your heart stopped. then raced.

you held your breath, slowly lifted his arm, and slipped out of bed. he stirred once, murmured something, then rolled over. you grabbed your phone and rushed to the bathroom, locking the door behind you.

you couldn't go back to sleep. you couldn't look at him. so you did the only thing your panicking brain could think of — you messaged karina.

three feet apart: ran away roommate

⋆⋆⋆ sypnosis: what started as a desperate living situation slowly becomes something else entirely. some feelings refuse to stay on one side of the room, and the only thing harder than admitting them is pretending they don’t exist when you’re sleeping three feet apart every single night.

⋆⋆⋆ taglist: @rixieisfreaky @winterbeartaehyungbestboy @banez @lingxio @sugu81

1:19 PM.

you groaned. not even noon—well, technically it was way past noon, but who was counting? it was sunday. sundays were made for rotting in bed. you were about to roll over and drift back into dreamland when you heard the soft shuffle of footsteps near the door.

your eyes landed on wonbin.

he was fully dressed—a light brown furry polo, a grey jacket over it, hair styled effortlessly messy. he looked like he'd been awake for hours, which he probably had. he was slipping his wallet into his back pocket, clearly on his way out.

you sat up, blankets pooling around your waist, hair a disaster.

"where are you going?" you asked, voice still thick with sleep.

wonbin turned at the sound of your voice, one eyebrow raised. a small smirk tugged at his lips. "good morning," he said, dragging out the words just enough to make it clear he was teasing. it was definitely not morning anymore.

you squinted at him. "shut up."

he chuckled softly, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. "grocery store. you need anything?"

you tilted your head, thoughts still waking up. you could just give him a list. that would be easy because you could go back to sleep. but then you thought about it—being alone in the dorm on a sunday afternoon, the same four walls, the same silence, the same old boredom you used to drown in before he started staying over. you used to do that all the time. lie in bed until the sun went down, scrolling mindlessly, waiting for the day to end.

"can i come with you?" the question slipped out before you could overthink it. wonbin blinked, clearly surprised. then his expression softened. "okay?"

you were already throwing your legs over the side of the bed. "but you have to wait for me to shower.

"okay, i don't mind."

"thirty minutes," you said, holding up three fingers like a promise and wonbin just nodded.

you hesitated, then added, "you can leave if i'm taking too long."

he looked at you then smiled. not a teasing smirk this time. a gentle one. "i won't leave. now go take your time."

he turned and sat back down on the edge of his bed, settling in like he had nowhere else to be. like waiting for you was exactly where he wanted to be.

you felt something warm bloom in your chest as you scrambled toward the bathroom.

you left the dorm together, the sunday afternoon air crisp and quiet. the streets weren't too busy—just a few couples walking hand in hand, families heading home from lunch, the occasional kid running ahead of their parents. you and wonbin walked side by side, not quite touching. you pulled out your phone to take a picture of your intertwined shadows on the ground. the way they overlapped, his taller frame beside yours, almost looked like something out of a movie.

"this is cute," you muttered to yourself, snapping the photo.

wonbin glanced over at your screen. "what are you doing?"

"posting a story," you said, already typing. then you paused and looked up at him. "wait, what's your instagram? i need to tag you."

wonbin just shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips. "@wonbin."

you typed it in, found his profile—a simple grid of random photos, mostly mirror pictures—and hit follow. then you tagged him in the story.

seconds later, your phone buzzed.

wonbin started following you.

the grocery store was mostly empty at this hour, which meant they could take their time. wonbin led the way down each aisle like he had a mental map, tossing things into the cart with quiet precision. you followed behind like a lost duckling, occasionally throwing in snacks that definitely weren't on the list.

at one point, an old halmeoni with kind eyes and a shopping basket of her own stopped near them. she watched for a moment as wonbin carefully compared two bottles of sesame oil, then looked at you with a knowing smile.

"oh, you two," the grandmother said, waving a hand between them. "so cute. how long have you been together?"

your eyes went wide. "oh—we're not—"

"six months," wonbin said smoothly, not even looking up from the sesame oil.

your head snapped toward him so fast you nearly gave yourself whiplash.

the halmeoni clasped her hands together, absolutely delighted. "oh, six months! still in the honeymoon phase, i can tell. look at how he watches you." she winked at you. "young love. my husband and i were like this too. now he just leaves his socks everywhere."

you let out a strangled laugh, face burning. "that's—we're really just—"

"she's shy," wonbin cut in, finally putting one of the oil bottles into the cart. he glanced at you, the ghost of a smile on his lips. "she gets embarrassed when people notice."

the grandmother patted your arm gently. "don't be shy, dear. a boy who goes grocery shopping with you on a sunday? that's a keeper."

she shuffled off with a final pleased nod, leaving you standing in the middle of the aisle, absolutely speechless.

you turned to wonbin, mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. "six months?!"

he shrugged, dropping a pack of mushrooms into the cart. "she looked like she wouldn't believe 'we're just dormmates.' easier this way."

