open. the moment your eyes locked, sober clarity snapped like a rubber band pulled too tight.

“oh—fuck,” yangyang rasped, voice hoarse, eyes wide as he jerked back, only to freeze when he realized he was still naked under your sheets. your stomach plummeted. the pounding in your head drowned out by a harder, colder pulse of panic. you scrambled upright, dragging the blanket against your chest like it could erase the way his skin had been on yours just seconds ago. the silence was deafening. both of you breathing too fast, too shallow. both of you remembering at the same time — the shots, the laughter, the way you’d stumbled into bed together, into each other. the way you’d stripped and kissed each other down.

neither of you could take it back.

yangyang shoved a hand through his hair, cursing under his breath, his voice cracked around the word, “shit. shit. we—”

you cut in, voice sharper than you meant, “yeah, i know what we did.”

the air between you was heavy, thick, everything unsaid pressing down until it felt suffocating. he looked away first, jaw tight, muttering, “we were drunk. it…it didn’t mean anything.”

your chest constricted like he’d punched straight through it. a wake up call. a reminder of the thing you already knew deep down — the boy you’re in love with will never love you back. not in the way you want him to. that last night, to him, was nothing but a blurred mistake in a series of poor decisions. your pulse roared in your ears, but you forced your face blank, forced the words out even though they scraped your throat raw, “right,” you said quickly, too quickly, “it doesn’t mean anything. we were drunk.” you repeat his words, your laugh coming out hollow, brittle, a poor imitation of casual. you clutched the blanket tighter around yourself as if it could hold together the pieces of you splintering from the inside out.

yangyang let out a shaky exhale, his shoulders dropping, some flicker of relief passing across his features, “yeah. exactly. just…a mistake. we’ll forget it.”

a mistake. the word lodged in your chest like glass, sharp and cruel. you nodded anyway because what else could you do? admit you’re in love with him? admit that last night hadn’t felt like a mistake at all? that even drunk, it was the only thing that ever felt real? no. you couldn’t ruin thirteen years of friendship for something he wanted to forget. so you swallowed it down.

the burn of tequila was nothing compared to the ache of swallowing this truth.

“yeah,” you whispered, eyes fixed anywhere but him, “forget it.”

the silence stretched, unbearable, until it felt like the walls were closing in. he moved first, movements hurried, clumsy, as he shoved one leg into his jeans, then the other. his hands shook as he yanked the zipper, as he searched your floor for his hoodie. you sat frozen on the bed, nails digging crescents into your palm beneath the blanket. your body screamed to move, to say something, anything, but you stayed still like a statue.

he didn't look at you when he finally muttered, voice low, “i’ll see you later.” the door clicked shut behind him. and only then, when you were finally alone, did the first crack in your facade give way. your shoulders sagged. the tears you’d been biting back stung hot at the corners of your eyes, spilling silently down your cheeks as your curled into yourself on the bed that still smelled like the remnants of last night. the sheets clung damp to your skin. his warmth lingered like a ghost in the mattress. you pressed your face into the pillow, muffling the sob that tore its way out. the taste of last night still lingering on your tongue.

🧸 SEPTEMBER 28 - MONDAY - THE OBVIOUS.

yangyang couldn’t stop replaying it. the taste of your lips, the heat of your body, the way your laughter had broken into a moan in the dark. images of you flashing and consuming every waking thought he had. and then — yesterday. the look in your eyes. the word mistake. he told himself it was fine. you were fine. best friends go through shit and move on. but every time he tried to focus, the memory pressed harder, suffocating, until he felt like he was choking on the silence he brought upon himself. and the worst part? he couldn’t even talk to you about it. the one person he usually ran to when shit like this happens.

so he ended up standing outside the dream fraternity house, hands stuffed in his hoodie pocket, debating whether this was the dumbest idea of his life. the door creaked open before he could knock. jeno gave him a curious once-over, one eyebrow arched, before jerking his head inside, “renjun’s upstairs.” yangyang muttered a thanks, his throat dry — he found renjun hunched over his desk, sketchbook open, pencil tapping. the same renjun he’d been avoiding for weeks. the same renjun who had once been closer than a brother before everything fell apart. now here he was. because despite it all, renjun was the next person who would understand him.

renjun’s gaze lifted, sharp, unreadable at first, then softening into a flicker of shock. “hey…everything okay?”

yangyang leaned against the doorframe, suddenly aware of how stupid this is. he exhaled, running a hand through his hair, “i, uh…i need,” he clears his throat, exhaling, running a hand through his hair, “i need to talk to someone.”

renjun set his pencil down, leaning back in his chair, inviting him to come in, “you know i’m always all ears.” something in his tone — calm, patient, not holding the past against him, was enough to crack yangyang’s defenses, a nervous grin tugged on his lips as he stepped inside slowly before taking a seat at the edge of his friend’s bed.

“i–,” he hesitated, then the words tumbled out, low and rough, “i hooked up with y/n.”

the silence hit first. then renjun’s brows rose, not in shock exactly, more like confirmation, “hooked up as in—?”

yangyang groaned, dragging his hands down his face, “as in we were drunk and got to second base.”

renjun whistled under his breath, but his expression stayed calm, almost knowing, “well,” he said, leaning back further in his chair, “took you long enough.”

yangyang’s had snapped up, “the fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

renjun tilted his head, studying him with that infuriating but familiar precision, no judgment in it, just quiet truth, “i always knew there was something else there.”

yangyang blinked. the words didn’t compute, “what? no way. we’ve always just been best friends.”

“sure,” renjun said evenly, “best friends who look at each other like the rest of the world disappears. best friends who packed their bags and flew all the way to germany for an internship because it was the only one the both of you got into—”

“what are you trying to say?” yangyang cut in, pulse stuttering, a little annoyed now, defensive because he didn’t know what else to be.

renjun’s gaze softened. his voice was steady, kind in a way yangyang wasn’t prepared for, “you can lie to yourself all you want, yang, but it doesn’t change what’s obvious to literally everyone else,” renjun paused, eyes searching his, “maybe to you, you’ve just been best friends. but y/n? she looks at you the same way i look at love.”

yangyang let out a sharp, incredulous laugh, shaking his head hard enough to make his messy hair fall into his eyes. “no jun, come on. if that was true, if there was anything like that, don’t you think it would’ve happened by now? we’ve had years of being alone together. sleepovers, drunk nights, heartbreaks, traveling halfway across the world together, even staying at the same shitty hostel in germany. and nothing. not once. until last night, when we were drunk out of our minds. that doesn’t scream fate, that screams…accident. that’s it.”

renjun just leaned back further in his chair, crossing his arms like he had all the time in the world. his silence pressed harder than words, like he was waiting for yangyang to trip over his own defenses.

yangyang’s pulse spiked under it, so he filled it, his words tripping over each other, “and don’t start with the whole ‘but look at how she looks at you’ thing. she has a fuck buddy, jun. a fuck buddy. not me. if she really wanted me, why would she need someone else for that?”

“maybe because it’s easy,” renjun replied like it was the most obvious thing in the world, “because it’s just sex. no strings. no danger of her heart being broken. sometimes a placeholder is easier than the one thing that actually scares the shit out of you.”

yangyang dragged his hands down his face, “that’s…that’s a stretch. you don’t just wake up and suddenly realize you’re in love with your best friend. that’s not how it works.”

renjun tilted his head, gaze steady, “or maybe that’s exactly how it works. maybe she woke up one night and realized that love is the comfort and safety you bring her. and now she’s too scared to ruin the one thing that’s always been safe. people don’t throw grenades into the only home they have unless they’re desperate. and you’d rather pretend it’s not there than risk losing her.”

that hit closer than yangyang thought it would. his throat went dry, “god, listen to how stupid this sounds. you’re making it into something it’s not. i just got out of a relationship…with your girlfriend, if you’ve forgotten. i’m barely keeping my head above water as it is. and now you’re trying to tell me what–,” his head snapped up, frustration and panic bleeding together, “that my best friend’s been secretly in love with me this whole time? that i’m too blind to see it?”

renjun shrugged, calm, unflinching, “not blind, yang. maybe you were just too scared to acknowledge the obvious.”

yangyang’s laugh turned sharp, almost bitter, “you hear yourself right now? you sound insane, jun,” yangyang’s chest rose and fell too fast, words spilling out like he couldn’t stop them if he tried, “you think you know everything huh? newsflash— you don’t. you weren’t there.”

renjun leaned forward, elbows on his knees, tone maddeningly calm, “then tell me what it was, yang. if it wasn’t what i’m saying, then what was it?”

yangyang shot to his feet like the mattress burned him, “it was a mistake! that’s all! two drunk idiots doing something they shouldn’t have. nothing more. nothing–” he broke off, fists clenching at his sides.

renjun stood slowly, not in challenge but in quiet steadiness, like he knew raising his voice would only make yangyang spiral more, “you keep saying nothing but your whole body’s screaming the opposite.”

yangyang let out a bitter laugh, shoving past him toward the door, needing air, needing escape, he had no idea why he thought coming here would help him, “you don’t know shit, jun. you don’t know me anymore.” his hand tightened around the doorknob, ready to twist, to bolt, to drown himself in anything but this conversation. but then renjun’s voice came, lower this time, not calm in that detached way, but warm, gentle, almost like before everything between them went to shit.

“yang,” he said quietly, “i’m not saying this to fuck with you. i’m saying it because i care. and you can keep yelling, keep pretending it was just some drunk mistake but i know you. and i know the way you’re looking at me right now — like you’re terrified i might be right.”

yangyang froze. his throat worked, but no sound came out.

renjun’s steps were slow, careful, until he was standing just a few feet behind him, “i’m not trying to corner you, yang. i just…don’t want you to ruin something good because you’re too scared to call it what it is. you don’t have to figure it out tonight. but the first step is being honest with yourself. don’t run from it.” the words sank deep. yangyang swallowed hard, staring at the wood grain of the door like it could give him an answer. his grip on the knob loosened, fingers slipping away until his hand fell uselessly to his side. shoulders heavy, he let out a ragged breath, eyes burning with a frustration that wasn’t just aimed at renjun anymore.

“i don’t…” his voice cracked, softer now, breaking under its own weight, “i don’t know what the fuck i’m doing.”

renjun’s expression softened even further, almost brotherly. “that’s okay. you don’t have to know yet. just… stop pretending you feel nothing. that’s the only mistake here.”

yangyang shut his eyes, leaning his forehead briefly against the door, caught between every instinct to run and the quiet relief of not holding it all in alone anymore. slowly, almost reluctantly, he turned and came back. his legs carried him on instinct more than choice and he dropped back onto the bed. when he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, raw around the edges, “is this how scared you felt with love too?”

renjun exhaled, his chest deflating, “yeah, i was terrified. scared and guilty. every second i was with her, i knew i was hurting you. knew i was lying to myself, to you, to her. and the worst part? i couldn’t stop. i thought if i buried it deep enough, it would go away.”

yangyang swallowed, the knot in his throat tightening. he hadn’t expected renjun to answer like that — to sound so unguarded, so wrecked. he always thought he had the worst pain of the two.

“and it obviously didn’t,” he says, softer now.

renjun shook his head slowly, “no. it only got worse. until i couldn’t run from it anymore.”

for the first time that night, yangyang didn’t have a sharp comeback waiting. he just sat there, silent, the weight of renjun’s words pressing down on the panic he’d been trying to outrun. slowly, he let his hands drop, fingers flexing uselessly against his knees. his throat bobbed once, twice, before he finally muttered, almost to himself, “...thanks.”

renjun blinked, surprised. “for what?”

yangyang’s lips twisted, like the word itself was foreign to him. “for not bullshitting me. for saying it straight. i needed that.”

•ᴥ•

meanwhile in your apartment, you called the one person you were angry at. he showed up fast, still in sweats, hair messy like he’d just rolled off his couch. when you opened the door, he gave you a half smile, “texting me, already?”

you cut him off, stepping aside, “this isn’t that. sit down.”

shotaro’s brows furrowed, but he obeyed, dropping onto your couch. you stayed standing, arms crossed tight.

“why the hell did you do it?” you snapped.

“do what?”

“seven minutes in heaven! you’re the one who shoved that game on everyone, right? you’re the reason i–” your throat closed for a second, you forced the words out anyway, “the reason i messed up with yangyang!”

shotaro blinked, taken aback. “wait. messed up how—”

“it doesn’t matter!” you said quickly, cutting him off before the shame could choke you out, “what matters is you set it up like it was some kind of joke, and now everything’s fucked!” your voice cracked, fury fraying into panic, “do you get it? you ruined everything! you dick!”

shotaro leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his eyes flicking up to you with something sharper than usual, “okay, first of all, don’t put this all on me,” he said, voice firmer than you’d expected, “you think i could control how you two were gonna act?”

your jaw tightened. “you put us in that position.”

“and you’re acting like you didn’t want it,” shotaro shot back, “c’mon, y/n. you and yangyang have been dancing around each other for years. everyone sees it. i thought maybe—” he stopped himself, shaking his head with a humorless laugh. “i thought maybe you two needed the push.”

your stomach dropped. “a push? you think what happened was some kind of—of fate!? that you did us a favor!?”

“i think,” shotaro said carefully, “that it’s about time you admit you’re in love with him. how long are you gonna keep this charade up for? are you going to be one of those sad best friends standing at his wedding acting like you’re fine? or what, when he has a wife and still runs to you when they have problems? are you gonna sit there and take it like you do now? how far in the future will you keep playing this up?”

shotaro’s words hung in the air. your hands flew up to cover your face, but it was useless — the sob slipped out anyway, sharp and raw. shotaro blinked when you suddenly broke, tears spilling hot and unrestrained down your cheeks. you shoved the heel of your palm against your eyes, but it only made it worse.

“y/n…” he murmured, caught between surprise and worry.

you shook your head hard, voice cracking. “he—he called it a mistake.”

shotaro straightened, frowning. “what was?”

your throat bobbed as you nodded, the words tumbling out messy, jagged, “we—we hooked up. and for one second i thought…i thought maybe i wasn’t insane for feeling the way i do. but then he—” your chest heaved, and you squeezed your eyes shut, “—he said it was a mistake, like it didn’t mean anything. like i don’t mean anything.”

shotaro’s mouth opened, then closed again, as if he wasn’t sure what to say. he only knew the edges of the truth — that you’d been crushing on yangyang for ages. that yangyang looked at you like you held the world in his hands but had no clue. that from the outside perspective, the two of you just made sense.

“y/n,” he said softly, “i don’t think that’s what he meant.”

a bitter laugh broke from you, watery and sharp, “you weren’t there.”

“no,” he agreed, voice gentle, “but i’ve seen the way he looks at you sometimes when he thinks no one notices. he wouldn’t mean it in that way.”

you shook your head, shoulders trembling, “you don’t get it. i’m just his best friend! he made it very clear by walking out and leaving me here. and i—i ruined everything!”

shotaro hesitated, then shifted closer, pulling you into him. it wasn’t romantic, not even close — it was messy, awkward, your tears dampening his shirt, his hand rubbing slow circles between your shoulder blades.

“you didn’t ruin anything,” he murmured, “he’s scared. or confused. or both. but you? you’re not wrong for feeling what you feel.”

your fingers clutched the fabric of his shirt like a lifeline, “it hurts so much.”

“i know,” he whispered, pressing his chin lightly against the top of your head, “cry it out. i’ve got you.” and so you did, not because shotaro could fix it, not because he was the one you wanted, but because right then, he was the only one who wouldn’t call you a mistake. your sobs had quieted into hiccups, your face pressed into shotaro’s chest, when he finally leaned back enough to look at you. his thumb brushed under your eye, catching the stray tear you missed.

“hey,” he said softly, his smile crooked, “you want me to fuck the pain away?”

you let out a choked laugh despite yourself, smacking his chest weakly. “shotaro—”

“what?” he grinned, holding his hands up in mock innocence. “it’s my only real skill set here. shoulder to cry on, dick to distract you. comes in a package deal.”

you groaned, dragging your sleeve across your eyes, “god, you’re annoying.”

“but,” he leaned in, lowering his voice, “you’re laughing.” you bit down on your lip, shaking your head — but yeah, a small laugh did slip out. a real one, even if it was laced with ache.

shotaro leaned back against the couch, satisfied, and slung an arm lazily around your shoulders, “see? don’t underestimate the healing power of bad humor and good dick. it’s science.” you exhaled, the laugh dying down into something quieter, smaller. for a moment you just stared at your knees, twisting the hem of your sleeve between your fingers. the ache swelled again in your chest — not as sharp, but heavy.

“shotaro?” you asked softly.

“yeah?”

your voice cracked a little. “can you just…hold me? for a while?”

his teasing expression melted instantly. no hesitation, no jokes this time. “yeah. of course.” he shifted, tugging you gently into his chest again, this time lying back into the couch cushions so you could curl into him properly. his arm tightened around your waist, the other hand threading through your hair in slow, absent strokes. neither of you spoke after that. the last thing you felt was the steady rise and fall of his chest under your cheek before sleep pulled you under.

•ᴥ•

yangyang stood outside your apartment door, knuckles pressed to the wood, rehearsing the words in his head. this is what you did. this is what you’d always done — you talked. about everything. about bad grades and breakups, about internships and homesickness. if the world felt like it was falling apart, somehow you always put it back together again, piece by piece.

so why should this be different?

he swallowed hard, finally twisting the knob and stepping inside. the lights were dim, your living room quiet. he opened his mouth, ready to call your name. and then he froze — you were curled up on the couch. not alone. shotaro’s arm was draped over you, your face tucked into his chest, his hand still resting protectively on your waist.

yangyang’s chest tightened, heat and cold colliding at once. how could you? how could you kiss him one night, strip away years of boundaries, make his heart pound so hard he thought it’d crack open… make him question everything he thought he knew….and then just… have another man in your arms?

jealousy flared sharp, ugly in his chest, tangling with something deeper he refused to name. possessiveness. hurt. and stupid, stupid him — for even letting renjun’s words take root earlier. because this? this was proof he was an idiot. an idiot who overthinks everything when it was all really just a mistake on your end too.

he lingered a second too long, his jaw tight, breath heavy in the silence of your apartment. then, he turned on his heel and let himself out. the door clicked softly behind him. and it was like he’d never been there at all. he didn’t get far after leaving your apartment. just down the block, just far enough that your building wasn’t in sight anymore, before the weight of what he’d seen stopped him cold. his heart was still pounding, not with the same anger as before, no, this was worse — jagged and hollow at once, like his chest was caving in from the inside.

you were his best friend. his safe place. the one person he thought he didn’t have to question. and yet seeing you in someone else’s arms had gutted him in a way he couldn’t explain. you’d had boyfriends before and it never affected him like this. so it shouldn’t matter. it doesn’t matter. you weren’t his. he was the one who called what happened between you a mistake. he was the one who said it didn’t mean anything. but why did it feel like the ground had been ripped out from under him?

he shoved his hands into his pockets, pacing under the yellow streetlight, muttering under his breath, “fuck, why does this— why do i care?” the answer pressed against his ribs, sharp and undeniable. he couldn’t stand the thought of anyone else touching you, holding you, making you laugh when you cried.renjun’s voice echoed in his head, steady and infuriatingly right: you’d rather pretend it’s not there than risk losing her. yangyang laughed once, harsh and humorless, dragging his hands over his face.

“goddamn it.”

🧸 SEPTEMBER 29 - TUESDAY - PRETENDING.

you slid into your usual seat, dropping your bag with a practiced little thud. same class, same canvas, same setup as every other tuesday morning. nothing had changed — at least, that’s what you told yourself as you pasted on that easy smile, greeting the professor, nodding at classmates, settling in like you weren’t suffocating behind the mask.

yangyang was already there, hunched forward, brush spinning idly between his fingers. the second you sat down beside him, the air shifted. a crackle. a hum in your chest. too much silence where there should’ve been jokes, shoulder nudges, shared smiles. it’s the first time you’re seeing him since that mistake.

“morning,” you manage to force out, light and casual.

he glanced up, eyes shadowed, lips pressing into something that wasn’t quite a smile, “morning,” his voice was low, hoarse, like he hadn’t used it all day.

you busied yourself with your palette, clinking glass jars, swirling water, anything to fill the silence. normally this was when yangyang would lean into your space, make some dumb comment about your color choices or brush his knee against yours without noticing. but today? he sat stiff, shoulders square, every moment careful like even breathing too close to you would give him away.

from across the table, renjun’s sharp gaze flicked between the two of you. he clocked the half-inch of space between your chairs that felt like a canyon. the way your laugh at someone else’s joke rang a little too bright, a little too forced. the way yangyang kept staring at his canvas but hadn’t laid down a single stroke of paint. at one point, yangyang risked a glance at you, just a quick flicker, like he couldn’t help himself, and renjun caught it. their eyes locked across the table. renjun tilted his head, gaze steady, saying without words— you see it now, don’t you?

yangyang’s jaw tensed. he shook his head almost imperceptibly, mouthing a tight “shut up.”

you heard him. of course you did. even when you were pretending not to pay attention to him, you were. you turned your head, “what?”

renjun arched a brow, lips curving. yangyang tore his eyes away from him, looking straight at you for the first time since that night, “n-nothing, i didn’t say anything.” you nod, not having the energy to push further, before busying yourself with your sketchpad. beside him, you kept painting, keeping your mask intact. pretending this was just another tuesday. pretending you didn’t feel your pulse spike every time his knee shifted under the desk. pretending his silence didn’t ache more than words ever could. and yangyang — stiff in his chair, heart hammering against his ribs, was the only one who can tell you weren’t fine.

class went on with the two of you dancing around each other, pretending everything was still the same. pretending you haven’t crossed a line. pretending the mistake was clearly just a mistake. until the clatter of chairs and zip of bags signaled the end of class. everyone filtered out, voices rising as plans for lunch and errands filled the air. you slipped into rhythm, packing up calmly, masking every motion as ordinary. yangyang moved slower. he lingered, dragging out the task of rinsing his brushes, watching the water swirl down the jar until it was nearly clear. he told himself he wasn’t waiting. that it didn’t matter. that he didn’t care if you left first. but when you stood, slinging your bag over your shoulder and offering him the same easy smile you gave everyone else, his chest tightened.

“see you later,” you said lightly, voice steady. too steady. he didn’t like it. his tongue pressed against the back of his teeth, words gathering, hot and restless — don’t leave like that. don’t act like nothing happened.

but what right did he have to say that? when he was the one who walked out of your bedroom? when he was the one who left you alone?

your back was already half-turned toward the door when his hand twitched against his side. just one word and you’d stop. he hesitated. and then you were gone. your laughter echoed down the hallway as you joined a group of classmates, the sound bright and hollow in yangyang’s ears. he stood frozen, breath shallow, watching the doorway long after you’d disappeared. his chest ached with something he didn’t want to name. but the truth had already lodged itself in his ribs, sharp and undeniable — he didn’t want to be the guy who shrugged it off as a mistake anymore.

🧸 SEPTEMBER 30 - WEDNESDAY - WE’RE OKAY, RIGHT?

at this point it had been three days of quiet war, not exactly the silent treatment but somehow worse it was smiling too bright and saying nothing at all.

you heard the code of your door being entered from where you sat on your couch reading a book and knew that it was only ever going to be yangyang. he stumbled inside like the floor might fall out from under him if he didn’t move fast enough. his eyes were wild, glassy with something that looked dangerously close to panic.

“dude, are you okay?,” you asked automatically, because that’s what you always did, check in, make the space softer. your book stayed open on your knee, pages unread.

“don’t—” his voice came out raw, cracked, a different timbre than you’d heard from him in a while. he pointed, unsteady, as if directing the whole world at you. “don’t act like this. not with me.”

you blinked, “what are you talking about?” you tried to keep it light, because light was your defense and you’d worn it like armor for years.

“that mask!” he ran a hand through his hair so hard it tugged at his scalp. frustration and something else, fear, maybe, flickered across his face. “the smile. the pretending everything’s fine. it’s annoying. i can see it. if you’re mad at me, then yell at me. say it.”

your throat went tight. the words caught somewhere between your lungs and lips. you wanted to ask him what right he had — what right he had to notice, when he never did before? but he was still talking, unraveling, in a way that left him exposed.

“you think i dont know you?” his chest rose and fell fast, his voice raw, “i know when you’re hurting. i can hear it when you laugh too loud. i can see it in your eyes when you won’t look at me for more than two seconds. don’t pull that shit with me, okay? not with me.” he looked wrecked standing there in your living room. like every piece of him was strung too tight.

your mouth opened but only a weak laugh came out, shaky at the edges. you weren’t ready for this. “you’re being dramatic. i’m fine, yangyang, really.”you crossed your arms because you didn’t know what else to do. the shrug felt automatic, the same little lie that had kept you safe for years, “it’s not that deep. like you said, it was just a mistake.”

his eyes didn’t move. they searched yours like he’d been practicing for this moment and somehow never learned restraint. and then, giving up whatever defense he’d planned, he exhaled like someone letting go of a boulder.

“i don’t want to lose you!” he said, the words tumbling out all at once. “not over something as stupid as this. not over one drunk night. you’re—” his breath hitched, his voice thinned to a fragile thread, “you’re my best friend. the only one that’s ever…felt like home. i can’t lose that. i can’t lose you.” the sentence landed like thunder. you felt it in your ribs, in the place that had been hollow for what felt like forever. it cracked something inside you. something older than the night before, older than the mask. you didn’t plan your next move — your arms slid around him before thought could get in the way, fingers folding against the fabric of his hoodie. he went rigid, like you’d startled a wild animal, then softened and wrapped himself around you as fiercely as you held him.

if there was one thing you hated more than being miserable, it was watching your best friend hurt.

you buried your face into his shoulder, breath hitching, “who said anything about losing me?” you whispered, the lie catching on the edges, “i told you—you’re stuck with me, dummy.”

yangyang shook his head, as if to dislodge the panic. his grip tightened so hard your hoodie scrunched under his fingers, “—but we were so awkward yesterday. i hated that.” the simple confession sounded like guilt and regret all mixed together.

you tried to bring the air back to something familiar. “i mean, i did see your dick for the first time, of course it’s awkward,” you teased, voice laced in the old, easy banter you’d always used to glue things back together.

that broke through his storm for just a beat. yangyang choked on a cough, half-scandalized, half trying not to laugh. his ears went a little red. “wow,” he muttered, pulling back just enough to look at you, “out of all the things you could say to lighten the mood, you went with my dick? that’s your angle?”

you grinned, relieved by the flicker of normalcy, “well, it was… memorable.”

“memorable?” his brows shot up, eyes narrowing with mock offense. “that’s it? not impressive? not life-altering? just memorable?”

you let out a snort, pushing his shoulder, “don’t get cocky.”

“too late,” he shot back without missing a beat, smirk tugging at his lips. “you literally just admitted you can’t forget it.”

your jaw dropped in mock horror, a laugh bubbling up despite yourself, “that’s not what i said!”

“close enough.” he leaned back, smugness flickering in his expression for the first time in days, like he’d been starving for this push-pull rhythm. his smirk softened into something gentler, tentative. “so…we’re okay?…right?”

you inhaled, wrapping your arms around him again, “yeah. we’re okay.” the words felt both true and dangerously partial. you nodded harder against him, because movement made the pretense feel more real.

neither of you moved to let go. the hug stretched, elastic and fragile, holding whatever fragile normalcy you could manufacture. you both clung like people who’d decided, with your last breath, to keep pretending a little longer — because the alternative was saying things that might not be fixable. when you finally pulled back, you practiced a small, careful smile, one with cracks patched over. yangyang mirrored it, softer, equally false. nothing more was said. nothing more was allowed to slip. the moment sealed itself — not healed, not whole, but held. for now, that would have to be enough.

🧸 OCTOBER 2 - FRIDAY - WHY DON’T YOU EVER SEE ME?

yangyang let himself in like he always did, the soft click of your door sounding too familiar. you two were okay now, the loose, careful kind of okay you’ve both been practicing, and he’d told himself he couldn’t ask for anything more. that thinking didn’t survive the second he stepped into your apartment — you appeared in the hallway, towel wrapped loosely around your body, wet hair dripping down your shoulders. droplets clung at the hollow of your throat and mapped a glittering path across your collarbone before escaping down the slope of your chest. he felt his breath hitch so hard it hurt.

“god,” you muttered, rolling your eyes as you padded back towards your bedroom, “i really need to change my code.”

he forced a laugh, leaning against the arm of the couch and pretending his throat wasn’t suddenly dry. maybe he shouldn’t keep coming in like this without knocking. maybe he needed to stop walking into moments that felt like traps. he told himself all of it while watching you move, trying to be reasonable in the face of the unreasonable. he dropped onto the couch and tried to make himself small, bouncing one leg restlessly, telling himself it was nothing. you’d just showered. he’d seen you in less and been fine before. he could be fine now. he’s not a kid. then he heard the closet door murmur, the zip of fabric, and your bedroom door creak — you stepped out and he swore he forgot how to breathe.

you were in the dress you’d found in that online shop you’d texted him about last month — red. the exact shade that made everything else mute by comparison. the fabric hugged the small of your back, smoothed over the slope of your hips, outlined the line of your thighs where it hugged just so. you turned, bare back exposed, the zipper dangling like an invitation, “can you zip me up?” you asked, voice casual as if you were asking the time.

he moved before he thought. his fingers brushed the metal at the base of your spine, and a small, private electricity sparked between them. for a beat his world narrowed to the warmth of your skin, the soft damp left by your shower, the tiny pulse at the base of your neck. he pulled the zipper up carefully, his hand pausing on the small of your back, thumb resting on the curve of your waist as if he could steady both the zipper and himself at once. it clicked to the top. he stayed there, fingers pressed to the red material, as if reluctant to let go. “there,” he said too softly.

“thanks,” you whispered, turning slightly to face him, practicing that easy smile he’d seen a thousand times.

“where the hell are you going like that?” he asked before he could stop himself. his voice came out sharper than he intended, half-joking, half-accusatory, and he immediately cursed at the tone.

you raised a brow, grabbing your tiny gold hoop earrings from the coffee table, “out.”

“out,” he repeated, like the word tasted wrong in his mouth, “out where?”

you smiled, too casually, too practiced, as you fastened the earrings, “on a date.”

the answer landed like a stone on his chest, heavy and unmovable. his jaw flexed but he leaned back on the couch, feigning disinterest with a lazy shrug, “cool.”

you bent toward the mirror in the middle of your bedroom and bathroom door, sliding lipstick over your mouth. yangyang’s eyes followed the motion like he had no control over them, heat crawling up his neck, “seriously,” he muttered, picking at a loose thread on his hoodie sleeve to hide his nerves, “you’re just gonna walk out looking like that?”

“like what?” you asked, tone light, almost mocking.

“like–,” his throat closed on the words — like you belong to somebody else. like you’re about to go love someone that isn’t him. like you’re about to ruin me. — “like you’re trying too hard.”

you shot him a sidelong glance, “that’s kind of the point, yang. it’s a date, not game night.”

he scoffed, leaning further back into the couch, arms crossed like a shield, “just saying, you don’t need to go all out. if the guy’s worth anything, he’d like you without,” he gestured vaguely at your dress, your hair, your lipstick and hated how bitter it came out, “...all that.”

you rolled your eyes, walking back into your bathroom to dry your hair, “gee, thanks, dad.”

and when you moved, he couldn’t help it — his gaze followed. the curve of your waist as you bent, the soft skin of your shoulders where the dress stopped, the soft throat where your pulse beat — felt suddenly like an unfair claim he’d had no right to know was there. you were slipping further away from him with every step. and he hated how much it bothered him.

you were in the bathroom, halfway through smoothing the last of your hair when he stepped up to lean on the doorway, watching you with something that tried to be casual and failed, “so,” he said, voice taut, “who’s this guy anyway?”

you didn’t look up from the mirror, “shotaro.”

the name cracked him open. yangyang straightened like he’d been struck. “shotaro?” he repeated, disbelief sharp in his tone. “i thought you two were just fucking.”

you finally turned, one brow arched, “we are. doesn’t mean we can’t go out for drinks.”

his laugh died in his throat, replaced by something heavier, “right. just drinks.” he muttered, every word wrapped in a film of something that could’ve been hurt if you looked close enough.

you brushed past him, grabbing your heels and bending over to buckle your heel, “why do you care so much?”

