yoon jeonghan x f!reader :D
Snap Out Of It - yoon jeonghan
Being a grad student swarmed with work constantly, it isn’t easy to make time to get yourself out of the house, unless it is your life and your best friend Vernon, makes sure to drag you out of the house for what he calls, “Vernon time”. When Vernon drags you to a hardcore show unknowingly, your eyes get caught on a long black haired guitarist who looks as if he has no part in a hardcore band. Going to this show was either going to be the best or worst mistake of your life.
WC:10.6k TAGS: oblivious to love, oblivious to feelings, friends(?) to lovers, slow burn, idiots in love, slight unrequited love but it gets resolved, happy ending, a tiny small love triangle, jeonghan is in a hardcore band, jeonghan has beautiful long black hair, jeonghan is basically in love with the reader from the moment he laid eyes on her. WARNINGS/THINGS TO MAKE NOTE OF!: No smut! Smoking, cursing, heavy making out, jeonghan kinda being sassy and angsty, i think thats it(?!) A/N: when i first thought of this idea i literally was so excited to write it! Thank you for all of the love on my other two works, it literally means so much to me and im sooooooo happy everyone is loving them!!! I really hope u love this one, i love my jeonghan. I cannot wait for his discharge and until then, i hope this story helps all you jeonghan girlies hold out throughout the final stretch, you got this he's almost back!!!!!
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“Can you turn your fucking music down, please? I can hear it through my earbuds.” You beg, turning around looking over your shoulder towards the boy sprawled on your couch scribbling something in a notebook, blasting music out of his phone.
He looks up from his notebook, tucks his pen behind his ear and gives you a puppy-like pout. “But you love my music tasteeeee!” He complains drawing out the last word of his sentence.
“Vernon, I think I would seriously, rather drop out of school than listen to your music on my own will.”
He sticks his tongue out at you. You flip him off with a small, amused smile before turning back to the kitchen table, slipping your earbuds in again. Not even ten seconds pass before you hear your name faintly over the music.
“What.” You snap back around tugging one wired earbud out.
“Please come with me to a show tonight,” Vernon says, sitting up now, his grin wide and hopeful. “It’s literally a few blocks from here.”
You hesitate.
Grad school has been eating you alive—papers, research, deadlines stacked on top of each other until you can barely think straight. You haven’t left your apartment for anything other than class and coffee runs in weeks.
Vernon, unfortunately, has noticed.
For the past month, he’s been trying to drag you out to local shows with him. He calls it “Vernon time,” like it’s some kind of scheduled, mandatory event you keep skipping out on.
You met him freshman year in your Music in Literature class. One random group assignment turned into shared notes, then late-night study sessions, then… came the inseparable dynamic duo that you are now. Years later, he’s still planted firmly in your life—loud, insistent, and impossible to ignore.
And obsessed with making you listen to music.
Every song he’s ever loved, every artist he’s ever cared about, every obscure live performance he swears will “change your life”—you’ve heard about all of it. That’s just how it works between you. He talks, you listen, and you would never want it any other way.
Even now, technically living in separate apartments doesn’t mean much. Vernon has his own key to yours, lets himself in whenever he wants, and somehow always ends up exactly where you are.
After graduation, he almost immediately landed a job at a major New York music magazine—reporting, photographing, interviewing. A dream job for him, really. You’ve never seen him so happy.
Which is exactly why he keeps trying to pull you into his world.
And exactly why you keep saying no, especially to things like this. Grad school was way more important than late night local bar shows.
You narrow your eyes at him, already half-turning back to your laptop. “And what, exactly, do I get out of this?”
Vernon doesn’t even hesitate. “Enrichment… and… Vernon time…”
You stare at him.
“Absolutely not.”
“Okay, rude,” he scoffs. A pause. “You get culture! Character development! Meet new people! A break from whatever academic fucking world you’ve been voluntarily subjecting yourself to for the past—” he glances around, squinting, “—month?”
“Three weeks,” you correct flatly.
“Don’t care. You need to get out.”
“I have a paper due.”
“And you will write it,” he says easily. “Just not tonight.”
“Yes, tonight. Because unlike you, I don’t get paid to stand around and listen to music.”
He gasps. “First of all, I do not just stand around. I help contribute to the music scene in the greater Manhattan area!”
“You take pictures of people with guitars.”
“Artists,” he corrects, offended.
“Be so fucking serious, Vernon.”
“I am serious,” he insists, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. “I’m also serious about you needing to leave this apartment.”
You huff, crossing your arms, but you don’t turn back to your laptop this time.
He notices.
His voice softens—just a little. It’s sweet. “It’s two hours. You can stand there, judge everyone silently, and then we’ll leave. I’ll even buy you food after.”
“That’s bribery.”
“That’s friendship.”
“That’s stupid.”
“That my friend, is Vernon time.” he smiles big.
“It’s not even a big thing,” he adds, nudging. “It’s close. Low commitment. If you hate it, we leave. No complaints. I’ll personally walk you back, tuck you in, and let you ignore me for another week.”
“…You already don’t listen when I ignore you.”
“Okay, fair,” he admits. “But I’ll try harder.”
There’s a pause.
“You are fucking relentless.” You sigh, long and dramatic, dragging a hand down your face. “I’ll go, but we’re not staying long.”
His entire face lights up instantly. “Deal.”
You grab your purse from the table, ready to leave the house in exactly what you are wearing now. Baggy jeans, a white tank top and oversized zip up zipped half way.
“…This is a terrible idea,” you mumble.
Vernon grins, already on his feet, camera bag in hand. “Vernon time has historically only been fantastic.”
“For you.” You say patting his back patronizingly as he walks towards the door.
—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
A six block walk doesn’t sound like much—until you actually walk it after weeks of being cooped up.
The air is cooler than your apartment, the city louder in a different way. Cars passing, distant chatter, the hum of people existing outside of deadlines and word counts. It feels… strange, but maybe it has just been a while since you experienced the city you live in.
You adjust the strap of your bag on your shoulder. “This better be worth it.”
Vernon huffs out a quiet laugh. “Wow. Your faith in me is overwhelming.”
“I’m serious.”
“I know,” he says, nudging your arm lightly. “That’s what makes it funny.”
When you finally reach the place, you nearly walk right past it, as Vernon grabs your arm to make sure you don’t do just that.
It’s tucked between two buildings, easy to miss if you’re not looking for it. A dim, flickering light hangs above a narrow entrance that leads down a set of concrete stairs.
Right beside it, there’s a cramped alley—graffiti lining the brick walls, a couple of people smoking weed, talking loudly over the faint thrum of bass that seeps out from underground.
“…This is it?”
Vernon nods a little too quickly. “Yep. Kind of hidden, but that’s part of the charm.” He smiles positively.
The deeper you go down the stairs, the louder it gets. The bass vibrates through the walls, through your feet, through your chest.
And the second Vernon pushes through the door—
It hits you.
Sound crashes over you all at once—loud, aggressive, overwhelming. Guitars screech, drums pound, and the vocals are less singing and more raw, guttural shouting.
The room is packed. Bodies moving, thrashing all over each other.
“…Vernon did you take me to a fucking hardcore show?!” You yell at him over the blaring music.
He just looks at you—
And smiles.
Nervously.
You should’ve known.