"easier?!"

"it's not a big deal," he said, but the tips of his ears had gone slightly pink. he walked ahead, pushing the cart like he hadn't just short-circuited your entire brain.

you stood there for another three seconds before hurrying after him, your heart doing something stupid and fluttery in your chest.

you got back to the dorm as the sun was starting to dip lower in the sky, turning everything a soft shade of orange. groceries were unpacked, ingredients laid out on the counter, and the decision was made: kimchi jjigae for dinner.

you wanted to help. you really did. but the kitchen was small—too small for two people to move around comfortably, especially when one of them was you, who had a habit of being in the way.

so you did what any reasonable person would do.

you hopped onto the countertop.

"this is fine, right?" you asked, legs swinging as you watched wonbin wash the rice.

he glanced at you, a small huff of laughter escaping. "you're going to sit there and supervise?"

"i prefer the term 'moral support,' actually."

wonbin shook his head but didn't tell you to move. so you stayed, perched on the counter like a gremlin, watching him move around the tiny kitchen with surprising grace.

the kimchi jjigae was bubbling away on the stove, rich and red and smelling like heaven. wonbin had stepped away for a moment, disappearing toward the refrigerator to grab something. the kitchen felt emptier without him in it.

you, impatient and hungry and very bad at waiting, decided you couldn't take it anymore.

you dipped a spoon into the pot, blew on it once—barely—and put it in your mouth.

big mistake.

the heat hit your tongue like a firework explosion. you gasped, almost dropping the spoon, tears immediately prickling at the corners of your eyes. it was so hot. too hot. why was it so hot?!

"ah—hot, hot, hot—" you whimpered, fanning your mouth uselessly.

wonbin appeared beside you in an instant, a container of tofu in one hand. he took one look at your face—flushed, eyes watery, mouth slightly open as you tried to breathe through the burn—and immediately set the tofu down.

"did you taste it?" he asked, already grabbing a clean napkin.

"i just wanted to see if it was ready—"

"you couldn't wait thirty seconds?"

"it smelled so good—"

wonbin sighed, but it was the softest sigh you'd ever heard. he stepped close—right between your knees where you sat on the counter—and reached up to gently wipe the corner of your mouth with the napkin. his thumb brushed your lower lip through the paper, featherlight.

"stay still," he murmured, dabbing at another spot you hadn't even realized was messy.

you forgot how to breathe. he was so close. you could count his lashes if you wanted to. his hand was warm, steady, cradling your chin just slightly to keep you from moving.

"if you want to taste something," he said, voice low, "you ask me. okay? i'll check it for you."

you nodded, not trusting your voice. your heart was hammering so loud you were sure he could hear it.

wonbin's eyes flicked down to your lips for half a second—just a glance, so quick you almost missed it—before he pulled away and turned back to the stove like he hadn't just completely unraveled you.

you sat on the counter, face burning for an entirely different reason now, and tried very hard to act normal.

dinner was warm and filling and exactly what a sunday night should taste like. you ate in comfortable silence, the kind that didn't need to be filled with words, just the occasional clink of spoons against bowls and the satisfied hums of two people who'd made something good together.

well—wonbin had made it. you had sat on the counter and provided moral support and also set your tongue on fire. but it felt like together.

after the dishes were done, you insisted on washing, wonbin insisted on drying, you compromised by standing shoulder to shoulder at the sink. you grabbed a small bowl of orange and peaches from the fridge and washed them carefully, arranging them neatly in a bowl.

"okay," you said, bouncing on your heels slightly as you carried the fruit toward your bed. "i have a question. have you seen that drama everyone's talking about? when life gives you tangerines?"

wonbin followed you to your bed, watching as you fluffed the pillows, propped your laptop at the perfect angle, and placed the fruit bowl right in the middle where you both could reach.

"no," he said. "why?"

"because i haven't either, and i feel left out of every conversation right now. do you want to watch it with me?"

he looked at you for a long moment. then, simply: "okay."

you tried not to look too excited as you settled onto your bed. you patted the spot next to you. "get in."

wonbin sat down carefully, then leaned back against your pillows like he was trying not to take up too much space. but then you shifted closer, pulling a blanket over both of you, and he relaxed—just a little.

you opened your laptop and pressed play.

the drama played on screen—you were already deep into the later episodes now. the story had shifted to the next generation. the female lead, a young woman with quiet strength, was in the middle of a gut-wrenching confrontation with her boyfriend's mother.

you scoffed at the screen. "are you serious? he's just going to stand there like a statue?"

you turned to wonbin, eyes blazing.