“i don’t.” the answer was too quick, too defensive. his arms crossed tighter over his chest, but his jaw was locked, breath shallow, “it’s just—you don’t go on dates with fuck buddies, that complicates things.”

you gave him a dry smile as you reached for your bag, “not everyone overcomplicates things the way you do, yang.” you slung your bag over your shoulder, gave your reflection one last glance and headed for the door. yangyang hadn’t moved from the wall, though every line of his body was wound tight like a coiled spring. your hand hovered on the doorknob, “you’re welcome to stay, lock up if you leave.”

he didn’t answer. just watched you with something unreadable burning in his eyes. you forced a little smile, as if this was normal, as if you weren’t both suffocating under everything unsaid and then you slipped out into the hall. he watched you go. the door clicked shut. the apartment slipped into silence.

yangyang stared at the empty space you’d just left behind, abruptly pacing, running hand through his hair over and over like it could scrape out the image of you in that dress. his chest ached, sharp and unfamiliar. jealousy bloomed — ugly, raw, gnawing with a possessiveness he had no right to feel.

“god, get a grip, she’s just your best friend,” he muttered, but his reflection in the darkened t.v. screen looked back at him with wide, haunted eyes. because now he knew. now he knew exactly what renjun meant. and it terrified him. he paced another circle through your apartment before his steps slowed outside your bedroom door. the air felt heavier in here, familiar in a way that made his chest ache. the last time he was in here you were doing things best friends definitely weren’t supposed to be doing. looking at your bed made the memory flash so hard he had to look away. his gaze landed instead on the stuffed bear propped up against your pillows.

yangyang let out shaky laugh, dragging a hand over his face as he sat on the edge of your bed, he picked up the bear, holding it loosely in his lap, “hey, mr. bear,” he muttered, voice low, rough, half a joke and half not, “long time no talk.” the bear’s stitched smile was the stupidest comfort — unchanging, honest in a way people weren’t. he turned the plush in his hands, felt the seam under his thumbs. he pressed the fur to his cheek because it smelled faintly of you, laundry detergent and something softer he’d never been able to name, and it made his throat close. “—a date,” he said to the bear, and the words went sour in his mouth. “can you believe her?…shotaro.” the name tasted like something he’d swallowed and couldn’t cough up. he pictured you across a table, your mouth moving, your laugh, that ridiculous lipstick. his stomach clenched. his grip tightened on the bear’s paw. “renjun’s wrong, you know. he has to be. because if he’s right, then…” his words faltered, throat burning. “then i’m in trouble.”

silence. the bear didn’t argue. yangyang shook his head, forcing a laugh that cracked halfway, “i can’t lose her, not over something as easily changeable as feelings.”

still no answer. just the bear’s stitched grin. yangyang slumped back against your pillows, hugging it to his chest like it could keep the truth out, “don’t look at me like that,” he muttered. “i don’t… i don’t love her…not like that.”

the sentence felt thin in his mouth. he ran his thumb along the bear’s paw, counting excuses. maybe it was the way you’d always been close. maybe boundaries blurred in late-night conversations, in shared hostels and stupid internships. people get attached, that didn’t mean they were in love. people mixed up comfort for something else all the time. but an inconvenient thought slid in and refused to leave. when had he last wanted someone else to hold you? when had the idea of another person making you laugh not made his stomach drop?

he’d made a habit of noticing you — cataloguing little things like a map. the way you tucked your hair behind your ear when you were thinking, the exact tilt of your smile. the way your breathing is naturally synchronized with his when he has you wrapped in his arms.

knowing, he kept telling himself, didn’t mean anything. it was just being close, like knowing the fastest routes across campus, harmless — but even he didn’t believe that. because the more he came up with excuses, the more he realizes he doesn’t know who he’s trying to convince.

his throat tightened until it hurt, and the laugh that clawed out of him was broken, shaky. “fuck,” he whispered, pressing the bear tighter against his chest, forehead dropping against its soft head, “fuck, i think i’m in trouble.”

the words sat there, heavy and terrifying. his heart thudded so loud it almost drowned them out, but not enough to erase them. he let out a breath that trembled all the way through him, closing his eyes, clutching mr. bear like the plush might hold him together, “you always were horrible at giving advice,” he told him, half-smiling despite the ache ripping through his chest, “but you keep secrets. you listen when no one else will.”

•ᴥ•

the bar was loud, packed with music and chatter, but you couldn’t shake the itch of yangyang’s voice still stuck in your head from earlier. you sat across from shotaro at a little round table tucked into the corner. he looked smugly perfect in his button-up and blazer, his easy smile drawing attention from every direction. but the truth was, this wasn’t a date. not really.

“thanks for coming,” he said, leaning closer so you could hear him over the noise, “i just…didn’t want to show up solo, like a loser, you know?”

you arched a brow, sipping your drink, “well, i do owe you one for letting me cry in your arms.”

he grinned, unbothered, “you look hot by the way.”you laughed, rolling your eyes. you weren’t here to play pretend with shotaro. you weren’t even here because you wanted to be. you were here because you couldn’t stand the thought of sitting at home, replaying the feel of yangyang’s hands, yangyang’s words, yangyang’s silence.

shotaro leaned back in his chair, studying you for a beat, “you’re somewhere else,” he said finally, soft but true.

your throat tightened, you forced a smile, swirling the liquid in your glass, “i’m here. with you.” but even as you said it, you both knew it wasn’t true.

the drinks kept coming. one minute it was a whiskey sour, the next a round of tequila shots someone ordered for the whole table, and before you knew it, your head was warm and spinning, your laughter bubbling too easily. shotaro leaned in, whispering in your ear, “you’re a lightweight, admit it.”

you squintied at him through the rim of your glass, nose scrunching, "i'm not–,” you hiccuped mid-sentence and slapped your hand over your mouth, “okay. maybe a little.”

he cracked up that bright, boyish laugh of his, drawing a few curious stares, “you’re adorable when you’re tipsy. don’t tell anyone i said that.”

“too late,” you pointed at him dramatically, though your finger wobbled with your balance, “i’m telling everyone. yangyang will—” you cut yourself off too quickly. the name had slipped out before you could stop it. your stomach dipped. shotaro tilted his head, teasing, but didn’t press. instead, he lifted his glass, saving you from your own slip, “to bad ideas,” he said.

you clunked clumsily against his, “to bad ideas.”from there, the night blurred into easy laughter and stupid dares. you convinced shotaro to try and balance on the barstool and he nearly toppled straight into the ground. he got revenge by dragging you onto the dance floor, where your limbs were looser than your coordination, the both of you laughing so hard you could barely keep upright. somewhere in the haze, the ache in your chest dulled. shotaro was fun. simple. no feelings involved. the more you drank, the easier it was to forget why you were here in the first place. the easier it was to pretend the image of yangyang in your apartment, jaw clenched and eyes dark, wasn’t still burned into the back of your mind. by the time the night wound down, you were clinging into shotaro’s arm, giggling as he half-carried, half-guided you out of the bar.

“you’re a mess,” he teased, shaking his head, “let’s get you home.”

•ᴥ•

shotaro steadied you against the doorframe, your fingers fumbling uselessly against the keypad. every time you punched in the numbers, it beeped angrily, red light flashing. you groaned, pressing your forehead to the cold metal, “why won’t it love meee?” you slurred, giggling.

“maybe because you put 1-0-1-0 three times,” shotaro deadpanned, biting back a grin.

you swayed towards him, whispering conspiratorially, “that’s yangyang’s birthday,” then you laughed like it was the funniest secret in the world. before shotaro could respond, the door snapped open from the inside. yangyang stood framed in the doorway, hair mussed like he’d run his hands through it a hundred times, hoodie hanging loose on his frame. his eyes flicked from your drunken smile straight to shotaro’s steady hand on your arm.

you lit up instantly, arms flying around his neck, “YANG!” you sang, voice too loud, too bright, too happy. you pressed your cheek against his shoulder, giggling like a child. yangyang froze under your touch, breath hitching as your perfume and the warmth of your damp skin from earlier hit him all at once. his arms stayed stiff at his sides for a beat too long before one slid around your waist to steady you before you collapsed. he lifted his gaze over your head, locking on shotaro. his voice was low, sharp, even though he tried to keep it casual, “i got it from here.”

shotaro looked at the two of you — your arms wrapped around yangayng, his hand gripping your waist, and shrugged, unbothered as ever, “yeah, yeah,” he smirked, stepping back with a wave, “goodnight.”

yangyang didn’t wait for shotaro to disappear fully down the hall before tugging you gently inside. he shut the door behind you with a click that sounded too loud in the quiet apartment. you clung tighter around his neck, giggling as he carried you toward your bedroom. he got you into your room and sat you down on the edge of your bed, crouching in front of you to unbuckle your heels as he slid the straps off and tugged the shoes away.

“you’re a mess,” he muttered, but his voice was softer than the words.

you leaned forward until your forehead rest against his shoulder, giggling, “but i’m your mess.”

his chest tightened but he ignored it, tugging gently at your wrist, “come on, teddy. let’s get you out of this thing.” he reached for the zipper at your back, careful, slow, trying not to notice the way the red fabric peeled away from your skin under his fingers. you tilted your head toward him, “yangyang,” you whispered, playful but dreamy, “you’re undressing me.”

his hands froze, “don’t say it like that,” he muttered, trying not to combust, “im just—helping.” you hummed, unconvinced, swaying closer as he eased the dressed down your body. he kept his eyes anywhere but your bare skin, swallowing hard as the fabric slipped lower until it pooled on the floor, leaving you in your underwear. he didn’t linger, he grabbed one of your oversized t-shirts from your dresser, which looked a lot like the t-shirt he’s been missing for weeks, and gently pulled it over your head.

“there. done.” he exhaled like he’d just run a marathon. he guided you to lie back against the pillows, tucking the blanket over your legs. when he sat at the edge, reaching for the makeup wipes on your vanity, you squinted up at him through heavy lashes.

“stay still.” he instructed. you wriggled anyway, just to be difficult, lips curling into a mischievous grin. but the second his hand cupped your jaw, thumb brushing softly as he wiped away your lipstick, you went quiet, melting into the warmth of his touch.

the silence stretched until his voice came, quieter this time, careful, “so…how was your date?”

you smiled, eyes closing as you leaned into his palm, “it was soooo fun,” you sighed, cheeks flushed, “shotaro’s funny. he made me laugh a lot.”

the words scraped against his chest but he swallowed them down, “yeah?”

“mmhm, but…,” your lashes fluttered as you peeked up at him, tipsy and unfiltered, “i wish you were there.”

his hand stilled mid-wipe. for a second, all he could do was stare at you — at the way your drunken pout tugged at his heart, at the little hiccup that slipped through your words, at the way your hand wrapped softly around his wrist. his throat went dry. he could feel the words crawling up the back of his tongue, the things he shouldn’t say, things he wasn’t even sure of yet, but all that came out was a rough, “you’re drunk.” he forced his hand to move again, swiping gently at your eyeliner, pretending he didn’t feel your confession sinking into his chest like a hook.

“why don’t you ever see me?”

the words slipped out slurred and soft, dangerous in their honesty. you blinked up at him from under heavy lashes, a little tipsy smile tugging at your lips like you hadn’t even realized what you’d said. yangyang’s head snapped up so fast the motion jolted him. for a beat he simply stared at you, breath gone, “see you?” his voice came out quieter than he wanted, “what the hell does that mean? i see you every day.”

you let out a tiny hiccup that dissolved into sad, hiccupy laugh, “not like that,” you mumbled, eyes glassy, “you just—” your brow furrowed, the words slipping, stalling, before alcohol gave you a shove, “you only ever see your best friend. never me.”

the apartment folded into silence. the fan hummed somewhere, the fridge buzzed. everything felt too loud and too small at once. your lips wobbled into another hiccupy laugh, but this one was sharp with the sting of unshed tears, “why’d you call me a mistake?”

the question hung there, fragile and heavy all at once. you didn’t throw it like an accusation, didn’t spit it out with anger. you said it like an ache you hadn’t been able to bury, like a wound that had festered quietly in the dark until it spilled over.

yangyang’s chest seized so tight it hurt to breathe. he shook his head fast, desperate, like maybe if he shook hard enough the regret would come loose, “i–,” his voice cracked on the first breath, a broken sound that burned his throat, “god, i didn’t mean-”but you were already slipping, lashes sinking, your body curling inward under the blanket as if retreating into yourself. the alcohol had won, pulling you under just as the words had escaped.

and maybe that was the cruellest part — that your truth had finally spilled out when you were too drunk to hold it, and he was left with his regret alone. yangyang sank down onto the floor beside your bed, elbows digging into his knees, hands clasped so tight his knuckles went white. he stared at you through the dim light, your breathing uneven but soft, the blanket rising and falling gently with each inhale.

“i didn’t mean it,” he whispered, words caught in the quiet hum of the room. his voice broke on the edges, too fragile to hold, “i never meant it.”

🧸 OCTOBER 3 - SATURDAY - HAS IT ALWAYS BEEN LIKE THIS?

you woke up with your skull pounding, only to find a glass of water and a pack of pain relievers on your nightstand. suspicious. very suspicious. dragging yourself out of bed, you shuffled out of your bedroom, following the faint sound of pots clinking. when you peeked into your kitchen, yangyang was hunched over the stove, stirring something with more concentration than he’d ever given any of his classes.

“what did you break?” you croaked from the doorway.

he was startled so hard the ladle nearly flew out of his hand, “huh? i didn’t break anything,” he said, a little confused by your question.

you narrowed your eyes and walked up behind him, slipping your arms around his waist in a lazy back hug, chin landing on his shoulder, “then why are you acting like a househusband right now?”

usually, he would’ve shot back with something dumb but this time he just froze. because your body was warm against his back, your breath brushing his neck and suddenly his pulse was thunderous. he gripped the ladle tighter like it could anchor him. “uh…,” he said brilliantly, staring very hard at the ramen, “because…i’m nice?”

you snorted against his shoulder, voice muffled, “liar. you’re only nice when you want something or when you did something. did you clog the toilet? spill on the couch? scratch my switch again?”

“that was one time!,” he protested, voice cracking, “and i told you…your joy con was already peeling.”you squeezed him tighter, laughing, which only made his heart beat harder. usually hugs between you two were nothing — habit, background noise in your friendship. but now it felt like he was hyper-aware of everything. the way your fingers fidgeted against his hoodie, the weight of your chin on his shoulder, the soft sway of your body pressed to his. desperate to distract himself, he tapped the spoon against the pot, “don’t distract the chef, i’m doing very important work here.”

you hummed, still clinging to him, “pretty sure boiling instant ramen isn’t a michelin star situation.”

“how dare you?’ he teased though his ears were burning. after a couple more minutes, yangyang plopped the steaming bowls onto the table with an exaggerated flourish, “breakfast is served. please, try not to cry from how amazing it is.”

you looked up from your chair and gave him a skeptical look, “wow. gordon ramsay better watch his back.”

“exactly,” he said with a grin, sliding into the chair right next to you instead of across like he normally did, “you get it.” you snorted into your noodles. it was definitely the best hungover remedy. and when you slurped too fast and ended up coughing, he was already sliding the glass of water toward you, murmuring, “slow down, teddy,” with a softness that made your chest squeeze.

you nudged his shoulder with yours, “you’re being weirdly sweet today.”

“weirdly?” he raised a brow, “i’m always sweet.” you laughed, shaking your head and for a second his gaze lingered on you too long, his grin softening into something he quickly masked by shoving a mouthful of noodles into his face.

after a stretch of comfortable slurping silence, you set your chopsticks down and tilted your head at him, “by the way, your birthday’s in like, seven days, what do you want to do?”

he chewed slowly, stalling, before mumbling, “i don’t know, maybe we could just rent an airbnb and celebrate like we do every year.”

you paused, blinking, “uh…we usually do that with renjun and them.”

yangyang nodded, sipping his broth, “yeah, so?”

you leaned back, eyeing him, “so…are you okay with inviting renjun this year?”

“yeah, we’re okay now,” he said simply, chopsticks tapping against the edge of his bowl.

your brow arched, “since when?”

he froze mid-slurp, eyes darting anywhere but you, “...since recently.”

“uh-huh, that’s specific,” you teased, leaning in, clearly not letting him off that easy.

his lips twitched, fighting a smile, “drop it. eat your noodles before they get soggy.” but his ears were pink and you knew you’d hit something he wasn’t ready to explain yet.

•ᴥ•

the ramen was gone, the bowls stacked in the sink and the two of you ended up exactly where you always did — sprawled on the couch. your legs tangled, his arm thrown lazily around you, your head pillowed against his chest. it was nothing new. this was normal. routine. but yangyang couldn’t stop noticing how right it felt. the weight of you against him. the way your hair tickled his chin when you shifted. the soft, unconscious hum you let out when you finally settled, like his arms were the only place you could relax. he stared at the t.v. playing teen wolf but he wasn’t absorbing any of it. his focus was on the way his arm curved so easily around your shoulders like it was molded for you. the way his hand rested against your side like it had always belonged there — had it always been like this? had you always fit this perfectly against him? how is it that he was just now realizing it?

your hand absently toyed with the hem of his hoodie, fingers brushing the fabric and he swore his heart stuttered. you let out a soft laugh at some random line stiles stilinski blurted out, your body shaking lightly against him and yangyang’s chest tightened all over again. he didn’t move. didn’t dare. he just held you a little closer, silently wondering when the ordinary started to feel extraordinary.

your phone buzzed from your coffee table. you shifted just enough to reach it, screen lighting up with shotaro’s name. yangyang’s arm tightened instinctively around you before he could stop himself. his eyes dropped, catching the stupid little smile tugging at your lips as you unlocked the screen.

“what’s so funny?,” he asked, casual on the surface but his voice had a sharper edge than usual. you tilted your head toward him, showing him the message without thinking:

shotaro: did you recover from last night?

shotaro: or should i fall off another bar stool to make you feel better?

you giggled, typing something back, “he’s so funny,” you mumbled, thumb flying across the screen. yangyang’s jaw clenched so tight it ached. funny. right. so nice he makes you laugh like that. his chest burned with it, a jealousy that felt too raw to admit out loud. he forced a laugh, nudging you lightly in the side, “wow, look at you, miss popular. am i supposed to get in line behind shotaro now?”

you snorted, tossing your phone back on the coffee table and leaning your weight into him again, oblivious to the storm brewing in his chest, “don’t be dramatic. you’re first in line. always.”

that should have soothed him. should have. but the words only lodged deeper, because at the end of the day he knew shotaro could hold you in ways he couldn’t. could touch you in ways best friends shouldn’t. and yangyang hated how much the word best friend was starting to sound like a prison.

eventually, your weight softened against him, breath evening out as you drifted off to sleep. he felt the exact moment your lashes fluttered closed and your body surrendered fully into his chest. yangyang stared at the ceiling, trying to quiet the noise in his head. but it was impossible with your cheek pressed over his heartbeat, with your hand curled loosely against his hoodie like you had been doing it forever, which you have. he told himself it was just comfort. that this was what best friends did. you fell asleep on him all the time after late-night movies or long days. but something about tonight…about the way shotaro’s name lit up your phone, about how he’d felt a sharp, irrational sting in his chest just seeing it — made everything sharper. he exhaled slowly, his fingers absently brushing along your arm, realizing how silence felt less like emptiness and more like home with you filling it. the thought scared him. because if he let himself believe, it, he wasn’t sure he could ever go back. so he lay there, still and quiet, letting you sleep while his mind circled the same truth he wasn’t ready to admit even to himself.

🧸 OCTOBER 4-9 - SUNDAY-FRIDAY - REALIZATIONS.

the next day, you both swore off productivity, ordering greasy takeout and eating cross-legged on the living room floor because it was way more comfortable than your table. you told some ridiculous story — hands waving, face animated. yangyang laughed so hard he nearly choked on his fried rice. then he noticed how easily the sleeves of his hoodie swallowed your hands, how you leaned across the cartons to swat his chopsticks away from stealing another bite. the moment stretched too long. his chest tightened.

on monday, you dragged him for ice cream at the convenience store right after class. you bickered about flavors, your hand brushing his when you both reached for the same one. he laughed it off like always but his skin buzzed where your fingered grazed. later, when you leaned against his shoulder on the way back, arm linked around, spooning bites from your cup into his mouth without think, he had to swallow twice — once for the ice cream, once for the realization that he wanted this forever.

on tuesday in painting ii. you took your usual seats. you dipped your brush, tongue poking at the corner of your lips as you concentrated. yangyang tried to focus on his own canvas but every few minutes he caught himself staring instead — at the slope of your nose, the way your hair slipped loose and you absentmindedly tucking it behind your ear. you had called him out on it with a simple, “why are you staring at me?” his ears burned, he covered it with a scoff, dragging his brush harder than necessary, “please, i’m just laughing at how seriously you’re taking this.” but when you leaned over suddenly to dab a streak of blue onto his canvas, laughing when he gasped, yangyang swore your laughter made his heart stop.

on wednesday, you spent the evening sprawled in your living room, controllers in hand, locked in a mario kart bottle, “stop pushing me off the track!” you yelped, shoving his shoulder. yangyang grinned, not taking his eyes off the screen, “it’s called strategy, teddy.” the nickname he used all the came out sweeter, softer. you groaned dramatically as his kart sped past yours on the final lap, “you cheated!” he laughed but when you pouted, he wondered why winning a mario kart game suddenly felt like a loss.

on thursday, you were stretched out on your bed when he walked in, laptop open, calendar pulled up. he tossed himself onto the bed behind you, phone in hand, mr. bear in the other.

without looking up, you said casually, “i booked the airbnb for your birthday weekend.”

his head popped up “already?”

you hummed, still typing, “yeah, same spot as last year. i figured it’d be easier to just stick with what we know.” you glanced back at him with a small smile, “i invited our usual crew — xiaojun, hendery, ningning, renjun and…uh…the new addition, love,” you said her name carefully, like testing the weight of it. he used to flinch at the mention or brush it off too quickly like he didn’t want to deal with it. but tonight, yangyang just blinked, nodding.

“yeah, cool,” he said. no hesitation. no shift in his expression. just easy, even.

you narrowed your eyes, turning fully to face him, “wait, that’s it? no sarcastic comments, no sighing, no complaints?”

yangyang smirked, shrugging lazily, “what do you want me to say? i’m over it.”

“over it?” you echoed, skeptical.

“over it.” he repeated, getting more comfortable in your pillows. you stared at him for a moment, like you were trying to read between his words. he only stretched out more, feigning nonchalance. but inside, yangyang was reeling — not because of love. but because of how…nothing it felt. the name that used to twist his stomach now barely registered, as if the tether had been cut without him noticing. the only thing tugging at him now was you, sitting cross-legged on your bed in another one of his oversized t-shirts, hair falling into your eyes as you frowned at your laptop. and he was sure — he didn’t care who else came to his birthday. as long as you were there.

by the time friday night settled in, everything felt quieter, softer. the apartment lights were dim, the only glow coming from the t.v. screen where another episode of teen wolf played. you were curled up against him the way you always where. this was what you did every week, every day practically. but just like last week, yangyang couldn’t focus on the screen. his eyes traced the crown of your head, the curve of your cheek pressed against him, the way you unconsciously shifted closer like your body had long decided he was home. his arm curved around you tighter. he couldn’t stop replaying your drunk words in his head, the way you’d whispered, “why don’t you ever see me?” because god, he did. he saw you everywhere now. in the way you looked after him, in the way you teased him, in the way your laugh made something catch in his chest. he saw you in everything. the realization sank into him heavy, immovable, inescapable — he was in love with you. it had slipped in quietly, disguised as years of friendship and routines until suddenly it was all he could feel. he was in love with his best friend.

🧸 OCTOBER 10 - SATURDAY - TRUTH OR DARE?

the eight-seater car was cramped and noisy, hendery and xiaojun in the front arguing over directions, ningning on the aux cord singing at the top of her lungs, love laughing at renjun’s terrible jokes in the back. but for yangyang, the entire drive felt muted. his focus kept pulling back to you, sitting right next to him, in the middle of all the chaos. the way you leaned your head against his shoulder, tapping absentmindedly at your phone. the way your laugh rose above the noise like it was the only sound that mattered. it was his birthday, but he couldn’t bring himself to care about anything except the fact that you were there, pressed against him, fitting like you belonged in that spot. and when you reached for the water bottle in the cupholder by his side, hand brushing his thigh by accident. he didn’t flinch. didn’t move. he just swallowed, eyes fixed forward, like he could will his heartbeat to steady.

it took a total of two hours to finally arrive at the airbnb where chaos amplified as everyone claimed rooms, bickering about unpacking and setting up the food/supplies that you guys brought. you tugged yangyang along by the wrist, insisting he help you set up the decorations you hid in your bag.

“surprise,” you grinned, throwing up string lights across the living room, “thought we could make it more festive.”

he stared at the lights, then at you, then back again, “shouldn’t you have set it up first and then said surprise,” he teases, trying to ignore the soft pull in his chest.

“you really think i have time to sneak away and set this up without you catching me?,” you giggled, handing him the opposite end of the string light as the two of you decorated the living room together.

the rest of the day unfolded in a blur of noise — hendery grilling, ningning forcing everyone into drinking games, renjun rolling his eyes so hard they almost got stuck, xiaojun turning up his birthday party playlist, laughter and music filling the house. as night fell, everyone was in there swimwears, lounging in the airbnb’s hot tub, steaming under the night sky, stars hazy overhead, bottles clinking against the rim as everyone crammed in shoulder to shoulder. ningning was the mastermind, of course — three beers in and declaring that the only logical next step was truth or dare.

yangyang had been fine all day, riding the edge between best friend comfort and the dizzy new weight of knowing he was in love with you. but now, with you pressed against his side in the crowded tub, legs brushing underwater, hair damp with steam and stray pieces sticking to your cheeks — he felt wrecked.

“okay, okay,” ningning grinned, pointing the empty bottle at him first, “birthday boy starts. truth or dare?”

“truth.”

“boo, boring,” ningning pouted, then leaned in, eyes glinting with mischief, “fine. who here would you most want to kiss?”

the group whooped immediately. renjun looked a little nervous. while xiaojun and hendery banged on the sides of the tub like a drumroll. yangyang’s throat closed. his eyes flickered sideways before he could stop himself — landing on you. you were laughing, shaking your head, splashing ningning in mock protest.

“pass,” yangyang muttered, heat rushing up to his neck.

“no passes on your birthday!,” ningning sang, a smug smile on her face.

yangyang only took another sip, stubbornly silent until henderey hollered, “coward!” and the group dissolved into laughter. the game spiraled from there. dares to shotgun beers, truths about old crushes, ningning trying to get hendery to admit he had feelings for someone. you were glowing from it all, laughter spilling free, leaning heavier into yangyang’s side with every drink. everyone was loose, loud, shoulders bumping and splashing. ningning, of course, was thriving, eyes glittering as she scanned the circle fo her next victim.

“alright, y/n,” she grinned, pointing the empty bottle at you, “truth or dare?”

you thought about it for a second or two, the past two turns you’ve picked truth and now you were drunk enough for something bolder — “dare.”

ningning smirked like she’d just thought of the juiciest thing in the world, “i dare you to—” her eyes flicked between you and yangyang, lingering on the way you were half draped against his side without ever realizing it, “—kiss the person you’d most want to take home tonight.”

the tub erupted in hoots, xiaojun’s obnoxious “ooooOooOoohhHHh,” hendery splashing water everywhere, love grinning from ear to ear, renjun smirked at yangyang with an eyebrow raised like he already knew your answer and was waiting for you to confirm it. your stomach dropped but your grin stayed, drunk and playful. you turned your face toward yangyang, meaning to laugh it off, to share the mortified joke with your best friend. but he was already looking at you. already too close. his eyes unreadable in the dim of the hot tub’s light.

the air shifted. everyone else was still howling, waiting, chanting, KISS, KISS, KISS.

you leaned in just the tiniest bit — maybe to play along, maybe because the alcohol made it too easy, maybe because you wanted to kiss him. then your lips brushed his cheek. quick. harmless. but his hand clenched under the water, near your thigh, and you swore you felt the way his breath caught.

“lammmeee!,” hendery groaned. renjun, though, was smirking like he’d seen something the others hadn’t.

the dares heightened after that. more splashing, more laughter, someone daring xiaojun to stay underwater for two minutes or post an ugly selfie on his instagram story. but then renjun, grinning wickedly, fixed his eyes on yangyang, daring — “truth or dare, yang.”

yangyang swiped his wet hair back, rolling his eyes, “fine. dare.”

his grin widened, “i dare you to let the person of your choice sit on your lap for the next three rounds.”

the group cheered, ningning literally cackling, renjun’s teasing smile burning into his mind because they both knew there was only one person he would choose. yangyang froze before playing it off, like it didn’t have any effect on him at all. he smirked faintly, masking the way his pulse spiked before turning to you and patting his thigh under the bubbling water, “come on, teddy…don’t keep them waiting.”

you punched him playfully on the shoulder, giggling, before taking your seat anyway. and yangyang swore the heat of the hot tub can’t even compare to the heat of your skin against his.

the game went on, laughter and half-slurred joked spilled into the night. everyone was a little loose, a little unguarded, the alcohol smoothing edges that usually stayed sharp. until you were sitting back against the hot tub wall, cheeks flushed from both the heat and the drink. yangyang sat beside you once again, thigh brushing yours underwater in that way that felt accidental but wasn’t.

“okay, back to you,” ningning said, pointing at you, “truth or dare?”

you groaned dramatically, already feeling like the game has been dragging on, “truth.”

renjun smirked like a cat who’d just spotted a cornered mouse, “have you ever had a crush on anyone in this circle?”

yangyang stiffened beside you so suddenly you could feel the ripple of tension run through him. your mouth opened, then closed. you knew it was supposed to be fun and harmless but the way everyone was leaning in made your heart thud in your chest.

“uh–,” you cleared your throat, fumbling, “...maybe,” you admitted, forcing a smile like you weren’t two seconds away from boiling alive. ningning clutched xiaojun’s arm, demanding names, hendery started throwing out wild guesses, starting with himself, and renjun looked smug as hell, satisfied with the chaos he’d caused.

before it could escalate, love, seemed to sense your discomfort. she shoots you a small smile before tugging on her boyfriend’s arm, laughing as she said, “okay, i think we’ve had our fun, come on junie, let’s go,” and when renjun protested, complaining about how the fun just started, love whispered something in his ear and not even a second after, they slipped out of the water together, exchanging a glance that was not so subtle about where they were headed. definitely not just to sleep. ningning yawned next, waving a lazy hand, “yeah, okay you can keep your secret, i’m too sleepy for this,” she padded off toward her room, towel wrapped around her shoulders. xiaojun and hendery weren’t far behind, drunkenly bickering about who had been the worst at the dares. their voices faded as they disappeared down the hall, leaving the night suddenly quiet except for the gentle hum of the hot hub.

it was just you and yangyang now.

the air felt different, heavier, the stars above wide and indifferent to the way your pulse quickened.

yangyang leaned back against the tub wall, tilting his head toward you with that lazy grin that always made him look like he knew too much, “so…,” he drawled, eyes gleaming the low light, “you’ve had a crush on someone here, huh?” his tone was teasingly playful, voice slurring ever so slightly with the beer in his system, but underneath it something flickered sharper like he wanted the answer more than he’d admit, “why’d you never tell me?”

you tipped your head, water glinting off your shoulders as you gave him a sly grin, “that’s not the question renjun asked.”

he let out a low laugh, shaking his head, hair damp against his forehead, “you’re annoying.”

the two of you sat there in silence for a while, the tension coiling tight as the bubbles hummed around you.