You had gotten used to this side of him—the late nights, the endless “just watch this one set,” the way he’d dragged you into watching that ridiculously laggy Lollapalooza Argentina livestream just to make you watch Turnstile at one in the morning.
You had complained the entire time.
What Vernon doesn’t know—what he will absolutely never know—is that after that night, you downloaded Never Enough and ended up playing it on loop during study sessions more times than you’d ever admit.
Your glare softens just a fraction, just enough for him to notice.
“…If I get hit—”
“You won’t.”
“I’m blaming you.”
“Fair.”
The current song comes to a sudden, crashing end—one last scream into the mic, one final slam of drums.
You blink, slightly disoriented.
“…Is it over?”
“Set change,” Vernon says, already pulling his camera out from his bag, fingers moving quickly and automatically as he adjusts the settings. “That was the opener.”
“That was the opener?” you repeat, incredulous.
He just grins.
You barely have time to process it before movement starts again on stage. A new group pushes through—four guys, setting up quickly like they’ve done this a hundred times before.
The drummer hops behind the kit, spinning a stick in his hand with way too much enthusiasm. The bassist adjusts his strap, expression calm and focused. Off to the side, the guitarist casually plugs in, long black hair falling into his face as he shakes it back.
Your eyes linger for half a second.
Sharp features, effortless in that way that looks like he didn’t even try, he just exists like that. The long black hair doesn’t help whatsoever.
You blink, looking away almost immediately.
Not your problem.
The vocalist steps up to the mic, grabbing it with a grin that feels just a little unhinged.
“WHAT’S UP,” he shouts, voice already rough, already loud enough to cut through the room. “We’re Shovel Fight Club!”
You turn your head slowly toward Vernon.
“…You’re kidding.”
“I wish I was,” he says, way too amused.
On stage, the vocalist continues like that is a completely normal thing to say.
“We’ve got one song for you—so if you’re gonna lose your mind, do it now!”
The crowd immediately surges forward again.
“Of course they only have one song,” you mutter.
“They’re new,” Vernon shrugs, lifting his camera and snapping a few quick shots. “This is who I’m here for.”
You glance at him. “You came here… for Shovel Fight Club?”
“For the article,” he corrects, already moving slightly to the side to get a better angle. “Review, photos, maybe an interview if they don’t run off immediately after.”
Before you can respond, the band launches into their song.
It’s loud. Fast. Completely unhinged.
The vocalist—Soonyoung, apparently—throws himself across the stage like he’s got something to prove. The drummer, Seokmin, is somehow even more intense, hitting like his life depends on it. The bassist, Jihoon, stays more grounded, but there’s a focus to him that stands out.
And then there’s—
Your gaze flicks back, just briefly.
The guitarist.
Jeonghan, if you heard that right.
There’s something effortless about him, fingers moving easily over the strings, long dark hair falling into his face before he pushes it back again. He’s calmer than his friends on stage, quieter.
You cross your arms, shifting your weight as the music crashes around you again, still loud, still overwhelming—but this time, just a little more familiar.
Beside you, Vernon lowers his camera for a second, glancing over.
“Well?” he asks, a hint of a grin on his face. “Still hate it?”
You hesitate.
“…I didn’t say that.”
His grin widens.
The song doesn’t really end so much as it collapses into itself.
Soonyoung is still bouncing in place at the front of the stage, grabbing the mic again even though the one song set is clearly over. Seokmin throws a drumstick into the crowd. Jihoon just wipes his face, looking mildly exhausted, like he’s already over it but also kind of satisfied. Jeonghan takes a second, scanning the room with a calmness that feels almost unfair compared to everything else happening.
Vernon is already half turned away, pulling his camera strap over his shoulder. “Yeah, I need to go grab them before they disappear.”
“Wait—what?”
“For the interview,” he says, like it’s obvious, already backing away. “Don’t move. I’ll be like ten minutes.”
“I don’t want to be here alone—”
But he’s already gone.
—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Fresh air. That’s all you want.
You push through the crowd carefully, weaving toward the edge of the room until you find a door marked EXIT half-hidden behind a pillar.
You slip outside.
The difference is immediate.
The city sounds come back softly—distant traffic, a couple of faint car horns, the hum of streetlights overhead. The wind is cool against your face, cutting through the noise still buzzing in your ears.
You exhale slowly.
Better.
You lean against the building for a moment, rolling your shoulders back, trying to reset your brain after whatever you just witnessed inside.
Then—
click.
A lighter.
Small, sharp in the quiet.
You pause.
Another flick. Then a pause. Then the soft glow of flame catching briefly before disappearing again.
Curiosity pulls you before you can think better of it.
You follow the sound, turning the corner into the narrow alley beside the bar.
It’s dimmer here, the light from the street barely reaching between the brick walls.
And there, leaning casually against the wall like nothing could ever bother him—
Jeonghan.
Long black hair falling loosely around his face, one hand cupping a lighter as he finally gets the cigarette lit. The flame briefly illuminates his skin before he flicks it shut, exhaling like he’s done this a thousand times without thinking.
You stop.
For a second, neither of you move.
He notices you anyway.
Of course he does.
His eyes lift slowly, calm and unreadable at first—then flicker with faint curiosity as they settle on you.
“…Want a hit?” he asks, voice low, a little rough around the edges.
You blink, caught off guard.
“I—no. I actually just needed air.”
A pause.
He takes a drag, looking at you properly now, like he’s deciding whether you’re lost, or just unfortunate enough to be outside at the same time as him.
Then, slightly amused:
“Fair.” Jeonghan shrugs
He is still, eyes scanning you.
“…Is it always that chaotic in there?” you ask, nodding vaguely toward the bar behind you.
Jeonghan lets out a quiet hum, taking another slow drag before answering. “Depends on the band.”
“That felt less like a band and more like a ‘we finally got this out of the group chat’ type thing.”
That gets a real reaction out of him—something like a short laugh, soft and surprised, like he didn’t expect you to be funny.
“Yeah,” he says, exhaling smoke to the side. “That’s… not inaccurate.”
Jeonghan shifts his weight against the brick wall, cigarette held loosely between his fingers. “So why are you out here instead of in there getting thrown into strangers?”
“I was temporarily escaping being thrown into strangers.”
“Reasonable.”
You lean back against the opposite wall now, giving yourself a little more space. “My friend abandoned me— to find your band actually.”
“The interviewer? Well he definitely found Soonyoung. That boy loves an interview. I am just lucky to have missed it, so I can now spend my time meeting someone new… and very charming may I add.” He doesn’t break eye contact with you.
You feel your face flush a red, though you doubt he will see it due to the dim lighting of this alley.
The last time someone was that forward with you was in high school when you got asked out for the first time. You politely declined because you didn’t want a “distraction from school”. Clearly, nothing has changed for you have never been on a date nor ever even spoken to people romantically ever.
You stay leaned against the opposite wall, arms loosely crossed, pretending the brick texture is suddenly fascinating enough to stare at.
Jeonghan doesn’t comment on your pause right away.
He just watches you for a second too long—like he’s noticed the shift, but isn’t interested in calling it out.
Then, as if nothing happened at all, he tilts his head slightly.
You exhale through your nose. “You’re weirdly confident for someone I just met in an alley.”
“I said what I saw.”