"she's fighting for herself alone. look at him. he can't even look up. he can't even say anything. nothing. absolutely nothing. if my boyfriend did that i would simply walk out right then and there. like, what's the point of having a partner if they can't stand up for you when it matters?"

you paused.

wonbin hadn't responded.

you turned your head a little more.

his eyes were closed. his lashes fanned against his cheeks. his lips were slightly parted. his hand had fallen between you on the blanket, fingers loosely curled.

he was completely, utterly, peacefully asleep.

you stared at him.

you had just spent the last five minutes passionately explaining the entire emotional arc of the drama. you had used hand gestures. and he had heard exactly none of it.

"are you kidding me?" you whispered to no one.

you glared at his sleeping face. he didn't even flinch. just kept breathing softly like some kind of angel who had committed the crime of abandoning you mid-drama rant.

"i cannot believe you," you muttered, but your voice was already losing its edge. it was hard to stay annoyed when he looked like that. annoying. he was so annoying.

you watched him for another moment—the way his forehead was completely smoothed out, no worries, no walls. just him. just wonbin, asleep in your bed like he belonged there.

you sighed. a soft, defeated, fond sort of sigh.

"you snore a little, just so you know," you said quietly, even though he couldn't hear you.

you thought about the day—how it had started with you waking up at 1pm like a complete menace, and how wonbin had been awake for hours before that, waiting patiently. he had waited for you to get ready, walked with you to the grocery store, pushed the cart, picked out everything, paid for everything, carried the bags back, cooked dinner, cleaned up after. he had done almost all the work while you sat on the counter and provided questionable moral support.

it had been a long day for you, sure. but it had been an even longer day for him.

and yet, here he was. asleep in your bed. not complaining. not leaving. just... staying.

your heart swelled with something warm and heavy and terrifyingly sweet.

you didn't have the heart to wake him. not when he looked so peaceful. not when he had done so much today and asked for nothing in return. so instead, you carefully reached over and closed your laptop, the soft click filling the quiet room. you moved the fruit bowl to your nightstand for the morning, then fluffed the pillow next to his just enough to make yourself comfortable.

then, very, very carefully—as if he might shatter if you moved too fast—you reached for the blanket and pulled it higher over him. you tucked it around his shoulders first, gentle and slow, making sure he was covered. your fingers brushed against his arm for just a second, and you froze, holding your breath, praying he wouldn't wake up.

he didn't.

you let out the tiniest sigh of relief and continued tucking the blanket around him, smoothing it over his chest, tucking it under his free hand so he wouldn't get cold. every movement was deliberate, careful, featherlight. you moved like you were defusing a bomb. like the most important thing in the world was making sure he stayed asleep and comfortable.

when you were finally satisfied that he was properly tucked in, you laid down beside him, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his body but not close enough to touch. your head found its place on your own pillow, and for a long moment, you just lay there, staring at the ceiling, listening to him breathe.

the sunday night was quiet. two hearts beat side by side, one already dreaming, the other wide awake and smiling at the ceiling like an idiot.

you turned your head slightly, just to look at him one more time. his lashes. his lips. the way his hair fell across his forehead. the tiny peaceful sound he made when he breathed out.

he deserved to rest. he had earned this.

you could wake him. you should wake him. he had his own bed.

but you didn't.

instead, you let your eyes close, let your body relax into the mattress, let yourself pretend—just for tonight—that this was how every sunday was supposed to end.

you smiled to yourself, soft and secret, and finally drifted off.

three feet apart: not-so-date

⋆⋆⋆ sypnosis: what started as a desperate living situation slowly becomes something else entirely. some feelings refuse to stay on one side of the room, and the only thing harder than admitting them is pretending they don’t exist when you’re sleeping three feet apart every single night.

⋆⋆⋆ taglist: @rixieisfreaky @winterbeartaehyungbestboy @banez @lingxio @wenoberry @jijiyi @tonddostar

⋆⋆⋆ note: i forgot my password...

three feet apart: the invasion

⋆⋆⋆ sypnosis: what started as a desperate living situation slowly becomes something else entirely. some feelings refuse to stay on one side of the room, and the only thing harder than admitting them is pretending they don’t exist when you’re sleeping three feet apart every single night.