“alright,” you said suddenly, breaking the silence with a mischievous lilt, “truth or dare?”

he didn’t even hesitate, “truth.”

you leaned in just a little, eyes dancing, “what’s your birthday wish?”

his lips curved, but this time it wasn’t the usual playful smirk. it was softer, more dangerous, “my wish,” he said, voice low, “is for you to say dare.”

your chest tightened. the steam, the closeness, the weight of his gaze — it all pressed down at once but you nodded, pretending not to notice the way your pulse jumped. “fine. dare.”

his smirk returned but it didn’t reach his eyes. they stayed locked on you, unwavering, “i dare you…to kiss your crush.”

you barked out a laugh, shaking your head, “you realize how ridiculous that sounds? there’s only two of us left here.”

“i know,” yangyang said, serious now, the playfulness stripped away. his hand shifted under the water, brushing against your thigh, grounding and dangerous all at once, “that’s the point. i can’t watch you kiss anyone else.”

your pulse thundered in your ears. the weight of his confession hung between you, heavier than the steam, heavier then the alcohol in your veins.

you swallowed hard, your laugh breaking somewhere in your throat, “what?...” but he was already leaning closer. not enough to touch, not enough to cross the line just yet, but close enough that you felt the heat of his breath on your lips. his eyes flicked down, just once, before snapping back up to yours like was daring you to stop him. you didn’t. instead, your hand, like it had a mind of its own, reached up and curled into the damp hair at the back of his neck, tugging him down that last inch.

the kiss was clumsy at first, a brush of lips softened by too many beers but the second it landed, everything tilted. his mouth slanted over yours with a hunger that startled you both, like he’d been holding back for years without even realizing it. his hand found your waist, gripping tight, pulling you flush against him until you were straddling him, water sloshing over the edge of the hot tub. the taste of beer, the faint sting of chlorine, the low groan rumbling from his chest when you kissed him harder — it all blurred into something dizzying, something that felt far too good to be just a dare.

he pulled back just enough to breathe, lips dragging along your jaw before he caught your mouth again. between kisses, his voice rumbled low, teasing but raw around the edges.

“truth or dare?”

you laughed into his mouth, breathless, trying to kiss him again, “yang, seriously?”

“answer the question,” he murmured, lips still grazing yours like he couldn’t stay away.

“truth,” you murmured, too far gone to even think of anything else.

he stilled for half a beat, eyes burning into yours. then, softer than the steam curling around you, he asked, “do you still have a crush on me now?”

you didn’t bother answering his question with words. you leaned in, kissing him harder, pouring everything you didn’t dare say for the past five years into the press of your mouth. he melted into the kiss instantly, pulling you closer like he couldn’t get close enough.

when you finally pulled back for air, your lips brushed against his, whispering, “truth or dare?”

his chest rose against yours, heartbeat erratic beneath your palm, his voice came out rough, almost broken, “dare.”

your mouth curled into a small mischievous smile, though your pulse was thrumming so loud it was deafening, “i dare you…to take off my top.”

the words hung between you, heavy and dangerous. you both froze for a heartbeat, aware of exactly what you were doing. aware of the line being crossed, again, only deeper this time. yangyang’s eyes locked onto yours, molten and unflinching. his hands, still braced at your waist, slid upward, hesitating. and then, right before his fingers reached the tie of your bikini top, he stilled.

“teddy,” he said, voice low but certain, “this is not a mistake.”

you were breathing hard, your heart pounding erratically in your chest at the words you’ve been wanting to hear. your answer came without hesitation, raw and true, “good,” you whispered, leaning closer until your nose brushed his, “i never wanted it to be.”

your words seem to undo him. whatever hesitation that lingered in his chest cracked open, spilling into the space between you. his hand rose, fingers brushing against your damp skin, following the string at the nape of your neck. his gaze never left yours. not once. even as his thumb toyed with the knot of your bikini top, he held your eyes like he needed your permission written there. you nodded once, barely, but it was enough. with a slow tug, the knot gave, the strings loosening under his fingers. your heart pounded so loud you swore he could hear it, feel it. his hand slid down your back to find the second tie, undoing it with the same deliberate care. the fabric slackened, floating away between you until your chest pressed against his. his breath hitched, sharp and reverent, and he immediately pulled you closer, shielding you with his body, as if even the night air wasn’t worthy of seeing you.

“fuck,” he muttered under his breath, voice wrecked, forehead pressing against yours, “you’re gonna kill me.”

you let out a shaky laugh, wrapping your arms around his neck, feeling the heat of his skin against yours, “that’s dramatic.”

he laughed before his mouth claimed yours again and you felt the unmistakable press of him through his soaked shorts, spurring you on, hips moving on instinct, grinding down slowly, his low groan vibrating against your lips.

“shit, teddy–” his hands gripped your hips, fingers digging in like he was trying to anchor you. the scrape of his teeth caught your bottom lip before his mouth trailed lower. the kisses down your throat, over your collarbone, made you shiver even in the hot water. and then he found your breast, lips closing over your nipple, hot and wet and desperate. you gasped, clutching at his hair, arching against him as this tongue swirled over you.

“yangyang—” you whimpered, rocking against him harder, his groan rumbling against your chest, sending sparks straight to your core as his tongue flicked and sucked, the sensation making your head spin.

“fuck,” he rasped against your skin, pulling back just enough to look up at you, water dripping from his hair, eyes darker than you’d ever seen them, “you feel so good. you don’t even know what you’re doing to me.”

but you did know. you could feel him straining against his shorts with every grind of your hips. you could feel the heat in your stomach curling so hard, begging for release — your body continued rolling against him, nipples swollen from his mouth. the thin barrier of his shorts wasn’t enough anymore. and you know he’s thinking the same thing.

yangyang broke from your chest, breath ragged, voice cracking as he rasped, “teddy, i-i need to feel you….please.”

you pulled back just enough to look at him, your lips parted, your chest heaving. the sight of him — pupils blown wide, hair plastered to his forehead, jaw clenched like holding himself back was killing him, made you smirk through your own heavy breathing.

“no one’s stopping you.”

the words were a fuse. his hands shoved his shorts down beneath the water, the movement frantic, desperate. you pushed your bikini bottoms to the side, heat flooding every nerve as the head of his cock brushed against you.

you both gasped at the contact. he was thick, hot, even through the water pressing insistently against your entrance. for a second, yangyang’s hands froze on your hips, like he couldn’t believe this was happening.

“fuck, teddy—” he groaned as you took charge, lining him up, the initial intrusion causing his forehead to drop against your shoulder, voice shaking. “you’re so tight, i—” his voice broke off as you sank down onto him slowly, inch by inch, his cock stretching you open in a way that felt impossible.

“y-yeah? well–” you shuddered out a shaky laugh that melted into a whimper, nails digging into his shoulders, your body trembling, water sloshing gently against your back as you clung to him, he was so big you swore your breath caught in your throat, “you’re— fuck— you’re huge.”

the moment you were fully seated on him, both of you froze. it was too much. too good. nothing has ever felt so right before. your walls fluttered around him, greedy and unrelenting, and yangyang swore under his breath, a sound wrecked and reverent all at once.

“you feel—fuck—you feel unreal,” he panted, lifting his head just to kiss you — not rushed, not messy, but slow and deep. his tongue with yours, his lips moving in perfect rhythm, like he needed to savor the feel of you wrapped around him as much as he needed the air in his lungs.

you rolled your hips tentatively, a grinding movement that had the head of his cock dragging against every tender spot inside you, both of you moaning into each other’s mouths, the sound swallowed in the kiss.

“holy shit,” he breathed against your lips, his grip tightening when you did it again, slower this time, testing just how much of him you could take. the water shifted with every grind, bubbles brushing your bare chest as his mouth dropped back to your nipple, sucking softly, as if the added pleasure would distract him from how close he already felt.

your fingers tangled in his damp hair, tugging gently, “yangyang—oh my god—you feel so good” you cut yourself off with another whimper, grinding down harder. every grind sent sparks shooting up your spine, left your lips parting against his in a helpless moan. yangyang was shaking under you, every muscle pulled tight like he was trying to hold himself back.

but restraint couldn’t last.

you rocked against him harder, deeper, chasing that spot inside you that made your thighs tremble. his grip on your waist turned desperate, nails digging into your damp skin as though anchoring himself from falling apart too fast. the water sloshed around you, hot and slick, bubbling higher with each movement.

“f-fuck, teddy—” his voice cracked on your nickname, raw and reverent all at once. “i can’t—god, you’re so perfect.”

you moaned into his mouth, biting at his bottom lip as you rolled your hips again. your nails clawed down his back, urging him closer, deeper, “don’t hold back,” you whispered, breathless, half a plea and half a dare.

that undid him. his hands slid from your waist to your ass, hauling you down with every thrust of his hips. the rhythm shifted — messy, uneven, full of wet slaps and broken moans. every push of him inside you had you gasping into his neck, your body quivering against his. the hot tub water splashed against the sides, the whole night echoing with the sound of skin against skin and the helpless noises spilling out of your throats.

yangyang’s mouth was everywhere — your jaw, your throat, your nipple caught between his teeth before he soothed the sting with his tongue. each kiss felt like him branding you, marking you as his.

“teddy, i—shit—” his words tumbled out between gasps, his forehead pressing against yours again, sweat and water dripping down his temples, “i need more, i need all of you—”

before you could even respond, his arms slid beneath you, hoisting you up effortlessly. a squeak tore from your throat as your body hit the cool night air, suddenly perched on the slick edge of the hot tub. goosebumps prickled your skin, but then he surged forward, slipping back inside you in one deep thrust — your body yielding around him like it had been made for him all along.

it was overwhelming. without the drag of the water, yangyang had total control now, and every snap of his hips hit so much harder. your thighs trembled as you clung to his shoulders, meeting every desperate grind, every bruising thrust. the rhythm turned frantic — like all those years of buried tension had come bursting out at once, and now you both couldn’t stop even if you wanted to.

“yangyang—oh my god—” you cried, head falling back, nails leaving red trails down his slick shoulders.

“i’ve got you,” he groaned against your chest, voice ragged and low, before his mouth latched onto your nipple, sucking hungrily. his hips never faltered, each thrust driving you further against the edge, the sound of wet skin slapping echoing sharp against the bubbling water behind him.

pressure coiled unbearably hot and tight in your belly. your fingers tangled in his hair, yanking his mouth up to yours in a messy, desperate kiss. you moaned into him as you ground down harder, and then it broke — your body seized, thighs locking around his waist as pleasure crashed over you in waves, his name tearing from your throat in sobbed cries.

yangyang lost it the second he felt you tighten. his hips jerked erratically, a guttural groan ripped from deep in his chest. “fuck—teddy, i’m coming—oh, fuck—” he buried himself deep, spilling inside you, heat flooding you as his release poured out in thick pulses, making you clench tighter around him. neither of you cared that he came inside. you both kept grinding, chasing every last ounce of it, until the tremors finally slowed. he slumped against you, chest heaving, lips brushing your temple, cock still throbbing inside you, the connection grounding you as the steam rose around your trembling bodies.

you shut your eyes, resting your cheek against his damp hair, listening to the frantic rhythm of his heart, catching your breath. when you finally opened them, his gaze was already fixed on you, dark and unreadable, like he was holding something back. instead of words, he kissed you—slow and soft, a promise tucked inside the gentleness. a way to show that this wasn’t just a one time thing.

silence fell again, heavy with steam and the sound of water bubbling. after a long moment, you whispered, voice raspy, “let’s go to bed, yang.”

his arms tightened around your waist like he didn’t want to let go, then finally loosened. “yeah. okay.”

you slid off his lap carefully, tugging your bikini into place as your shared juices dripped down your thighs and into the water, body still buzzing from him. yangyang climbed out after you, quieter than usual, grabbing a towel—his eyes flicking toward you, then away, like he wasn’t ready to break the spell just yet.

🧸 OCTOBER 11 - SUNDAY - ONE MORE TRUTH.

the two of you split off into separate bathrooms, water running in unison. under the spray, you pressed your palms to the tiled wall, letting it scald your shoulders. the memory of his hands on your body replayed relentlessly — the way he’d held you so tightly in the water, like he was afraid you’d disappear. it hadn’t just been sex. that much you couldn’t lie about, not even to yourself.

yangyang was telling himself the same thing in his shower, he leaned against the wall, eyes shut, trying to steady the rush still coursing through him. he could still feel the shape of you around him, still hear the way you’d said his name, soft and broken. he wanted to call it heat, or alcohol, or just a dare gone too far. but none of that explained the way his chest had clenched when you looked at him, like you were his before either of you said a word.

you move slower than you mean to — careful, deliberate steps as if the floorboards might betray you. your hair is still damp, the oversized shirt clinging to your shoulders, the cotton cool against your skin. when you padded into the bedroom, he was already there. propped against the headboard, scrolling half-heartedly through his phone. he glanced up the second the door clicked, and his mouth tugged into a soft, almost shy smile. he patted the space beside him, “come here.”

the invitation is ordinary, an old habit. you hesitate only because there’s a seam of something new under it, the after of what you did in the water, the newness of the words neither of you have fully confessed yet. you matched his smile and climbed onto the bed.

the awkwardness buzzed faintly between you. the sheet is warm where you settle, his arm wraps around you without thinking. it’s automatic and it’s everything. for a long beat you let the familiar do the work — his chin resting softy on top of your head, the slow, steady cadence of his breath, the way his chest feels against your back, his arms wrapping around your middle. your breaths begin to line up, one inhale, one exhale, a private metronome.

the words that have been circling your chest all night press at the edges again. “what happens now?” you murmured, barely above a whisper.

he doesn’t answer right away, but you feel he pause in his steady heartbeat, “can i tell you another truth?” he asks, voice small in a way you’ve never heard from him before. you twist in his arms, turning so your face is level with his. the lamp casts half his features in soft glow. for a second, the room shrinks to the space between your chests, your foreheads almost touching. when you’re this close your heart does that thing it always does — it remembers every stupid, tender moment you’ve ever shared.

“what’s your truth?” you whisper.

he swallows nervously. his thumb softly swiping over the back of your hand, finding that spot he always does when he’s trying to steady himself–

“teddy—” he takes a deep breath, his gaze solely focused on yours, “i’m in love with you.”

it lands softer than you expected, quiet and seismic all at once. for a beat you only hear the blood in your ears and the faint rasp of his breath. his confession sits on the air between you, vulnerable and impossible. you’ve imagined this. rehearsed it in the quiet parts of late nights for years. but you always thought it would come from your lips, not his.

your mouth quirked before your brain caught up. small at first but honest, “about time,” you breathed, and the laugh that followed was wet and relieved, breaking out of you like a release valve.

he blinked, a strangled laugh tumbling from him out of sheer surprise, then a tiny, disbelieving smile split his face wide, “about time?” he echoed, like it was the most ridiculous and wonderful thing he’d ever heard.

you reach up and press your palm to his cheek, grounding the both of you, “yeah…i’ve been in love with you for a long time,” you admitted, softer than you meant, confession spilling out now because the shape of him in the dark makes honesty easier than pretending, “you just… finally caught up.”

his eyes widened, awe bleeding into guilt, like he couldn’t believe what he just heard, like he couldn’t imagine why he never noticed it before, “but,” he mumbled, voice tightening, “but what about shotaro?”

you giggled, the sound soft but sure, “i told you,” you said, “we just fuck sometimes.” his fingers clamped possessively at your waist without thinking, grip tightening in a way that made your breath catch. the thought of you with another man had a new jagged edge to it now. he didn’t even want to picture it.

“he knows,” you went on gently, eyes searching his, “…about me being in love with you. that’s why it’s easy with him. there’s no feelings involved,” your voice dropped smaller, more vulnerable. “there never were.”

yangyang’s face lifted, a slow, unreadable expression dawning across his features. he couldn’t believe his ears. none of it made sense — how you could have been in love with him all this time and he never noticed? he tries coming up with another excuse.

“but i saw you two cuddling on the couch…after we–” he confessed, faltering on purpose, “then you guys went on a date–”

you shook your head firmly, voice steady, “he was at my place because i cussed him out for initiating the whole seven minutes game,” you said, the memory of that party still sharp, “i got mad at him because i thought our friendship was ruined — and that wasn’t a date. it was a favor. nothing more.” you tucked your hand behind his neck, fingers threading into his hair, and the nervousness in his shoulders began to unravel as he leaned into your touch.

“god, i’m such an idiot,” he laughed, brittle around the edges.

“you always were the slower one,” you tease, thumb stroking the curve of his cheek. the old banter folds in around the new truths like a familiar blanket, “i was always the smarter one between the two of us.”

he snorts, that almost annoyed noise that used to end argument when you were kids. but it’s softer now, threading through with something like wonder, “how long have you been in love with me?”

you smiled shyly, eyes dropping before you forced them back up to his, “like…five years.”

“teddy—” he groaned, burying his face in your shoulder for a second before pulling back with wide, disbelieving eyes. “you kept a secret from me for five years?!”

“hey! you can’t blame me!,” you pouted, “how was i supposed to tell you i was in love with you when you had girl after girl…and then you fell in love and it all just felt…too late. plus i’d rather be your friend forever than lose you.”

yangyang looked at you with something between amusement and heartbreak at your outburst, his lips twitching into a helpless smile, “well…i can’t be just friends anymore,” he said finally, certain in a way that left no space for argument. your chest ached, the good kind, the kind that made everything inside you expand all at once. you cupped his jaw, tilting your face up before your courage could falter. and then you kissed him. it wasn’t like the hot tub or that drunken night. that had been fevered, messy, reckless with want. this — this was slow. careful. the kind of reverence that made your pulse stumble, his hand cradling the back of your neck as if you were something fragile.

but then, right as his thumb traced the corner of your jaw, right as you felt him about to tilt you back into the mattress — you broke into a laugh against his lips. yangyang pulled back, frowning, breath warm against your cheek, “why are you laughing?”

you covered your mouth, still giggling helplessly, “i just—,” your shoulders shook as the absurdity of it all rushed through you, “i can’t believe i’m making out with my best friend.”

his brows furrowed, feeling offended, though his eyes betrayed the smile fighting to break through. he leaned back just enough to glare at you playfully, “correction. you’re making out with your boyfriend.”

the word hit your ears like a spark, and your laugh turned into a grin you couldn’t contain, “boyfriend, huh?” you teased, eyes glinting.

“yeah,” he tugged you back into him with a cocky little tilt of his head, lips brushing yours again, “better get used to it, teddy. i’m not letting you downgrade me to ‘best friend’ ever again.”

but then he tilted his head down, catching the way you were staring at him with an amused expression. “what now?” he asked, suspicious.

you smirked, “just trying to process that my best friend is suddenly my boyfriend.”

he groaned, tossing his head back dramatically against the pillows, “well…process it faster.”

you giggled, nudging his ribs with your elbow. “fine, fine. you’re my boyfriend. happy?”

he angled his gaze back down at you, eyes gleaming, “say it again.”

you rolled your eyes, grinning, “pushy. typical boyfriend behavior already.”

“better than being your dumb, oblivious best friend you secretly loved for five years,” he shot back, pinching your side until you squealed. the room filled with your laughter, tangled together in that familiar, easy way that had always belonged to you.

but when the laughter quieted, his hand didn’t move from your waist. instead, his thumb brushed over your hipbone slowly, thoughtful, like he was weighing something in his head. his voice dropped lower, softer, “you know…i need to make up for that night.”

“yangyang—” you started, nerves and anticipation colliding.

but he was already shifting, pressing his lips to your temple, then your cheek, then the line of your jaw. each kiss deliberate, unhurried, “that night was sloppy. messy. we were too drunk to know what we were doing,” his fingers skimmed under the hem of your shirt, teasing bare skin as his mouth trailed down your throat, “you deserve better than that. you deserve me… taking my time.” heat flushed through you as he rolled you gently onto your back, his body hovering above yours. the lamp light traced the sharp edges of his features, the tenderness in his eyes. slowly, carefully, he pushed your shirt up, enough to cup your breasts in his hands, pressing kisses on each one, then lower to the curve of your stomach. each one softer than the last, reverent in a way that made your pulse stutter.

when his fingers reached the waistband of your shorts, he glanced up at you, pausing just long enough to let you breathe him in, “let me make it up to you,” he murmured, voice wrecked and earnest. his words settled over you like a vow. you nodded, breath shaky, and his lips curved into something soft before he dipped back down, resuming his trail of kisses. every inch of you got his attention like he was memorizing it. he tugged your shorts down slowly, as if he wanted you to feel the air, the anticipation, the way his fingers brushed your thighs when he peeled the fabric away.

your pulse was erratic, your skin buzzing. he kissed down the inside of your thigh with the same patience he’d shown everywhere else, alternating between soft presses and teasing grazes that had your legs twitching. two of his fingers pressed down on your clit, rubbing slow circles, and your breath hitched causing him to look up at you through his lashes, hair falling into his eyes. the sight alone nearly unraveled you.

“you okay?” he asked, voice low, thumb brushing circles on your hip.

“yeah,” you whispered, your throat tight, “better than okay.”

his smile was quick, almost boyish, before his mouth took over, kissing your clit. then he swiped his tongue, slow and deliberate, through your folds. you gasped, back arching at the contact and he hummed against you, pleased, doing it again — unhurried, savoring the taste of you like it was something he’d been starving for.

“god, teddy…” he murmured between licks, his breath hot against your skin, “you taste so much better when i’m not drunk out of my mind.” your laugh came out strangled, breaking on a moan when his tongue circled your clit with devastating precision. he licked you slowly, thoroughly, like he was relearning you sober — mapping every reaction, every breathless sound you made. his hands pinned your thighs gently apart, thumbs stroking comfort into your skin as his mouth worked lower, then back up again, dragging out your pleasure.

you tangled your fingers in his hair, tugging when the intensity built, but he only groaned into you and pressed closer, like he wanted you to fall apart. right there. every flick of his tongue was patient, teasing, until he found the rhythm that made you cry out his name. he pulled back just slightly, lips shiny, eyes blown wide with heat as he looked up at you, “this pussy’s mine now. you know that, right?”

the dirty talk had you reeling. you nodded desperately, words falling apart in your throat, “y-yeah—yang, please, don’t stop.”

he smirked, dipping his head again, his tongue flattening against you in a long, devastating drag, “didn’t plan on it.” and then he devoured you properly — no rush, no hesitation, just steady, reverent focus, kissing and licking you like he was worshipping every inch of you. the slow build had you trembling, the coil in your stomach winding tighter with every deliberate movement until all you could do was gasp his name and hold on. yangyang didn’t let up. every kiss, every slow flick of his tongue was intentional, drawing you higher and higher until you were trembling under him. he alternated between teasing circles and deeper, more insistent strokes, pulling soft whimpers and gasps from your throat that you couldn’t bite back, each one turning into a loud moan, unfiltered.

“teddy,” he murmured against you, voice wrecked, “you’re shaking.”

you tried to reply, but the words dissolved into a moan as he wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked, slow and steady, until your back arched off the mattress — the pleasure coiling so tightly it felt like your body couldn’t contain it. when you finally broke, it was sharp and overwhelming, your fingers pulling helplessly at his hair as waves of heat rolled through you. he held you down through it, tongue softening but never leaving you, coaxing every aftershock until you were pushing him away. only when your thighs stopped trembling did he finally ease back, pressing one last kiss against your sensitive skin before lifting his head. his lips glistened, his hair was a mess, and his smile was small but devastatingly fond.

“that’s how it should’ve been,” he said, voice hoarse, as he climbed up and pressed a tongue filled kiss on your lips, letting you taste yourself on him, as he pulled your shirt back down, carefully covering you.

you let out a weak laugh, body so relaxed you almost slipped into darkness. when his weight settled against your side, you curled into him, face pressing into his shoulder. there was only the sound of your breath evening out, the warmth of him grounding. but then you shifted, reaching for the waistband of his sweats with fumbling fingers, “your turn,” you whispered, trying to push past your sleepiness.

he caught your wrist easily, chuckling, pressing a kiss to your knuckles, “you can barely keep your eyes open, teddy,” he teased softly, brushing damp strands of hair from your forehead.

“i can do it,” you argued weakly, though your body betrayed you with a sleepy yawn.

yangyang laughed again, low and gentle, kissing the crown of your head as he tucked you closer into his chest, “we have all the time in the world for that next time,” he murmured, then his grin turned playful, “but i can’t believe i fucked you out just from that, look at me already being the best boyfriend.”

that earned a weak swat against his chest, “you’re so full of yourself…it’s the beer’s fault, not you.”

he ignores that with a playful eye roll, “and you,” he leaned down to murmur against your temple, “are so loud. i swear, everyone in this house knows what we just did.”

your cheeks burned as you smacked him again, though it lacked any heat, “shut up.”

yangyang laughed, that low, husky sound that made your stomach flip, “i’m not complaining, it was really hot…but i’m just saying, teddy, if you wanted to announce we’re official, there were easier ways.”

you buried your face deeper into his chest, muttering, “i hate you.”

his arms tightened around you instantly, the teasing giving way to something softer, “no, you don’t.”

he kissed your hair, then added with a smile you could hear in his voice, “but i love you.” you pulled him tighter, too sleepy for anything else, earning a chuckle from him again, as he pulled the blanket up around both of you, tucking it securely like he never wanted to let you go.

•ᴥ•

the morning light filtered pale and soft through the curtains when you blinked awake. yangyang was still out cold beside you, one arm draped heavy over your waist, hair sticking up in every possible direction. his lips were parted, breathing slow and even, his face so boyish in sleep. you smile, brushing a stray bang from his forehead. you lay there, soaking in the impossible reality that this was real now — your best friend. your boyfriend.

carefully, you slipped out from under his arm, pulling the blanket back over him when he shifted but didn’t wake. one last glance, one last smile at his messy hair and you padded out of the room.

the kitchen was already buzzing when you joined. love was flipping pancakes while renjun brewed coffee. xiaojun and hendery were arguing over whether eggs needed more salt. ningning sat cross-legged on the counter, scrolling through her phone.

“morning,” you greeted, slipping in to help set plates and pour juice like nothing monumental had happened last night.

“morning,” came the chorus back, everyone too groggy and hungover to notice the spring in your step.

it wasn’t until the smell of coffee filled the air and laughter started to break through the collective hangover fog that footsteps sounded down the hall. yangyang stumbled out, hair still wild, shirt hanging crooked. he rubbed at his eyes, yawning so wide it made ningning snort. and then he saw you — without hesitation, without even remembering himself, he crossed the room, slid behind you, and wrapped his arms around your waist. his chin hooked over your shoulder, his voice still thick with sleep as he mumbled, “why’d you leave me, teddy?”

before you could answer, he pressed a lazy kiss to your temple. then another to your cheek. and then, without any warning, like it was the most natural thing in the world, he turned your face toward his and kissed you full on the mouth.

the kitchen froze. you felt your stomach drop at the exact second the room exploded.

“FINALLY!!!” ningning practically shrieked, nearly dropping her phone she slammed it down dramatically, “i told you guys! i told you!”

“YES!,” xiaojun cheered, throwing his arms up in celebration, “hendery, you owe me fifty bucks.”

“wait, what?!” you and yangyang whirled on the two boys, “you placed bets?!” yangyang asked, bewildered.

renjun smiled into his coffee, amused and smug, “called it,” he muttered, loud enough for yangyang to hear.

love was quieter than the rest — her pancakes cooked to perfection. she stared at the two of you for a beat, then let out a soft laugh that carried more relief than surprise, “i always knew there was… more,” she admitted, shaking her head. “guess i wasn’t crazy after all,” she glanced at renjun, who returns her smile.

yangyang tightened his grip, looking around in surprise, “what? it wasn't that obvious??”

“it literally was!” you hissed, elbowing him in the ribs, which only made them laugh louder. the kitchen filling with overlapping voices, mock cheers, and clattering dishes.

🧸 OCTOBER 12 - MONDAY - BUSY.

the evening settled lazy and quiet in your apartment, the glow of teen wolf flickering across the living room. you and yangyang were tangled up on the couch. the world outside didn’t exist — it was just you, him, and the muffled sound of werewolves snarling on screen. everything was normal. yet everything felt different. every so often he’d murmur commentary, usually something dumb like, “i could totally fight that guy if i had claws” or “why is derek always brooding, like calm down dude.” you’d swat him half-heartedly, but your cheek would hurt from smiling.

your phone buzzed where it rested on the coffee table. yangyang, closest, picked it up without thinking — the way best friends always did. but his entire body went rigid when he saw the name.

shotaro. his eyes flicked to you, then back to the glowing screen. the message was simple, casual.

shotaro: u busy?

you felt your stomach dip. you both knew what that meant. a code for hooking up. you opened your mouth, to grab the phone, to explain, you weren’t sure, but yangyang beat you to it. with a calmness that didn’t match the sharp edge in his jaw, he typed back:

y/n: she is busy. this is yangyang. her boyfriend.

you blinked, “yangyang—”

“he can’t keep texting you this,” he said, trying to conceal the jealousy in his tone. your heart hammered in your chest, torn between exasperation and the giddy flutter of seeing him like this, finding it amusing.

“you’re cute when you’re jealous,” you point out, a tiny smirk on your lips.

“i’m not jealous,” he retorts but the pout on his lips says otherwise.

you kissed it away quickly, making him chase your lips in the process before your giggle snaps his eyes open, “yang, you have nothing to worry about, mu heart is yours and yours only, everyone knows that,” you reassure him, a soft smile on your lips. before he could reply, your phone buzzed, shotaro’s message coming in.

shotaro: 😂😂😂😂😂

shotaro: finally dude, took you long enough!

shotaro: congrats lovebirds ☺️

you couldn’t help it — laughter burst out of you, bubbling until your cheeks hurt, “told you so.”

he shot you a look, somewhere between sulking and pouting, and rolled his eyes hard enough you thought they might get stuck, “this is embarrassing. you’re never letting me live this down, are you?” he muttered.

“not a chance.” you grinned, tucking your face into his shoulder, still giggling. you glanced at him through your lashes, biting back a grin, “well,” you murmured, voice lilting with a mix of tease and challenge, “now that you told him i’m busy, you gotta actually keep me busy.”

yangyang’s smirk was immediate, lazy and smug as he shifted to face you fully, “is that your way of saying you want to have sex with me?”

your cheeks burned instantly, “god, do you have to say it like that?”

yangyang leaned in until the space between you shrank, his hand curling gently around your thigh, “so… should i take that as a yes?” his voice dipped lower, teasing but not careless, like he wanted to hear it from you.

your heart gave a traitorous skip, and you rolled your eyes to cover it up, “just kiss me, dummy.” his grin softened into something quieter, sweeter, and he obeyed without another word. the kiss started light — his lips just brushing yours, testing, as though reminding both of you that this wasn’t like all the half-drunk makeouts of the past. he lingered there, pressing his mouth to yours until your hand came up on instinct to curl in his hoodie, pulling him closer. he tugged your shorts down with ease, hand sliding down your ass, cupping and squeezing like he couldn’t help himself.

by the time you pulled back, your breathing was already uneven. “yang…”

“ride my face,” he murmured, tugging your panties off, the suggestion making you clench on instinct.