“That’s not how seeing works.”
“It is for me.”
That gets you—just a little. A reluctant huff of air that almost turns into a laugh.
Jeonghan notices immediately, of course.
His eyes flicker like he’s clocking every detail without trying.
“So,” he says, easing back into the wall again, “you always get flustered when strangers talk to you, or am I special?”
Shit, he can tell I'm blushing.
“I’m not flustered.”
“You looked flustered.”
You finally turn your head toward him, narrowing your eyes. “Are you always this annoying to people you don’t know?”
He is silent, taking advantage of the cloud of already formed tension above you two.
“So,” he repeats, softer this time but still curious, “what’s your name?” He takes a long drag from his withering cigarette.
You hesitate.
You study him for a second.
He looks interested.
“…Why?” you ask cautiously.
“Because it’s easier to talk to someone when you can call them something other than ‘random person in the alley,’” he says simply.
“That’s fair,” you admit reluctantly.
You give in with a small sigh. “It’s y/n.”
He repeats it once under his breath, like he’s checking how it sounds.
Then he nods. “Okay, y/n.”
Something about the way he says it makes your stomach do a small, annoying flip that you immediately ignore.
You clear your throat. “And you’re Jeonghan. I heard Soonyoung yelling it like five times.”
“I prefer when he’s quieter,” he says.
“Interesting claim from someone in a hardcore band with him.” You cross your arms looking him dead in the eyes. You want to know more about him.
Another pause settles between you—but it’s different now. Less unknown. More… defined.
“What do you do?” He asks curiously.
“Grad school.” You feel yourself rolling your eyes at your answer.
Jeonghan hums at your answer like he’s filing it away somewhere.
“Grad school,” he repeats. “You must be real smart.”
“I promise you, the success is not worth the stress.”
“That tracks,” Jeonghan says simply.
You huff a small laugh before he tilts his head slightly, studying you again—still curious, still unbothered.
“What kind of music do you like then, y/n?” he asks.
You blink at him.
“That feels like a loaded question.”
“It’s not.”
You hesitate.
Because the honest answer feels stupid in your head. Like it doesn’t fit you standing here in an alley, talking to someone like him.
“I don’t know,” you say carefully. “I listen to… a bit of everything.”
“That’s a fake answer,” he says immediately.
You squint at him. “Excuse me?”
“No one who listens to everything actually listens to everything.”
“That’s not—” you stop, then sigh. “Okay. Fine. I really don’t hate hardcore.”
Jeonghan’s eyebrows lift slightly.
“…You don’t hate it?” he repeats.
“I didn’t say I’m obsessed with it.”
“But you don’t hate it.”
You roll your eyes, but there’s less distance in it now.
Jeonghan shifts against the brick wall, cigarette still between his fingers, then glances at it briefly as if only now remembering it’s there.
“Sure you don’t want a hit?” he asks.
His tone is different than before. It was casual, normal. Like it’s an option you’re allowed to take or ignore without it meaning anything about you.
You glance at it.
Then at him.
“I don’t really smoke,” you say.
Jeonghan doesn’t react immediately. He just watches you for a second longer than necessary, like he’s registering more than your words.
“Yeah,” he says finally, like that checks out.
A beat passes.
The alley is quieter than it should be for how loud your brain feels.
Jeonghan doesn’t push. Doesn’t insist. Just holds it there in his hand like it’s still your choice, not a test.
That’s what makes it worse.
Because it doesn’t feel like pressure.
It feels like permission.
“…Actually,” you say before you can fully talk yourself out of it, “give me that.”
His brows lift slightly.
“Yeah?” he asks, calm.
You hesitate for half a second too long, then step closer and take it.
Your fingers brush his… and you are very aware of it.
—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Jeonghan’s gaze flickers down for the briefest moment—then back to your face, like he’s pretending he didn’t notice either.
You bring it to your lips.
Inhale.
It burns—sharp and immediate—but this time you don’t pull away right away. You hold it a little longer, exhale slowly, and cough into your sleeve, eyes watering slightly.
Jeonghan lets out a quiet laugh under his breath.
Not mocking.
Just… pleased.
“Told you,” he says.
You glare at him lightly. “That was still awful.”
He takes it back when you hand it over, fingers brushing yours again—slower this time, more deliberate in a way he doesn’t comment on.
But his eyes stay on you.
You notice that.
Of course you do.
“JEONGHAN.”
Both of you turn.
Soonyoung is standing at the entrance to the alley, hands on his head, looking personally offended by the universe.
“You were supposed to do the interview!” he yells. “I TOLD YOU ABOUT IT TWICE. TWICE MAN!”
Behind him, Vernon appears a second later—slower, more confused, eyes scanning the scene like he’s trying to compute it.
A smile grows instantly wide in amusement on Vernon’s face. “Holy shit, y/n I-” He laughs to himself not even finishing the sentence.
Soonyoung finally notices you properly and immediately looks even more annoyed. “Why is there a civilian in the alley with my guitarist?”
Jeonghan doesn’t move away from you.
Doesn’t look guilty either.
He just laughs to himself.
“Ignore him.” Jeonghan whispers towards your direction.
“Oh my god,” Vernon laughs to himself.
You frown. “What?”
Vernon points vaguely at you like he’s just solved a puzzle. “You’re talking to people.”
“…Yes?”
“Like,” he gestures again, more animated now, “people people. Outside. In an alley. With a cigarette. With—” he looks at Jeonghan, then back at you, “—someone who is, like, objectively attractive.”
“…I hate you.” You glare at your best friend, waving him a goodbye.
Vernon laughs as he walks back into the bar below the ground, Soonyoung casting Jeonghan a fake-angry judgemental look as he follows Vernon.
“Your friend is… intense,” you say, still scanning Jeonghan’s features.
He lets out a breath. “That’s one word for it.”
A pause.
“You know what y/n, I like you.” He nods his head, putting out the cigarette butt on the brick wall behind him. He drops the cigarette on the ground below his feet and pulls out his phone from his back pocket. “Phone number, please.” He gives a very cute yet pleased smile.
“You will be lucky if I can get away from work for a moment to even respond.” You say grabbing the phone from his hand and typing in your number.
“I’d consider myself the luckiest guy in the world.” He locks eyes with you, smiling a true, genuine smile.
You feel your cheeks heat up again.
“Keep telling yourself that.” You say, beginning to walk out of the alleyway, towards the bar.
“I’m glad you decided to come out tonight y/n.” Jeonghan speaks sincerely.
“I am too.”
—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Vernon flops back harder into the couch cushions, one arm thrown over his eyes like he’s been personally wronged by the concept of journalism.
“Like… I don’t know man. Soonyoung’s answers are just like, not what you want to publish in an article… you know?” He bites on the end of his pen again, frowning at the notebook in his lap. “I don’t really know how I am going to publish these.”
You pull your blanket tighter around your shoulders, curled into the opposite end of the couch, still riding the weird aftertaste of the night.
“…How bad are we talking?” you ask.
Vernon lifts his arm just enough to look at you. “One of my questions was about their musical influences.”
“Okay.”
“He said—and I’m quoting—‘sometimes I just hear a noise in my brain and chase it.’”
You blink.
“…That’s kind of poetic.”