⋆⋆⋆ taglist: @rixieisfreaky @winterbeartaehyungbestboy @banez @lingxio @wenoberry @jijiyi @tonddostar

three feet apart: boyfriend material

⋆⋆⋆ sypnosis: what started as a desperate living situation slowly becomes something else entirely. some feelings refuse to stay on one side of the room, and the only thing harder than admitting them is pretending they don’t exist when you’re sleeping three feet apart every single night.

⋆⋆⋆ taglist: @rixieisfreaky @winterbeartaehyungbestboy @banez @lingxio @wenoberry @jijiyi

then you hear water hitting tile and remember—wonbin. boy. shower. your bathroom.

you sit up so fast your head spins. your hand flies to your hair—messy. your face—probably puffy. you look like you just crawled out of a dumpster and he's about to see you like this. your heart is doing something stupid. you tell yourself it's because you're not a morning person. it's not because a boy is in your bathroom. definitely not.

the shower stops.

silence.

then footsteps. the bathroom door opens. steam curls out into the room, catching the morning light.

and then he appears.

wonbin emerges in a cloud of humidity, a towel around his neck, hair damp and sticking to his forehead in dark strands. his face is slightly flushed from the heat, cheeks pink, lips still wet. his white t-shirt clings to his shoulders—those shoulders—and his gray sweatpants hang low on his hips. water drips from his hair down his neck. down his collarbone. the golden morning light hits his face and you forget how to breathe.

he looks soft. morning-soft.

illegally soft.

your brain short-circuits.

he freezes when he sees you sitting up in bed, your hair a bird's nest, your eyes probably still sleepy, your oversized t-shirt hanging off one shoulder. you must look insane.

for a moment, you just stare at each other across the room. the morning light hangs between you.

"good morning," he says quietly. his voice is deeper in the morning. rougher. your stomach does a backflip.

"you're up early," you manage, your voice hoarse. you clear your throat like it'll help. it doesn't.

"i'm always awake at seven."

"wonbin, it's 6:45." he shrugs, and the movement makes his t-shirt shift across his chest. "woke up early today. first day nerves."

you nod slowly. you understand. your stomach is doing flips too, though you're not sure if it's from first day nerves or from the way his hair is still dripping. or from the way he's looking at you right now like you're the one who looks nice. which you don't. you look like a disaster.

stop looking at him, you scream internally.

"i'm gonna take a shower," you announce, swinging your legs out of bed a little too dramatically. you grab your towel and clutch it like a shield.

he nods, still not quite looking at you. his eyes are fixed somewhere near your feet. "yeah. i'm done anyway. bathroom is all yours."

there's a pause. neither of you moves.

"okay then," you say. "okay," he echoes.

you shuffle toward the bathroom, hyperaware of his presence behind you. you can feel his eyes on your back. or maybe you're imagining it. you're probably imagining it. when you glance back, he's turned toward the window, his back to you, giving you space. the morning light outlines his shoulders.

you look away quickly and disappear into the bathroom, closing the door behind you. you lean against it for a moment, pressing your hand to your chest. your heart is pounding.

it's your first time having a roommate, you tell yourself. and it's a boy. of course your heart would pound. anyone would feel the same. this is normal. this is fine. you take a deep breath. then another.

you're just not used to this yet. that's all. you're slowly learning how to live with someone new. give it time. a few days, maybe a week, and this will feel normal. you won't even notice him anymore.

you nod at your reflection in the mirror.

this will be okay. you almost believe it.

when you come out, wonbin is sitting on his bed, fully dressed in black jeans and a fitted long-sleeve shirt. his hair is styled now—pushed back from his forehead, exposing his eyebrows, his eyes. he looks clean. sharp. put together

he looks... different. you ignore the thought and focus on getting ready.

you dry your hair. do your skincare. pick out an outfit—cropped sweater, high-waisted jeans, platform sneakers. you check yourself in the mirror, adjusting your hair, your clothes.

in the reflection, you catch wonbin glancing at you. his eyes dart away every time you move, but he keeps looking back. like he can't help it. like you're a magnet and he's metal.

you don't say anything. neither does he.

the silence between you is thick. it is not uncomfortable. it's like something is hanging in the air that neither of you knows how to name.

finally, grabbing your bag, you say, "i'm heading out first."

wonbin looks up to you, "okay."

you pause at the door. something feels unfinished. you're roommates now. you should have some kind of... system. a way to communicate without being weird about it.

you turn back. "i left my number on the fridge."

wonbin blinks. "you did?"

"yeah. on a sticky note. you can text me there if anything happens. i don't want to talk to 'binnie' on kakaotalk." you say it lightly, a small smirk tugging at your lips as if teasing him like you're reminding him of his lie without actually being mad about it anymore. "brings back bad memories, you know?"

his ears go pink. he looks almost embarrassed. but there's a tiny smile there too. it's small. shy. endearing.