“wait, what—”

he hushed you with another kiss, murmuring a “please,” against your mouth before he pulled away. yangyang leaned back on the couch, hair already messy from your tugging fingers, lips pink and swollen from kissing.

“yang—are you sure?”

“come here,” he said, voice low, guiding you until you were hovering above his head.

your palms flattened against the armrest for support, the position leaving you open, trembling. “yangyang, this is—”

“exactly what i want,” he cut in, his breath hot against you. his hands clamped onto your thighs, pulling you down until you were seated fully on his mouth. his nose brushed you, tongue working slow and firm, and you couldn’t stop the sound that ripped from your throat.

“yang—oh, my god—”

he groaned at your taste, the vibrations shooting straight through you. his eyes fluttered shut, messy blond hair fanning out over the cushions, hips twitching helplessly.

“fuck, you’re soaked,” he mumbled against you, his voice muffled and wrecked, “taste so sweet—you’re gonna make me cum in my pants.”

the filthy admission sent heat ripping through you. your nails dug into the armrest, your hips grinding down carefully, whines of desperation slipping from your lips, each second feeling better and better.

“take what you want teddy, c’mon, don’t be shy,” his grip tightened, holding you in place as he guided you to rock against him faster.

no longer able to control yourself, you chased the pleasure, faster and faster, eyes rolling back. the sound of your own wetness mixing with his low groans spurring you on even more. each time you ground down, he moaned like he was being fed something he’d craved for years. his chin and jaw were slick, shining with you, his tongue never faltering.

“feels so—” your voice broke, your thighs trembling harder, “so good, yangyang—”

he pulled back just enough to gasp in a breath, voice hoarse and wrecked, “yeah? then ride my face, teddy. just like that. don’t stop for me.”

the filthy words shattered the last bit of control you had. your fingers tangled into his hair, tugging hard, your thighs squeezing tighter around his head as you used him. his tongue met every desperate grind, licking broad and greedy, then flicking sharp and precise right where you needed him. you couldn’t hold back the sounds tearing out of you — half-moan, half-whimper.

yangyang’s eyes were glazed over, pupils blown wide as he looked up at you from between your thighs, sweat-damp hair plastered to his forehead. his jaw flexed as he pushed his tongue deeper, then dragged it up, slow and heavy, sucking your clit into his mouth until your hips bucked.

“fucking love this,” he groaned into you, the words muffled but hot against your skin, “love the way you use me.” he was so turned on, so wrecked from eating you out, that he was leaking through the fabric of his sweats without even touching himself.

you fisted his hair tighter, gasping, “yangyang—i’m gonna—”

his tongue flicked rapid and merciless now, sucking at your clit with each drag, matching the frantic way your hips were moving. he growled low, the vibration shaking through you, and it was too much. your climax ripped through you, sharp and blinding, thighs clamping down around his head as you cried out, grinding hard against his face. he moaned into you like he’d just been given everything he ever wanted, holding you down, tongue working you through every wave until your body shuddered and went slack. you slumped against the armrest, chest heaving, sweat slick on your skin.

below you, yangyang looked utterly ruined — mouth and chin drenched with you, lips swollen, pupils blown. he licked one last lazy stripe up your folds before pressing a wet kiss to your inner thigh, his breathing as ragged as yours.

“prettiest sight i’ve ever seen,” he murmured, voice hoarse, his cock straining visibly under the damp patch of his sweats, “you falling apart on me like that.”

your thighs were still trembling when you finally shifted off his face, sinking down onto the couch beside him. yangyang’s chest was heaving, lips red and swollen, chin slick with you. he looked so dazed that for a second you forgot how to breathe — then you leaned in and kissed him, tasting yourself on his mouth.

when you settled against him, your eyes dropped lower — that’s when you saw it. the front of his grey sweats was completely soaked through, darkened with a wet patch that left nothing to the imagination. he was painfully hard, twitching under the damp fabric, leaking without ever laying a hand on himself. you leaned in closer, lips brushing his jaw.

“that turned you on that bad? just me riding your face?” your hand slipped down, palming him through the damp fabric in awe, feeling the heat and the twitch of his cock straining against the thin material.

he groaned, head dropping back against the couch, “teddy—don’t—”

“don’t what?” you teased, giggling, palm pressing firmer against him, slow circles over the soaked outline, “thought you liked being used.”

his hips bucked up against your hand, giving him away, “you’re evil,” he groaned, voice tight, eyes screwing shut, “making fun of me when i’ve been leaking for you this whole time.”

you grinned, dragging your palm over him again, deliberate and slow, “you leaking for me, huh? that’s cute.”

“cute?” he cracked one eye open to glare at you, but his voice cracked halfway through.

you bit back a laugh, leaning in to kiss the corner of his mouth while your hand kept working him through the damp sweats. “yeah. cute. my big…” you squeezed his cock, making him whimper, “—needy boyfriend can’t even keep it together.”

his groan turned into a laugh, but he can’t hind the blush creeping up his ears, breathless and wrecked, “you’re gonna regret teasing me when i’m inside you.”

your teasing hand finally slipped past the waistband of his sweats — fingers wrapping around the hot, heavy length of him. you pumped him once, twice, slow but firm, and he shuddered under your touch, small whimpers slipping from his lips. the sheer weight of him in your hand, the way he throbbed against your palm, the noises he made, all made your stomach flip.

“god, yang—” you breathed, squeezing him just enough to make his hips jerk. “you’re so hard. already leaking everywhere for me.”

his breath hitched, hips bucking into your hand. his fingers clenched at your thigh like he was holding himself back, “teddy—stop—”

you tilted your head, pretending innocence, “stop?”

he pushed your hand away, chest rising and falling unevenly, “i’m not—” he groaned, frustrated with himself, “i’m not cumming in your hand. not tonight.”

you blinked, a little dazed, your hand still tingling from the heat of him, “then what—”

but before you could finish, he leaned forward, catching your mouth in a rough kiss, all tongue and teeth and pent-up hunger. his hands were already at your shirt, finally tugging it over your head, leaving you completely bare for him.

when you gasped against his mouth, he muttered against your lips, “if i’m gonna cum, it’s gonna be inside you.” your breath caught at the blunt honesty, your body arching into his touch as he pulled his own shirt off completely and pushed his sweats down. he guided you back onto the couch cushions, hovering over you with a look that made your pulse skip.

the kisses had deepened, slower but heavier, with his hands skimming up your sides like he was learning a new map. you shifted nervously against him, letting out a tiny laugh that broke the kiss.

“this is still so weird,” you whispered, in between giggles and kisses.

yangyang laughed too, the sound vibrating through his chest where you pressed against him, tilting your chin back up so he could kiss the corner of your jaw, “it’s weird that it took us thirteen years.”

you gave him a playful glare, but your lips betrayed you by curving up into a smile, “and who set that system up?”

he laughed, kissing you again. he took his time with each inch of skin revealed, drawing tiny shivers out of you that you tried and failed to hide.

“stop smiling,” you muttered breathlessly as he pressed another kiss just below your jaw.

“can’t help it,” he said, voice muffled against your skin, “you’re so beautiful, i should be allowed to gawk.”

“you’re annoying.”

“you love me.”

“i love you.”

he pulled you into another kiss, deeper this time, as he lined himself up against your entrance. when yangyang finally pressed into you, the air punched right out of your lungs. slow, steady, deliberate — like he was trying to memorize the exact moment you fit around him. your fingers dug into his shoulders, nails leaving tiny crescents in his skin as you gasped, “jesus, yang—”

he stilled immediately, eyes wide, chest heaving, “too much?”

you shook your head quickly, breathless laughter breaking out of you even as you squirmed around the thick, heavy stretch, “no — just… how are you this big?”

yangyang groaned, dropping his forehead onto your shoulder, “don’t say that right now.”

“why not?” you teased, threading your fingers through his messy hair, tugging just enough to make him lift his head again.

“because—” he grit out, rolling his hips an inch deeper just to prove a point, “—if you keep saying that, i’m gonna embarrass myself and cum before i even get started.”

you burst into a giggle, though the way your body fluttered around him betrayed just how much the words got to you, “oh my god, are you seriously admitting that?”

he scowled at you, but the corners of his mouth twitched upward, “we’ve been best friends for thirteen years. i don’t get to lie anymore.”

“you never could lie,” you shot back, kissing his jaw in between your laughs, “you get this stupid vein in your forehead—”

“stop—” he groaned again, cutting you off with a kiss, sloppy and urgent, like he had to shut you up before you completely ruined him.

but you were still grinning into it, tugging him closer, whispering against his lips, “biggest i’ve ever had, by the way.”

he made a strangled noise, hips jerking forward before he forced himself to stop, “okay — no. if you don’t want this to end in sixty seconds, shut up.”

you smirked wickedly, wrapping your legs tighter around his waist, “fine. but only because i want to enjoy it.” his eyes darkened, his jaw tightening as he pushed in the rest of the way, every inch making you gasp and cling to him harder. the stretch burned, but it was the good kind—the kind that had your toes curling and your chest arching up against his.

yangyang groaned, forehead pressed to yours, his breath shaky, “god, you feel… so fucking good.”

“yeah?” you whispered, brushing your lips against his, your grin still lingering despite how wrecked you already felt.

“yeah,” he rasped, kissing you again, slower this time, his hips finally beginning to move. you clung tighter, every roll dragging a breathy sound from your throat you couldn’t bite back.

you clenched around him and he broke the kiss with a shaky laugh, brushing his thumb over your cheek, “you’re seriously trying to kill me, huh?”

you managed a grin between gasps, “pretty sure you’re the one doing the damage.”

“not my fault you’re…” he trailed off with a groan as your nails raked lightly down his back, “…tight as hell.”

you giggled, half-wrecked already. “not my fault you fill me up so well.”

his head dropped to your shoulder again, muffling a desperate laugh-groan into your skin, “shut up,” he whined, voice cracking adorably. but the way his hips snapped a little deeper, a little harder, told you he liked it—liked your teasing, liked the way you couldn’t keep quiet with him inside you.

when you hooked your ankles at his lower back to drag him closer, he hissed and shifted, suddenly lifting one of your legs up, then the other, until both were resting against his shoulders. the new angle made you gasp so sharply it turned into a moan, “y-yang—holy shit—”

he froze, smirking down at you even as sweat dripped at his temple, “that good?”

you shot him a dazed glare, though your hips rolled up to meet his without thought, “don’t… act smug—”

he pushed in deep, bottoming out so hard you saw stars. your words broke off into a strangled cry, and yangyang groaned low, burying his face in your neck, “fuck—you’re squeezing me.”

“i can’t help it,” you gasped, grabbing at the back of his neck, pulling him up for another messy kiss, “you’re—god—you’re so—”

“don’t say it,” he cut in quickly, panting against your mouth, “don’t say it or i’m done for.” you bit back your laugh, kissing him harder just to swallow the desperate sound you made when he hit that spot again. the pace stayed slow but deep, each thrust driving impossibly far with your legs curled over his shoulders. his hands gripped your thighs tight, fingers flexing like he needed to hold on or he’d lose it.

you moaned his name, breathless, tugging at his hair, “yangyang—”

he pulled back just enough to look at you, his face twisted in concentration, lips red and swollen, “yeah, teddy?”

“i love you,” you whispered, voice breaking, laughter tangled up with need.

he kissed you again, deeper this time, whispering against your lips, “i love you, too.”

his rhythm stayed deep and unhurried, every thrust dragging a sharp cry from you that melted into laughter, into gasps, into his name spilling again and again. then his hand slipped between the two of you, thumb rubbing harsh, precise circles on your clit, pushing you over the edge. your nails scratched at his back, tugged at his hair, every nerve in your body sparking, “y-yang… i’m gonna—,”

“i know, teddy, i know,” he murmured, voice breaking as he kissed your cheek, your mouth, the corner of your jaw, “come all over me, please.”

that was all it took. your body clenched tight around him, and the climax crashed through you, head tipping back against the couch cushion as you moaned his name. he kissed you through it, swallowing every sound, hips stuttering at the way you squeezed around him dragging him to his own climax, “fuck—gripping me so tight—i’m gonna come.”

your body was still fluttering around him when you gasped out, broken and breathless, “inside—please, yang, i want it inside—”

for a moment, he froze, eyes going wide like you’d just asked him to set the world on fire, “are—” his voice cracked, hips faltering, “are you sure?”

you tugged him down, kissing him hard, desperate, your voice wrecked against his lips, “please—please, yang,” you whined.

something in him snapped at that. his groan was raw, guttural, as he buried himself to the hilt, grinding deep enough to steal your breath. his forehead pressed against yours, sweat dripping at his temple as he muttered, “fuck—gonna cum—inside you, teddy—,”

your nails dug into his back, pulling him closer, “do it, yang. want it—want you.”

he bit back a curse, thrusts turning frantic but still deep, controlled. his hands held your thighs so tight they’d bruise, his voice low and breaking, “mine—fuck—you’re mine.” you whimpered his name, clinging to him as his rhythm broke apart. then with a strangled groan, he slammed in one last time and spilled into you, hot and endless, the force of it pulling a sob out of his throat.

the aftershocks tore through both of you, your body clutching around him, milking every drop. his chest collapsed against yours, lips brushing over your temple, your cheek, your mouth, like he couldn’t stop. when yangyang finally pulled out, his breath hitched, chest rising and falling fast as he watched his release spilling out of you, shining down your skin in little streaks.

“fuck…” he groaned, voice dropping rough and reverent, “that’s so hot…look at you, teddy, can’t even hold me in.” you whined, trying to close your legs, but he pressed them apart again, eyes dark and fixated. he dragged two fingers through the mess, slow and deliberate, and brought it up between you.

“suck.” his tone was low but coaxing, like he already knew you’d obey. your lips parted, and he slipped his finger past them, watching intently as you closed around him, sucking the mix of both of you clean. his jaw clenched, hips twitching like he could feel it himself.

“god—” he rasped, barely holding back a shudder, “you drive me crazy.” you hummed around his finger, eyes locking with his as you licked him clean, letting the lewd wet sound fill the room. he cursed again, pulling his hand free only to grip your jaw and kiss you deep, messy, desperate, like he needed to taste it on your tongue too.

“so…” yangyang murmured, grin tugging at his lips. “think that’s busy enough, or should we get busier?”

you smacked his chest weakly, too boneless to put any force behind it, “you’re ridiculous.”

“ridiculous,” he echoed, pretending to think. he kissed your nose, playful and soft, “nah. just making up for lost time.”

🧸 OCTOBER 16 - FRIDAY - CRISIS AVERTED.

yangyang let himself in like always, already calling out a lazy, “teddy, i’m here. did you eat yet? i brought—”

then he froze. the sound hit him before anything else — muffled crying, sharp enough to shoot panic through his chest. he tossed the pizza box on the counter with a thud as his pulse kicked up, “y/n!?” he called, voice already breaking with fear. he sprinted towards your bedroom, every worst-case scenario clawing at his brain, you hurt, you sick, you— but when he burst into your room, what he found was you, sitting on the floor, tear-streaked cheeks, clutching something in your lap.

“shit—hey, hey,” he rushed to you immediately, dropping to his knees, “what happened? are you hurt? talk to me.”

you turned toward him, lower lip wobbling, and in your hands… mr. bear. his worn out brown fur and now — his leg dangling, the seam ripped wide.

“i—i was cleaning my bed,” you hiccuped, voice breaking, “and i must’ve pulled too hard or something and—he just—yangyang, i broke him.”

yangyang blinked. his panic collided with relief so hard he had to sit back on his heels. his heart was still racing, but now he could finally see the whole picture — not a tragedy, but the most you kind of meltdown. and he knew exactly the reason. the promise attached to that bear — the one you’d made all those years ago — it all suddenly made sense of why you were crying so hard.

“oh, teddy…” his voice softened immediately as he reached out, brushing your wet cheeks with his thumbs, “you scared the hell out of me. i thought—” he stopped himself, swallowing down the lump in his throat, and nodded toward the bear, “he’s just a little injured. not gone. okay?”

your hands shook as you held the bear up between you, like proof of your failure, “but my promise… i said as long as mr. bear’s okay, we’re okay. and now he’s hurt.”

yangyang’s chest tightened, but not with fear this time. with something achingly tender. he took the bear gently from your hands, setting him carefully on the bed like he was still sacred, then cupped your face, “listen to me,” he said firmly, eyes locking on yours. “mr. bear can lose both legs, his stuffing, his head—and we’ll still be okay. i’ll still be yours. that promise was real, but it wasn’t about a toy. it was about you and me. got it?”

your sniffle cracked into a laugh-sob, shaky and small, “you sound so sure.”

“because you’re crying over a bear, teddy,” he wiped under your eyes again, softer this time, “and because i love you, and i’m never letting some third-grade bear decide that for us.”

you shoved at his chest weakly, embarrassed now, “don’t make fun of me.”

he caught your wrist, grinning, and leaned in to press his forehead to yours, “only sometimes,” he grinned, “but also? you’re lucky i’m amazing with a needle. mr. bear’s about to get the glow-up of his life.” your laugh finally came out properly then, tears still spilling on your cheeks. yangyang felt the knot in his chest finally loosen. he kissed your damp cheek once, then held you against him, rocking you gently on the floor.

“see?” he murmured into your hair, “crisis averted. we’re still best friends. still together. forever’s intact.”

🧸 OCTOBER 18 - SUNDAY - STUCK WITH ME.

two days later, mr. bear was back to his rightful throne at the top of your bed, one leg stitched up neatly with even and earnest thread. yangyang had insisted on doing it himself, tongue poking out in concentration while you teased him for looking like a “mad scientist surgeon.”

now, the two of you were in your kitchen — the apartment smelled like garlic and soy sauce, the pan sizzling as you stirred noodles with a little too much force. yangyang was leaning against the counter beside you, pretending to help but mostly just sneaking bites of the vegetables you’d chopped earlier.

“yang, if you eat one more carrot stick, i’m cutting your fingers off,” you warned, swatting at his hand with the wooden spoon.

he grinned, chomping it anyway, “i’d like to see you try.”

you rolled your eyes, fighting a smile. he always had that smug look when he knew he was getting away with something. but then, instead of reaching for another bite, he slipped a hand into his pocket, “actually… i’ve got something for you.”

you glanced at him suspiciously, stirring slower, “what?”

he pulled out a tiny box, holding it out like it was nothing, though his ears were already turning pink, “here.”

your brow furrowed, “yangyang… if this is a prank and a cockroach jumps out—”

“it’s not a prank!” he laughed, shoving it gently against your chest until you took it, “just open it, teddy.”

you wiped your hand on a towel and popped the lid open. your breath caught. inside sat a delicate gold chain with a tiny gold teddy bear charm dangling from it.

“oh my god…” you whispered, smiling instantly.

yangyang rubbed the back of his neck, eyes darting away like he was suddenly fascinated by the ceiling, “you, uh… freaked out pretty bad when mr. bear almost lost his leg the other day. so i figured… this way you’ve got one you can’t break.”

you turned to face him fully, holding the necklace between your fingers like it was made of glass, “yang, i love it, i—”

“turn around,” he cut in quickly, a little shy. you turned around, holding your hair to the side. his fingers brushed against your nape as he clasped the necklace, lingering there like he couldn’t let go. when he was done, he didn’t pull back. instead, he bent to press a kiss against your neck. then another. and another.

“yangyang—” your voice cracked on his name, heat rising in your cheeks. he rested his chin on your shoulder, eyes catching the charm against your collarbone.

“perfect,” he murmured, voice low and sure.

you laughed softly, leaning back into him, “you know this is kinda unfair, right? you keep one-upping yourself.”

“that’s the point,” he hummed against your skin, lips curving into a smile as he trailed lower toward your shoulder, “i’ve got thirteen years to make up for,” he murmured, kissing your shoulder softer this time, like a promise.

your smiles, “that’s… a long time.”

“good,” he said easily, mouth brushing the edge of your jaw now, “means you’re stuck with me for a while.” you laughed, turning to swat at his chest but only managing to catch his hoodie. he kissed you properly this time, slow and sweet, before leaning back just enough to steal another carrot stick with his free hand.

“there he is,” you muttered, rolling your eyes. “the real yangyang.”

“mhm,” he said around the bite, grinning. “still the one you fell for though.”

you rolled your eyes, necklace glinting in the kitchen light as you stirred the noodles again. yangyang didn’t even pretend to help after that. he just hovered, brushing past you every chance he got, sneaking more vegetables, dropping lazy kisses on your neck or shoulder until you smacked at him with the spoon. by the time dinner was plated, you were laughing too hard to stay annoyed. you both ate slowly, the easy chatter filling the quiet of the apartment. he told you about the new song stuck in his head, you complained about an assignment your professor gave, he teased you about how messy you were with noodles.

it was the same rhythm you’d always had — best friends, trading jokes and stories, no one but him. no one but you — except now there was something new threading between it all. a warmth. a weight. his foot brushing yours under the table. his smile lingering longer than it used to. his lips wandering in between stories, a kiss to your temple, a peck on your cheek when you smiled, a soft press to your knuckles as if reminding you, over and over, that he was yours now.

ᥫ᭡ the end.

—

18+ only | watch at your own risk | contains mature content

yangyang x teddy coded links: #1. #2. #3. #4. #5. #6. #7. #8. #9. #10. #11.

—

an: and the first of the wayv trio is done!!!! this was kinda tough you guys, i didn’t want to do another fake dating trope so i really had to think about how i wanted yangyang to realize he’s in love with teddy. i hope you liked the nickname!!! i think it’s so cute. i gotta delete the teddy bear emoji for haechan and princess because that belongs to yangyang and teddy now lmfao. also how are we feeling with the yangyang and renjun reconciliation? and love always kinda knowing??? hehe i never planned this but im declaring its canon now that it took her so long to say yes to yangyang because of teddy 😝

last thing: im sorry to say this but the wayv boys will not be getting bonus scenes >.< im lowkey already struggling with the dream ones lol. BUT i hope you enjoyed this!!! and i hope you like the links ;););) #5 is my favorite hehe. as always, thank you so so much for reading!

ᥫ᭡ likes, reblogs and comments are not required but is very appreciated.

ᥫ᭡ if you enjoy this series and would like to show extra love and support. my ko-fi is open <3

ᥫ᭡ love tags: @mangoescrazy @bamjjwi @jungwooie @erireadsstuff @rjreins @poemzcheng @jungwooismysavior @alexameliamg @neo-moa @dkkyeom @leleszn @rex-ie @generalpuppycloud @mots7g @chenleverse @kj0ne @ninety-nite-99 @xxxnrigi @idkwiexist @pankuya @amazinggraxia @jaeminiwrld @ni-ki-starnetwork @drunkhee @severeanxietyissues @peonyjoo @multifandom2515 @yeosayang @dongyoungknows @aegryo @malaysianctfan @booskies @ingridbirdman @vantxx95 @andluv @fancypeacepersona @heartsforsunwoo @222low @9yuldaengi @cowboyuyu @zarastrawberry @boxofinvisiblethoughts @jwikyo @horanghyuck @combinatoright-blog @emmy-l-r @karleereadssmut @asahisimpnation @httpsxnox

You first met Yangyang at a press conference after an award show your parents were invited for and you were their plus one. The journalist decided to pick on you, asking you pressing questions regarding your status in the industry. 

“What do you feel that everyone’s calling you a nepo baby, Ms. Y/N?” Well, you almost wish the journalist hadn’t called you ‘Miss’ if his question was like that. 

You just smiled at him awkwardly, never giving in to their pressing questions about your relevance in the acting industry. Afterall, you believe you’re more than just your parents. Sure, they opened this path for you but you’re working hard to show to everyone that you deserve that spot. 

You never really paid attention to the young actor during that time but you saw him looking at you while you were being interrogated by the rude journalist. Your eyes met for a brief moment before he broke it to talk to another actor. 

At first, Yangyang didn’t feel bad for you during that time, considering how he thought you were an annoying actress, like what he had heard from rumors. 

“Miss Y/N, what’s with you today? You keep on failing the scene,” the director yells another disappointed ‘cut!’ after you fumbled your lines with a scene with Sicheng. “Let’s take 5!” 

“I’m sorry, Sicheng,” you gave an apologetic smile to the star actor but he just shrugged and went to his assistant to freshen up. 

If there was one thing you loved about working with Sicheng, it was because he doesn’t really care about where you came from or what you did to become his female lead. He’s just there for work. A bonus is that he treats you nicely, he’s just nonchalant at times. Especially when that pop star comes into the set. 

“You’re too stiff, Y/N,” the sudden voice from behind your back startled you. You whip around to see Yangyang leaning casually against a prop stand, arms crossed and an amused grin tugging at his lips. 

“Your body’s too tense, that’s why you keep messing up,” he points out, tilting his head. “I saw it when you were delivering your lines.”  

“Oh, Yangyang-sunbaenim! I see, I’ll try to deliver these lines as smoothly as possible,” you replied, giving him a small smile.

“Practice it to me.” 

“Huh?”

“Practice your line to me and I can give you feedback, dummy,” Yangyang reiterated, his tone filled with playful impatience.

“O-oh! Uhm…” You focus, taking a deep breath before looking directly into his eyes, “Lei… I don’t think you can understand me… I don’t think we’re… we’re…” Your voice falters right where it did before. You clench your jaw, trying to force the words out, but they just won’t come. 

Your shoulders drop as you let out a sigh of defeat, “I don’t think I can do this,” you admit, your voice barely a whisper but Yangyang heard it. 

“You think you can’t because you want Lei and Riko to be together. You’re so immersed in your role right now, Y/N,” Yangyang scolded, giving you a bottle of water from his staff. 

“This isn't real, Y/N. You need to separate work and your personal feelings. If you want Lei and Riko to be together, they will in the end. Just not in this scene. Get yourself together and wrap this scene up so we can all go home,” he reaches up, ruffling your hair like you’re a little kid on the set, and before you can even process what he did, he’s already walking away, hands shoved in his pockets heading straight to annoy Kun.

“Separate work and personal feelings, huh?” You muttered, staring at the water he gave you. His words echo in your mind, louder than the busy mumbles of the crew around you. Maybe what he said is true considering how you can’t bear to think that Lei, Sicheng’s character, and Riko, your character, will end their love escapade for a few episodes before rekindling again.

“Y/N, Sicheng, back on stage!” The director yelled, giving you a brief smile before instructing the cameraman. “Do your best.” 

You nod, tightening your grip on the water bottle before setting it aside. Your feet move automatically, carrying you toward the place you’ll be delivering your line in. As you’re heading to your place, you can feel Yangyang’s eyes on you. 

You looked in his direction and he already had his signature gummy smile plastered on his face, “Do your best,” he mimicked the director’s voice, making you giggle.

It was a week after the first shooting for Eternal Sunshine that the director called you in her office for an emergency revision for the later episodes. 

You were wearing your favorite faded jeans with a long sleeve and a coffee on your hand. At first, you thought it was just gonna be you and the director but a sleepy Yangyang came into her office like it’s his second home.

“Greetings, Yangyang!” The director annoyingly scolded him, throwing a pillow at him when he immediately latched himself onto the sofa. 

“Hello, noona. Hello, Y/N.” 

“I’m very sorry about him, Ms. Y/N,” his manager, Huang Renjun, apologized on behalf of the second male lead. “He just came from an overnight shooting with Mr. Qian Kun. The two of them had to shoot their scenes more than once because the rookie actor kept messing up and they didn’t want to be assholes on set.” 

“Hey! What about an apology for me?” The director playfully demanded even though she had known the reason for Yangyang’s behavior beforehand. The director was like family for Yangyang and Renjun. This isn’t the first project they did together hence they’re comfortable with each other.

“As he said, Kun-ge,” Yangyang mentioned the golden boy and the three immediately saw the flabbergasted reaction of the director. “Kun-ge, Kun-ge, Kun-ge, Kun-” Yangyang teased, his smile grew wider as the director’s face became more embarrassed before having enough of his ministries. 

“Enough, second lead!” The director sassed, “I called you here today because there’s a change in the storyline we’re going to record for tomorrow,” she started as her assistant gave you and Yangyang the copy of the revised script and concept for the shoot. 

As you skimmed the pages, you realized that you and Yangyang’s character will be in close proximity, fully giving justice to his second male lead role. “As you can see, Riko and Jun will be closer to each other after Lei’s and Riko’s fall out. Of course, this will be brief as the latter couple will get back together,” she explained. “I just want the both of you to prepare yourselves. I know that the both of you have the least interaction throughout this series but you need to prepare… like, prepare,” she emphasized before adjourning the meeting, leaving you dazed. 

“After reading this script, I think Riko will fall harder for Jun than Lei,” you joked, already feeling the pressure as you saw a scene where you and Yangyang had to kiss. 

“Will you?” Yangyang asked, his tone was interrogating. 

You tilted your head, confused with what he meant, “Will I what, sunbaenim?”

But he just shrugged, telling you to prepare for tomorrow before leaving the office.

The ride on the way home was unusually quiet. 

“What do you think of him?” Your manager, Chenle, asked you.

“Of who?”

“Of Yangyang.”

You tried to think about what to say for a moment, “Well, he’s nice to me.” 

“That’s it?” Chenle glanced at you through the rearview mirror, one brow arched. “Nice? He’s Yangyang, Y/N. Everyone I heard who worked with him can’t get him out of their heads after.”

You rolled your eyes, leaning your head against the window. “He’s good at what he does. Professional. Maybe those people can’t separate work from their personal lives or whatever.”

“Professional, huh?” You can hear the smirk from Chenle’s tone.

“Just stop overthinking things, Chenle,” You sighed, dumping all of your body weight on the car seat. “Tomorrow’s gonna be a long day with him so you better not make any weird comments like whatever this conversation is.” “There’s nothing weird with the conversation we’re having, Y/N.” Chenle retorted, “I’m just hoping you could come to your senses tomorrow and do your best as an actress. You still have a lot to prove in the industry.”

“I know that.”

It’s tiring, honestly. For you, it’s a never ending quest of ‘proving’ yourself to the industry, general public, and your own family. It’s sad to think about how as a child, everyone was looking forward to your acting debut but once you did, all the nepotism news bombarded your career hence, you’re now known as the ‘nepo’ baby. 

You used to think of it as a positive thing, you never forgot to thank your parents in every interview for this opportunity as an actress because you know, since as a kid, that this is the path meant for you. It’s like you’re honoring them every chance you have but the public deemed it as ‘rubbing your nepotism face’ every chance you get. 

In the end, this whole issue got out of hand and you don’t mention your parents as much as you used to, even coming as close to declining films where they are starring in or in affiliation with in fear of the nepotism thing getting even bigger. 

The next day on set had this heavy atmosphere not usually there when it’s you and Sicheng filming. You think it’s probably with the revised script that got everyone on their edge because the crew were everywhere, ensuring all of the props and sets are nice and perfect for your shoot. 

It was also during this time that you realized the scene you’re about to do. 

It’s the middle part of Riko and Jun’s relationship where they kiss because they realized they love each other, only for a short period of time, and it ought to feel magical or else people would believe that Riko’s still in love with Lei and is using Jun but in the script, Riko’s in love with Jun, even if it’s just for a brief period. 

The director deemed it easier for the both of you to finish the hard scenes first before the others so as to ensure smooth filming in the later days of the schedule, considering that Yangyang and other actors in this series also has other schedules. 

“Relax,” Yangyang’s voice broke through your thoughts as you couldn’t shake your nerves.

First day with Yangyang as your character’s lover and you’re already about to kiss. What’s there to not be nervous about? 

He was leaning against the makeup station, dressed amazingly by his stylist. You think of his presence as effortless but right now, there’s a glint of something in his eyes–quiet yet intense. 

“I’m trying, sunbae,” you replied, turning to face him.