“That’s not helpful,” Vernon groans, dropping his arm back over his face. “What am I supposed to do with that? I can’t put that in print like that. My editor will think I made it up.”
He leans forward now, elbows on his knees, already thinking ahead. You can see it happen in real time—the shift from complaining to problem-solving.
“…They’ve got another show in a few days,” he says.
You glance at him. “And?”
“And I can redo it,” he continues. “Or—better—I can just ask the other guys everything this time.”
“That sounds ideal.”
“Right?” He points the pen at you again, more animated now. “So I go, I get actual usable material, and my article doesn’t get rejected.”
He takes a pause, now locking eyes with you.
“Come with me again.”
You immediately shake your head. “No.”
“Why not?”
“I already did my one chaotic band night for the year.” You let out a quiet laugh despite yourself.
“…Also,” he adds, softer now but very intentional, “you might run into your alley friend again.”
Your grip on the blanket tightens just slightly.
“That’s not—” you start, then stop. “That’s not a reason.”
“Didn’t say it was,” he shrugs.
A pause settles.
Your brain, unhelpfully, fills in the gaps anyway— dim light, brick walls, the flick of a lighter, the way your name sounded in his voice.
You exhale slowly.
“…I’ll think about it,” you say.
Vernon nods immediately, like he’s already won. “Yeah. That’s fine.”
“That’s not a yes.”
“It’s not a no.”
—------------------------------------------------------------------
A week passes.
Time didn’t stretch, it just stacked.
Pages of notes. Articles. Highlighted readings that all start to blur together until you’re not entirely sure if you’ve read something already or just thought about reading it.
No texts from anyone but Vernon and your mom, not like you were looking for a text from someone or anything…
Vernon shows up to your apartment… more than once.
Uninvited, every time.
The first time, he brings food and complains about revisions on his reviews.
The second time, he “accidentally” stays for six hours.
The third time, he doesn’t even explain—just walks in, drops onto your couch, and starts talking like he lives there.
Each time, you pretend to be annoyed.
Each time, you get less convincing about it.
Because as much as he distracts you— It’s better than the silence.
You feel—
Restless.
Slightly unhinged, if you’re being honest.
So when the text comes in:
Vernon: Show’s tonight. You coming or what?
You don’t overthink it.
For once.
Y/n: Yeah
“Wow,” Vernon says beside you as you walk toward the venue, hands shoved into his jacket pockets. “She leaves the house.”
“Don’t make it a thing.”
“It’s a huge thing,” he says. “Documented event. I should write about this instead.”
“You’re not funny.”
“I’m a little funny.”
You huff, but it doesn’t stick.
Because the truth is— You needed this. So so bad.
The venue is smaller this time.
Tighter. Warmer. Less overwhelming—but louder in a way that settles into your chest instead of crashing over your head.
It feels… easier to breathe here. Just noise. Light. Energy.
And the faint, creeping awareness that— You might actually be glad you came.
You are approached by a ball of energy.
Soonyoung runs up to the two of you without warning and starts jumping up and down, so excited to see a familiar face.
“You came back! To see me?!” He turns to Vernon giving him a big hug.
Vernon is taken aback as he pats Soonyoung’s back lightly, confused by the sudden hug.
Soongyoug takes a big step back, a smile beaming across his face.
Vernon shifts his bag higher on his shoulder, already slipping back into work mode now that he’s inside. “So Soonyoung, we should probably redo that interview.”
Soonyoung blinks. “Redo?”
“Yeah,” Vernon nods. “And I’m also grabbing Jihoon this time.”
At the mention of Jihoon, Soonyoung immediately makes a face. “Why him?”
“Because,” Vernon says patiently, “he answers questions like a normal human being.”
“I answer questions!” Soonyoung protests.
“You said your main musical influence was ‘a noise in your brain,’” Vernon deadpans.
“That’s real!” Soonyoung insists, turning to you for backup. “You get it, right?”
You hesitate.
“…Conceptually.”
Vernon cuts in. “So I’m talking to you again, and then I’m talking to Jihoon so I can get at least one quote my editor won’t think is fake.”
Soonyoung crosses his arms for all of two seconds—
Then immediately drops them, already over it.
“Fine. I’ll answer them better this time. Come on, let’s do it now before I forget what I was going to say.” He gives Vernon a fake pout before immediately smiling and rushing towards Jihoon, leaving you behind.
And just like that—
You’re alone again.
Well.
Not alone.
The room hums with energy, people shifting, talking, waiting for the set to start. The lights are low, the air warmer than outside, buzzing with anticipation.
You shift your weight slightly, taking it in.
A voice cuts in beside you.
“Hey—uh, have you seen Soonyoung?”
You turn.
He’s already looking at you expectantly, slightly out of breath like he’s been making rounds. There’s an easy warmth to him—open expression, soft eyes, the kind of presence that doesn’t feel overwhelming, just… bright. You recognize him.
Not immediately by name—but by presence. The drummer. The one Vernon wouldn’t stop talking about on the walk home. Something about energy, timing, “actually carrying the set,”—you didn’t understand half of it, but you remember him.
“I was told he came this way,” he adds, glancing around before his eyes land back on you.
“Yeah,” you nod, grounding yourself. “He just got pulled into an interview.”
“Ah,” he laughs, easy and warm. “Yeah, that sounds right.”
There’s a small pause.
Then he straightens slightly, offering a smile that feels genuine without trying too hard.
“I’m Seokmin, by the way.”
You tell him your name, and something in his expression shifts—brightens, like it means something to him.
“Y/N,” he repeats, careful with it. “Nice to meet you.”
“You too.”
You hesitate for half a second, then add, “I saw you at the last show.”
His brows lift slightly, pleasantly surprised. “Oh yeah?”
“My friend was reviewing it,” you explain. “He kept talking about the drummer on the way home.”
Seokmin blinks.
Then breaks into a grin—wide, a little bashful, but clearly pleased.
“Hopefully good things?”
“Very good things,” you say. “Something about you ‘carrying the set.’”
He lets out a soft laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “That’s—wow. Okay. I’ll take that.”
There’s no ego in it. Just… genuine happiness.
It makes something in your chest loosen a little.
“Are you here with him again?” he asks, nodding toward the back where Soonyoung disappeared.
“Yeah,” you say. “He just got kidnapped for interview round two.”
Seokmin nods knowingly. “Yeah, Soonyoung gets excited about that stuff.”
“That’s one way to put it.”
“He probably didn’t even let your friend finish a sentence.”
“He absolutely did not.”
That earns another laugh from him—easy, unforced. The conversation settles naturally after that.
He asks about your life and then proceeds to ask about Grad school. He asks about your program—not in a way that feels like small talk, but like he’s actually curious.
You answer, expecting the usual polite nods.
Instead, he listens. Fully. Asks questions that make sense. Reacts in a way that makes you feel like you’re not just filling space. And without realizing it, you start relaxing into it.
Talking more. Laughing a little.
Forgetting, briefly, to overanalyze every word coming out of your mouth.
It’s… comfortable.
“Hey,” he says, a bit softer. “This might be kind of bold.”
Your stomach flips slightly. “Oh.”
He smiles—just a little, like he knows how that sounded.
“But I think you’re really pretty,” he says, straightforward. “And I’ve been really enjoying talking to you.”
Your brain—
Fully short-circuits.