"noted," he says quietly. "no 'binnie.'"

"just wonbin is fine." you said and he nods with an embarrassed smile. "okay. just wonbin."

you hold up a finger. "about the dorm only, though." you add the last part firmly. "this isn't a friendship thing."

he nods slowly, his expression unreadable. but his eyes are soft. "dorm only."

you gesture to the refrigerator. "also, my class schedules are there. you can print yours and put it up too. so we know when the other is using the study desk. or the bathroom. or whatever."

wonbin gets up and walks to the kitchenette. his bare feet are quiet on the floor. sure enough, there's a pink sticky note on the refrigerator door with your number written in your handwriting.

he stares at it for a moment. longer than necessary.

"you have nice handwriting," he says quietly.

you blink. "what?"

"your handwriting. it's neat." he glances back at you, and his eyes are warm.

your face heats up. is he complimenting your handwriting? is that a thing people do?

"thanks?" you say. it comes out like a question and also a little breathless.

he just nods and turns back to the fridge, like he didn't just say something that made your stomach flip. but the corner of his mouth is turned up.

you shake your head, smiling despite yourself. "okay. well. text me if you need anything. print your schedule. good luck on your first day."

you open the door.

"good luck to you too," he says. his voice is soft. like he actually means it.

you leave without looking back. because if you look back, you might say something stupid. like "you have nice everything."

wonbin stands in the kitchenette for a moment, staring at the pink sticky note. he takes out his phone and saves your number. he types your name carefully.

three feet apart: not a friendship thing

⋆⋆⋆ sypnosis: what started as a desperate living situation slowly becomes something else entirely. some feelings refuse to stay on one side of the room, and the only thing harder than admitting them is pretending they don’t exist when you’re sleeping three feet apart every single night.

⋆⋆⋆ taglist: @rixieisfreaky @winterbeartaehyungbestboy @banez @lingxio

knock. knock. knock.

three slow knocks. deliberate. like whoever's on the other side has been practicing.

your heart stops. then restarts at double speed. you throw your phone down. wipe your palms on your sweatpants. nearly tripped while crossing the room.

relax, you hiss at yourself. it's just your new roommate. you talked online. they seemed nice. they already paid the deposit.

but your friends' warnings echo in your head. wonbin is a boy's name. you told yourself they were wrong and that names don't have genders.

but deep down, you knew.

you knew.

and yet, you kept hoping. kept praying. kept telling yourself that maybe—just maybe—wonbin was a girl. a girl with a boyish name. it happens. it's possible. the universe wouldn't do this to you.

right?

right?

you take a breath. you open the door and the universe laughs in your face because standing there is not a her.

it's a him.

tall. sharp jaw. full lips pressed into a nervous line. black cap pulled low over his eyes.

and his shoulders.

god, his shoulders are really broad.

you've never seen shoulders like this in real life. they're so wide they have their own gravity. you're pretty sure he had to turn sideways to get through the building entrance. one duffel bag slung over his shoulder like it weighs nothing. rolled-up papers tucked under his arm, looks like a sketchbook pages. honestly, with shoulders like that, he probably wrote the book on shoulder workouts. 

he looks... illegal. wait. no. that's not the point.

he's a boy. your friends were right. you're an idiot.

"oh," you hear yourself say. your voice sounds weird. distant. like it's coming from someone else. "i think you knocked on the wrong room."

you say it like a prayer. like if you say it firmly enough, the universe will hit rewind and fix this joke.

the boy doesn't move. just stands there, cap shielding his eyes. you watch his adam's apple bob as he swallows.

"it's me," he says quietly. almost apologetically. like he's breaking bad news. "binnie."

he lifts his head. just enough for you to catch his eyes.

worried. tired. sad. apologetic.

not a look of exhaustion from partying or staying up late. something deeper. something that looks like he's been carrying something heavy for a days. like he's sorry for even existing in your doorway.

"wonbin." he paused. the kind where you can hear your own heartbeat.

"i'm sorry."

you don't speak. you can't. your mouth has forgotten how to form words.

he rushes now, like he's been rehearsing this in his head for hours. "i'm in desperate need of a dorm. everything is full or too far from campus or too expensive. i applied to the school dorms months ago and i'm still on a waitlist. i'm from ulsan and commuting isn't possible every day. school will start soon and i had nowhere else to go."

then he takes a shaky breath. "i saw your post. i know i should have told you before i paid. but i thought—i was scared you would reject me if you knew early. so i waited. i'm sorry."

