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[skz] how you find out about his feelings for you

pairing: maknae line x reader hyung line here! genre: fluff (felix, seungmin, i.n), angsty (han, i.n) wc: 4.2k (around 1k each) lei's library masterlist!

a/n: happy karma release day <3

Han - Confession

Everyone knows Han likes you. He’s not subtle about it.

Han has threatened everybody within an inch of their life if they tell you - which, quite frankly, creates some endearingly awkward scenarios the other members would rather not experience again.

First, there was the “meet-cute incident,” as Felix calls it. Han and Felix were walking down an empty hallway, not really paying attention to their surroundings. You had barreled around the corner, straight into Han’s chest. His coffee crashed to the ground. Your papers landed in the coffee. But, Han caught you as you fell, and held you dipped mid-air. He stared into your eyes “for a weirdly long time” - again, Felix’s words. You seemed like you were going to say something, but then-

He dropped you. And scrambled away like he caught flame.

Nobody would have believed Felix’s retelling of the events, if not for the way Han’s cheeks get pink and he refuses to talk about it when anyone brings it up.

Second, there was the night you were supposed to accompany everyone to a group dinner. Han had already ordered by the time you cancelled extremely last-minute. As the night progressed and everyone finished up, Changbin noticed Han’s still full plate. So, naturally, he called him on it. Loudly, “Hey man, I thought you said you were starving?”

Han barely shrugged, avoiding eye contact. “Didn’t really like it,” He poked around the food and took a small bite, mainly to avoid further questioning. It didn’t work.

“But you get that every time?” Minho asked. At this point, all eyes were on Han.

Seungmin pieced it together before anyone else. “I know who likes that, and who comes with us every time,” he announced with a smirk.

Hyunjin was next. “Oh my god. Do you get that just so she can eat off your plate?”

The table descended into teasing as Han desperately tried to defend himself. But how could he defend himself from the truth? He did only order that to look out for you, since you never like what you get and end up trading with him anyway.

Third, and most damning of all, there was the time Han accidentally texted the group chat when he meant to text you. Everyone got the Goodnight Y/N, sleep well ❤�� notification while Han was sitting in the same room. They would not let him live it down.

Goodnight Y/N became the group’s new way of saying bye to each other, for way longer than necessary for the joke to become stale.

So how in the world do you not know about Han’s feelings? Han himself is confused about that too. Regardless, he is determined to get over himself and to confess to you. Today. Otherwise, he’ll chicken out, and who knows when he’ll get the courage again?

You are supposed to be at his dorm in the next few minutes. Han is camped in front of the mirror until then, fixing the same strand of hair over and over again with shaky hands. He almost starts to run through his planned script again, but he’s interrupted by a knock at the door.

This is it.

Heart pounding, he swings open the door to face you. He’s met with your wide smile and can’t help himself from smiling back. If you’re that happy to see him, that must mean you like him back, right? If he can just tell you, he can finally be yours. His knees are about to buckle.

“I have something to tell you!” You exclaim, pressing a hand into his chest as you move past him into the apartment.

His face is hot. He falters for a second before responding, “Me too.”

You’re standing in front of him now, your smile somehow having grown wider. You’re practically vibrating. Han’s going to bail any second now. He has to get this out.

“Me first,” you both say at the same time, then laugh together. Yours is excited, if somewhat nervous. His is a little too loud.

“You go first,” he says quickly. Nerves are eating him alive.

“No, you go!” You protest.

This is actually it.

With a deep sigh, stalling as long as he can, Han looks at you. You’re eagerly watching him. He can no longer remember the words he practiced in the mirror. He opens his mouth, and, “IlikeyousomuchandIwantustobemorethanfriends,” spills out. That definitely isn’t how he scripted it, but it’s out there now and there’s nothing he can do about it.

“What?”

Another deep breath. He just has to power through. You didn’t reject him, so either you didn’t hear him or you feel the same way. He’s hoping to god for the latter. “I like you so much, Y/N. I have for a long time. I invited you here to tell you.”