You just stare at him for a second, processing.
“…Oh,” you say again, quieter.
You can feel the heat rising to your face instantly, and this time there’s no pretending it’s not happening.
Seokmin notices—but doesn’t make a thing out of it. Doesn’t tease. Doesn’t push.
Just stays steady.
“I was wondering,” he continues gently, “if you’d want to hang out sometime. Somewhere quieter. So we can actually talk without yelling over music.”
You blink.
Because no one has ever asked you that so simply before.
No guessing. No weird tension. No games.
Just—
Honest.
You think about the past week—being stuck inside, buried in notes, pacing your apartment like you were slowly losing it.
You think about how easy this conversation felt.
How light it feels right now.
And how you don’t think you want it to end.
“I—” you start, then stop, letting out a small breath.
“…Yeah,” you say, a little surprised at yourself. “Yeah, I’d like that.”
Seokmin’s face lights up immediately.
Not exaggerated—just real. Bright. Happy.
“Yeah?” he asks, just to be sure.
You nod, a small smile breaking through. “Yeah.”
“Okay,” he says, almost to himself, like he’s locking it in. “Cool.”
He lets out a quiet laugh, rubbing the back of his neck again. “I’m really glad I came looking for Soonyoung.”
You huff softly. “Me too.”
“Hey, Seokmin—”
The voice comes from just behind him.
Familiar.
You don’t even need to turn fully to know who it is—but you do anyway.
Jeonghan steps into view like he’s been there longer than he should’ve been. Calm. Collected. Like he didn’t just insert himself into the conversation with suspiciously perfect timing.
His eyes flick to Seokmin first.
Then to you.
And something shifts—just slightly—when they land. Not surprise.
Recognition.
“…Y/N,” he says, like he expected you to be here.
Your stomach does that same annoying flip again.
“Hi,” you manage.
Seokmin glances between the two of you, already picking up on something he doesn’t fully understand.
“Oh—you guys know each other?” he asks.
“A little,” Jeonghan answers before you can, tone casual. Easy. “Met outside last time.”
You nod. “Yeah. Briefly.”
“Oh,” he says. “Okay.”
Jeonghan shifts his attention back to him, like that part of the conversation is already over.
“Can I borrow you for a second?” he asks.
It sounds casual.
But it doesn’t feel casual.
Seokmin blinks. “Right now?”
“Yeah,” Jeonghan nods lightly. “Won’t take long.”
Seokmin hesitates.
Actually hesitates.
“I mean—yeah, okay,” Seokmin says slowly. “What’s up?”
Jeonghan doesn’t answer right away.
He just holds his gaze for a second—
Then smiles.
“Band stuff.”
It’s vague. Very vague.
Seokmin frowns slightly. “We weren’t—”
“Won’t take long,” Jeonghan repeats, already stepping back like the conversation is decided.
Another pause.
Seokmin looks at you again, apologetic this time. “I’ll be right back, okay?”
“Yeah,” you say, still trying to catch up. “Of course.”
He lingers for half a second—like he wants to say something else—but then nods and steps away, following Jeonghan.
You watch them go.
Seokmin leans in slightly, already asking something under his breath.
Jeonghan answers—
But he glances back. Just once. At you.
And then they disappear into the crowd.
And you didn’t even get Seokmin’s number.
—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The next day feels— Off.
Not in a dramatic way. Nothing is wrong, exactly.
You wake up, make coffee, sit down with your notes, open your laptop—
And reread the same sentence four times because your brain won’t stop replaying last night.
Not the show.
Not even Seokmin—
—but the moment right before everything cut off.
Jeonghan stepping in.
You’re halfway through rereading the same paragraph for the fifth time when your phone buzzes.
You glance at it automatically—
Jeonghan: You busy?
You stare at it.
Y/n: It’s 2pm and I am a grad student, of course I am.
You wonder if your joke lands.
Jeonghan: about last night…
Your stomach tightens a little.
Of course.
You sit up slightly, wanting to play dumb in this situation.
Y/n: What? Are you upset you didn’t get to talk to me because you were too busy sweeping Seokmin away, and playing a now, two song set instead of one?
You tease.
Jeonghan: you seemed confused when i pulled seokmin away
You blink.
“…Yeah,” you say out loud. “Because I was.”
You type back.
Y/n: i was confused
you didn’t explain anything
Jeonghan: It was just band stuff.
Y/n: Yeah, you already said that
Jeonghan: did you get home okay?
You pause.
“…Are you serious?”
You lean back, staring at the ceiling for a second, then sit forward again, thumbs moving faster now.
Y/n: yes i got home fine
can you explain what that was about
Jeonghan: it wasn’t the right moment
You let out a small, frustrated breath.
Another text
Jeonghan: for him to be distracted
You stare at the message.
“…For him to be distracted?”
Your brows knit slightly. Before you can even unpack that, you’re already typing again.
Y/n: why was he being “distracted”
we were literally just talking
No response. You keep your messages open just in case. Still nothing.
You send another.
Y/n: can i have seokmin’s number then?
Finally, a response.
Jeonghan: why
Y/n: because he asked me to hang out
Jeonghan: he did.
Y/n: yes.
Jeonghan: I'll tell him to text you
“…What does that even mean?” You frustratedly put your hand over your forehead, groaning.
—-------------------------------------------------------------------
A few days go by.
And nothing happens.
At first, you try to be normal about it.
People get busy. Shows happen. Life moves fast. It’s not that deep. But then a few more days pass, and the silence stops feeling neutral and starts feeling pointed.
No text from Seokmin.
Not even a delayed “hey sorry I disappeared.”
Just… nothing.
Which would be fine, if you hadn’t said yes to hanging out. If there hadn’t been that moment—clear, simple, easy.
If Jeonghan hadn’t stepped in right after and somehow shifted everything without explaining a single thing he did.
That part sticks with you.
Not because you’re angry but because you’re confused in a way that keeps circling back on itself whenever you try to focus on anything else.
Right now, you’re in the public library, trying to study.
Keyword: trying.
Your notes are open in front of you, but your eyes keep drifting off the page. The words blur together until they don’t mean anything anymore.
You exhale sharply and push your laptop back a few inches.
“…This is ridiculous,” you mutter under your breath.
You shouldn’t care this much.
You barely know him.
And yet—
He asked you out.
Clearly.
And then just… nothing.
Your phone sits beside your notebook. You flip it over without thinking.
Stare at it.
Then your frustration wins before your logic can catch up.
You open your messages.
Y/n: did you ever tell seokmin anything
about me saying yes
to hanging out?
It feels blunt. Maybe too blunt, but you’re past carefully wording things at this point.
You hit send.
A few seconds pass.
Then your phone buzzes.
Jeonghan: no
You stare at the message.
Your chest tightens slightly—not dramatic, just that annoying sinking feeling of something clicking into place.
“…Right,” you murmur to yourself.
That explains it.
At least partially.
You lean back in your chair, looking up at the ceiling for a second before typing again.
Y/n: So he doesn’t know?
Jeonghan: no.
Of course he doesn’t know. Of course nothing moved forward. Of course it just… stopped in Jeonghan’s hands and never left them.
You decide to take matters into your own hands.
Y/n: I am not doing this over text.
Meet me at the library on Morgan Street, I’ll be here until 5.