"i promise i will strictly obey your rules. every single one. no smoking. no overnight guests without permission. i'll clean up after myself. i'll stay out of your way. i just—" his voice drops lower.

he stops. swallows hard. "i need somewhere to stay."

silence.

your brain is a war zone.

he's a boy. your friends were right. you should close the door.

but look at his eyes. he looks scared. he looks like he's been rejected before. he looks sorry.

he lied to you.

but he's apologizing. he looks like he means it.

he's kind of hot.

NO. stop. not relevant.

he's still standing there. you should say something. ANYTHING.

"come in first," you say finally, your voice flat.

you step aside. wonbin's shoulders drop—relief, maybe, or pure exhaustion—and he nods once. he steps over the threshold, duffel bag brushing against the doorframe, and suddenly he's inside your room.

your room. your very pink, fairy-light-covered, squishmallow-filled, i-am-a-girly-girl room. he looks around. takes it in. the fairy lights strung across the ceiling. the vase of fake flowers on your nightstand. the mountain of plushies on your bed. he doesn't say anything. his face is impressively blank. you close the door and the click feels final. like the sound of a jail cell closing. or maybe a start of a rom-com movie. you can't decide which.

you lean against the door, arms crossed, watching him. he's still standing in the middle of the room like he's afraid to touch anything. his duffel bag sits at his feet. his blueprints are clutched to his chest like a shield.

"you should have told me," you sigh.

he looks at the floor. "i know."

"my friends told me wonbin was a boy's name. i told them they were wrong."

he winces. "they weren't wrong."

he looks up at you, bracing himself. "are they going to be mad? at you?"

you think about it. karina would probably just say i told you so a hundred times while winter cackled in the background. they wouldn't be mad. they'd be insufferable.

"they're going to be annoying about it," you say finally. "but they'll get over it."

wonbin looks relieved when you said that, "i thought they'd want to kill me."

"they might want to meet you first. then decide."

he swallows. "that's not better."

you almost smile. "probably not."

"okay," you say. "here's the deal."

wonbin straightens up like a soldier called to attention.

"you stay. but—" you hold up a finger. "rule one: no lying. ever again. if i ask you something, you tell me the truth. i don't care how embarrassing. you cry at something, you tell me. you have a secret plushie collection, you tell me."

he nods quickly. "okay."

"rule two: respect my space. my side of the room is my side. don't touch my stuff without asking. don't look at me weird when i'm doing face masks at 2am. i know i look like a swamp creature. keep it to yourself."

"i wouldn't—"

"rule three: keep the common areas clean. i'm not your maid. if you make a mess, you clean it up. if you leave dishes in the sink, i will find them and i will put them on your pillow."

his eyes widen. "understood."

"rule four: no bringing people over without asking first. i don't care if it's your mom or the president. you ask. i say yes or no. that's it. no arguments."

"okay."

"rule five—" you pause. you weren't planning on a rule five. but his eyes are so wide and earnest and honestly, "rule five," you say quickly, "don't be weird."

he looks genuinely confused. "what do you mean?"

"you'll know it when you do it. and then i'll tell you. and then you'll stop."

he nods slowly. "okay. i can do that."

you uncross your arms. the knot in your stomach loosens slightly. "fine. put your stuff down. i'll show you where everything is."

wonbin sets his duffel bag on the spare bed—his bed now, which is a weird thing to think about—and follows you around the tiny dorm like a lost puppy. a tall, annoyingly handsome, unfairly wide-shouldered lost puppy.

you stop at the closet. "this is the closet. the only closet."

you open it.

and immediately want to close it again.

it's a disaster zone. a crime scene. dresses and jackets and jeans crammed together in a chaotic mess. a scarf dangling from the top shelf like it's trying to escape.

wonbin stares. his face is carefully neutral. but you see the slight twitch in his eyebrow.

"i was going to clean it before someone moved in," you mutter defensively.

"it's okay."

"it's not okay. it's a disaster."

he shakes his head. "no, really. it's fine. i don't need much space."

you glance at him. then at his duffel bag. then back at the closet. guilt tugs at your chest.

you sigh. "let me clear out some space for you."

you start pulling things out—dresses, blouses, jackets—creating a pile on your bed. you work quickly, trying not to think about how he's watching you.

after a few minutes, you step back. "okay. this is your side."

wonbin looks at the space. then at his bag. then back at the space.

he hesitates. "uh... it's a little small."

you look at it. "it's not that small."

he gestures vaguely at his shoulders. "it's just... these things take up more space than you'd think."

you stare at him. then at his shoulders. then back at the closet.

he's right.

"are you serious right now?"

he looks apologetic. "i'm sorry. i don't know how to say it without sounding like i'm bragging."