He stepped closer to where you are, lowering his voice so only you could hear. “You’re overthinking it, Y/N. It’s just a scene. We’re professionals, remember?” 

You nodded, but your hands were still trembling slightly. Yangyang saw your state and sighed. “Nepo babies,” he teased as he shook his head before giving you again a bottle of water. “Take a sip, madam. It will make you feel better.”

“I’m sorry for feeling nervous, sunbae.” You apologized as you took a sip from the water he gave you. “It’s just that… it’s my first kissing scene ever and I’m not familiar with the grounds for kissing in a scene.” you admitted. 

Yangyang’s smile was wide and charming as he listened to your confession, “Don’t worry, sunbae will guide you.”

It was show time and the director called you and Yangyang in for a brief summary again. 

“Look,” Yangyang said to catch your attention, “Think of this scene as an important moment for Jun and Riko. They came from heartbreaks and found comfort from each other,” he gave you an advice, “It’s like their enlightenment scene where they kiss and suddenly, all is well.”

You stared at him, trying to gauge what he had just said. “I’ll do my best,” you said shyly, offering him a small smile before walking to the center.

“I know you will,” Yangyang replied, his gummy smile returning. 

“Okay, lovebirds for a glimpse,” the director called. Lovebirds for a glimpse is you and Yangyang’s new nickname on set because of this RikoJun scene you’re doing. “Kiss your way!” was all she said before giving the both of you the cue. 

As the scene began, you convinced yourself that this isn’t about you. This is about Riko finding love again after what happened with Lei. This is her first kiss with someone who comforted her. And with that, you found yourself more at ease. 

Yangyang’s character approached yours, his eyes showed vulnerability and it almost felt too real when his orbs directly looked into yours. The lines flowing out of his mouth smoothly, as if he meant them. 

And when the moment came, when Jun leaned in and Riko didn’t pull away, it was like the rest of the world disappeared. 

The kiss was soft, hesitant, and lingering–exactly as it was supposed to be. Yangyang held your head with such gentleness while your hands found their way to his back, trying to get him closer to your body. 

You know it’s just pretend kissing but part of you wished it was real with the way Yangyang was holding you and your proximity, his warmth made you feel small in a way that is not condescending. He made you feel safe. 

When the two of you break the kiss, your eyes meet again. This time, you definitely went out of character as you looked at him deeply, fully portraying Riko’s yearning for him. Her ‘I found you’ moment. 

“Cut!” The director yelled ecstatically. “That was such a good scene!” 

You thanked the director while your mind was still in a daze as Yangyang gave you a small, reassuring nod–as if saying that you did well. You couldn’t help but give the actor a smile in return. 

As the crew buzzed around you again, you caught Chenle’s gaze from the sidelines. He raised a brow, smirking at your direction as if he knew something you didn’t. 

And maybe, he did. 

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Between the countless takes, script changes, and the director’s endless feedback, you barely had time to process anything. Except when Yangyang was in the same room as yours. You admire how his presence seems to fill every corner, tugging at your attention no matter how hard you try to focus on anything else. 

By the time you wrapped up for the day, your body ached from exhaustion, and all you wanted was to crawl into bed. At this time, you thoroughly expected a grumpy Chenle waiting for you in your dressing room but you were taken aback with what you got instead.

It was Yangyang, leaning against the wall near your dressing room, scrolling through his phone like he’s your boyfriend waiting for you to finish your shoot… you mean, what?

You hesitated to greet him but he looked up at you before you could even decide.

“Y/N,” he greeted, “Chenle’s out with Renjun. Figured I’ll wait for you instead, considering how late it is now.”

“Oh,” you mentally cursed your manager, your inner monologues filled with ‘How dare he’ and ‘How could he’. “It’s fine, sunbae. I can manage on my own.” 

Yangyang slipped his phone into his pocket, standing up straight in the process. “No, nepo baby. You’re gonna be with me until you enter the backdoor of your apartment.” 

You’re too tired to decline a persistent Yangyang that you just nodded before heading to the parking lot. “Long day,” you sighed, leaning into the car seat of Renjun’s van. 

“Tell me about it,” he responded as he started driving. 

You glanced at him, surprised, “I almost forgot! Aren’t you supposed to be staying for the night shoot?”

“Nah, Kun’s taking over because of changes again. Figured the director would have also preferred it that way,” he laughed as his hands smoothly maneuvered the steering wheel. 

You giggled at his response, “Sounds about right.” 

The two of you drove in an awkward silence for a while, the cold air conditioning of the van touches your body, making you shiver. 

“So,” he said eventually, looking at you for a brief period in his rearview mirror. “How’d it feel? The scene, I mean.”

You bit your lip, avoiding his brief glances at your place. “I don’t know,” you started, “It felt different… I don’t think I can find the right words to describe it right now, really.” 

You try to brush off his question with a laugh but you know deep inside your heart that you couldn’t just tell him you wished that the kiss was real. That you wish there was something more and that his glances at you earlier meant something. 

“But your advice did help a lot!” You tried changing the topic which you think was effective after he gave you a smug chuckle in return. 

“Told you.”

There was something easy about talking to him like this, away from the cameras and the crew and everything.

While driving, Yangyang made sure to take all the precautions he needed so as to not get caught with you in his manager’s van. Sure, he’s being friendly and acting like a dependable sunbae to you but he can’t afford being caught in a scandal, not with you. 

When you reached your destination, he made sure to contact the security to ensure no one was there before letting you go. 

“Thanks for earlier, sunbae! I don’t think I would’ve gotten through it without your reassurance.” 

He tilted his head, studying you for a moment before giving you a soft smile. “You would’ve been fine, with or without my advice. Give yourself some credit.” 

You stood frozen in the middle of your apartment’s parking lot at the sudden compliment. “Anyway, Y/N, get some good rest as tomorrow will be just as crazy as today.” 

“Yeah,” you nodded, “You too, sunbae, you too.”

By the time you reached your unit, you were surprised to see Chenle’s outdoor shoes in the entryway. 

“Yangyang said you’re out with Renjun,” your face turned sour at the sight of Chenle chilling on your sofa. “What a bad manager you are!”

“Yeah, yeah whatever. I left the restaurant earlier than Renjun.”

You didn’t mind what he said and went directly to your room to change. When you come back to your living room, he’s still in the same spot you left him a while ago. 

“What do you think of him now?” He asked again. This time, you already know who he was referring to. 

“He’s still fine and I still don’t understand why you’re doing this,” you rolled your eyes, joining him at your sofa. 

“He looks at you like you’re the lead of more than just the show, Y/N,” Chenle said slyly. 

“You’re overthinking things again, Chenle. Yangyang-sunbae is nice. I think we just have a good hoobae-sunbae relationship that’s why you’re acting like that,” you defended the actor. 

“I hope you’re right,” was all he said before placing all of his attention back to the television. 

At this point, you hope you’re right. 

It’s been a week since you spent time with Yangyang, filming the scenes for RikoJun and today, you guys are wrapping it all up–they’re gonna end their relationship and Lei will come back into the picture. 

“Missed me, Y/N?” Sicheng teased you. 

It’s also been a week since you last saw Sicheng, considering how busy he had gotten with his modelling gigs and sneaking out the pop star every night to his condominium. 

“You wish,” you retorted. 

“I heard you and Yangyang have a great chemistry,” he said again, his arms crossed to his chest.

“I like to think we do, too!” You gleefully replied, “His advice helped me a lot, especially during the heavy scenes we have together.”

Sicheng looked at you, “Mhm. I hope we still have that spark together after your time with him.”

Everyone on set was perplexed as to why Yangyang’s watching your scenes with Sicheng now, considering how he doesn’t have any upcoming shoots with you or with other actors of the drama today.

“Yang? Why are you here?” The director asked, completely puzzled to see the young man on set.

“Just wanna watch some of my colleagues, noona,” he showed off his gummy smile before proceeding to sit at the chair where the intern is supposed to sit. 

“Back off, Liu. The intern’s assigned there,” Hendery hissed, giving Yangyang a side eye before watching the younger one go away from the seat.

“Chill, Wong.” 

But Hendery didn’t give him any more attention, walking back to his van again to wait for the director’s orders. 

“Woah! What a tense situation you got there, Yang!” The director saw what happened, grinning ear to ear at Yangyang. 

“Shut up, noona. Why you gotta hire that man, anyways?”

“Well, he’s a good actor and he’s not rude to me,” 

“Whatever,” was all he said before looking for another seat to conquer.

After your shoot, you saw Yangyang outside your van, leaning against it while busying himself with his cellphone.

“Sunbae?” 

“Oh, Y/N. Already finished?” He asked, his eyes filled with joy as soon as he saw you in front of him. 

“Yeah. Why are you here, sunbae?” 

“N-nothing, Y/N. Have a great day.” 

You found it weird that Yangyang’s in front of your van yet left when you arrived but you didn’t divulge deep into the thought as your manager’s already waiting for you inside. 

“He was waiting for you,” Chenle told you the moment you sat on the leathered seat. “I thought he’s going to ask you out or something.”

“Please stop, Chenle. I know you like joking about stuff like that but he’s just a nice sunbae, that’s all!” 

“Drop the act, Y/N. I know you like him.”

This time, he’s right.

It started with the kiss scenes then the lovey-dovey shootings then came the drive-you-home extravaganza. Everything about Yangyang screams boyfriend for you. When he’d smile at you like you’re his most favorite thing in his world or when you’d be the only one he’d give techniques and advice on set, you knew what Chenle said about the man is right. 

At first, you were in-denial about it. Thinking that maybe you’re thinking this way about Yangyang because you can’t get your shit together and that you’re acting unprofessional. But, you know yourself. All this time, you are professional and diligent but his acts towards you aren't. 

Now, you’re here watching his character meet up with a new character the director added on a whim, saying something along the lines of ‘I’m sad Yangyang’s character didn’t have a partner.’

“Cut!” The director shouted, “That was a good run! Thank you, everyone!” 

The moment your eyes locked in with Yangyang, he immediately walked your way, not minding the new female character in his vicinity. 

“You were great out there,” you complimented. 

“Thanks,” he looked up before looking right into your eyes again, “But that’s just an act you know, what you saw earlier.”

“...I know?” You laughed. Of course, you know. You’re an actress for god’s sake!

“Just… saying,” he responded. “Anyways, are you free? Do you want to hangout with Sicheng and the rest?” 

You thought he’s about to ask you out on a date but Sicheng’s name flew out of his mouth and made your mood a bit down. 

“Sure, I’d love to,” you replied, opening your SMS app to message your manager about the said gathering.

You were about to sit beside Yangyang when the new actress beat you to it and told you to sit between Sicheng and Hendery. 

“It’s more fun if we sat beside our partners in the drama!” She suggested but you knew she just wanted to sit besides Yangyang. 

The table was tense, with the actress giving Yangyang a lot of food on his plate while you and the rest were quietly looking at the both of them. 

“I told Yangyang not to invite the newbie,” Hendery murmured. 

“Wouldn’t that be bad?” You asked, surprised he even talked to you. 

“So what? He could tell her I’m the one who suggested it.”

“That would be bad for you, then.”

“Everyone knows I’m bad. Much better for her to experience it sooner.’ 

You wanted to continue the conversation with Hendery more but he was clearly preoccupied with his ramen.

“That’s Hendery for you,” Sicheng smiled. “Here, get some of the beef I cooked.” 

“Thank you, Sicheng,” you thanked him as he put some cooked beef into your plate. 

From time to time, Yangyang kept on glancing at you while the new addition to the crew kept on pushing herself to the man. He was being uncomfortable because even though they rented a private section of this restaurant, rumors can still go and he can’t afford to have that. 

“He’s looking at you, Y/N,” Sicheng said, as if you hadn’t noticed it earlier. 

“I know, oppa. It feels weird.”

“Miss Y/N, you haven’t been touching your plate. Is everything alright?” Dejun asked rather loudly and everyone’s eyes on you now which made you feel small, especially when Yangyang’s gaze turned concerned. 

“Yes, Dejun-sunbae. I just feel full now,” you smiled at his direction which is a bit to the left whereas you were in the middle. 

“I’ll finish your food, Y/N. Give it to me,” Yangyang suddenly said, his right hand in your direction, waiting for you to give him your plate. 

“But–”

“Sicheng-ge, give me her plate,” you swear you could hear the newbie disagreeing with Yangyang but he didn’t mind.

Sicheng, being the biggest shipper of you and Yangyang, gladly followed the younger’s request. 

“Thank you, Yangyang-sunbae,” you said, eyes glinting with affection that everyone on the table didn’t miss. 

Of course, the both of you may not notice your deep fondness towards each other but everyone around you can feel it–they just don’t want to meddle with it. 

After everyone finished eating, you guys decided it would be better to part ways with each other and when the cast vanished into the busy streets of Seoul, you found yourself alone with Yangyang. 

“At last,” Yangyang jokingly said, nudging you playfully with his elbow while grinning from ear to ear. “At last, I can be with you alone!” 

Your heartbeat raced as you tried finding a reasonable response to him. “Don’t say that, sunbae!” 

“Why? Don’t you want to spend time with me?” 

“I like being with you, Yangyang-sunbae,” you responded, your tone was heartfelt but your execution was shy. 

Yangyang glanced at you for a while before forcing you to look back up at him, his fingers found your chin, racing it up so you could meet eye to eye. “I’ve been meaning to tell you this, Y/N.” 

“Mhm?” 

“You can stop calling me sunbae, you know,” he continued, “Just call me Yangyang, like everyone does.”

“But I don’t like calling you the way they do,” you argued, your lips forming a firm line. 

He just laughed at your stubbornness before ruffling your hair. 

“Okay, nepo baby. Just call me whatever you want,” he smiles at you genuinely, never getting tired of your little habits. 

“Okay, my dearest sunbae,” he laughs again this time but you truly meant what you had said. 

Sure, you might have other sunbae than him that you look up to and respect the most but none of them is Yangyang. None of them can make you feel the way he makes you feel. To you, he’s irreplaceable. 

Yangyang’s presence is a constant in your day as an actress. He’s always there, watching your scenes and cheering you on every chance he gets. He would also lean over your script, pointing out notes with an exaggerated seriousness that makes you not pay attention to him.

“You know, I could just ask the director,” you say, snatching the paper back.

“But I’m more fun,” he whines, leaning back with a pout. 

Then there are the quieter moments, like when you’re both reviewing scenes on his tablet, shoulder’s brushing as you sit close enough to share the screen. Or the way his hands would instinctively hand you a water bottle before you could even realize you’re thirsty. 

Or when he would always stay up late at night, waiting for you to wrap up your shoot before bidding you goodbye, watching you go inside your van before minding his own way home.

“Sunbae, you don’t have to wait for me everytime,” you say one evening as he lingers beside the director’s chair, watching you finish your last take for the day.

“And miss seeing you trip over your lines when you’re tired? No thanks,” he teased, flashing you a mischievous grin. 

You rolled your eyes at him, tossing a tissue towards his direction which he dodges with a dramatic flair. 

Moments like this have become the norm, not just to you but to everyone else. 

Everyone on set notices it. The way Yangyang’s eyes soften when he talks to you, the way your laughter is always louder in his presence. It’s in how he seems to move with you, like gravity itself pulls him into your orbit. 

“They’re so obvious,” the director complains jokingly. 

“Would you say anything, though?” Kun asked with a hushed tone, glancing at you both from across the room.

“Hell no.” 

To the crew, it’s an open secret that no one dares to talk about. To you and Yangyang, it’s just the way things are. 

And Chenle’s really worried for you.

You’re sitting in the dressing room, scrolling mindlessly on your phone while Chenle organizes your schedule for the following months. The buzzing voices and footsteps of the crew fades as you stand up for a while to close the door, creating a rare moment of peace and solitude in your otherwise hectic day, before sitting comfortably again. 

Chenle sets his laptop down on the table with a deliberate thud, breaking the comforting silence.

“We need to talk, Y/N,” he says, his tone filled with urgency.

You glance up, already sensing the shift in his usual sunny demeanor. “What is it this time?” You asked, trying to lift his mood up but it seems like your manager has no time for jokes or any of your ministrations. 

“It’s about Yangyang.”

You look at him puzzled, “What about him?” 

Chenle crossed his arms, his expression was stern. “Whatever’s going on between you two, it’s too much. Everyone on set sees it.” 

“So what if they do? People talk all the time,”you counter, feigning nonchalance, though your heartbeat races and you feel a knot tightening in your stomach. 

“This is serious, Y/N,” his tone now direct, “This isn’t just about people talking. You’re putting your reputation and his career at risk!” 

You roll your eyes at what he had said, leaning back in your chair. “Chenle, it’s not that serious. Even if something happens, my parents can fix it. They’ve done it before. Don’t worry.” 

“See? That’s exactly the problem Y/N,” he snaps, “You’re so used to your parents cleaning up after you that you don’t even see how dangerous this is for him,” you could tell his frustration is boiling over but you don’t seem to understand why he’s angry. “Sure, you can tell everyone how you’re so much more of your name or your parents. You can decline any movies or series with their name, but that action of yours. This action of yours is why people still think you’re a nepo baby.” 

Your eyebrows furrow, feeling confused. “I’m not doing anything wrong, Chenle. I’m sure Yangyang knows how to handle himself.”

“Does he?” Chenle laughs at your naivety. “Do you have any idea how hard he’s worked to get here? He doesn’t have the privilege of a safety net like you, Y/N,” he pauses for a moment, trying to catch his breath. “One scandal, one rumor, and everything he’s built is gone.”

You’re quiet for a moment. The weight of his words made you understand where he’s coming from but your response only deepened the rift. “Okay, fine. If it comes to that, I’ll handle it. My parents will definitely make sure nothing happens to him either. I’m sure of it.” 

Chenle was cynical after hearing what you have just said. “You don’t get it, do you? This isn’t about who your parents can pay off. It’s about respect. Respect for his work, his sacrifices, his entire life!” 

Outside the door, Yangyang stands frozen, his hand stuck on the knob. He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop on you and Chenle’s conversation, he just wanted to hang out with you today but instead, he got to hear your careless and out of touch words, making his chest tighten. 

He hears Chenle’s voice lower, ultimately giving off the vibes that he’s intensely irritated at what you have said. “You’re so caught up in thinking everything will be fine because it always is for you. But for him? It’s not. And if you really care about him, you’d stop pretending this isn’t a big deal. Stop whatever is going on with you two, Y/N.” 

Yangyang doesn’t want to hear anymore of what you guys are talking about. His stomach churns as he walks away, Chenle’s words and your indifference playing over and over in his head.

The ride home was quiet but not the quiet you wanted to have with Chenle. You genuinely can’t understand why he’s so exasperated with you when you’re just telling the truth. You can’t seem to find the problem with your parents paying off tabloids and threatening news agencies to keep the rumors about you and Yangyang out of the public eye.

And maybe, just maybe, the reason why you can’t find the problem with what you have said is because you’d never truly had to worry about the consequences of your actions. For you, it was simple: if things went wrong, you had the means to make it right.

“Chenle,” you finally broke the silence, your voice softer now. “I didn’t mean to upset you earlier. I thought I was being practical, you know? Looking out for everyone… I don’t know. Maybe I’ve missed something.” 

Chenle’s hand tightened around the steering wheel of the van and you could see the tension in his shoulders. “It’s not just about you, Y/N,” he said, “It’s about Yangyang too. You have no idea how much risk he had put out on himself just so you could be close with him the way you are with him now. How he’d probably be in his bed every night, thinking when or where news would break out about you two but still continue to act like your lover day by day. You have no idea how much he’s risked for you and here you are, thinking everything can be handled with a few phone calls from your parents.” 

His words stung more now, the sharpness of them cutting through your confusion. You tried to open your mouth to speak but nothing came out. This time, you knew Chenle was right. You have no idea. 

“Do you really think this is just a game for him, Y/N?” Chenle continued, “I know, it’s partly my fault for letting him drive you home that night and for not giving you a heads up but I didn’t think it could go deeper. I didn’t think it could end up like this.”

“It’s not your fault, Chenle. I just… I just didn’t think of it like that,” you murmured, your voice almost too quiet for him to hear. “I just thought that… that it’s the way things work for me. I didn’t realize our situation could put him in a worse situation than me.” 

Chenle’s expression softened at your confession, “I know you didn’t. But that’s why I need you to start seeing it from his side. From his perspective. This isn’t about what you can fix or what you think you can get away with.”

Betrayed is an understatement of how Yangyang feels right now. Hearing Chenle’s frustration and your clueless words earlier made his heart twist uncomfortably. Just when he thought everything was okay. Just when he thought it was okay to let his guard down for you. You just had to let him feel different from you. 

“What are you going to do, Yang?” Renjun asked, sighing as he saw his talent leaning against the window of his car. He had heard about you and your manager’s dispute from Yangyang. The young man was already on the verge of crying when Renjun calmed him down, even just for a moment.

“I knew we shouldn’t have gone that far into whatever we had, ge.” 

“I’m sure Y/N had her reasons as to why she said those things, Yang,” Renjun tried to save you from Yangyang but he knew it’s no use. 

Knowing Yangyang, Renjun’s too sure that the boy will completely distance himself from you, considering how he just realized how dangerous it is for him to fall for someone like you. 

“No, ge. This has to stop. Whatever this is. Chenle’s right. Even if I hadn’t heard her talking with her manager, I can’t let things go that far, ge. I have a career to uphold,” Yangyang sighed, “What would the public think if they learned about us? It’s so scary.”

“You’re overthinking again. Try to talk things with her tomorrow, maybe it’ll clear your mind.”

Tomorrow came and Yangyang dreaded it the most. You, on the other hand, are oblivious to the fact that your potential significant other potentially heard your conflict with Chenle last night. 

“Yang-sunbae!” You greeted, still clueless. 

With you greeting him with a huge smile that could cure the world, Yangyang wished he hadn’t heard what you had said yesterday. Yangyang wished this could go on. Yangyang wished you guys were just ordinary people. 

“I heard your conversation with Chenle,” he wasted no time. Yangyang spoke to you with the coldest tone he could muster but his insides were shaking. 

“Hm?” You were confused. 

What conversation with Chenle? You thought. 

Oh. You realized. 

Oh.

“Must be nice for you, huh? To not be worried about your career because your parents can clean your mess up,” his words cut you like a knife. He swore to himself to become calm once you met him but Yangyang felt overwhelmed. 

“What are you-” you couldn’t even continue what you were about to say because he interrupted you again, his disappointment in you evident in his eyes.

“I like you, Y/N.”

Those were the words you hoped Yangyang would one day say to you but his tone wasn’t the way to put it. You felt no butterflies in your stomach because you know this is not the confession where the both of you would end up together. More like a confession where you’d end up alone. 

“I like you too, Yangyang-sunbae,” you try. You hoped that he would calm down. That this revelation of feelings would soothe him and make him realize that everything is okay. That he’d realize you’re ready to risk everything for him.

But deep down, you know you’re just a fool for even confessing. 

Yangyang shook his head, “I like you, Y/N,” he repeated, “But we should stop. Your manager is right. What we have right now shouldn’t continue. We’re not allowed to be like this,” his voice cracks at the end of his sentence. 

A confession and a closure at the same dialogue? Yangyang is the only one who could do that.

“Yang…” but he didn’t respond. You look at his figure walking out of the set. 

You cried at where he had left you. You look like a fool there, with the director coming at your direction, completely confused as to why Yangyang left so suddenly and why you were left there, sobbing. 

“No amount of public hate could make me hurt the way his words did,” you cry at the director’s shoulder. You were almost shaking. 

It was your first ever rejection you have received your whole life. Sure, some individuals do not accept you in this field but his rejection of you was personal. 

“Why’d you do that to her?” Yangyang found it surprising that Hendery was the one to ask him why. Out of all the people in the set, this young and rude man was the first one to ask him why. 

“She can’t understand me or my situation. She can never understand it,” Yangyang just replied as he brought the cigarette to his lips, inhaling deeply as smoke curled up in the air. 

“You should have known that from the start, considering she’s a product of nepotism,” Hendery replied. Him, too, lighting up his own cig. 

“She’s more than what the public thinks of her,” Yangyang argued, “But, I think I have overestimated her.” 

Yangyang didn’t mean to leave you crying, he felt hurt himself. When he saw you earlier, memories of yesterday flooded his mind, overwhelming him and causing him to say whatever came to mind in that moment.

He was terrified that he would become nothing once the news about you two broke. The thought of a dating scandal uprooting all the sacrifices he had made for his career filled him with dread. In truth, he was afraid of you.

From the first time he saw you at the read-throughs, he sensed something about you could destroy him. Still, he tried until all that remained was the painful realization that you couldn’t be with him.

Hendery didn’t respond to Yangyang anymore. Instead, he just stood there while Yangyang found himself sitting with his truth in silence, grappling with the weight of his emotions. It was just him, Hendery, and the unspoken fears that lingered between you two, a reminder of what could never be.

“I know this is bad timing but the editing team accidentally deleted a kissing scene from Riko and Jun and now–” the director was frantic, almost worried for you and Yangyang but Kun calmed her down.

“Breathe,” he said, patting the back of the director to soothe her.

“Thank you,” she smiled before continuing, “I need the two of you to get your act together and film this one, just one, scene again.”

Yangyang didn’t reply, as if he’s distracted with something. You, on the other hand, gave the director a small nod. 

It was the day after the confession-closure thing and you kinda accepted to yourself that while he has become wary with you, you’re still willing to accept him. Even if it takes a lifetime. 

“Good morning, sunbae!” You gave him your best, energetic smile but he just gave you a nod. 

“At least, he acknowledged you,” Sicheng’s makeup artist felt bad for you so she tried to cheer you up. 

“Okay, Y/N and Yangyang! Give us your best shot!” The director calls, you breathe deeply before looking straight into Yangyang’s, you mean, Jun’s eyes. 

Be professional, Y/N! You scold yourself.

Yangyang immediately dives into the kissing scene, leaving you no room to mentally prepare for it. 

The kiss was fierce and desperate. You feel as if you’re trying to consume each other, pouring all your unspoken words and pent-up feelings into this single moment.

Your hands find their way to his hair, pulling him closer as if afraid he might disappear. He responds by deepening the kiss, his hands gripping your waist tightly, grounding you both in this whirlwind of passion.

It’s as if you guys weren’t Riko and Jun. The pretend kiss was extremely intense, everyone on set felt that it was genuine than it was supposed to be. But the director liked it. 

“Cut!” The director shouted and Yangyang was quick enough to detach himself from you. “That was a good one-take!”

You weren’t able to respond because Yangyang was already leading you to a secluded place.

“Hey! Wait!” You try to make him stop, “The director’s not finished talking, sunbae.”

Once he deems it’s safe enough, he looks at you before sighing deeply. He leans into you, kissing you for real this time. 

Yangyang doesn’t know if this is your first kiss but you don’t care at all. You close your eyes, feeling the moment. 

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he says, breathless.

“I should be the one apologizing, sunbae.”

Yangyang inhales, looking straight into your eyes, “It’s just… it’s just I’m afraid to disappoint them, Y/N. My fans. The public. I don’t like the way they’d paint me if we’re revealed.” 

“It’s okay, really. At least, you told me now,” you give him a half smile. 

In that instant, you realize how much you’re willing to risk for him. You were so easy to forgive him that you’d already forgotten what he had made you feel yesterday. But there’s this thought that has been eating you since then… that Yangyang’s not ready to risk what you’re ready to give him. 

“Look,” you were determined to make this right. “I know it’s complicated but–” 

He shakes his head harshly, cutting you off. “No, Y/N. You don’t understand this ‘complicated’ you’re talking about. I like you, Y/N. I genuinely, deeply fell for you but I can’t afford to risk my career or put you in danger of being even more hated by the general public.” 

“Yangyang-sunbae,” your voice was trembling but you still gave him a forced smile, “We can still be friends, you know?” You don’t want to be friends with him but if that’s the only way to keep him around, you’re willing. 

“No, Y/N. We can’t be friends.” 

“Why not?” You plead, desperate for him to explain whatever he has on his mind because he’s been puzzling you since earlier. 

“Because I like you more than friends do,” he admits, his voice betraying him again. 

The confession sends a rush of emotions through you, “So what does this mean for us?”

“It means…” He hesitates again, his brow furrowing, knowing that whatever comes out of his mouth next will change his relationship with you. “It means I have to lose you to protect you.”

The words hit you like a punch to the face. You want to scream that it’s not fair, that love shouldn’t come with conditions or sacrifices, but only a shaky breath left your lips.

“Yangyang-sunbae,” you say softly, stepping closer again despite the chasm between your desires and his fears. “I don’t want to lose you.”

He looks at you then, really looks at you, and for a fleeting moment, it feels like time stands still. In those gaze of his lies everything unspoken: the love that burns fiercely but is overpowered by his fear.

“I wish things were different,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion.

You reach out, fingers brushing against his hand, wishing for him to reconsider. But deep down, you know he’s already made up his mind.

“It’s premiere day!” The director gleamed. 

“Sicheng, you ready?” You ask your lead partner.

“Ask yourself first if you’re ready,” he replied. And he’s right about it, considering how this is the first time you’re going to see Yangyang again after your closure. 

The venue was filled with energy, cameras flashing from left to right, fans cheering for every cast member, and the buzz of excitement filling every corner of the room. You take a deep breath before diving in with Sicheng at the stage, reminding yourself of the work you had put into this series. 

The lights were blinding you and Sicheng and you can’t even hear the cheers of your fans with your heart thumping incredibly loud and fast. As you pose for photos, your eyes can’t help but wander to Yangyang. And when you did? Your heart almost dropped.

Yangyang looked dapper in his suit, standing with his partner in the drama as well as the other cast members. He catches your gaze for a second before continuing to smile at the cameras pointed at him. You can’t help but feel a pang in your chest. 

You mean, what’s the point of looking that good if there’s a distance between the both of you?

After the dashing and successful premiere of Eternal Sunshine, you find yourself at the after-party where only the crew and the cast were invited. 

The atmosphere was celebratory, filled with laughter and clinking of glasses. Heck, you even heard someone say that this drama is going to be a hit and that you deeply hope. But your mind wanders to Yangyang, sitting at the side with Hendery, exchanging small talks with the man every once in a while. 

You don’t know what came to you at that exact moment but you can’t help yourself. Your feet found its way towards an unsuspecting Yangyang. 

You first greeted Hendery, who even though feels the atmosphere didn’t need his presence there, didn’t give a single care and continued to eat. 

“Y/N,” Yangyang greeted you first.

“Hey,” you smile softly at him before leaning to his level, whispering, “I just want you to know that I’ll wait for your love, Yang.” 

It was the first time Yangyang had heard you call him without honorifics, making him flustered and shocked. He was about to respond to you but you shushed him, walking towards the area where the director is to talk with her. 

You know that there’s no need for further explanation because deep down inside, you're resolute: you’ll absolutely wait for his love. You like this man deeply, more than words can explain, and no matter how long it takes you're willing to endure it all for him.

It was a casual situationship that bordered on relationship and friendship, crossing the barriers more often than not. But it was fine. Labels weren't necessary neither were they scary.

Until now

The smell of antiseptic was once a comfort to you. You ceased to understand why people would find it traumatic, you found it soothing, healing.

Now, you understood.

A little.

You find Liu Yangyang, jokester. Pain in your ass. The only person who seems to understand you body and soul. Heart and all. Looking too frail and weak on the hospital bed.

His soft eyes, and soft conversation with his mother halts at the sight of you by the entrance.

"Hi darling," Yangyang's mother sweetly smiles at you, "Come in."

"You came?" Yangyang questioned, a little touched. You look pretty as per usual. But hes super excited by the sight of you. Finally someone that isn’t his family that hover over him, nor his friends that sneak him shots of alcohol only to drink them themselves seeing his state.