Jeonghan: okay
You try—briefly—to go back to your notes.
It doesn’t work.
Your brain is too loud now and way too aware of everything you still don’t understand.
So you sit there.
Waiting.
Five minutes pass.
Then ten.
The library stays quiet around you—pages turning, soft footsteps, the distant hum of air conditioning—but your attention keeps snapping toward the entrance every time someone walks past your aisle.
You tell yourself you’re not impatient.
You are simply here to get answers.
Nothing more.
Then—
You see him.
Jeonghan steps into the library like he doesn’t belong in it, but also like he doesn’t care.
No stage energy. No cigarette smoke. No chaos.
Just… composed.
A little more put together than you’re used to seeing him. Hair beautiful, black and long, hitting his shoulders matching his black sweater and dark blue jeans.
His eyes scan the room once.
Then land on you.
A small smile.
He starts walking toward you without hesitation, weaving between tables quietly, like even his footsteps are aware of where he is.
He stops in front of your table.
“Hey,” he says softly.
You look up at him, arms still folded loosely over your notes.
“…Hi,” you reply.
He glances briefly at your setup. “You said you didn’t want to do this over text.”
“I didn’t,” you say. Then, sharper than you mean it to be: “And you were being weirdly vague.”
Jeonghan’s smile doesn’t disappear, but it shifts slightly—like he’s registering your tone without reacting to it.
“I was answering you,” he says simply.
“That’s not the same thing as explaining anything.”
He hums lightly, like he’s considering that.
Then, instead of arguing, he just pulls out the chair across from you and sits down.
Calm.
Like he has time.
Like he always has time.
And somehow—
That makes you even more annoyed.
You wait for him to say something first. You want him to say something first. He didn’t put you through days of waiting for you to get the first word in, the ball was in his court.
Though you want his voice to be the first to cut through silence, you both were getting nowhere sitting across from each other awkwardly looking up and down between the table and each other.
“So,” you say finally, keeping your voice low, “are you going to explain anything or just sit there looking mysterious in a public library?”
A faint exhale through his nose—almost a laugh.
Then he looks at you properly.
“I was jealous,” he says.
“…What?”
Jeonghan doesn’t repeat it like he regrets it. Doesn’t soften it either.
“I was jealous,” he says again, a little slower this time, like he’s making sure you actually hear it. “Of Seokmin asking you to hang out.”
That is not the answer you were expecting.
You lean back slightly in your chair, searching his face like there’s going to be a second explanation hidden somewhere behind it.
“…You were jealous,” you repeat, quieter now.
“Yes.”
That simple.
Then let out a short, disbelieving laugh under your breath.
“I did not expect to see an earnest side of you,” you say.
His eyes flicker slightly at that, like he’s registering the word.
“Earnest?” he repeats.
“Yeah,” you nod, still a little stunned. “This is… very straightforward for someone who has been speaking in riddles for the past few weeks.”
“I’m not usually like that,” he says.
“That’s not reassuring.”
“It’s accurate.”
You hum, crossing your arms a little tighter.
“So what,” you say, tilting your head, “you just decided to sabotage my conversation instead of, I don’t know, talking like a normal person?”
His gaze holds yours.
“…Yes,” he says again.
You blink, then laugh again, this time louder. It slips out before you can stop it.
“Are you hearing yourself right now?”
A couple of heads turn from nearby tables, while a sharp shush cuts through the air.
“Excuse me—quiet please.”
You immediately press your lips together, eyes widening slightly.
“Sorry,” you whisper, still clearly trying not to smile.
Jeonghan leans forward slightly.
“So,” he says, quieter now, “you think it’s funny.”
“I think,” you say carefully, “that you’re kind of insane.”
“That’s fair,” he says, a light smile forming on his face.
Then, after a beat, his voice drops a little along with the previous smile.
“I didn’t like it,” he says, quieter now. “Seeing him talk to you like that.”
You study him for a second.
Then lean forward slightly, resting your elbow on the table.
“So what now?” you ask.
He doesn’t hesitate.
“I’d like to take you out,” he says simply.
You blink.
“…Out.”
“Yes.”
“Like—away from the library you just got us shushed in?”
A faint smile again.
“Preferably somewhere louder than this,” he says. “So I can explain it properly.”
You lean back in your chair again, looking at him like you’re trying to decide if he’s serious or just consistent in being unpredictable.
“…Coffee?” you ask.
“That works,” he says.
A pause.
Then, softer:
“If you’ll let me, pretty girl.”
“Yeah,” you say quickly, extremely flustered by his statement. Then, realizing how immediate that sounded, you add, a little more carefully, “I mean—okay. Yes, then coffee is fine then, perfect.”
“So,” you say, trying to regain control of your own brain, “you’ve successfully disrupted my entire study session, confessed to jealousy, and invited me out.”
He hums lightly. “Accurate summary.”
You squint at him. “You’re proud of that, aren’t you?”
“And if I was?” A faint smile tugs at his mouth again.
You open your mouth to argue—but nothing comes out immediately, because he’s still looking at you like you are the only person on the earth.
“Okay, okay—go,” you say. “I need to study. You’ve done enough emotional damage for one library visit.”
He stands up, taking his time. Acting as if he isn’t in a rush. Why would he be? He met you on a whim 10 minutes after you texted him.
Before he turns away, he glances down at you again.
“See you, pretty girl.”
The ‘pretty girl’ comment again. It’s casual, almost absent-minded.
“Okay—no,” you say quickly, pointing vaguely at him as your face heats up. “Don’t do that. Don’t—don’t call me that and then leave.”
His brows lift slightly.
Too amused.
“You said go.”
“I meant go, not—” you gesture helplessly, “not that.”
He just smiles.
Worse.
“Noted.”
And then he actually turns and walks away.
The rest of your study session was full of a constant back and forth battle in your brain over note taking and reserving a side-section of your brain for Jeonghan.
You try to focus even harder than before, but you fail immediately.
Because now your brain is doing something extremely unhelpful.
Replaying everything.
Seokmin’s smile. Seokmin’s warmth. Seokmin asking so gently.
And then—
Jeonghan.
Jeonghan interrupting. Jeonghan answering too little. Jeonghan showing up anyway. Jeonghan saying your name like it meant something he wasn’t fully saying out loud.
You sink back into your chair slightly.
“…Oh,” you murmur to yourself.
It clicks in a way that makes your stomach twist.
It wasn’t just that Seokmin was nice.
He was nice. Easy. Safe in a way you didn’t have to think too hard about.
But Jeonghan—
Jeonghan made you think.
Made you question. Made you wait for answers instead of receiving them.
There was an edge to him. A pause in everything he said that made your brain work harder than it should’ve.
And somewhere along the way—
You started leaning into that.
You liked Seokmin… Or… you liked the idea of him.
Simple. Warm. Clear. Straightforward
But Jeonghan?
You lean forward slowly, staring at your notebook like it might explain you back to yourself.
Jeonghan makes your stomach do that annoying, traitorous flip every time he says your name. His voice sticks in your head longer than it should.
Jeonghan feels like something you can’t quite get a straight answer from—and somehow that makes you want to stay in it longer.
“…That’s really inconvenient,” you whisper, shaking your head to yourself.
Because it is inconvenient.
And worse— You don’t actually want it to stop.