"your shoulders are literally too big for my closet."

he winces. "when you say it like that, it sounds worse."

you burst out laughing. wonbin stands there, ears turning pink. "sorry," you manage. "sorry, it's just—who has this problem?"

"the hangers will get stuck," he adds quietly. and that sends you over the edge.

when you finally calm down, you wipe your eyes and look at the closet again. "okay. let me think."

you stare at the space. your side is full. his shoulders are wide.

"i don't know how to fix this," you think out loud. "it's either two separate spaces—which isn't working because your shoulders exists—or we mix everything together."

you say it like a joke and wonbin doesn't laugh.

"i'm okay with mixing," he says quietly.

you blink. "what?"

he shrugs, avoiding your eyes. "mixing. together. if it makes more space, i don't mind."

you stare at him. "you don't mind your clothes touching mine?"

he shakes his head. "no."

pause. even quieter, "but... are you okay with it?"

he looks at you then. really looks. "i'm a guy. your clothes are... yours. i don't want to make you uncomfortable."

your face heats up. you wave your hands, flustered. "don't make it awkward, what the hell?"

his eyes widen. "i wasn't trying to—"

"you're being all thoughtful and weird. just—we do this or you get out."

you point at the closet. "decision. now. and your shoulders won't get my vote."

a tiny smile tugs at his lips. "we mix."

then you start reorganizing. your blouses next to his t-shirts. his hoodies sandwiched between your jackets. at one point, you both reach for the same hanger. your fingers brush. for a split second, neither of you moves. then you yank your hand back like you've been burned.

"sorry," you both say at the same time. you stare at each other. then both look away.

your heart is doing something stupid in your chest. which is ridiculous, because you've seen guys before. thousands of them. in hallways, in classrooms, in coffee shops, on campus, on the street. you've walked past them without a second glance. you've sat next to them without your pulse doing anything weird. so why does it feel different?

"you go first," he says quietly.

"no, you go first."

"i insist."

"this is not a competition, wonbin."

he pauses. it's the first time you've said his name. his ears go pink. "okay." he reaches for the hanger.

the moment passes. but you feel it lingering. your clothes keep mixing. his black t-shirt next to your pink cardigan. his gray hoodie folded on top of your favorite sweater. it looks like a couple's closet.

you swallow. "this is weird, right?"

he doesn't look at you. "a little."

"more than a little."

he pauses. "do you want me to separate them?"

you look at the closet. mixed together. strange. intimate. not what you signed up for. but also... kind of nice. everything fits together. like it was meant to be this way.

you sigh. "no. leave it. your shoulders won anyway."

he almost smiles. "my shoulders didn't mean to cause trouble."

"they are menaces." you said. he laughs. quiet and brief, but real. and it does something to your stomach.

when you're done, you step back. you can't tell where your side ends and his begins. it's just... yours.

"this is insane," you mutter. he stands beside you. close. closer than you realized. you can feel the warmth coming off him.

"maybe," he says.

"i can't believe i'm sharing a closet with a boy and his giant shoulders."

you turn to look at him. he's already looking at you. there's a gentle smile on his face—small, careful, like he's trying not to make it obvious. but his eyes give it away. soft. grateful. like he can't believe you let him stay.

the lights catch the edges of his face. his eyes look softer now. less worried. less sad.

you look away first. "don't get used to it."

"okay." his voice is gentle.

you move to the study desk. one desk. one chair. one lamp. two people.

you stare at it. "okay. this is a problem."

"we can buy another desk."

"do you have money for another desk?"

he pauses. "not really."

"same." you both stare at the desk.

"what if we schedule it?" you suggest.

"schedule?"

"yeah. like, you use it in the mornings, i use it at night. something like that."

wonbin considers this. "i usually work on campus until late night."

"graphic design. i do my best work at 3am."

wonbin almost smiles. "so... you take nights. i take days," he says.

you nod. "that could work."

later, you show him the bathroom. it's small but not really small. the sink is tiny. the shower is basically a small space for a tall guy like him. you feel guilty, again.

wonbin peers inside, his broad shoulders filling the entire doorway. he looks at the tiny ledge above the sink—already crowded with your toothbrush, face wash, and various bottles.

"where do i put my things?" he asks.

you point to the opposite wall. "there."

he follows your finger. "that's a wall."

"it's a wall with a hook. i have an extra one. you can hang your towel there."

he stares at the wall. then at you. then back at the wall. he sighs. but he doesn't argue. you explain the shower situation, warn him about the weird noise the pipes make at night, and show him where the extra toilet paper is stored.

"any questions?" you ask.