You nod, a basket of fruit sitting awkwardly in your hands.

"That doesn't suit you," He comments and he's quickly chastised by his mother swiping him across the chest. You see the way he smiles, almost as if he's chasing the normalcy of being told off by his mother for his cheeky retorts.

Yangyang's mother excuses herself, rubbing your shoulder before exiting.

"Thanks, dickhead," You huff, and Yangyang's mother loves the laugh that escapes her son's mouth as she wanders down the hallway to give the two of you space. Her arm quickly wrapping around her husband's in a tight grip and an emotional sniff of breath.

You kneel beside him on the bed, eyes trailing across his body with wide eyes.

"Do I look that terrible?" He snorts and he expects you to laugh. To smile. Be the normal he craves. You know he does.

But,

Your expression crumbles instead, and he's alarmed by the pure emotion that glazes your eyes over, "I'm sorry."

He frowns, leaning over to wrap you in an awkward embrace, courtesy of the wires he's plugged into and the IV drip, "Why are you sorry?"

"I wasted too much time," You confess, gluggy in the throat and stuffy in the nose, "All this time."

"It's not too late at all," Yangyang chuckles, "Tell me what you want to."

"I like you," You vent, "Have for ages. So much so that I think I love you now..Surprise!"

His body shakes with laughter, but even he can feel his eyes welling with unshed tears, holding you, "I love you too."

He listens to the slow rise and fall of your chest. And you feel the warmth of his body soothing you. You've got your chin hooked over his shoulder as if you're the sick one.

His arms are like pillars, strong and inviting. And you feel the butterflies as his soft hair brushes against the skin of your shoulders and lightly touches the skin of your neck.

It's quiet.

But you enjoy it.

Basking in the hold a little longer before visiting hours end. You don’t talk and neither does he.

It’s serenity.

He smells like baby soap and bandages but you can’t help but settle into it. Committing it to memory.

Warmth like you’ve never felt before.

"This is comfy," You whisper, pulling away. Laughing softly as his head follows your body, "Are you sleeping, love?"

‘Love’ is a first, but you hope to use it more often starting right now.

You laugh because you don't know.

And you only stop laughing when you see.

Your body moves on auto pilot. Feeling the rush of movement around you. He sleeps and sleeps. Even when his friends and family plead with him. Bargain with him and with people they can't see.

Even when they push on his chest.

Even when they record the time.

He sleeps and doesn't wake up.

But with Renjun attending university, there comes a bigger issue that Liu Yangyang didn’t expect to face, and that is the issue of his introverted, short bestie being more sociable than he ever was in high school. Soon enough, the older one had more university friends than Yangyang could count on the fingers of one hand, and while he was happy for him, cheering him on with both his studies and his social skills, he can’t lie, he still feels a bit threatened in the place of Huang Renjun’s best friend.

And that’s exactly why he’s now standing in the same spot at the edge of the neighbourhood for the last 25 minutes– Renjun is going out with all his university friends, and being the nice and considerate pal he is, he invited Yangyang to come with him. And Yangyang, known to have a big fear of missing out mixed with a hint of jealousy whenever his friend had more fun with other people that weren’t him, couldn’t find any other answer in him than to agree and head out with him.

“Of course they are coming! Just… let’s wait for a little more-” the boy cuts himself off when he hears a loud yell somewhere in the distance, making him turn his head around and stare into the space, looking for the source of it, because he’s very familiar with the tones of the voice and the ruckus that’s following each and every one of his friends’ step. 

There’s a group of five that arrive, diverse and interesting to look at. Yangyang assumes he’d be intimidated by them if he was to walk past them in the mall, but when he thinks again, he feels like that in this very moment as well– their gazes are sharp and every person looks like cut-out from a magazine or a coming-of-age movie he’d watch with Renjun when they were fifteen and figuring everything out. 

Looking at the small crowd, Yangyang wonders how Renjun even managed to be friends with them. They don’t seem like the kind that would be easy to approach, and they for sure don’t seem like they share interests with the young male. When he looks at the fairly tall man wearing a leather jacket that came towards the two of them first, it doesn’t seem like he enjoys art or reading in the quiet of his room at dawn like Renjun does. The other one, even taller and more muscular, seems like he enjoys racing more than he enjoys going to university, and so do the other ones– each one of the crowd is unique, but more intimidating than the other. 

Or maybe Yangyang just isn’t used to making friends anymore. Who knows.

“Hi! You must be Yangyang!” one of them announces, smiling and cheerful. His smile makes the ice break, the panic Yangyang felt on his insides stalling for just a minute, before he nods and smiles at him.

“Yeah, it’s me. And you are…?” he trails off, eager to hear the person’s introduction. There’s still faint hesitance in every move he makes, but he figures that he might as well start speaking to the little crowd soon, or he might embarrass himself in front of the cool university kids, and he really doesn’t want that. Three guys and two girls– must be easy. Let’s get it over with.

“Na Jaemin! It’s nice meeting you,” he says, politely smiling at him again and turning around, looking at the rest of the group. The seven of them start walking, the destination not known to the boy, but he follows them nonetheless, okay with not even knowing the rest of their names yet.

“I heard a lot about you,” Jaemin snickers, “Renjun can’t stop mentioning you in conversations. Every time us two are in a Chemistry class, he can’t stop chuckling and saying how you would absolutely despise it.”

Laughing, Yangyang nods. “That’s probably why I didn’t go to university.”

“Good. I regret going, but oh well…” Jaemin shrugs, already getting more comfortable with the conversation. “Anyways, since the rest of the group is totally unhinged and didn’t introduce themselves, I’ll be the nice guy and do it for them,” he grins, pointing to the guy that approached him and Renjun at first, “that is Hyuck. I promise he’s less intimidating than he looks, he just really desperately wants to be cool.”

“Got it,” Yangyang laughs airly, nodding.

“There next to him is Renjun, but I figure you know him… That bloke behind him is Lee Jeno. He’s what Hyuck desires to be, but isn’t. Next to him we have our ladies– to the left, Aeri, and hanging off his right shoulder, finally, Y/N.”

Grateful for the friendly introduction, Yangyang nods with a smile. “Great. Any idea where we’re going?”

Jaemin shrugs, pointing to the convenience store that’s magically appearing in front of them. “My best guess would be there, and then we head off to the skate ramp. It’s empty at this hour of the day, and there's plenty of room for all of us there.”

Yangyang tries his best to pay attention to everything that’s going on around him on his way in and out of the convenience store. He bought himself some Gatorade and Pringles, tagging along with Renjun and Jaemin, yet, he can’t help but ask himself why the rest of the group hasn’t paid any attention to his presence. Perhaps he’s too invisible– not interesting enough to spark a conversation with them, not cool enough to hang out with the rest of the group. 

He’s not quite sure if it’s the insecurities getting to him, or if he’s just right about his assumptions. Sometimes, it’s better to not know, though– reality might make him more hurt in the long run.

Finally getting to the skate park, Yangyang makes sure to stay close to the only people he knows how to talk to. Offering chips to Jaemin and Renjun, he manages to listen to the conversation just enough to know that Hyuck and Jeno are talking about some concert they’re going to over the weekend and that Aeri and you are talking about the project that’s due on Tuesday. Quite normal topics for teenagers to talk about, he thinks– the intimidation seeping off them must be a facade, or maybe his lack of judgement. Maybe he should reach out first and talk to someone, he thinks, but as soon as this thought creeps into his mind, it’s taken out of his head when a girl walks into his point of vision and offers him chewing gum. 

Seeing him turning the offer down with a smile, you shrug at him and kick the rocks under your feet. “You’re Yangyang, right?” 

For the second time that night, he finds himself nodding. The whole scenario looks like it’s cut-out  from a teenage drama, the scenery reminding him of an Avril Lavigne music video that he spent his childhood watching religiously. “Yeah.”

“I’m Y/N,” you say, offering him a hand to shake.

“Nice to meet you,” he replies, wanting to be as polite and as approachable as possible.

Looking at you, he finds himself getting intimidated again. He feels like a kid hanging out with upperclassmen in high school– like someone who’s desperately trying to fit in and be mature about everything, waiting anxiously to be made fun of by the cooler kids around. You’re wearing dark clothing, long black pants and a grey hoodie thrown over your upper body, even though the heat of the summer makes Yangyang sweat in every crevice of his adulting figure. You look bold, not in your appearance, but in your aura– and something about you is dangerously pulling him in, leaving him wanting to get to know you better.

You only hum, seating yourself next to him on the tiny bench. Your thighs are touching as you stretch your legs in front of you, leaning back and supporting your body with your hands pressed into the surface you’re sitting on. “So, Yangyang,” you start, “what do you do in your spare time?”

Surprised by your question, and also acknowledging the way his name rolls off your tongue in a way he likes it the best, he shrugs. What does one reply to a stranger asking about their interests? It sounds like a trick question, when in reality, it truly isn’t. There are no wrong or right answers, yet, Yangyang feels like if he doesn’t choose the right one, he failed, and he can no longer hang out with Renjun’s friends and see you ever again.

“Oh,” he hums, “well, I used to babysit, but I realised that I swear too much to be around children,” he replies, earning himself a chuckle from your side.

“I asked what you do in your spare time, not what you used to do for work,” you repeat, catching the boy off-guard with your insistence. 

“I- well-” he stutters, suddenly ashamed of each and every interest he has, for he thinks they’re not cool enough, or that they’re not interesting enough to mention to someone like you. Short in time, with his imagination not as good to think of something unique, he spills the truth. “I like music, I guess? I play the guitar and I’m actually teaching guitar lessons to get some money so I can start a band one day, or something…” he explains, bashful.

He feels the heat slowly arriving to his cheeks, a pinch of shame behind his teenage dreams, when he’s met with a hum and a pleased tone of your voice when you reply.

“That’s cool,” you say, “Jeno has a band, actually, but they’re kind of shit,” you giggle. “I bet yours would be better, when you’re good enough to teach guitar, you know.”

“Well, I don’t know about that…” he mutters, not wanting to offend anyone.

“Jeno’s in uni as well, so he can’t really focus on music. You gotta show me how you play one day,” you say, the lightness in your tone making him feel like he’s imagining everything. He wasn’t expecting this outcome, and he for sure didn’t think you wouldn’t find him embarrassing. With your proposition to show you how he plays, even though it might be just a nice gesture from a stranger, he feels on cloud 9.

“And what do you like doing?” he asks, eager to get to know you better.

Shrugging, you point your gaze towards your shoes. “I dunno. I like art,” you say, reminding him of his best friend. Perhaps you’re the one that attends the art class with him, perhaps you’re the one he met first before he was introduced to the rest of the group. In the light-hearted conversation, Yangyang doesn’t find you as intimidating as before, but looks at you as rather approachable, the least scary of them all.

“Well, if I gotta show you how I play, you gotta show me your art sometimes, then,” he says, throwing the ball back to your side of the court. Smiling at his proposition, you only nod as you search the pockets of your jacket, seemingly looking for something.

“Sure,” you say. Yangyang dares to say he hears a spark of interest in you, a glint in your tone from the way your conversation went. He doesn’t want the moment to disappear, desperately needing you to find him cool, to be his friend, because you interest him so much– but at the same time, he fears that with one bad move, he might ruin everything. Talking with you felt like walking on a shattered glass, just waiting to get pricked by the sharp pieces scattered all over the floor.

When you finally find what you’ve been looking for– a pack of cigarettes and a lighter– you open the box and take out one of them, slipping it in between your lips. “Do you want one?” you ask, offering him the box.

Now, Yangyang wants to fit in– of course he does– but at the same time, he has his boundaries. Shaking his head in disapproval, he smiles at you with tight lips. “No, thanks. I don’t smoke.”

Shrugging, you light the cigarette and breathe in the nicotine, letting the smoke captivate your lungs. Blowing out a steady stream of greyish clouds, Yangyang watches you with fascination. He won’t go as far as saying he found you attractive like that– you were still damaging your health– but in his mind, he can’t imagine you without that pack of cigarettes in your hand and without the smoke blowing out of your lungs. It’s like you were completed by that small addictive box, like you two fit together, even though he wishes you didn’t have to. He likes you like that, though, he figures– he might need to throw it all just onto the aesthetics, though.

“That shit’s gonna kill you,” he mumbles, seeing you peek out at him from under your eyelashes. 

Smiling, you lean into him, your face dangerously close to someone who you just met a few minutes ago, he feels like he’s melting under your gaze. Shrugging, you blow the smoke into his face, white clouds floating his way in slow motion, a snicker escaping your lips before you move to your initial place, once again putting the cigarette between your plump lips and inhaling.

“Well, now you gotta die too.”

Looking at you, trying to come up with a better comeback, desperately needing to find out when he’s gotten so smitten with you, when you’ve engraved himself into his mind; trying to get you out and forget about you, he finds out, although a little shamefully,

that he’s willing to let you be his best mistake that he’s ever going to make.

AND I’M ON MY WAY TO BELIEVING 

Running his hand through his hair, he stops at the doorway of one of the houses in his neighbourhood. It’s only three streets away from his home, and he’s sure his mother would know who lives there, if he managed to ask before leaving, but to him, the people he’s going to meet are a mystery for now. Sighing heavily, he notes that he should get a haircut, since the hair he managed to push out of his face is now back in his eyes, prickling his eyeballs in the most annoying way possible, before he rings the doorbell and waits for someone to open the door for him.

It’s an ordinary Tuesday afternoon, the clock reads 4:25pm– he’s 5 minutes early, just to be sure– and he’s going to one of his paid guitar lessons. 

Usually, he has fun in these. Mothers all across the town reply to his insert that he posted on Facebook Marketplace, and some grandmas even send him letters, replying to the advertisement they saw in the local newspaper. The kids he teaches are almost always very polite and easy to work with. 

When he arrives, he asks them what they know already, and he progresses from there. He’s not trying to act like he’s a licenced music teacher, because he’s not– everything he knows is all self-taught anyway, from watching youtube videos and playing the same songs with the same simple chords over and over again, desperately wanting to get his favourite songs right, until he progressed up to the point when there’s pretty much no song he couldn’t play after hearing it a few times and taking a look at the chords online. To the local neighbourhood kids, that’s enough– he’s an affordable teacher, and much more approachable one than the elderly men Yangyang’s parents wanted to hire when he was a kid. He refused back then, and he can’t say he regrets it.

Waiting at the doorway, he wonders who will wait for him behind the dark-wooded entrance. Perhaps a little boy– these are always the easiest to work with. They choose the rock, sometimes punk songs they heard on the radio or saw randomly pop out on the recommended page on youtube. Yangyang is happy with that, because that’s what he’s familiar with anyway. It brings him joy to see their faces light up when they get the chords right and when the strumming is similar to the one in the original song, and when he sings along, although a little silly, they even laugh at him and show gratitude with gummy smiles. 

He won’t lie. He likes his job. 

When the door finally opens, his eyes catch the sock-clothed feet of the person behind it. Eyes going up, noticing that the figure in front of him seems oddly familiar, his breathing catches in his throat and he feels his palms getting sweaty.

“Y/N?” he asks, a little taken aback.

You offer him a tight-lipped smile, an expression you pull when you see another teenager in the mall with their parents, both of you shopping for groceries. It’s the awkward smile that says that you recognise their torture, for you are experiencing the same; that awkward smile that reads don’t laugh at me, because you’re in the same position. 

“Hello,” you greet, taking a step to the side so he can get inside. 

Yangyang freezes in his spot. His legs don’t move, too hesitant to enter the house you live in, and he suddenly regrets not asking his mum about the residents of this house before he left. Not that he would know that it’s you anyway, for his mum always provides him with the last name and the occupation of the parents, but at least a hint would be nice, perhaps a mention of a daughter his age, even; both of these would let him prepare for the rush of heat in his cheeks and the awkwardness in his visit. 

“Um…” he mumbles, scratching the back of his neck, “am I… am I in the right house?” he asks suddenly, embarrassment creeping into his veins. Mentally going back to the address in the text message he got three days ago, checking the house number only a few metres to the right of the front door, it’s as clear as daylight– he’s at the right place, at the right time. 

“Yeah,” you nod, furrowing your brows in confusion. “Will you get inside already, or are you going to stand there all day?”

Eyes wide, Yangyang nods hurriedly, finally stepping inside of the house. Taking off his shoes, making sure he takes his sweet time so he can calm his racing heart, he thinks of every possible thing he could say to you to make the whole encounter less awkward. Or is he the only one that feels awkward at this moment? Are you alright with everything that’s going on? You don’t even seem to be surprised, to be fair. Maybe you expected to see him at the door.

“So,” he starts as he finally straightens his back and meets eyes with you, “um… I came to teach guitar, so… where’s your sibling?” he asks, cracking his knuckles in the process.

“Sibling?” you repeat.

Feeling like he’s said something wrong, but continuing in his interrogation, Yangyang furrows his brows. “Yeah. To… teach guitar to?” he says, feeling more confused than ever.

“I don’t have a sibling,” you simply reply, spinning in your place and taking the stairs up, making Yangyang freeze in his spot in hesitance once again. This whole thing feels like a fever dream, and he doesn’t think he can wake up that soon. 

A few seconds pass in complete silence, the uncomfortness of it all making Yangyang’s ears ring, when footsteps march through the space and make him swing his head up, seeing you standing at the top of the stairs. “Are you coming? I thought I was paying you for teaching me the guitar, and not for standing around,” you mutter.

Teaching you the guitar? Now, every other person would comply and run upstairs, apologise for being all over the place, maybe even mumble a poor excuse of how they haven’t slept well and that’s why they’re not in their right place today. But this is Liu Yangyang– and you’re Y/N, the girl he met almost a week ago and hasn't been able to stop thinking about since. And that’s why Yangyang only simply stumbles over his own legs and drags himself upstairs, still trying to make his mind comprehend the whole situation and let himself process what’s happening. 

He appears in your room in a moment. The journey there has no memory in his brain, for he thinks he acted on auto-pilot, too lost in his thoughts. When the smell of you lingers all around him and punches him somewhere deep in his gut, that’s when he finally wakes up and proceeds to do what he’s supposed to.

The room looks just like he’d imagine it to look. It looks so, so definitely yours; with posters of bands hung all across the walls, stitched between with artwork and polaroid pictures, not one spot left empty in the whole room. The rug in the middle of the space is white and fluffy, the long bristles reminding him of the dog he used to have when he was a kid. There’s not much furniture in your room, and it’s also fairly small, but there’s everything a university student would need in a room at their parents’ house: a big bed, a closet, a bookshelf filled with literature and a desk that’s a little too messy, but still looks oddly organised. The last detail that completes the aroma of you in the room is the easel set in the corner of the room, right next to the guitar stand, like a little pair of necessities that belong together, never to be seperated.

He finds you sitting on the bed, the black acoustic guitar already nestled in your lap, glancing up at him through your eyelashes. The look you give him is unreadable– or he doesn’t know you well enough to read in your expressions yet. Taking a mental note of the urge to get to know you enough to know what you want to say even from a simple look thrown his way, he sits next to you and clears his throat. 

“Shall we start, then?” he asks, hearing you snicker.

“I’m waiting until you finally get a grip, you know,” you say, “I’m ready when you are.”

Your words make him feel the heatness in his cheeks again, embarrassment a familiar emotion to feel whenever he’s in your presence. He once again recognises that he feels strangely intimidated by you in this setting, suddenly scared that he forgot all the chords and he doesn’t know how to play anymore, even though the thought of that is ridiculous and unbelievable, since before, he was sure he could play Smells like teen spirit even in his sleep.

“Okay, so…” he starts, “let’s start with what you already know, and then we can progress from there, I guess?” he chooses the tactic he always does when he teaches the neighbourhood kids, but at this moment, everything about the guitar lesson is making him unsure in his skills. This is the first time he’s working with someone his age, and to find you being the one replying to his insert, it makes it all even harder for him.

“I mean… I know the basic chords, but that’s about it,” you shrug, averting your eyes off him. 

This is the first time Yangyang notices you shying away from his glance. He doesn’t dare to pin much importance to it, for he thinks it must be nothing, but something deep inside of him makes an assumption already and the air is suddenly lighter to breathe for him. He’s in charge now– he’s the one that knows everything, and you’re the one that wants to listen to him and learn from him. He’s not about power dynamics at all, since it would feel strange to pay importance to that, but suddenly, he no longer feels like he’s less from you, but rather on the same level, only a little more skilled, and that makes him feel more sure in his conversation and more strong in his moves.

“Okay, great,” he muses, “that’s a good start. Do you have a particular song that you would like to learn how to play? That’s usually the best way to learn, I think,” he suggests, glancing at you with curious eyes.

If he tried hard enough, he could maybe make out the song you’d choose by looking around your room and paying more attention to the posters on your walls. He’s quite sure he’ll be familiar with it, your music taste overlapping with his, although there are a few bands he’s not familiar with on the pictures on your walls and he suddenly wants to ask you all about them and let you recommend your favourite songs to him. He’d listen to them all afternoon, making sure to get every detail and search for everything that makes you enjoy them so much, trying to get to know you through your favourite melodies. He knows it’s too soon for a step like that, but he makes sure to keep it in his mind for later, when you two are closer; if that moment ever comes, of course.

“Hmm,” you hum. Suddenly, you stand up with the guitar still in your right hand, searching for something in the mess on your desk. There’s your phone in the grip of your left hand now, and with a few taps to the screen, you offer it to Yangyang, a site with the chords to the song you chose now shining on full display. “This one,” you mumble.

Now it’s your turn to look bashful. Yangyang notices the sudden shift in the atmosphere, liking how the awkwardness is suddenly out of his blood system but rather entering yours. Scrolling through the page, his eyes scan the chord progressions, nodding to himself as he recognises the tune, already playing in his head.

“Great! Let’s get to it, then,” he says.

Nodding, you stay glued in your place at the other end of the bed. Your guitar is still placed neatly on your right thigh, resting against it, waiting to be played. “Maybe try playing it so I can see what you need helping with?” 

The suggestion makes you nod, a nervous lick to your lips is made as you take the guitar pick into your right hand and nestle a little in your seat, trying to relax. Not wanting to make you more nervous, Yangyang makes himself not look at you while you play, resulting in letting his eyes roam all across your room, trying to remember the details just in case he’s never invited over ever again. 

You start playing in no time. Even a complete beginner could hear that you’re not used to the instrument yet– your strumming is inconsistent, the changing of chords slow and not all strings play when you press them– too weak for the note to ring. It’s okay, though; everyone starts somewhere and this was a good effort. The G chord is played wonderfully, as Yangyang recognises that this one in particular is not an issue amongst his students, but when you get to the D minor, Yangyang suddenly hears a sigh full of frustration as the strums don’t ring and you seemingly get a cramp into your left palm.

The melody, although a little chopped up and wonky, suddenly stops. You look over at your guitar teacher sitting to your right, trying to find help in him. 

“Your hand got cramped up?” he asks, voice full of consideration he uses when he teaches the small children. He let it slip unknowingly, but now that he recognised it, he prays you don’t make fun of him for the endearing tone of it.

“Yeah,” you nod, chewing on the inside of your cheek.

“I see,” he nods, shifting closer to you. He tries to be full of confidence, because then, it’s easier for him to mask the effect you have on him and the growing aspect of it the closer you physically are to him. Taking the guitar softly from your hold, he presses down the strings in the right order, three fingers used for the simple chord, strumming to let you hear the chord out loud. 

“What you’re doing wrong is keeping your thumb too far up on the back of the neck,” he says, showing you the way you were playing the chord before, “this way, you have to make more pressure to hold the strings down, and the uncomfortable position makes your hand cramp up. Try moving your thumb a little lower,” he explains, once again showing you.

You hum, taking the guitar back from his hold when he offers it to you. You try to hold the strings down in the way Yangyang’s shown you, but your fingers just won’t comply, too used to the way you were playing the chord before. Watching you with amusement, Yangyang chuckles to himself and unconsciously moves to you, reaching for your hand from behind, and manually moving your thumb closer to the bottom of the neck of the guitar. 

The contact of your skin on his burns him a little, even though he was the one that initiated it and touched you first, and he suddenly feels like a teenager once again, hating that the way he feels about you reminds him of the silly crushes he used to get on his classmates and never acted up on them in the fear of being rejected.

Moving back to his initial place, he sees you bite down on your lower lip as you strum down the strings, hearing the chord loud and clear, your hand in a way more comfortable position now. Humming again, perhaps in understatement, perhaps in satisfaction, you look up at Yangyang again, smiling a little. “Thanks.”

He shrugs. “It’s okay. That’s what I’m paid for,” he snickers.

You roll your eyes at him, but your lips mirror a cunning smile. He teases you back with the words you used when he first arrived, making him wonder if you find him more fun now, when he’s relaxed. 

Sitting quietly, you try playing the song again, now a little more smoothly. Yangyang finds himself humming along, not daring to sing the lyrics just yet, since he’s not that eager to embarrass himself in front of you with his singing as he is when he teaches the kids. But when you look up at him and grin in amusement, he knows he did the right thing– the atmosphere is lighter now, the weight falling off his shoulders.

“You didn’t mention wanting guitar lessons when we last talked,” he says, going back in time just a week ago. 

“Yeah, well,” you stop playing, “I wasn’t really set on it back then yet.”

“I see,” he hums, “what made you change your mind, then?”

Chewing on your bottom lip, you laugh to yourself. Putting the guitar down, between your bodies sprawled out on the bed, you fold your hands on your stomach. “If I tell you, promise you won’t laugh.”

Surprised by your request, for Yangyang thought there’s not anything in the whole world that could ever make you ashamed, he nods and agrees. “I won’t laugh. I promise.”

Squinting at him, as if to see if he’s truly honest with his promise, you breathe in heavily, getting ready to speak. “Well… remember how I told you that Jeno’s in a band?”

“Yeah,” he nods. How could he forget? That dude has everything Yangyang ever wished to be.

“So… his guitarist is kind of a dick,” you start, “he doesn’t go to practices, skips the gigs, shows up high sometimes… so Jeno wanted to kick him out and find someone better. And I kind of wanted to be the replacement, but…” you trail off, not daring to look at Yangyang in fear of hearing his laughter.

“Yeah, well, you’ll have to pay me for way more lessons to be the next lead guitarist of an underground band,” Yangyang notes, not trying to make fun of you– rather just tease you, to lighten up the atmosphere.

“Yeah,” you giggle, “you’re right. But maybe you could join them.”

“Me?”

“You said you wanted to have a band,” you mumble, shrugging, “this comes close, at least.”

Grinning to himself at the proposition, Yangyang shakes his head in disbelief. “You haven’t even heard me play. For all you know, I could be a total fraud.”

You turn your head to look at him, eyes squinting in examination once again. “You’re right, dude,” you mutter to yourself, “play me something, then. I’ll be the judge if you’re the one suitable to be the next lead guitarist of an underground band,” you say, throwing his own words back at him, trying to act out his voice in a teasing manner.

Singing, Yangyang shakes his head at your proposition. You must believe him– otherwise, you wouldn’t have texted him to give you guitar lessons, after all. To fulfil the promise he’s given you back in the skate park, though, he takes the guitar laying between your bodies, straightening his back and sitting in a more comfortable position, he presses down the chords you so desperately wanted to learn just a few minutes ago, before you two got lost in the conversation.

A simple G, D minor, a C major 7. Repeating over and over, a strumming pattern so easy and comforting, it’s forever engraved into his brain. He remembers hearing the song for the first time when he was younger, too embarrassed to admit to Renjun that he likes it, since he was always posing as the emo kid in the town. The band might suit the genre, but the lyrics are as sweet as sugar, so romantic it makes his heart clench. 

Caught somewhere in between it all, in the midst of the moment, hearing you silently hum the lyrics to the song you’ve shown him, Yangyang foolishly finds himself dedicating the song to you. This is the second time you two have met, but your whole presence, the way you scrunch up your nose when you laugh, the way you are so genuine and straight-forward, with nothing to hide, he finds himself pulled towards you, wanting to know you deeper, desiring to explore every last crevice of your inside.

He never wanted to be in someone else’s band. He always wanted his own, so he can be in charge of everything, so he can be the leader everyone follows. But if being in Jeno’s band meant meeting you more often, he figures he could try it out. Who knows, he might even like it.

He’s never tried so hard for a girl before. He never really had the urge. Spending his days with blissful carelessness, wasting away his youth by doing nothing, he never really found anyone to yearn for as hard. He swore he was content with loneliness, but perhaps, no one before was ever worth the risk.

Just like in the song he’s playing, you are the only exception.

SO EXCUSE MY TANTRUM, CAN’T YOU SEE I’VE GOT MY HANDS FULL?

Leg nervously bumping up and down, Yangyang chews on his bottom lip as the buildings behind the windows of the car blur into themselves and motion him forward. Hearing a low beep coming from his lap, where he threw his phone after aimlessly checking Instagram for the seventh time today, he reaches for the device and unlocks it.

y/n: are you close yet

Looking around, trying to find out where the hell he’s even going, he turns to his best friend on the driver’s seat. “Are we close?” he asks.

“Who’s asking?” Renjun mumbles, turning on the left blinker and taking a turn towards that direction, pulling up to a street Yangyang’s never seen before in his whole life. 

“Y/N,” he answers, checking all the houses, as if to try to see if you show up at the doorstep of one of them, awaiting their arrival. 

“We’re quite literally 15 metres away from Jeno’s house,” Renjun mutters, turning down the music playing on the radio. Yangyang hums in understatement, quickly looking back over to his phone and typing a swift reply.

yangyang: we’re here 

As the car comes to a halt, parking at the edge of the sidewalk in front of one of the houses on the street– each and every single one of them looking the same, with white walls and a brown roof, creating a homely atmosphere– Yangyang finds his nerves rise even more. It’s not like he’s meeting Renjun’s friends for the first time, after all, so he really doesn’t get the sudden rise in adrenaline. Sure, he only saw Jeno, Jaemin and Hyuck once, but at least him and you are pretty acquainted by now, considering that he gave you guitar lessons three more times since the last time, before he finally agreed on meeting Jeno and his bandmates for a band practice; just to see if he’s fit, nothing more.

Maybe he just really wants to impress everyone. The rest of the band is filled with strangers, so maybe that’s where his anxiety is coming from. 

He almost opens his mouth and tries to talk about it to Renjun, since the boy always gets his emotions and tries to help him calm down whenever his overthinking is getting too irrational, but when he jumps out of the car and closes the door behind him, there’s a screech coming from the small gate leading to the property, making his eyes drift towards the source of the sound. 

You wave at the two, standing in the open gate, a shining grin plastered onto your face. After Yangyang gets out his guitar from the backseat– the electric one, as you specified in your texts last night– you run up to him and envelope him in a quick, yet, comforting hug.

He didn’t realise you’ve gotten this close, but he welcomes the embrace with open arms. He catches a sniff of your perfume– a mix of roses and vanilla, sweet, but also light. It travels from his nose all the way up to his brain, numbing his senses. If this was the only smell he could feel until the end of his life, he wouldn’t complain.

“Finally! They’re all waiting for you in the garage,” you say, leading the pair towards the house. The gate to the garage is open, revealing a group of people clammered in the small space, leaving Yangyang at least some time to prepare for all of them.

Going up to the make-shift practice room in Lee Jeno’s garage, Yangyang puts on his best charming smile, hoping to seem at ease and not at all awkward. Adjusting the guitar in his hold, he comes up to the group and greets them with undeniable ease.

“Hello,” he says, watching Renjun as he fist-bumps the rest of his friend group and sitting at the old, orange couch in the corner of the garage.

“What’s up, man,” Jeno says as he comes up to him, once again, with a handshake. Yangyang begins to wonder why he always looks so cool– even when he’s wearing simple sweatpants and a Nirvana shirt enveloping his torso, he looks like he’s cut-out from a Rolling Stone magazine. He doesn’t even need that bloody leather jacket to look good. Life truly is unfair.