—-------------------------------------------------------------------------
A few days pass in a strange kind of rhythm. You are no longer left in a world of silence.
Random texts that come in at inconvenient times and linger in your head longer than they should.
Nothing dramatic.
Just small pieces of conversation that feel casual on the surface—but never really are.
Jeonghan: you studying Y/n: trying Jeonghan: that sounded sad
Or:
Y/n: i think your friend hates me jeonghan: which one Y/n: Soonyoung, probably Jeonghan: He doesn't matter, and I promise, he really does like you.
But now somehow, today is the day.
You are going out with Jeonghan.
Which is why you are currently standing in your room staring at your reflection like it has personally betrayed you.
“This is insane,” you mutter to Vernon, who is sprawled out on your bed staring at the ceiling.
You adjust your shirt.
Change your mind.
Change it again. And again, and again, and again.
Vernon sighs, “It’s just coffee.”
“It’s not just coffee.”
“It is literally just coffee.”
You glare at him through the mirror.
He raises his hands slightly. “Okay, correction. It’s coffee with a man you’ve been spiraling about for a week.”
“That’s worse.”
He leans back slightly. “You’re overthinking it.”
“I’m not overthinking it.” A Pause. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” you admit. You let out a frustrated breath. “He’s just—he’s weird.”
“Yeah,” Vernon agrees immediately.
“And annoying.”
“Yeah.”
“And he says things like ‘pretty girl’ and then just walks away like it’s nothing.”
Vernon pauses.
“…He said what?”
You wave a hand. “Not the point.”
He stares at you for a second, then sighs again and leans back on his hands.
“Look,” he says, tone softer now, “you don’t have to solve it tonight.”
“I’m not trying to solve it.”
“You’re literally spiraling.”
“I’m preparing.”
“For what?”
“Exactly Vernon!” You turn away from the mirror to now look at him. “For fucking what! I don’t fucking know what he wants from me! He drives me fucking crazy!”
Your phone buzzes from where it sits charging on your nightstand.
Jeonghan: I’m going to start heading to the coffee shop.
“Fuck dude, I have to go.” You rush towards your closet to grab your purse after you settled on a simple black off the shoulder short sleeve and jeans.
Vernon watches you like he’s witnessing something irreversible.
“You will do great,” he says flatly. “I’ll be here when you get back.”
You grab your keys, shove them into your bag, and head for the door.
The walk feels too long and too short at the same time.
Every step forward is another second closer to something you can’t fully name, and your brain is doing absolutely nothing to help you regulate that information.
You replay everything.
His texts.
His voice.
“Pretty girl.”
You almost physically shake your head like you can dislodge the thought.
The coffee shop comes into view.
You stop outside for half a second.
Inhale… Exhale.
“…It’s just coffee,” you whisper to yourself, but it doesn’t feel like just coffee. Not anymore.
You push the door open, as a soft bell chimes.
Warm air, faint smell of espresso, low hum of conversation.
Your eyes scan automatically—and land on him.
Sitting at a table slightly off to the side, relaxed like he’s been waiting without impatience. Elbow resting on the table, posture loose, head tilted slightly as he looks up at the sound of the door.
And when he sees you—
That same small smile appears. The same small smile you saw him show at the library, the same small smile you saw when you took the hit of his cigarette a few weeks ago.
“Hey,” he says.
You walk toward him, suddenly very aware of your heartbeat again.
“Hi,” you manage.
He watches you get closer, eyes flicking over you once—not obvious, not slow enough to be rude, but enough that you notice anyway.
“You made it,” he says.
“You texted me like ten minutes ago,” you reply.
He hums lightly. “Still. You look very nice.”
“…Thanks,” you say, a little too quickly.
He taps his fingers lightly on the table once.
“You’re nervous,” he says.
It’s not a question.
You immediately straighten. “I’m not nervous.”
His brows lift slightly.
You sigh.
“…Okay, I’m a little nervous.”
“Why?”
You look at him, because that’s the problem. You don’t actually know what this is going to become.
“I don’t know what you’re like in situations where you’re not being weird on purpose.”
That makes him pause.
“That’s fair,” he says.
Then, softer, a little teasing again:
“I can be normal.”
You squint at him. “That didn’t sound convincing.”
“It wasn’t meant to be.”
That makes you huff a laugh despite yourself.
“Relax,” Jeonghan says, leaning over the table a bit more than before.
You raise a brow. “That’s not very helpful.”
“I know,” he says. “But you’re still here.”
The conversation was light, chatting about your lives. How Jeonghan met his bandmates in undergrad, how it was actually Jihoon’s idea to start a hardcore band.
You talked more in depth about grad school, about how you grew up so close to the city that going to undergrad and grad school here felt normal.
His tone was balanced, kind, warm, but in his own manner, a very Jeonghan tone of voice. It was incredibly hard to read.
Eventually, your cups are empty.
You turn yours in your hands, then glance at him.
“This is officially the longest and I think the only date I have ever been on,” you say.
Jeonghan tilts his head slightly. “Is that a bad thing?”
You think about it.
“…No,” you admit. “Just an observation.”
You hesitate, then add, a little dryly, “I feel like I might need a cigarette after this though.”
That earns a small giggle from him.
“I’ve got some,” he says casually.
You blink. “Of course you do.”
He stands up first, already grabbing both cups. “Come on.”
You follow him out without thinking too hard about it.
The air outside is cooler again, the street quieter than the café. The sun had set while you were beginning to close things off inside the cafe. He leads you just a few steps over—back into a narrow alley tucked between buildings.
And suddenly—
It feels familiar. The brick walls. Dim lights. That same strange stillness. Like the night everything started.
You lean back against the wall beside him without really deciding to.
Jeonghan lights a cigarette, same calm motion as before, like it’s muscle memory. The small glow of the lighter briefly catches his face before he flicks it shut.
He exhales slowly. Then looks at you.
There’s a beat where neither of you speaks. He passes you the cigarette.
“You’re different like this,” he says.
You glance at him. “Like what?”
“Relaxed,” he replies.
You scoff lightly. “I’m not relaxed. I’m just… processing.”
“That still counts.”
You roll your eyes. “You’re weirdly observant for someone who acts like he’s not paying attention.”
“I’m always paying attention,” he says simply.
That makes something in your stomach twist slightly.
You take a slight hit of the cigarette, passing it back to him.
He takes another drag, eyes still on you.
“I know I say it all the time, but you are confusing and it drives me insane.” You say bluntly, wind messing up your hair.
He hums, then smirks. “Am I?”
“Yes.”
“That sounds like your problem,” he says.
You laugh once—short, disbelieving. “No, it’s your problem, actually.”
He raises a brow slightly. “How so?”
“Because you’re—” you gesture vaguely at him, frustration creeping in now, “you’re acting like this is normal. Like you talking to me like this is just… casual. Like you’re not—”
You stop.
Because you don’t know how to finish that sentence without sounding ridiculous. You feel your heart race out of your chest, everything you have been feeling the past two weeks beginning to want to break free.
Then, softly:
“Not what?”
You shake your head slightly. “Never mind.”
All the half-looks. The way he keeps showing up. The way he keeps choosing to stay in the conversation instead of leaving it.
You let out a frustrated breath.
“Snap out of it,” you say suddenly, sharper than before.