"maybe none" he shrugs but he is thinking, really thinking where to put his bathroom stuffs. he thinks maybe he'll just figure it out.

you nod. "okay. let's go back—"

you both turn to leave at the exact same time.

the doorway is narrow. too narrow for two people.

you move left. he moves right. you bump into each other.

you move right. he moves left. you bump into each other again.

and then, suddenly, you're face to face. chest to chest. his body blocks the entire exit. you can feel the heat radiating off him. you can smell his cologne—something clean and faintly woodsy.

you look up. he looks down. neither of you moves. for a moment, neither of you breathes.

his eyes are dark in the low light. his lips part slightly, like he's about to say something. you don't wait to find out what. you duck under his arm and slip out of the bathroom before he can react.

"bathroom tour over," you announce, your voice way too high. "you're on your own from here."

you don't look back. but you can feel his eyes on you as you walk away. your heart is pounding and you hate your heart.

later that night, wonbin sits on his bed, scrolling through his phone and you on your bed, pretending to read a textbook.

you're not reading. you're watching him.

your phone buzzes.

you put your phone down, not wanting to read your friends insufferable comments.

across the room, wonbin shifts on his bed. you hear him take a breath—like he's about to say something—and then let it out again.

you look up and he's looking at you.

"thank you," he says quietly.

"for what?" you raise an eyebrow, arms still crossed. your voice comes out cool, controlled. you want him to know you're not soft. you want him to remember that you're the one in charge here. that you let him stay out of desperation, not kindness. that you're not the kind of person who catches feelings for a stranger with sad eyes and shoulders that don't fit through doorframes.

he hesitates, like your tone caught him off guard. "for not closing the door."

you stare at him. the fairy lights cast soft shadows across his face. his eyes are worried and apologetic. but there's something else there too. something grateful.

"i was about to AND don't thank me yet," you say finally. "i'll wait a week to decide if i'm keeping you."

his lips twitch. not quite a smile. "a week?"

"a week," you repeat. "seven days. one hundred and sixty-eight hours. consider it a trial period."

"that's very specific."

"well i'm a very specific person." he nods slowly, like he's accepting a challenge. "okay. one week."

you turn away first. because you're the one who ends conversations in this room. not him.

you turn off your lamp. the room goes dark except for the fairy lights. in the darkness, you hear him shift on his bed. you hear him sigh. and then, just when you're about to fall asleep, you hear him whisper,

"goodnight, y/n."

your heart flips. you don't say anything back. but you're smiling into your pillow.

outside, the city hums.

inside the tiny dorm, two strangers share a small space that suddenly feels a little less empty. one of them lied. the other let them stay anyway. a film student and a graphic design student, sharing a room and a week that neither of them knows is only the beginning.

the fairy lights flicker. and somewhere in the middle of the night, between the glow of the lights and the sound of two people learning to exist in the same small room, something settles. something both of them will figure out in time.

there's no rush.

just the quiet awareness that this arrangement—strange, unexpected, slightly chaotic—might not be a disaster after all.

neither of them knows what tomorrow will bring.

but for tonight?

tonight, it's enough that they are both still here, settled.

waiting for whatever comes next.

three feet apart: my friends were right

⋆⋆⋆ sypnosis: what started as a desperate living situation slowly becomes something else entirely. some feelings refuse to stay on one side of the room, and the only thing harder than admitting them is pretending they don’t exist when you’re sleeping three feet apart every single night.

⋆⋆⋆ taglist: @rixieisfreaky @winterbeartaehyungbestboy @banez

three feet apart: introduction

⋆⋆⋆ sypnosis: what started as a desperate living situation slowly becomes something else entirely. some feelings refuse to stay on one side of the room, and the only thing harder than admitting them is pretending they don’t exist when you’re sleeping three feet apart every single night.

⋆⋆⋆ note: the idea just pops out of nowhere because i'm thinking of renting a dorm for my review 😂 and it's my first time writing so i hope i'm funny also!! timestamps and dates doesn't matter

⋆⋆⋆ sypnosis: what started as a desperate living situation slowly becomes something else entirely. some feelings refuse to stay on one side of the room, and the only thing harder than admitting them is pretending they don’t exist when you’re sleeping three feet apart every single night.

⋆⋆⋆ pairing: park wonbin x reader

⋆⋆⋆ genre: romance, comedy, fluff, drama, college au, roommate au

⋆⋆⋆ status: on-going

⋆⋆⋆ author's note: first wonbin smau out of boredom and my fleeting thoughts 🙏🏻 will probably contain mature content, i hope i finish this but i probably will because my brain is very excited about the idea hahaha might just take some time bear with me pls and it's my first time writing an au

chapters:

★ introduction

★ one: my friends were right

★ two: not a friendship thing

★ three: boyfriend material

★ four: the invasion