After greeting everyone, Yangyang finds himself awkwardly leaning against the arm of the couch. There wasn’t much space for him to sit, but that was okay– he was here to play the guitar anyway, he could stand. The garage was filled with people he knew, and also didn’t. It felt weird to have such a big audience. He felt like that time when he applied for the school’s talent show; he almost pulled out the minute he saw the tens of people sitting on the folding chairs in the school’s auditorium, waiting for him to begin playing. 

He recognised Jaemin– who warmly smiled at him when he went up to him and greeted him with a rehearsed fist bump– and he also recognised Hyuck, Jeno and you. There was a guy sitting in the corner of the room, who he was told was Mark and he was here to ‘hang out’, and the other two were Hendery and Chenle, the band’s drummer and bassist.

“Want some beer?” you ask, looking at him brightly from your spot next to him. He shakes his head in disapproval– he didn’t really like the taste of it, and much to everyone’s dismay, he was a light-weight and he really didn’t want to embarrass himself in front of everyone sitting in the garage, watching him perform. 

Yangyang’s left feeling lonely even in the full room of people. It’s somehow alarming, but also understandable. He’s not close to any of the people here, except from Renjun, and he’s been with him for the last few hours, so it’s only natural for his friend to drift towards someone else now. Looking around the garage, he spots a sign in the corner of the room, a long, white fabric spray-painted with red. 

Chucky Tribute, it reads. Finding himself chuckling under his breath, you look over to him, raising your eyebrows to find out what he’s laughing about. Pointing towards the sign, you only roll your eyes with a grin.

“That’s the band’s name,” you whisper sincerely into his ear, “Jeno’s a fan of the Chucky movies.”

Upon hearing this, Yangyang already knows he signed up for a wild ride.

After some more catching up between Renjun and his friends, and some awkward conversation that sparked between Mark and Yangyang after he recognised the anime on his shirt, Jeno turns to him with the true reason for his visit today.

“Okay, so,” he starts, “we could try to play something together, so we can see if you’re the fit to be in the band,” he says. Something about his sentences makes Yangyang feel like he’s looked down upon– as if Jeno was the master of everything, not believing that someone like Yangyang could be good enough to be in his band, however small and underground it might be. Looking over at you in the corner of the room, seeing that you’re a regular at the band practices, gazing at him with a hopeful smile, he complies, though.

“Not that we have any doubts about you, though,” Chenle, the bassist chirps from the other side of the room, “our last guitarist was a stinker anyway, so there’s no way you could be worse than that, really.”

“What they’re trying to say, essentially, is that their standards are low in the first place, so there’s nothing to be afraid of,” Renjun teases from his spot next to Jaemin, earning a laugh and a playful bump to his shoulder from Hyuck sitting on his other side.

“Right,” Jeno rolls his eyes, trying to organise the whole evening at least a little, “anyway. Back to what I was saying… maybe you can try playing something and then we’ll see, I guess… I don’t really know how to go about this anyway,” he shrugs, watching Yangyang with curious eyes.

Yangyang feels his palms sweat, but he gets up from his spot nonetheless, getting his trusty, beloved guitar he got from his mother for Christmas out of its case and plugging it into the speaker. Strumming the strums a few times, as if to practice, he nervously clears his throat and points his gaze towards the neck of the guitar– even though he’s certain he could play it even if he went blind– just so he doesn’t have to look anyone in the eye.

Putting his fingers into their right places, he starts improvising. No one really told him what to play, so he assumes they don’t really want to hear any song in particular, so he doesn’t even try to imitate something or fish for chord progressions to anything in his mind in the first place. Moving fast across the guitar’s neck, he masters a melodic play, something he himself is kind of impressed with, something he doesn’t feel ashamed to play. He gets really into it, momentarily forgetting all about his surroundings, as he often does when he plays the guitar, when a low rhythm of drums flows into his ears and makes him look up, seeing Hendery grinning at him from his place behind the drumming kit.

Not a moment passes before Chenle gets to his bass guitar, completing the rhythmic section of the band. The melody flows through the walls of the garage, making Yangyang smile in joy, because only now does he truly feel in his element, when Jeno picks up another guitar and the whole make-shift symphony makes the audience cheer and yell in amazement.

When the players get tired and the song is done, Yangyang finds everyone clapping, making euphoria run through his veins. Perhaps this is what he was always destined to do– and even the slightest hint of the cheering of an audience, all because of his song, is like a gas fueling an engine, a spark that creates the fire in his soul. 

His eyes subconsciously find your figure, standing up from your seat. Your eyes light up and your lips are tugged into the brightest smile he’s ever seen on you, running up to him with much force, arms only dangling by your sides,

before you pass him and he finds himself turning around, watching you envelope Lee Jeno in a fierce embrace.

“That was so good! You did so well, oh my god!” you cheer.

The euphoria fades. Yangyang’s smile drops only a little.

I WISH THERE WAS A SITUATION TO BE MAD AT, OR A PERSON I COULD BLAME

Sitting cross-legged at the edge of your bed, strumming your guitar softly, the sun starts setting and the orange hue makes the features of your face soften. Your room turns into a quiet abode, only filled with the sound of the guitar, mindless chords blending together beautifully as Yangyang continues playing, staring at your face.

“You know you still have to pay me if you call this a guitar lesson, right?” he says, watching you as you lay on your bed, legs pressed against the wall and your head hanging off the edge of the mattrace.

“Yeah,” you reply, “it is a lesson, just so you know.”

“You haven’t picked up the guitar the whole time I’m here,” Yangyang notes, laughing.

“I’m practising listening today,” you mumble, looking at him with eyes squinted from your teasing grin. 

“Didn’t realise I was your personal jukebox.”

“Shut up and continue serenading me, won’t you?” 

Snickering at your comment, Yangyang continues to mindlessly strum the guitar, wondering how and when exactly he got into this situation. A few weeks ago, he didn’t even know about your existence, and now, he’s locked up with you in your bedroom multiple times a week, giving you guitar lessons and sharing small-talk with you when you invite him for dinner to your parents’ kitchen and feed him dry cereal instead.

He’s not confident enough to sing in front of you just yet, but humming the lyrics in his brain is enough for him in this situation, for they fit the whole scenery with a 100% accuracy; I think I've lost my mind/ blurring the fact and the fiction/whilst simultaneously fixing/myself up with a girl named Panadol.

“Have you ever written a song?” you ask suddenly, not once initiating eye contact with him as your head is still hung down the edge of the bed.

“Not really,” he replies, but if the two of us continue meeting this often, I might start, he thinks. “You?”

Humming, you take a few seconds before you reply to him. “I have.”

Your words surprise him, making him halt in his movements. “No shit,” he blurts out in awe, “show me!”

Awkwardly laughing to yourself, you finally plop yourself up on the bed and sit opposite of him, shaking your head in disapproval. “No. Not a chance.”

“Come on!” he insists. “You can’t expect me to not be curious about it, now that you mentioned it.”

“We don’t know each other well enough for me to show it to you,” you mumble, “not even Aeri knows about it.”

“We meet up multiple times a week, and since I’m your trusted guitar teacher, I think I deserve to hear your music progress,” Yangyang pouts, trying very desperately to get you to show him what you’ve written. 

“There’s no use in trying, you won’t convince me,” you laugh, set on your decision.

“What do I gotta do, then?” he snickers. “Play 21 questions with you?”

“Maybe,” you shrug, “maybe I’ll show you after that.”

Knowing damn well that you won’t– because Yangyang knows that it’s not as easy to show someone you don’t know that well something that you treasure so close to your heart– he nods and sets the guitar aside, getting ready to play the stupid game with you, just so he can finally know more about you. Sure, he might just learn some trivia about you; things that barely matter in the bigger picture that is life, but he will get anything he can, because you’re basically his biggest interest in life at the moment, right behind music.

“Okay,” you nudge him with your foot, “shoot.”

“Why do I always gotta start?” he gasps, a little offended.

“Because!”

“Okay, alright,” he rolls his eyes, “what’s your favourite colour?”

Sighing at his generic question, you shrug and point towards your torso, hugged in a grey hoodie. Realising it’s the same one you were wearing when you two first met, Yangyang smiles a little, but resolves into teasing you again. “That’s not a colour, that’s a shade.”

“Don’t disagree with me,” you snap back, furrowing your brows. “It’s a colour.”

“It’s a shade of black, actually, so it can’t be your favourite colour-”

“Fuck, okay,” you roll your eyes at him again, irritated, “fine. When did you start playing the guitar?” you ask, changing the subject.

Searching through his mind for an answer, Yangyang hums, lost in thought. “I think I was like eleven, or something?” he says, sounding more unsure than in his final exams, when he forgot what the topic was about. 

“Eleven?” 

“Yeah. My mum got me my first guitar for my eleventh birthday. I kind of sucked, but I enjoyed it anyway,” he says, smiling to himself.

“When did you first want to be in a band?” you ask again.

“If you ask now, that means you’ve wasted another one of your questions and I can go twice in the row next time-”

“Just answer the damn question, Yang!” you curse at him, playfully hitting his knee.

“Jeez, alright,” he mutters, “chill out.”

“I can’t chill out if you take the rules of 21 questions this literally!” 

“Okay, okay!” he puts his hands up in a defending motion, grinning at the annoyance in your face. Something about pushing you over the edge, making you completely annoyed with his antics, makes a spark of joy illuminate his insides. It’s like he’s doing his job right– getting on your nerves, but still being the tiniest bit endearing with it. “It’s actually kind of funny, you know.”

“Is it?” 

“Yeah,” he nods, “I was in surgery when I was like… nine? Maybe ten, I’m not entirely sure. And when I was in a coma, I had this dream where I was on the stage performing my most favourite song, and I had the best time ever. So that’s kind of when I decided that this is what I wanna do when I grow up.”

Looking at him with endearance, you laugh at his story. The noise makes Yangyang feel like he’s on cloud 9 again, the state of euphoria you bring him into once again swimming through his veins like he’s on drugs. 

“No way!” you giggle.

“I’m serious!” 

Laying on the bed, getting more and more comfortable in his presence, you plop your feet into Yangyang’s lap and rest your head in your crossed hands. The sight of you like this, making physical contact with him, comfy and snuggled up in the blanket, Yangyang almost makes his imagination run too far. It almost feels like he’s in your personal space, the only person you let in, it’s like he’s your boyfriend, sitting in your room and chatting about everything and nothing at all at the same time, just enjoying your time together.

“Your turn now,” you say,  waiting for his question.

Humming in response, he carelessly rests his hands on your ankles, finding their place there as if they were made to be there from the very start. “What is your song about?” 

“Yangyang.”

“What? I didn’t ask you to sing it to me, or to show it to me. I’m simply just asking about it, that’s different,” he explains, a voice of a know-it-all that always got on everyone’s nerves.

“Still! Can’t you ask something else, then? I’ll answer everything, but that.”

“Okay. What’s the name of the song?” he asks, grinning teasingly.

“Okay, that’s it. We’re not playing anymore-”

“Fine!” he stops you, tugging you back to your place by your ankles when you dare to move away, as if you wanted to escape him altogether. “I have another one.”

“I swear to god that if you mention my song again, I will physically-”

“When did you start liking Lee Jeno?” he asks.

Your voice cuts out, the whole moment freezes. He feels like he’s in a youtube video, put on pause, stood in the same motion, holding the same expression. In reality, he’s trying to stay stone cold, expression stale, so you don’t realise just how much he cares about your feelings towards the boy. 

You’re shocked, he can see it in your face. Maybe no one’s ever noticed before. Maybe he’s the first one; but the truth is, it’s not that difficult to see when you get so cheerful whenever he’s around, subtly touching him and sending compliments and light-hearted teasing his way whenever you get the chance. 

Or maybe it’s not that obvious at all. Maybe Liu Yangyang just pays too much attention to who’s the object of your interest.

Strange, isn’t it?

PILLOWS PRESSED UNDER YOUR KNEES

Grinning to himself, playing the last few notes of the song Jeno and his friends wrote a few months ago, Yangyang finds you sitting at the old couch in front of him, your phone pointed towards the little show. The video of him playing the guitar will soon hit your Instagram stories, and Yangyang will widely grin as he realises it’s him that you’re showing to the whole world on your social media, and not Lee Jeno, as one would expect.

Once the song is done and over, you clap with much excitement and Yangyang smiles at you. The band practice is now over and he moves to the guitar case he left next to you on the floor, hiding his guitar in it so it doesn’t get damaged.

“That was good,” Jeno says, sitting at the armchair in the far right of the garage, getting out a pack of cigarettes from somewhere and lighting one between his lips, “we’re gonna rock that show. It’s good you got the songs so fast, Yangyang, or else we would be fucked.”

“I’m a professional,” he shrugs with a grin, earning himself a laugh from Chenle. 

Sitting on the couch next to you, he finds himself enveloped in a weird sense of euphoria and excitement. In a week, he’ll be playing his first ever concert– Jeno said not a lot of people will attend, since they’re not known as much in the town, but it’s still something. A first step towards something, if you will. And Yangyang is happy with taking things slow this time around. Sure, he’d be happier if the band wasn’t called Chucky Tribute, and yes, admittedly, he’d be glad if the songs he played were his and the lyrics were more thought-out and not as surface-level as they are, but he’s happy with what he’s got. Better than nothing, right?

“I better head home soon,” Yangyang mumbles, standing up from his spot on the orange couch. Being around all those people without Renjun still feels kind of awkward, but he concludes that he can work on it some other day. 

“We’ll just pack our things and go as well,” Hendery nods, “this was a good one, guys!”

“Man, I would do anything for a spicy McChicken right now,” you mutter, looking around at Jeno, “wanna order and watch Netflix?” you ask him, the question feeling like a knife in Yangyang’s back. 

The thing is, you two established that Jeno is the guy you like a few weeks ago, back in your room. Yangyang promised to himself that he’ll try to get over you, but it’s not as easy as it seems when you’re everywhere he goes; your presence is enough to make him like you even more and more, and that’s a fact that feels more like a curse than a blessing.

“Nah, I’m not really feeling it today,” Jeno mutters, not even meeting your eyes as he scrolls through his phone and takes another drag of his cigarette, letting the ash fall to the dirty floor.

“Oh,” you say, the hint of disappointment in your voice is too noticeable, breaking Yangyang’s heart a little. He wonders how Jeno could be so blind, and mentally curses at him for turning you down, because god knows that if he was in his place, he’d never say no to you. “ I- I better go as well, then…”

Paying your goodbyes to the rest of the band, Yangyang finds himself outside of Lee Jeno’s garage, hesitantly scratching his neck with the offer he’s about to propose. “Still up for that spicy McChicken?”

“Hm?” you hum in question, looking at him with big eyes.

“We can drive to Maccies together, if you wanna. I’m starving,” he proposes, seeing something behind your eyes shift– perhaps relief, or hope, from seeing that someone is still up for hanging out with you, even though you’ve been turned down from the object of your desire.

Kicking the rocks under your feet, you shrug. “I mean… I’m down, I guess.”

“Okay, sweet,” he nods, striding towards his little Volkswagen Golf that he got from his father when he decided to buy a new car, “let’s go.”

Your body drags itself into his white car, slumping into the passenger’s seat. The disappointment in you is still very much seen in the slouching of your shoulders and the frown that is ever-so delicately written into your face, but Yangyang makes it his quest to make you feel better. Turning the engine on and turning up the music in the radio, being quite satisfied with himself that he put the Paramore CD in before he left, he drives off Jeno’s driveway and strolls through the city, into the McDonald’s at the edge of the town. The one in the centre is closer, but that one doesn’t have a parking lot– that’s why he’s opting for the safer choice. 

When he finally gets there and parks in one of the vacant parking spots with much struggle, to be fair, since this was the part where he almost didn’t make his driving test when he was getting his licence, you follow him outside of the car, a little more stride in your step than before. When you get into the McDonald’s and find your place in the line of people wanting to order, Yangyang’s body situates itself right behind you, looking through the menu. He usually gets the chicken wrap, but just to be fancy, he will get it with fries and a coke today as well.

“One spicy McChicken,” you order, smiling at the cashier behind the pult. 

“Coming right at you. Anything else?” 

“No-”

“And one chicken wrap with fries. And two cokes, please,” Yangyang orders, catching a glimpse of your confused expression, “it’s on me,” he mentions, seeing you roll your eyes.

“You know, in any other circumstance, I don’t let men pay for me,” you say, “but I also could not care less today, so go ahead. I’ll pay next time,” you promise, seeing him get his card out and paying for your meal. 

Once the order is ready and you two take a seat in one of the ugly red booths in the corner of the room, you unwrap your burger and get right to it. Yangyang watches you with undeniable adoration. Everything about you is full of amazement for him– the way you manage to not get the sauce all over your face, the way you don’t bat an eye over the spice in the burger. He studies your face, grateful that you don’t look at him, but rather watch the world behind the window, making him not caught. 

“Want some fries?” he asks, offering you the pack and glancing at you. Turning your head to him, you sigh.

“I really wanna get over him, you know,” you start, putting the burger down and pulling at your hair in frustration, “I hate that I’m still so caught up with him. I despise it. But he’s so sweet, and he’s so charming, and I’ve known him since forever! It’s just so hard to let go of him, but I know that I should, because none of this is good for me in the first place…”

“I mean… that’s not what I was asking, but go ahead,” Yangyang mumbles, seeing you crumble in front of him, all frustrated and heartbroken because of his bandmate. 

“It would be easier for me to move on if he was a complete dick, you know,” you mutter, pouting a little from the sadness in your heart. The expression is kind of adorable in Yangyang’s eyes, but a little heartbreaking nonetheless, for he knows the frown is genuine and there’s nothing he can really do about it.

“Give it some time, Y/N,” Yangyang finds himself saying, “time heals everything. Don’t push yourself into anything, because that’s only gonna make you feel worse in the long run. Let yourself feel things, you know,” he shrugs, seeing you watching him with eyes big, resembling pools full of emotion he’s not even going to try to decipher.

Taking a bite from your burger, you smile at him with a full mouth, an expression that would look disgusting coming from anyone else, but you. “Wow,” you say, “didn’t think I’d get actual, useful advice from you, you know.”

Gasping, Yangyang acts hurt. “So you’re saying my advice is useless? Haven't heard you saying that when I teach you the guitar.”

“We could argue and say that that’s not really advice,” you grin, kicking his leg under the table, “but no, I’m serious. Thanks. I guess I really needed to hear that right now.”

Smiling at you, grateful that he was able to help you at least a bit, Yangyang offers you the fries again, watching you take one and plop it into your mouth. “I’m glad you understand me, though. Aeri doesn’t help much, since every time I talk about Jeno, she keeps bad-mouthing him and telling me how I’m blind if I like him that much. You should have heard her what she said when she found out that we-”

Raising his eyebrows at you in question, Yangyang hums. “You?”

“We…” you nervously laugh, trailing off.

“You what?” 

“I- well… Promise not to tell anyone? I wouldn’t be telling you this at all, but I already started and you seem like a person that I can trust with this, but please, swear to god that this will stay between you and I only,” you say, quite sincerely, looking at him with pleading eyes.

“Yeah, of course,” he nods, “what is it, then?”

“We… me and Jeno hooked up once,” you say, chewing on the inside of your cheek, eyes drifting away from Yangyang’s, “it… it was a while ago, after one of their shows back in July, and I thought it was getting somewhere after that, but Jeno… Jeno didn’t really seem like he wanted something more, so I just never talked about it with him after that.”

Blinking a few times at you, feeling like someone’s just suddenly unplugged his brain, leaving him with no power to gather his thoughts, he stays silent, trying to process everything. His blood goes cold and the food in his mouth suddenly tastes like dirt, his mood dropping instantly, for Lee Jeno had more of you than Yangyang ever will, and all of that while not caring for you near as much as he does.

“Don’t judge me,” you say, awkwardly laughing to yourself.

“I’m not judging.”

“Yes, you are, I can see it on your face!” 

“I’m not judging!” he insists, finishing the last bite of his chicken wrap. 

“What is it, then?” you push him, stomping your feet under your table. “Your face changed. You’re judging.”

“Yeah, maybe I am,” he blurts out, “not you, though.”

Looking at Yangyang for a few seconds, your eyes soften. Pulling your lips into a tight line, an expression only vaguely reminding him of a smile, you nod and sigh in understatement. 

“Yeah. That’s why I’m getting over him.”

I DREAM OF YOU ALMOST EVERY NIGHT, HOPEFULLY, I WON’T WAKE UP THIS TIME

The drums ring all the way from his feet towards his heart, making it bump quicker and quicker as the rhythm changes and Hendery starts playing the opening melody of their last song of the night. Yangyang scans the crowd once more, trying to engrave it into his brain forever, trying to remember all the faces and all of their expressions, their outfits and haircuts, their lively smiles and cheers coming out of their mouths at each song they perform. This is the first time Yangyang is playing for a crowd that seems to be enjoying itself– he never knew that Chucky Tribute could have this many fans.

According to Chenle and Renjun, Jeno is kind of a big deal at their local university. He can only imagine that half of the crowd are his admirers; each girl in a prettier outfit than the other, screaming louder than the other in a non-spoken competition over his heart. 

The view of the crowd enjoying the music is a lovely one, for sure. But when Yangyang’s eyes finally land to the very middle of the crowd, the spot he was saving for last, he realises that the sight of you in the crowd, holding your hands high as you jump around to the familiar songs, occasionally taking a picture of the band or recording a short video, that this sight– the sight of you, is for sure his absolute favourite.

“Are you ready to jump? Let’s go!” Jeno cheers into the microphone, the whole crowd that is currently packed in one of the medium-sized bars in the centre of the town listening to him and doing as he pleases– going absolutely crazy, jumping around and screaming when the chorus hits and some of them recognise the lyrics. 

A doll with red hair lands on stage, thrown there by a grinning girl in the first row, making Jeno chuckle and take it from its spot on the floor. Yangyang soon realises it’s Chucky– Jeno’s most favourite fictional character, the one he named his band after. It’s kind of funny, the sight of the rockstar running around with the doll in his hands, screaming the lyrics to his song, and he almost lets out a loud laugh when the frontman gets to his new guitarist and makes the doll rest at his biceps, like a newborn baby. The crowd laughs at that, followed by a loud cheer, as they like the sight of their new guitarist and find it funny.

The sense of euphoria that comes with the last chorus is something Yangyang never knew he could feel. Lost in the music, enjoying the melody of a song he didn’t know a few weeks ago, he feels at home. He’s not good with crowds of people, for he always feels like he is watched and judged, examined by a microscope, but right now, he feels like he is in one unity with everyone present– music connects them all, no barriers left.

“Thank you so much everyone, this was Chucky Tribute! Make sure to stream our music on Spotify and Soundcloud, we’ll see you again soon!” Jeno says, moving to the edge of the podum and bowing, leaving the band to follow his lead and wave at everyone as the group leaves the stage.

Running off the stage, still grinning, Yangyang chugs some water in the backroom and once again, packs his guitar. If anyone would see him right now, they’d surely think he won a lottery or something, with how cheerful and genuinely happy the boy looks. 

“The best part of playing at bars is the thing that comes after,” Jeno laughs, making Yangyang furrow his brows in confusion.

“Now, we party,” Hendery concludes, shooting a serious look at the newbie. 

Once they’ve wiped their sweat off and drank some more water, the small group is heading towards the door to the bar. Now, Yangyang is not usually the one up for a party, but today is a special day. Of course he won’t miss out on the first afterparty with his new band. 

You find him at the entrance. Your smile mirrors his, and your eyes only leave him for a second, as Jeno passes by and you greet him with a strange sense of politeness. Once Yangyang is close enough to run towards, you envelope him in a bear hug, jumping around in excitement. He takes notice of your perfume– this is not the first time he’s smelled it, but the light aroma of roses and vanilla always manages to make him feel a strange sense of bliss. 

“You did so well! Oh my god, I’m so proud of you!” you yell encouraging words into his ear, making him jump a little from the loudness of your voice.

“Thank you!” he says, jumping around with you and squeezing you harder for a mere second. Something about you being the first one to congratulate him on the first step towards his big goal makes his heart swell, the sight of the light behind your eyes making him feel a tad emotional.

“Now let’s go party! Renjun and Jaemin are waiting at the bar,” you say as you move from him, “Jun ordered you a beer, he insisted that you liked it. If that’s not the case, blame him, not me.”

Laughing as you two disappear deeper into the bar, you quickly find the two at the bar, accompanied with Hendery, Chenle, and who he remembered was Mark, even though he’s only met him once. “Where’s Jeno?”

“Most likely somewhere with his groupies,” Renjun shrugs, sliding the beer closer to his best friend. “You did well, by the way. You looked like a rockstar,” he says, a teasing tone sent his way with a grin on the older one’s face. 

“Oh, shut the fuck up-”

“I mean it! Now, have your beer so we can get some shots,” he says, making Yangyang roll his eyes and chug the beer, although not in one go– he’s not a monster. Or an alcoholic. Yet.

Once he’s done with his drink, the group moves to one of the booths in the corner of the bar. It was full just a moment ago, but the group that was sitting there before left, so they were free to take their spot. It was more comfortable to sit on the royal-blue sofas than the tall, lanky barstools, and Yangyang was happy for the support of the cushions under his bottom, if he was about to drink more. His centre of gravity is always a little messed up once he has something to drink, so a tall barstool wouldn’t really help him in this case.

Glancing at you, sitting right next to him, you don’t seem as unhappy with Jeno’s lack of presence. It makes him feel a bit relieved, especially after the talk you two had at McDonald’s a week ago. He knows that one can’t just get over someone in a week, but the idea of you still yearning after someone who was so out of reach was making Yangyang’s head hurt, so he was happy to see that you’re not running after him, or trying to look for him in the crowded bar.

You take your phone out of your pocket, yelling over the loud music as you read out the text shining on the screen of your phone. “Hyuck should arrive here any minute! He says he’s sorry for missing the gig, but he had to watch his baby sister, so there was nothing he could do.”

“It’s okay!” Chenle yells back, taking another sip of one of the cocktails you ordered for him when he was still in the back. He complained about it looking too girly for his current look, but he liked the taste nonetheless, so the argument was quickly settled.

“Yeah!” Yangyang chimes in, “family comes first. And babysitting,” he adds.

“Wait! Didn’t you use to babysit too?” Jaemin asks over the music, pointing his eyes at Yangyang.

“He did!” Renjun agrees with a laugh.

“But they kicked him out because the girl he was babysitting learned the word fuck from him,” you add, laughing as you remember the story he told you once when he was over at your flat.

“That’s not why they fired me-”

“It was! You told me!”

“It really wasn’t, you’re just-”

“Listen. We all know that’s why, every other word that comes out of your mouth is a swear word,” you say, grinning at him as he gets worked up over the small argument.

“I don’t fucking swear-” he tries to argue, when it hits him. He… he just did. Right there.

“Anyways!” Jaemin chimes in to lighten the mood, “I believe it’s time for shots!”

“I-”

“No, Hendery, you can’t skip this round and no, we don’t care that sambuca makes you sick. Now, let’s get to it, lads!” 

The shot glasses with the clear liquid are distributed amongst everyone in the circle, all of them taking the shot. Once the glass is pressed against Yangyang’s lips, he catches a telling look from Renjun on the opposite side of the table; a one that asks what is going on between you and the girl you were too shy to talk to when you first met her, but he ignores it and just lets the sambuca shot hit his throat, swallowing. No one is brave enough to not make that disgusted face after taking a shot, but at least no one gets made fun of. Just yet. 

With Yangyang’s low alcohol tolerance, he can sense that the teasing is only yet to come.

More and more shots in, he can feel his head spinning and all jokes shared along the group get only funnier. Somewhere along the way, Hyuck arrives, squishing himself next to Mark at the edge of the seat, greeting everyone and congratulating Yangyang on his first ever gig. When there’s a promise to drink to that with him, Yangyang is suddenly tugged by his hand, making him almost fall over as you try to make him stand up from his place.

“No, pretty boy, you’ve had enough for now,” you say, “let’s dance it out, shall we?”

“Probably not the best idea, Y/N,” Renjun notes from the other side of the table.

“We’ll be fine.”

“No, you don’t understand, like, he will fall over. It will happen,” Renjun explains once more, the sureness in his voice not making you even bat an eye.

Yangyang doesn’t even try to advocate himself. There’s no use– Renjun is most likely right, and he will fall over. But he also doesn’t really pay attention to the conversation you’re having anyway, when your hand is still in his, fingers intertwined, and the nickname you used for him, although a little mockingly, is still ringing in his head.

Dragged across the dance floor, you two find your place in the corner, where there’s not that many people around. It’s getting late and the bar is only getting more crowded, leading towards the rush of the night, but Yangyang doesn’t find himself minding as you hug him loosely around his neck and swing with him to the music playing through the speakers.

“Are you alright?” you ask, looking at him with honest concern.

“Yeah,” he nods.

“Do you feel sick? Do you want water?” you ask him questions, all caring and making his heart swell. No one’s ever made sure he was okay when drinking before, so the sight of the frown on your face is making him feel content in your hold, as he dances with you– although not really catching the rhythm, since balance is the thing he’s trying to catch at this very moment. 

“I’m fine,” he says, smiling at you, “just a little drunk.”

“I can see that,” you laugh, “are you having a good time?”

He nods. “Are you?”

“I am,” you agree, smiling at him.

Yangyang finds himself pressed closer to you, but it really might just be because of the alcohol, when he talks closer to your ear. He doesn’t have to yell as much this way, and he finds it more comfortable, considering that he would still like to have his voice when he wakes up in the morning.

“Thanks,” he says.

“For what?”

“For… watching me play, I guess,” he shrugs, “and for staying here after.”

“I think you’re forgetting that all those other people are my friends as well, Yang,” you tease him, the tone of your voice making him shake his head in disbelief and roll his eyes at you.

“Okay, well, that’s true. But… I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“I do. I just don’t know how to articulate myself.”

You laugh at the simple honesty behind his drunken slurs, finding the tired boy endearing. “It’s okay,” you don’t push him.

“It’s just… if it wasn’t for you, I probably wouldn’t be here tonight, that’s all,” he says, finally, not knowing that he secretly articulated everything he wanted and more, making you smile at him. 

One of the hands that was previously clasped with your other one around his neck moves up towards his face, brushing the hair that’s falling into his eyes out of his face. The boy watches you with big eyes, mouth a little agape in shock. This action feels intimate to him, only treasured between you two, tugged secretly in the corner of the club. He feels weak in his knees, and although he manages to hold himself up, he knows that it’s no longer the effect that alcohol has on him, but yours.

“Don’t thank me. You were made for this,” you say, “you shined out there, you know? Give it a few more gigs and you’ll have even more groupies than Jeno,” you giggle, pressing your forehead against his for a brief second, just to be close to him, allowing yourself to be sincere even in the loud atmosphere of the night.

Swallowing hard, Yangyang chuckles airly, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “You should probably stop looking at me like that.”

“What? Why?” you ask, confused.

“Because it’s making it really hard for me to act like I don’t like you,” he confesses, watching your expression shift– the wrinkle between your eyebrows appearing for a second before your palm moves away from his hair and briefly touches his cheek and you move away from him, shaking your head.

“You’re drunk, Yang.”

He is. But even being sober can’t make his feelings for you go away.

“Yeah. I am.”

KISS ME LIKE NOBODY WOULD WHEN I WAS SIXTEEN

When you and Yangyang meet, it’s usually either at your place, in your little room covered by posters and artwork, or in town with all your other friends; going to the skate park, or having boba at the local mall. You rarely have time for just each other alone, and the only times when Yangyang has you all for himself is in your quiet room, where you learn to play the guitar, and he stares at you with fondness when he casually plays you love songs just for the sake of playing something, not wanting you to see the intentions behind his song choices.