He blinks once. “Out of what?”
“This,” you gesture between you. “Whatever this is. Because it doesn’t make sense.”
Jeonghan studies you for a second.
Then he takes one last drag, exhales slowly, and flicks ash away.
“You think I’m not serious?” he asks.
“I think—” you start, then stop, shaking your head again. “I think someone like you doesn’t just—decide to be interested in someone like me.”
The words land heavier than you meant them to. His expression doesn’t change drastically.
“Someone like me?” he repeats.
You cross your arms tighter. “You know what I mean.”
“I don’t think I do,” he says, dropping the cigarette on the ground and stomping it out as he takes a few steps closer to you, to the brick wall you are leaning against.
“You’re telling me to snap out of it,” he continues, “because you think I’m not allowed to want you.”
Your breath catches slightly.
He steps even closer, closer than you have ever been before. You can smell the smoke on his breath, lingering on his clothes.
“Or,” he adds, voice quieter now, “you’re the one who doesn’t want to believe I do.”
You let out a small, shaky breath, unsure of what to say.
Jeonghan doesn’t move away.
“I just—” you start, then stop immediately, shaking your head like you can physically reset your thoughts. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean?” he asks in basically a whisper now.
You open your mouth, yet nothing comes out. He’s too close for you to form any thoughts, other than the fact that you know you want him, and he called you out on it.
You finally form words, “I don’t know what you’re doing,” you try again, but it falls apart halfway through. “Or why you’re—why you’re like this with me.”
Jeonghan smiles at you, tilting your chin up so you can lock eyes with him.
Your breath catches immediately.
“Then stop thinking,” he says quietly.
You don’t have time to process before your eyes are closed and your lips are pressed to his. It feels as if everything went still.
He pulls back just slightly—barely enough to break the kiss, not enough to break the closeness.
His eyes are on you immediately, hungry, waiting to see what you have to say.
Jeonghan’s gaze softens slightly.
“You okay?” he asks quietly.
Two words, those two words, were enough to break you.
Saying nothing, your hand comes up to the neckline of his shirt and you pull him back in, harder this time, like you had been waiting for this.
Jeonghan makes a quiet sound of surprise against your mouth—barely there—but then he’s already responding, hand sliding back to steady you against the wall again as the distance disappears completely.
It’s not gentle now. It’s real in a way that feels like it’s been building since the first time he said your name in that alley outside the bar.
Your thoughts scatter completely, his hand at your waist, the press of him against you, the way he doesn’t pull away even when you’re the one who started it.
When you finally break for air, it’s only because you have to.
Your breath comes out uneven. So does his.
This is the first time you have ever seen him less composed.
After weeks of feeling like you were going crazy because of him, you feel like you have finally gotten to him this time.
“…Okay,” he murmurs, almost like he’s amused.
“Can we please go back to my apartment?” you ask, voice steadier than you feel, though your grip betrays you entirely.
His eyes flick to yours.
Then down to your hand.
Then back up.
A pause.
His hand slides from your cheek slowly, not leaving you entirely—just shifting down to catch your hand instead.
“Of course,” he says.
—----------------------------------------------------------------------------
The walk back feels unreal in a way you don’t know how to explain.
The city is darker now, softened by streetlights that spill across the sidewalks. The noise of everything feels far away, like you’re moving through a version of the world that doesn’t quite belong to anyone else.
Jeonghan walks beside you like he’s always been there, your fingers threaded together.
Every few minutes, one of you slows down without saying anything. You turn slightly, he does too, and suddenly you’re kissing, pressed against a wall or tucked into the shadow of a building or just standing too close in the middle of an otherwise empty stretch of sidewalk.
By the time your building comes into view, your pulse has stopped behaving like something that listens to reason. You don’t even think before pulling him inside.
You unlock your bedroom door, and push it open. There’s a shape still in your bed, the same as it was when you left. Blanket half-dragged onto the floor, one arm flopped over the edge.
“Vernon,” you say, dangerously calm.
No response.
You walk further in.
“Vernon.”
You stare at him for one more second.
Then inhale sharply.
“VERNON.”
“What—”
“If you’re going to sleep,” voice rising, “you need to do it on the couch!”
“…why are you yelling like that?”
You point towards Jeonghan, who is leaning up against the doorframe of your bedroom.
“…wait, is that Jeonghan?”
You close your eyes.
Jeonghan, completely unhelpful, raises a hand in a lazy little wave.
“…Oh,” he says.
“Yes… okay—bye! To the living room you go!” You point towards your bedroom door. Vernon wraps your blanket around him as he brushes past Jeonghan to enter the living room.
“Be… safe.” He sleepily mutters before Jeonghan softly closes the bedroom door behind him.
—---------------------------------------------------------------------
Things with Jeonghan became steady after that. Coffee turns into dinner. Dinner turns into “just come over for a bit.” “A bit” turns into late night stays and him stealing your hoodie and refusing to give it back because he likes to smell you “at all times.”
Vernon gets kicked out. A lot.
“Do you two even get any sleep when you stay over?,” he jokes to Jeonghan one morning after crashing on your couch, standing in your kitchen while you’re making coffee as Jeonghan leans against the counter playing with your hair.
“You could leave,” Jeonghan suggests mildly.
“I live here emotionally,” Vernon replies.
You don’t even argue anymore.
And then it’s one of Jeonghan’s shows. You’re standing near the front of the crowd this time when the set ends, lights still warm, noise still ringing in your chest.
The band is breathless, laughing, drenched in sweat and energy. Soonyoung obviously being the loudest of them all.
“THANK YOU EVERYONE—YOU’RE INSANE—WE LOVE YOU—”
Jeonghan barely says anything.
He’s already looking for you.
He hops down from the stage as soon as the set is up, weaving through equipment and crew, ignoring Soonyoung following behind him.
He gives you a kind kiss along with a “thank you for coming” when you are greeted with Soonyoung's kind… kind voice from behind.
“EWWW,” he yells. “GET A ROOM—WE JUST FINISHED A SET!”
Jeonghan doesn’t even look back, he just exhales a quiet laugh against your forehead.
—-------------------------------------------------------------------------
After the chaos settles a little, you find yourself near the side of the venue.
That’s when Seokmin approaches.
He’s still warm from the stage too, smile easy but softer now, more familiar.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hey,” you reply, a little surprised but glad to see him.
There’s a brief pause—comfortable, not awkward.
Then he scratches the back of his neck.
“I am really sorry about all of the confusion.” He explains.
Seokmin glances briefly toward where Jeonghan is talking to the others, then back to you.
“I asked you out because I thought you were really cool,” he admits. “And I still think that. But after we talked… when Jeonghan came to me.”
A pause.
“He said he was kind of into you. Like… really into you, and wanted to hang out with you. And I didn’t want to mess that up for him,” he says simply. “He’s my friend. And honestly… it was pretty obvious once he started acting like that around you.”
You let out a small breath, half laugh, half disbelief.
“That man is impossible,” you mutter.
Seokmin smiles. “Yeah. But I know you could probably deal with impossible.”
And when you look back toward Jeonghan again—
He’s already looking at you, like he never stopped.
You lock eyes with him giving him a soft smile and little wave, he returns the gesture.
And like that, everything has seemed to fall into place for the first time in your life.
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