Your smile is slipping as he keeps talking, but he can’t stop himself. “And I completely understand if you don’t feel the same,” he has to stop his voice from cracking at that. “But if you feel anything in return, I’d love to be your boyfriend.”

You’re staring at him with an expression he’s never seen on you before - shocked, with pity glittering in your eyes. He wants to move on. He wants you to forget he ever said anything.

Silence hangs like dead weight.

He can’t look at your face anymore. He picks a spot on the rug and stares at it.

Every second that passes knifes him in the heart.

“I…” you start, then trail off. “I already have a boyfriend.”

Huh? His head snaps up so fast he’ll definitely have neck pain later.

“That’s what I was going to tell you.” He can barely hear you, almost like you don’t want to vocalize it. Your eyes are trained on the floor. “He asked me yesterday.”

Oh.

“I should.. I should go.”

He nods. Blood roars in his ears. He watches you take a few steps towards the door and gently pull it open. Before you close it behind you, you look back at him. “Bye, Jisung. I’m sorry.��

Felix - Text Messages

Your phone screen blinks once, then dies in your hands. Your face twists in annoyance in the reflection of the all-too-familiar black screen. “Ughh,” you groan, “I was about to beat that level, too!” The phone drops on the couch with a thud, adding unnecessary drama to your effusion.

“You know, you really should start carrying a phone charger,” Felix says from his spot on the practice room floor. “Or at least charge your phone above 30%.”

His comment doesn’t deserve a response - both of you know neither of those things is going to happen.

Unfortunately, the dancers’ five-minute break is now over. “Alright, let’s run it from the top! Places everyone,” the choreographer announces to the room.

Their statement is met with a cacophony of groans and muttered curses. Felix pushes himself up with a grimace that surely matches your own. Everyone has lost count of the amount of times you have run this routine today. Other backup dancers are talking about the logistics behind staging a coup. Their discussions are getting more serious as the hours stretch on.

You tuck your phone into your bag and take your starting position.

The routine goes disastrously. Not even thirty seconds in, someone stomps on your foot and yells out, “Sorry!”. White-hot pain radiates through you, but you keep pushing. A minute later, Felix misses his mark, gets too close to the dancer, and ends up smacking him in the face while raising his arms. He doesn’t apologize.

The music switches off. “What was that?” The choreographer’s voice booms. They don’t wait for an answer, they never do. “That was terrible! What happened? Did everyone forget how to dance?”

Again, they are not expecting an answer, but Han gives one anyway. “We’ve been doing this for hours. Let us go home,” he says under his breath.

Hushed quietness overtakes the room. You and Felix share a quick glance. He narrows his eyes at your stance, leaning heavily on your not-stomped-on leg. The atmosphere reminds you of elementary school, when a kid would talk back to the teacher and make everyone uncomfortable.

Any of the backup dancers would already be out on the street if they used that tone with them. However, if they bite back at Stray Kids, there is a very real possibility they will not be able to return tomorrow. The fight was over before it began.

The silence lasts a few more seconds, the choreographer trying to hold on to any power they still have. “Alright. Be back tomorrow morning, same time,” they eventually say.

Nearly everyone else grabs their stuff and scampers out the door before they can be told otherwise. You don’t. You sink down to the ground where you were once standing - muscles aching, pain pulsing in your foot, and craving nothing more than some floor time. You shut your eyes against the fluorescent lights.

A presence lays down next to you. Opening your eyes again, you see Felix also spread out as much as his muscles will allow, head lolled to the side to look at you.

He waits until the last person leaves to say anything. “You okay?” he murmurs. “The fucker got you pretty good.”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you give an experimental roll of your foot. The pain’s already reduced to a dull throbbing. “I didn’t think anyone noticed it, actually.”

He snorts. “I noticed.” Then, quieter, "I notice everything about you.” His words seem much more intimate in the empty room. He shakes his head, as if ridding himself of a thought, then continues on, smiling, “I don’t think I have the strength to get up.”