Today, though, you’re nestled at Yangyang’s place– at his little balcony, to be exact. His parents were going out to the theatre, they said, so you only met them briefly, but Yangyang is glad for that fact, because he’s almost certain they’d embarrass him in front of you with childhood stories or prying questions, assuming you two were together, and he’s not entirely ready to face that yet. 

Alone in the whole house, you tucked yourselves into the small space of the balcony, sat at the floor with pillows under your bottoms, looking out to the hills. Yangyang used to complain to his parents about the placement of the balcony– when he was little, he didn’t understand why someone would want to look outside and see nature, only metres and metres covered in tall trees, when they could look out and see the busy street, people living their lives, laughing and screaming in joy. The older he gets, though, the more he understands why this is so much better; the sight of nature calms him down, creating the balcony into a humble abode, a relaxing spot for him to watch the trees move with the wind. If he’s lucky, sometimes, he can even spot a stray deer, looking out of the forest, tasting the city on its tongue. He subliminaly tells it to come back where it came from, for it’s safer for the animal to be kept in the woods, but he feels like the sight of it makes him appreciate what he has even more.

It’s early November, the leaves of the trees in front of you are starting to turn all the pretty colours of the rainbow, orange hues making the place look ethereally beautiful. You sit next to him, legs crossed, your outfit the most casual he’s ever seen you wear. The sight of sweatpants and the loose hoodie on your frame makes him unconditionally happy, for it means that you’re comfortable with him to the point of not even needing to dress up. 

“Why is your guitar so different to mine?” you ask him, furrowing your brows in question.

“Mine’s an acoustic, yours is the classical one. The strings are different,” he notes, seeing you nod in understatement.

Your guitar lessons are not as frequent as they used to be– truth be told, you only paid for an actual lesson a few times. The other times, when you two just laid in your bed and talked about everything, only sometimes taking your guitar into your hands and playing a song or two, Yangyang refused to take any money from you. It would be like paying him for hanging out with you, and that’s not the case here. Sure, he helps you with playing, he shares advice, but it’s not the regular guitar class he gives to the kids in the neighbourhood, and that’s why he’d feel bad to make you pay for them. 

“They hurt my fingers,” you scowl, making Yangyang giggle at your hurt expression.

“They’re harder to play, ‘cause they’re steel,” he says, “want me to play instead?” 

“No,” you say, shaking your head, “I wanna show you something.”

Opening his eyes wide in surprise, Yangyang only nods, becoming you to start. When you came over into your room, you didn’t say much. Your eyes travelled around the walls, adoring the few posters he hung up above his bed, squinting at the collection of energy drink cans at the top of his wardrobe. There’s a bowl full of guitar picks on his table, which you scanned over faintly, and a hoodie, the only thing he forgot to clean up before you arrived, draped over his chair. When your eyes found one of his guitars– the acoustic one– in the corner of his room, you asked to borrow it, taking him by surprise.

Strumming the guitar a few times, testing it, trying to get to the rhythm and the sound of the new thing, you clear your throat and look at him again one last time before you start. “I practised some more, since your guitar lessons are pretty much useless now, when you won’t shut up for one minute-”

“That’s entirely your fault!”

“Whatever,” you mumble, “but, basically, I think I finally learned that song.”

Smiling faintly, perhaps a little nervously, you start playing the song you requested him to teach you in your first guitar lesson. The chords fall smoothly from your hand now, the strumming rhythmical and exactly like the original, everything falling into its place nicely.

You even start singing, and although your voice is not the prettiest one when you sing, the notes sounding flat and the high-notes a little shaky, although your voice isn’t like from the movies and you’re not a princess that’s good at everything, something about this moment feels truly special to Yangyang. When you notice the seriousness of the whole thing, his examining eyes and the lost expression, your singing turns more silly, purposefully not hitting the right notes towards the end of the song, dragging the lines for longer than you should, making Yangyang laugh.

He thinks that perhaps, he’ll remember this moment forever. When he’s old and the memory of you fades, his brain no longer able to make out the sound of your voice, he’ll go back to this day, to the strumming of the guitar, and he’ll have you back, for at least a second. He’ll remember the way your hair reflected in the golden hour, he’ll remember the sound of your voice when you sang the chorus of the song, he’ll remember the way you smiled at him after, a little proud, but still shy, and he’ll feel the same things he does today, looking at you in real time.

“How was it?” you ask, a hopeful glint in your tone.

“Wonderful,” he replies, and he means it– it’s an easy song to learn, sure, but he knows how much you’ve tried, how much work you truly put in. To work on something so hard and finally get to the goal, must feel fulfilling. He’s proud of you, in a way.

The grin that appears on your face is wider than he’d ever seen, as you put the guitar down next to you and try to battle it, as if you were afraid to show him just how much this moment meant to you.

“Thank you.”

“For what? This was all you, as you said, because I can’t shut up for one minute in our guitar lessons, so…”

“Fuck off, you know I was only joking,” you say, “we both know that I wouldn’t have done this without you. It’s a small victory, but it’s still important to me nonetheless.”

Your body shifts closer to him, a hesitant look on your face flashing for a second before you wipe it off and hug your companion from the side, both of your hands enveloping around his torso. Warmness spreads all through Yangyang’s body, making him wonder that perhaps, it’s the appreciation you are trying to convey, sending it to him through your touch. Your head rests on his shoulder, staying in your position for a few more minutes, just listening to the silence that’s only occasionally ruined by the chirping of birds or the shuffling of the wind in the trees.

Yangyang doesn’t dare to break the silence. He only lets you do as you please, when you pry your hands off him and move so you’re more comfortable, with your head still resting on his shoulder. It’s a simple act, but it means a lot to him– a subtle hint of affection, perhaps, which he treasures close to his heart.

Your hand silently finds his, resting in his lap. Taking it into your hold and playing with his fingers, Yangyang finds it hard to not think about just how much he’d like to kiss you right now. The smell of your shampoo mixed with the hint of your perfume hits his nose, lullying him to sleep. 

A little naive, perhaps, he thinks of the paradox– you started playing the guitar for someone you were chasing after, and proceeded with it for someone that was chasing after you. 

Or maybe, it was all because of yourself. You just needed someone that would support your little dreams. And with the dreams treasured somewhere deep in Yangyang’s insides, some that no one else but you knows, perhaps you two are a great duo. Nobody else would hold you up just as much as he does.

SO SPIN THE BOTTLE IN YOUR BRAIN AND MATCH THE WEAKNESS WITH A NAME

“If I knew that you’d just be doing your homework, I wouldn’t have come,” Yangyang mumbles as he lays on your bed, looking at his phone. His screen shifts with Tiktoks– the social media is almost embarrassingly too addictive for him not to check up on it once in a while, and now, when he has nothing better to do, he naturally gravitates towards it. 

Also, just for the record, that’s a lie. And he knows it– he just won’t admit it. Of course he would come anyway. Even if you told him that today’s activity is staring at the ceiling for three hours straight, he’d come. He’d come for any event you invite him to, because it means that he can spend time with you, stay in your presence. And that’s enough for him.

“Shut up,” you mumble, “I already pushed this assignment back too much, because you wanted to go get boba the other day.”

“So it’s my fault you’re late on assignments?” he gasps, offended, as he puts his phone down to put his whole attention towards you. 

“Yeah,” you nod, a little absently, “of course it is. You were distracting me from my studies.”

Scoffing, Yangyang shakes his head in disbelief. Truth be told, he’s happy to be your distraction. That means you gravitate towards him whenever you need to get your mind off things– that means he’s your safe space, in a way. The realisation warms his heart a little as he proceeds to climb off your bed, joining you on the floor.

You’re sprawled out on your white fluffy carpet, with a plastic white tablecloth thrown over the surface, a canvas plopped in the middle of it all, tubs of acrylic paint carelessly situated all over the floor. As an art major, your homework is different to the usual. You don’t write lengthy essays, although the time for them comes every once in a while when you take your Art History class. Your assignments mostly include doing art itself, not only studying it, but experiencing the beauty of creating on your own skin.

“What are you painting?” he asks, eyes scanning the canvas. 

It’s not a big one, it’s just the right size to fit on the plastic covering under it, making sure your pure white carpet doesn’t get paint stains on it. He notices the brushes all over the place– one is even thrown under the bed, making Yangyang chuckle as he remembers your sudden outburst of frustration a few minutes ago, huffing through the silence and throwing something to the other side of the room. 

“Don’t look. I hate when people look.”

“Why?” he asks, confused.

“It makes me feel watched. I don’t like it,” you mourn, stopping in your process and finding his eyes for a split second, truth mirroring in them.

“I’m not watching you,” he mutters, “I’m just looking. I’m appreciating the art, if you will.”

“You’re gonna judge it. I hate when people judge my art,” you say as you get back to painting, mixing the shades on your pallet and then moving back to the canvas, plopping them on there, creating all sorts of images in the small space, “it makes me wanna cry when they say it’s bad.”

“Isn’t that like… the whole point of art school?” he asks, confused.

“Yeah. Exactly,” you nod, making the boy hum in understatement. “Makes me feel fucking miserable, to be honest.”

Yangyang chuckles. The room falls into silence again, as you let him watch you paint. He feels special, for you said you don’t let people watch you, but even with his eyes plastered on the whole scene– your art, but mostly you, scanning your focused face– you don’t glare at him, you don’t curse him off, you just let him peacefully sit next to you, appreciating you.

After a while, you start to hum a song, seemingly happy with your progress on the painting. Your eyebrows relax and your face doesn’t look as tense, and when Yangyang takes a look at your painting, it seems like you’re almost finished; not a blank space left on the canvas, your hand taking the smallest, tiniest brushes, adding small details to the whole thing.

“What did you paint?” he asks again, making you chuckle.

“Don’t you have eyes?” you ask, making him roll his eyes at your question.

“I do,” he replies, “but I wanna know what it symbolises, you know. Like.. What was the theme you were supposed to paint and shit, that’s what I’m interested in.”

Your eyes meet his for a brief second, smiling. Perhaps no one’s ever asked you about your art in such depth before. “It’s a William Oliver replica. It’s a scene from Much Ado about Nothing,” you say, finally done with your piece, stretching back to straighten your neck.

The painting is a beautiful scenery, Yangyang would even go as far as saying it looks like the original, although he’s never seen it before. It’s a picture of two women sitting on a bench in the woods, one of them looking past her shoulder at a couple walking by, her expression distraught. He wonders why you chose the piece, but before he has time to ask, you’re already giving him the reply.

“We were supposed to replicate a painting that resembles one of our deepest emotions and… I chose this one,” you add, chewing on the inside of your cheek.

Taking one last look at the saddened woman, her expression dark and solemn with the sight of the couple passing by, Yangyang suddenly understands it all, he no longer has the need to ask you what the deepest emotion you have is, because it’s clear as day, right there in front of him, served on a golden plate.

And you might try to mask it, try to hide it from him as hard as you can; perhaps that’s why you haven’t told him the original name of the painting, after all, but he can see it in your eyes, he can sense it in the way you speak about him when he comes to your mind. 

Perhaps Yangyang understands your art so well because he deeply resonates. He too feels the way you do, he too looks at a pair passing by, the sight of them together making his heart clench with the feeling you can only describe as Unrequited Love.

I CAN STILL SMELL HER PERFUME, DID IT RUB OFF ON YOU?

“And…” Jeno’s singing suddenly trails off, his eyes shooting towards the ceiling as he searches for the next lyrics in his head, sighing when they don’t come to him as naturally as they always do. The band practice isn’t going well today, and frankly speaking, it’s getting on everyone’s nerves.

Hendery slams the drums with much furiosity, cutting the rhythm off abruptly. Yangyang finds himself following him, his strumming coming to a halt as an angry figure appears from behind him, screaming close to his ear.

“What the fuck, man?” Chenle yells at the leader of the band, sighing. “We have a gig in three days and you can’t even focus on a single band practice?” 

Jeno shrugs, pacing around. The frustration smeared all over his face is enough to make the whole group even more annoyed, the tense atmosphere making the air in the old garage feel particularly heavy. 

“You come to the practice late,” Chenle starts his little rant again, counting all the reasons why he’s annoyed with his bandmate on his fingers, “and mind you, the practice is at your fucking place. You live here and you’re half an hour late. Then, you’re all over the place; not paying attention to anything we have to say, forgetting the lyrics, playing the chords wrong in the few little songs where you actually have to play the guitar-”

“Are you done?” Jeno cuts him off, the tone of his voice stern and cold.

“I mean, I could go on, but it seems like you don’t really wanna hear it,” Chenle says, pacing towards the sofa and taking a seat on it.

“Glad you caught that,” he scoffs, not meeting anyone’s eye. 

Yangyang doesn’t say a word; he’s not the one for verbal or physical fights. Sure, he does have some pent-up anger inside of him, most of it aimed towards Jeno, but he won’t dare to show it. It’s not his place to say anything. He hasn’t been in the band for long, and for all he knows, the frustration he feels towards the boy may as well be because of the unreciprocated feelings you have for him. And now, that wouldn’t really be fair of Yangyang to act on, would it?

So instead, he wanders over to the corner of the room, figuring that it’s time for a break, sitting on one of the old, dusty armchairs. 

“What’s gotten into you?” Hendery asks, making the other boy frown.

“I don’t know, man,” he shrugs, indifferent, “I’ve got a headache.”

“Hangover again?” Chenle asks, the tone of his voice ironical and snappy, snickering to himself when the boy doesn’t reply and instead just looks ahead of him, too shameful to answer the simple question. “Of course. I could’ve guessed that.”

“Look, it’s not my fault that you don’t take the opportunities you’re getting into your hands,” Jeno shrugs, grinning to himself. Leaning over to the small coffee table in the middle of the garage, he takes the can of Redbull into his hands and takes a sip from it.

“What opportunities, you say?” Hendery asks.

“Well,” he starts, “the parties, the invitations, the attention…” he trails off, before a snarky look falls to place onto his face, “the girls…”

Chenle scoffs in response, putting his legs up onto the table. “Maybe if you gave more attention to responsibilities, the music and the band, we wouldn’t be still stuck in this fucking garage,” he shrugs and Hendery only hesitantly locks his eyes with him, nodding to show him that he agrees with his point.

“Well, it’s still my fucking garage, isn’t it?” Jeno grins, meeting the others’ eyes. 

After another set of sighs, nothing being able to loosen up the atmosphere and make the air lighter, Hendery moves from his spot on the sofa and takes the bag from the floor. “You should probably get some sleep. We’ll practise tomorrow, since you’re pretty much useless today.”

Chenle follows his actions, feet pacing around the garage to gather his things and hide his treasured bass guitar into the case, taking it with him. “See you tomorrow,” he says, turning around to wave at Yangyang, still sitting soundly in the corner of the garage.

With only the two of them left in the dusty practice room, Yangyang feels himself get awkward. The truth is, it’s easier to get on with Hendery and Chenle. He finds them to be more approachable, less intimidating and also more friendly. Yangyang doesn’t recall ever hearing Jeno speak to him with the niceness they always use, and he also doesn’t remember the prideful boy to ever look at him with eyes that would show that he finds him equal. Something about their relationship is always based on a feeling of superiority and however hard Yangyang tries, there’s nothing he can do to make the feeling go away.

Figuring that it’s his time to leave, he stands up and moves towards the sofa, where his bag is. 

“I hope you’re in better shape tomorrow,” he mutters, getting closer to where Jeno’s sitting.

“What, you’re gonna give me another lecture? I’ve heard enough, trust me,” he snaps back, making Yangyang furrow his brows in confusion and shock, sighing to himself. Leaning closer towards his bag on the sofa, something lingers in the air, and it’s not the awkwardness or the unsaid rivalry between the two.

It’s the smell of roses and vanilla, the faint aroma of it hitting his nose and making his stomach twist in anger. Suddenly, everything clicks into place– the hangover, him being late and all over the place, the smell of your perfume lingering on him wherever he goes.

“Were you with Y/N?” he asks.

“What?” he furrows his brows, pointing them onto the other boy as he scoffs. “You’re jealous?”

“Jealous?” 

“Yeah. Because I can get her whenever I want, and you can’t?” he says, cocky and full of confidence. “Don’t worry, I caught the way you feel about her long ago. Too bad she’ll never be yours, man.”

Gathering his things, hands trembling and his whole body lighting on fire, he finds himself walking off towards the exit. Turning around only once, he finally gets out what he’s been thinking of for the past few weeks. 

“You know what? Fuck you, Jeno. You can look for a new guitarist for your next gig now. I hope you find someone that doesn’t find you absolutely fucking insufferable.”

You might be completely his, magically under the rockstar’s spell, but the truth is, sadly, that Lee Jeno can never be truly yours. You’re always gonna have to share him with every single girl at the club, with all his crazy fans that post about him on Facebook. You’re always just gonna be his second choice, the girl he turns to when no one else is around, the girl he uses for his pleasure when there’s no other person willing to get on with him.

And that makes Yangyang perhaps even more furious than if you were dating. 

This might be his deepest dream, the thing he’s felt the most happy and excited about in a long while, but still, he can’t find it in him to continue in a band with someone that only finds you when they feel like it, stripping you off of everything, using you to their best and then throwing you out like a piece of trash, not satisfied with you anymore.

He could never go on with someone like that.

IT’S 3:45, THE TAXI’S NOT ARRIVED, I DON’T THINK THAT HE’S COMING

The rain hitting the asphalt does nothing to make Yangyang feel better about everything– truthfully, it makes him feel even worse, as expected with the gloomy weather, as he walks down the street towards the bus stop at the edge of the neighbourhood, the one that is the furthest away from his house, away in the crevices of the roads that he doesn’t know that well, despite living there his whole life.

It’s a little past eleven and he’s gotten your text just about ten minutes ago. The contents of it were simple, just a single sentence asking him to meet you at the bus stop at the edge of the neighbourhood, far away even from your house alone. 

You two haven’t spoken in a little over three days. After quitting the band, he’s pretty much sheltered himself from everyone. Even Renjun’s calls were getting ignored, and while the rest of the group just figured to leave the poor boy alone, his best friend made it his quest to walk down to his house and scream at him in person, for the little angry human was worried that his friend was six feet under a long time ago.

Nearing the little glass box, acting as a bus stop, Yangyang already sees your figure sitting at one of the benches, knees up and pressed towards your chest, hugging yourself. The sight of you makes Yangyang’s heart break just the slightest, for he already knows what’s going on just by reading your text message. It would be healthier for him to stay at home and leave you to deal with everything on your own, but he was never the one for good life choices. Somehow, he always has to fuck himself over. His own sweet self-sabotage.

Drenched in rain, droplets of water falling off the tip of his nose, he finally makes his way towards you and sits on the bench next to you. Sniffling a little, presumably from the cold, he waits for you to talk first. It’s hard for him to find words to say to you at this moment. No conflict happened between the two of you, but he’s sure you already know about what happened between him and Jeno, and he doesn’t have it in him to talk about it. He doesn’t know what you think about the whole thing; he also doesn’t know how Jeno explained it to everyone. All he knows is that the uncomfort he felt whenever he was around him is not something he should be putting up with, and that the decision he made was final, and also good for him, in the end.

“Why didn’t you take an umbrella with you?” you ask him, your voice faint in the silence of the night.

Shrugging, he snickers. “Dunno.”

The truth is, Yangyang doesn’t like umbrellas. Walking anywhere with them feels awkward and embarrassing, and he’d rather die than to feel humiliated. It’s a habit of his, to walk everywhere without an umbrella, even when it’s storming outside. The struggle of getting his wet clothes off before he hops into a hot shower is not really worth it, if he really thinks about it, but old habits are hard to break.

Taking the hood off his head, Yangyang runs his hands through his hair, shaking the water out. You lean away from him for just a second, trying to shield yourself from the droplets of water flying everywhere, but there’s no use– you end up getting a little wet anyway.

Chewing on the inside of his cheek, he finally breaks off the awkward silence. “There are no buses coming at this hour.”

You nod. “I know.”

“So… why are you here, then?” he asks. 

Shrugging, you sniffle from the cold as well, making Yangyang notice the lightness of your clothes. The fabric looks thin, the mesh long-sleeve doing nothing to shield you from the cold, and he suddenly regrets not bringing another jacket with him to keep you warm. 

“You already know why, Yangyang,” you mumble, “you already know.”

“What happened?” he asks. 

The truth is, Yangyang has a faint idea. He may have quit the band, but he hasn’t forgotten the schedule yet– today is the day of the gig. It’s a special one, presumably, because it’s away from the town. A big bar somewhere in a big city called Chucky Tribute to play on the opening night, so there must be a lot of people there, leading the band to getting more recognition than ever before. Everyone went– the whole friend group, including Renjun and Donghyuck, although the latter always seems to be late everywhere. Everyone went… except for you two.

“Jeno was supposed to drive me,” you say, “but he never showed up. I called him numerous times, sent him lots of texts, but he just wouldn’t reply.”

“Have you tried reaching the others?” he asks.

“I have. They arrived safely, had a great show…. Jeno didn’t mention me… you know, it’s funny,” you chuckle ironically, bitterness behind your tone, “Jaemin thought I just didn’t feel like coming today. They’re all there and now I look like a douchebag that doesn’t want to support their friends. It’s ridiculous.”

“That makes two of us,” Yangyang scoffs, trying to lighten the situation.

Humming, you only resolve to nod. “Then, Jeno texted me saying he’ll send a taxi for me and that I should wait here.”

“He did?”

“Yeah,” you faintly reply, shuddering from the cold. “So I’m… waiting, I guess.”

Yangyang smiles to himself. Everything about you screams devastation– the way your eyes don’t meet his, the way you refuse to change your position into another one, hugging yourself to comfort. The makeup under your eyes is a little smeared, but he won’t mention it. You look devastatingly lonely, and something about you texting Yangyang just to battle the feeling makes him feel at least a little valued by you. It’s a sign of something– a sign of your trust, perhaps.

You’re waiting for Jeno’s taxi. It should make him seep in envy, but it doesn’t. Strange.

“You know, I finished my song the other day. I could show it to you sometime,” you say, starting a conversation, “it had a lot to fix and I wasn’t quite happy with it, but I think you’d like it. It’s… it means a lot to me.”

“Sure,” Yangyang nods, scooping himself closer to you. Seeing you shudder from the cold once again, he bites on his lower lip, hesitating on his next question, but saying it out-loud nonetheless. “I know this might sound a bit out of place and as if I’m being stingy by not offering it to you, but I’m really cold as well, so do you wanna share my jacket?” 

Looking at him for the first time since he got there, you shake your head in disbelief and break out into a grin. “You’re unbelievable,” you say, “but yeah, sure. Thanks.”

Moving closer, Yangyang takes off one of the sleeves on his jacket, pressing his side flush to yours, watching you as you take his jacket and drape it over your right side. Soon enough, taking the boy by surprise, your left arm moves under the jacket and hugs him around the waist, making yourself more comfortable in the awkward position. 

“Thank god for your ridiculously oversized clothing,” you mumble as you sigh in warmness, making him snicker.

Sitting in silence, the time passing without either of you knowing or noticing, the intimacy and closeness of you two occupying both of your minds, Yangyang wonders how he ended up in this mess. Living his teenage dream for a little over a month, playing one show, getting to know you and falling for you harder than he’s ever fallen for anyone before. He thinks he’d rather be unaware of his growing feelings for you. It’s not like they hurt him, it’s not like the idea of not being loved back by you makes his heart break or anything, but he feels like slowly, it’s ripping on his edges and making him feel a little worn-out. 

He wonders why your actions towards him haven’t changed since he drunkenly told you that he liked you. You showed no signs of discomfort with him, no awkwardness. It’s like somewhere in the depths of your soul, you were content with the idea of Liu Yangyang being in love with you. What that says about you, he doesn’t know, but it’s sure that it has to mean something.

Your head slowly falls onto his shoulder. The steady rhythm of the rain falling on top of the roof of the glassy bus stop acts like a lullaby, the darkness, only lightly discarded with the yellow hue of the lamppost a few metres away providing you a shield of some sort. The neighbourhood is almost scarily silent, but it’s no wonder due to the late hours of the day.

“I’m glad you came,” you mumble.

“Of course I came,” he replies. The choice of his words is quite obvious– there’s nothing else he could do, but to help you ease the pain of being thrown away to the side by Lee Jeno once again. After some time, it almost looks like he’s getting used to it.

“Sometimes, I wish I loved someone else. Sometimes, I wish that someone was…” you trail off, not finishing your sentence, but rather choosing to start a new one instead, “Jeno doesn’t deserve it. I’m done with him now. For good.”

Yangyang doesn’t reply, leaving your words to sink in. Noticing the familiarity of your sentences, the things you’ve already said to him multiple times ago, he only snickers in half-amusement, half-pain. “Are you?”

Thinking, you shrug. “Most likely.”

“I mean… it’s okay. You can’t really make your emotions go away like that,” Yangyang says. He knows what he’s talking about, after all– he tried.

“Yeah,” you agree, “but I think it doesn’t hurt to try.”

Remaining silent, Yangyang pays attention to the rhythm of the raindrops falling to the ground. Your body hangs off his, holding on to his clothing as if to keep yourself afloat. Somewhere along the way, his arm found its way around your waist, but he doesn’t really remember when it happened. All he registers is the faint movement of his fingers against your skin, trying to calm down the storm you refuse to show him, but he knows too well is going on inside of you at this very moment.

Eyes travelling towards the red neon sign outside of the bus stop, Yangyang finds that it’s 3:45am already and the time he spent with you passed by without him even noticing.

“It’s getting late,” he says.

“It’s been late for at least a few hours now, Yang,” you mumble, the nickname rolling off your tongue soundly.

“Yeah, but I mean… I don’t think the taxi’s coming,” he explains, a bit of hesitance in his voice, trying not to break your illusion.

“Oh, I know,” you muse, “I know. I knew it the very moment he sent the text that he’s gonna call it for me.”

Your statement confuses him, makes him furrow his brows and search for an answer. When you don’t explain further, he gets it, somehow, and the realisation both breaks him and makes him feel content all at once, as most things about you always do.

You already knew you could never trust a word that comes out of Lee Jeno’s mouth. And in times where you most need comfort, you call Yangyang. 

You always call Yangyang. 

“Let’s go home then, shall we? I’ll walk you.”

I’D LOVE TO BE IN LOVE WITH YOU ENOUGH TO WRITE A LOVE SONG

Looking at you plucking the strings of your jet-black guitar, sitting in your room, Yangyang is enveloped with a strange sense of nostalgia that cuts right through his bones and sits inside of his stomach. You’re sitting at the opposite edge of the bed, not looking him in the eye as you strum an unfamiliar melody.

Nothing much changed since the two of you met for the first time. You’re still the same you that surprised him with a sharp remark as he entered your house for the first time, the same you that he silently adores and watches, paying attention to all details; the freckles on your skin, the calluses on your fingers, the hesitant smile you flash him as you start singing the lyrics to your song almost absent-mindedly. And he’s still the same person you met in the park; the boy with a dream, only waiting to be fulfilled, the boy that tries so hard to find his place in the world. The boy that quietly supports you with each step you take, the boy that fell for you fast and hard, without knowing how to control it.

Your room is still the same shade of white, splashed with colour on the edges, where the posters reach. The comfort and the easiness of the atmosphere is still the same as well. 

The truth is, everything stays the same. Time passed, but nothing happened. Ignoring the mess in the middle, it’s like you’ve come full circle, stayed exactly the same, stuck in motion, but progressing nowhere. Yangyang can’t choose if it’s scary or comforting. 

But when your eyes meet and you sing the lyric, your voice unsteady, but absolutely, 100% raw and honest, Yangyang thinks that perhaps something changes over time. His feelings for you don’t disappear, not at all, but they progressively grow. They deepen and he starts to understand them, getting in touch with them, welcoming them despite knowing they will never get received and reciprocated.

“I’d love to be in love with you enough to write a love song,” you sing, the easy chords forming a melody, the lyrics hitting the boy in the stomach. 

It’s like they’re addressed to him the same way they were addressed to yourself. A silent confession, opening yourself up to him completely, because after all this time, he’s the only one you can get yourself to fully trust and let see everything. The truth is, he deserves it. After being so patient; after being so calm and caring with you and your emotions. 

When you’re finished with the song, putting the guitar aside, Yangyang can’t help but grin at you.

“Us two could make a band, you know,” he smiles, seeing you roll your eyes at him.

“Don’t think the rockstar life is for me, dude,” you say, moving closer to him, but still keeping your distance. That’s how it works between the two of you all the time, in a way; you always somehow get closer, but the pit between the two of you never really disappears. Maybe, it never will. But that’s okay. 

Yangyang is okay with that. 

He’s not angry about it anymore. The truth is, some situations can make him truly furious; seeping with jealousy, cursing at his fate for making him feel the things he does, asking himself all the what ifs and why me questions. But after taking a step back, Liu Yangyang can finally recognise what he found and what he learned, and appreciate the anger for being there, for it’s an emotion as well and he has to let himself feel it, and finally let it go.

Maybe, he’ll never have a band. Maybe, he’ll never be the same as Lee Jeno. Maybe, he’ll never have you.

But he’s not angry about it anymore.

Your body slowly shuffles next to him, putting your head on his shoulder. Something about the gesture makes him feel all warm inside, a slight smile creeping up his lips at the sight of you curled up to his side.

And once again, he thinks that perhaps, he’ll remember this moment forever. When he’s old and the memory of you fades, his brain no longer able to make out the sound of your voice, he’ll go back to this day, to the strumming of the guitar, and he’ll have you back, for at least a second. He’ll remember the way your hair reflected in the golden hour, he’ll remember the sound of your voice when you sang the chorus of your song, he’ll remember the way you smiled at him after, a little proud, but still shy, and he’ll feel the same things he does today, while looking at you in real time.

And that’s okay for him. Sometimes, even a glimpse of someone is enough.

When you cuddle up with him in the bed later that day, watching Netflix like the old times; when a kiss lands into his hair and makes him shy away from your touch, he wonders if he’ll ever live up to Lee Jeno and if he’ll ever get loved by you the same way you loved him before.

He’s not angry anymore. 

if you ever feel uncomfortable about something he did or say, yangyang will take responsability of his actions and will apologize. he's very polite!

even though he likes spending time with you, this guy also wants to have some time for himself and will also respect whenever you want to have some time for yourself

security, devotion and comfort are key for him to get in a relationship with you… ngl, it will take some time for him to make the decision and be finally yours

this boy wants to have a long-lasting and passionate relationship

I also feel that sometimes you will wonder if he really likes you, cause he's the type of person that one day he will express his feelings openly, and the other he just doesn't message you at all. so yeah, it can be hard for him to be consistent… but that doesn't mean that he lost interest in you, cause yangyang loves in a very intense way!

he loves talking to you and he also likes when you teach him different things!

this guy is very observant and he will always pay close attention if you ever cut your hair or you do your makeup differently

when you're feeling down, he will always be there to help you out and give you advices

something that can be a bummer sometimes is that he can be quite idealistic and may have high expectations towards you and, when you don't meet them, he gets disappointed :/

When he gets angry

he doesn't get angry very often… but he does get irritated easily, cause he has a short temper

when arguments arises, yangyang gets super passionate and sometimes quite aggressive when he stands out for his opinions…

he can also become very defensive and his emotions can cloud his perspective

this dude can speak before thinking and can also be quite critical

since he fears being perceived as weak, he can be quite argumentative and selfish when he's at his worst… he can also manipulate you emotionally!

jealousy and obsession can be presented here as well