“Me neither,” you agree, still hung up on his earlier statement. I notice everything about you?

In the same way you notice everything about him?

In the same way you notice when he’s been in the sun because his freckles are more prominent? In the same way you notice when he’s in pain because he walks just a bit stiffer, even when he’s trying to hide it?

He interrupts your train of thought. “Hey, could you do me a favor and text Seungmin I’ll be late back? I want to stay motionless for a while.”

“My phone’s dead.”

“Use mine.”

“I’m selling this story to Dispatch,” you tease, already getting up to grab his phone from across the room. “Stray Kids’s Lee Felix demands injured nameless backup dancer send his texts for him.”

You reach his phone, still resting where he tossed it on the couch earlier. It unlocks easily - his password is your birth date, a joke suggestion that he took seriously - and you open his texts with Seungmin. Hey this is Y/N, you begin to type, but your name already on screen catches your eye.

Felix is still on the ground, stretching his back, facing away from you.

You begin to read.

Felix: Y/N’s driving me crazy She’s constantly around

Your heart drops, but you continue reading, sick curiosity getting the best of you.

Felix: And I don’t think I can stand it much longer

Seungmin: So stop being a baby and just tell her

Felix: You know I can’t

Seungmin: Then stop complaining

Felix: Ignoring that, gonna complain some more Another dancer has been staring at her all morning I’m about to break his kneecaps

What?

Looking up from the screen, you see Felix still running through his stretches.

Seungmin: No you’re not You would sooner ask him politely to stop staring at the girl you’re in love with and say “yes sir” when he refuses

It takes you a second to realize “the girl you’re in love with” means you. You reread it over and over as it dawns on you: Felix loves you. And Seungmin knows, apparently.

“Did you send it?” Felix’s deep voice startles you. You forgot what you were supposed to be doing with his phone in the first place.

You hesitate, using the time to quickly type out the message and hit Send. “Yeah, just did.” Heart hammering, you look back up at Felix. He’s already staring at you, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“What were you doing?”

“Nothing.” Reading the texts where your roommate said you love me and you didn’t deny it.

You might have missed the change in his expression if you weren't specifically looking for it. But you were, so you see the exact moment he realizes what was on screen. He clears his throat, and he shifts his weight to lean on his other arm.

"So," he starts, "…did you see it?"

No use lying. "Yeah." You smile at how nervous he looks. "Is it true?" You cross the room to him again, sitting down at his eye-level.

He swallows. "Yeah." He seemingly just notices your smile. "Do you - "

"Yeah."

His cheeks flush pink as he breaks out into the biggest smile you have ever seen on him. He bends forward and grabs your hand, pulling you into his chest. He smells like sweat and his cologne. Beside him, his phone buzzes with Seungmin's response, but neither of you make a move to check it.

Still on the practice room floor, he leans in closer and asks, "Can I kiss you?"

Seungmin - Songwriting Session

“This is useless, we might as well just call it a night,” you groan and lean your head back against the hard couch. Writer’s block plagues both of you, leaving you with pages of scribbled out lyrics and a variety of instruments scattered around the studio. The lighting, unchanging as the hours pass, is starting to give you a headache.

The clock reads 1:43 AM - mocking the amount of time it’s taken to get absolutely nowhere.

Seungmin ignores you. Of course he does. “We have to bring in something tomorrow, or Chan will throw a fit.” His statement is accompanied by a particularly frustrated pluck to his guitar strings.

“Short of divine inspiration, I think we’re screwed.”

“Look through my notebook, see if you can get any divine inspiration out of it that I couldn’t,” he taunts. Right now, you’re too weary to care, and grab his songwriting notebook off the table in front of you.

He continues to strum his guitar mindlessly. The chords are comforting, a sign that someone else is in this with you.

You flip through the pages, seeing a smattering of ideas you two have already tried that came up fruitless. The whole collection is impressive, honestly. It would probably be helpful at any other time, when both of you aren’t exhausted and worked to the bone.

All too quickly, the pages are starting to lessen in number, with nothing standing out. You groan at your predicament.

“Hey, they’re not that bad,” Seungmin protests. “At least some of them have to be something.” His words contradict the soft melody he’s still playing.��

Your name is scrawled on the next page.

Weird. But you and him have been spending a lot of time together, it makes sense that he wrote your name down for something. It's not like you don't have his name written in your journal at home, but that's for an entirely different reason.

You keep skimming through the pages. Half-finished lyrics and doodles flit past.

One page looks like Minho stole the notebook and left his critiques for Seungmin to find. Red circles and comments in Minho's handwriting are written across a song's chorus. You recognize the chorus belonging to a song that Chan's excited about finishing. There's a long red streak across the page, then no more red ink. Seungmin must have gotten him.

The back of that page shows multiple games of Tic-Tac-Toe, red pen vs. black pen. They're all ties, somehow.

Your name appears again, on a page covered in different colors of ink, like he kept coming back to it over multiple sessions. On the left side, he wrote out a list of words that rhyme with your name. Some of them are long shots, evident by how they're crossed out and written again. The right side is a collection of lyrics.

"What's this?" you whisper to yourself. The words blur, either from your trembling hands or your exhaustion - possibly both.

Seungmin heard you. "A notebook. See those marks on the pages? That's called writing." He plays another chord then, "I guess you really do learn something new every day." His tone is soft, not taking on the mocking lilt it usually does when he responds to his members like that.

You begin to read out the list of rhymes.

His hands freeze. The music fades out as the guitar strings still.

He looks at you. "What's that?"

"A notebook. You see these marks on the pages?" You flip the book around to show him, and his eyes widen once he sees his own handwriting, "That's a song about me."

"You're not funny," he deadpans.

"You seem to like me."

"I do."

Your breath hitches. You were not expecting him to outright admit it. You thought you two would go back and forth for a bit while you figured out how to address it properly. But he said it, and now he's staring at you, waiting for an answer.

You are about to shrink under the weight of his gaze. The couch rustles underneath you as you straighten your posture, suddenly incredibly aware of your appearance. "I like you too," you admit.

He leans back with a self-satisfied grin. "Good." Then, "So I was thinking, for this next part, we could switch it up and do -"

Did you hallucinate the last few minutes?

"Good?" you question, "What does 'good' mean?" A much better question springs to your mind. "When do I get to hear the song you wrote about me?"

"Never, if you keep delaying the time until I get to take you home."

Your pulse spikes. You shift in your seat, trying to pretend like his words didn't affect you. "We can just leave right now, you know."

"We have to finish this song first."

"There's not a song to finish!"

"We'd better get started then." He begins playing his guitar again.

"You're the worst."

He grins, parroting your own words back to you, "You seem to like me."

You groan and lean back into the couch, smile matching his. "I do."

I.N - Drunk Dial

Your favorite candle burns on the coffee table, the comforting scent enveloping your living room. An old episode of your favorite show plays softly in the background. The TV casts an ambient glow throughout the room.

Everything is in place - your book, phone charger, remote, and face mask for later are all within an arm's reach distance from the couch. Once you settle in, you have absolutely no plans to move for a long time. This is your first night without an early-morning shift to wake up for; you are going to make the absolute most of it. No distractions, just you, a cozy blanket, and the takeout you picked up.

Your phone rings the second you sit down and open the container. I.N's name and contact photo appear on screen. You snuggle deeper into your blanket and click accept.

Immediately, loud music and disjointed chaos assaults your ears through the speaker. A muffled, "Wait wait wait - she picked up," comes through.

The creak of a door opening and closing, and then the music lowers in volume. "Y/N?" I.N's voice sounds, "I - I moved to a different room so I can - so I can hear you."

He's drunk. All the members are hanging out in his and Chan's dorm tonight, so he's safe - which means you can have fun with this.

Still watching the familiar scenes on TV, you smile at nobody. "I.N? You have global sensations Stray Kids just outside, why'd you call me?"

"Because I love you," he replies. He hiccups into the receiver, the sound ringing clear as day.

"I love you too Innie," you say, eating a mouthful of your food. This happens nearly every time he drinks - he gets appreciative of his friends and becomes much more outwardly loving than he usually is.

"You don't get it," he sighs. "I love you so much. I constant - constantly think about you. I wish you were mine."

Your blood freezes. He doesn't mean that. He always calls you when he's drunk, and you two always laugh about it in the morning. There's something different in his voice this time, though, a sincerity that makes you question yourself.

He continues on, oblivious to your dilemma. "I still think about that short skirt you wore last week."

"You're drunk, Innie." You hope he doesn't notice your shaking voice. "We'll talk about this in the morning."

The other end is quiet, only music and the occasional scream breaking through the door. Maybe he already fell asleep. Then, so quiet you almost miss it, "Okay." And the call disconnects.

You shoot a quick text to Chan asking him to make sure I.N's alright and place your phone face down on your coffee table. Throughout the night, no matter how much you try to distract yourself, you cannot stop replaying I.N's confession.

Was it real? Will he still mean it tomorrow, or was he just lonely and knew you would pick up?

Eventually, you blow out your candle and head to bed much earlier than you wanted.

The next morning is almost too normal. He invited you out for breakfast, and you were nervous the whole way to the restaurant. However, once you arrived and sat across from him, he acted like nothing happened the night before.

Sunshine is streaming in through the big windows, drenching the both of you in light. You can see your reflection in the oversized sunglasses he kept on inside the restaurant. He ordered the greasiest thing on the menu, but now that it's on the table, he's just picking at it and winces at each bite he takes.

"Why did you invite me here?" you ask.

His lips tick slightly, like he is trying not to flinch at the question. You cannot see his eyes, but you are sure they would have squeezed closed.

"I can't want to eat with my friend?" He responds.

Friend.

"You're not really eating, though." It's true, his plate is mostly untouched while you are almost finished. Before you can think better of it, you ask, "Do you remember last night?"

He does not react this time, possibly because he already steeled himself, or possibly because he has no reason to. "Not really. I remember bits and pieces, like Felix losing at Mario Kart," he smiles at the memory, "or Minho and Hyunjin trying to see who could scream the loudest. But I don't remember stuff in between." He looks at you. "Why? Did I call you or anything?"

Oh. He really doesn't remember, and you are not about to embarrass yourself by reminding him that he confessed his love to you mere hours ago. "No," you lie.

He does not seem relieved. If anything, your answer only made him more tense. He straightens his shoulders and looks back down at his food. As he's preparing to take another bite, he suddenly stops. "I did, though," he mutters down at his breakfast.

A couple at the next table is trying their best to act like they are not listening to your conversation. You try to put them out of your mind - if Innie gets distracted right now he might not finish this.

"Yeah, you did," you agree. This is nerve-wracking enough without knowing you're being eavesdropped on.

Your reflection is mirrored back to you as he moves his head. "Why did you say I didn't?"

"Why did you ask in the first place?"

He groans, and drops his cutlery in favor of resting his head in his hands. "I was embarrassed. I didn't want to tell you like that."

The phrasing intrigues you. Didn't want to tell you like that. So he did want to tell you, which means he did mean it. You grin, despite knowing he cannot see it in his current position. "How did you want to tell me?"

You can tell he wasn't expecting you to ask that. "I don't know," he says, "I wanted to wait until I was sure you liked me back. Or until I sure you didn't, but I wouldn't have told you then." He pauses. "I didn't want to just tell you over the phone and then hang up, that's for sure."

The couple leans forward, excitedly glancing at each other. The one nearest you nearly dips her hair into her water.

"Innie," you state. He looks at you again, finally seeing your smile. He hesitantly returns it. "Do you want to get out of here?"

"More than anything."

skz taglist: @emilyywhyy @velvetmoonlght @babybellsvr @opiumfidgetspinner @bahngarang @itzzzzzzyyyyydaaaaa @pixie-felix

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