anthoscope

[anthoscope]

Nothing really happened. We have mutual friends but my sophomore and junior year were rough mentally, I wasnt in the place to meet new people. He is really sweet though from interactions I have had with him, so I guess we'll see if anything happens.

Also if you are taking anons can I be 🥼 anon. Ya girl is trying to manifest her doctor life

i hope you are doing well 🥼 anon! im sure that the both of you will have a good relationship even if its going to be platonic hearing that he’s sweet. also go get that md title girl its a rough path but it sure is gonna be worth it 😌

[anthoscope]

omg another long revoew of my fic. you dont know how this really makes me so happy >><< with that, im replying to every single thing you said lololol

yes, you were right that they were classmates! although yn is the most gullible one here for not knowing he was there the whole time!

i understand that the description of eunseok was lowk like i was describing anton, although instead of lanky, i'd describe anton as broad and toned (those swimmer muscles are not a joke). and im here to assure you that eunseok is simply a socratic buddy and not a second ml (cuz that would be too mean, i dont want my eunseok treated that way).

another reality-based pwrt of the fic. i went through the scoratic system myself in my ethics classes although we were in agroup and let me tell you, its exhausting cuz by the end of the discussions, we also end up discussing with other groups 🤕 tho there were times that these discussions turned into debates and it was entertaining

i love the broadcasting trio for sure. haha, sohee, my boy, such an open book but with a lot of connections and secrets hehe 😋 he sure knows a lot—too well.

yes! my awkward characters are finally interacting! im excited and also scared on how i'll portray that part. hope i'd give it justice for the edging 🫡

the phrase "realization flaring like static under your skin" was actually so random. i thought about describing is like a goosebump, like something with "goosebumps creeping down your spine" but it felt reptitive and weird for a romance fic or for meeting your crush who you've pined for so long. thank you for noticing that!

i'm really glad you enjoyed whatever ride this chapter 2 has given you and i really appreciate you for writing such a long review. its such a delight to read and reply. see you in chapter 3 ;)

chapter ii: circumstantial⠀( l.cy )

pairing ⠀anton lee x gn!reader

genre/s⠀fluff, slice-of-life, university!au

warning/s ⠀cursing

wc ⠀2.5k

a/n ⠀gosh. this is a bit long but…full of twists and turns heh. wonder what happens with this chapter 🤓🤔

synopsis ⠀it’s a universal experience to have one person you always encounter on campus, a person you might know or not. for you, it’s anton lee—your first-semester crush, whose familiar face keeps turning up wherever you are.

Yeah. It was a mistake to take an ethics class at 8 in the morning. You’re finally realizing that, and you certainly deserved all the teasing from last night. As you walked to class, your body was groggy—your legs were moving fine, but your eyes were begging to close for a moment.

What made it worse than simply picking a morning class was the fact that you didn’t know anyone else in the class. Despite being a communications major and practically living behind a microphone in your free time, your talkative side was hidden without some familiarity. You should have signed up for virtual communications with those two idiots.

By the time you stepped into the lecture hall, it was nearly full; there were only about ten minutes left before class started. The only available seats were at the front—where you felt too exposed—and a few at the back. Some students were grouped together, others were with just one friend, and a few were lost in their phones and laptops. You considered sitting up front, but if you fell asleep in class, the professor would know right away.

So, you chose the back seat. You made your way to the last row and picked a seat by the wall near the back door. You placed your bag on the empty seat to your right, leaving the next one unclaimed.

Mr. Yoon, the professor, walked in and greeted everyone with a warm “Good morning.” You hoped his kind demeanor would remain consistent throughout the semester and that your grades wouldn’t depend on how cheerful he was at 8 in the morning.

It was ethics. How could anyone fail ethics? You certainly couldn’t imagine enduring a morning filled with existential questions about morality with a professor who might also be in a bad mood.

Mr. Yoon began to take out a folder from his bag and announced that he would start the roll call since attendance counted toward your grade. Well, there go your hopes and wishes.

Just then, a guy entered the room just before the roll call and paused at the door, scanning the seats as if searching for someone he knew. His gaze shifted toward the back and landed on the empty seat beside your bag.

He walked over, tall and slightly lanky, with soft-looking hair and wide, observant eyes that seemed familiar, even though his expression remained mostly blank. He reached the seat next to your bag and pointed at it, looking at you.

“Is this seat taken?” he asked, and you shook your head.

“Nope, go ahead.” He muttered a quiet thank you and sat down, and you gave him a small, polite smile.

The professor began calling names randomly, adding side comments and questions about students' majors and years.

When he reached your name, you raised your hand to indicate where you were, and he nodded, looking back at his list. The guy beside you leaned a little closer. “Excuse me,” he said softly.

You glanced at him, raising your eyebrows slightly. “Yeah?”

"Are you the one from the radio shows every evening?" His voice held hints of curiosity and fascination.

You let out a quiet laugh. "Yep, that's me."

"I thought so,” he replied, his lips curving into a smile. “You have great taste in music. I always tune in to discover something new, and out of all the hosts, we share similar tastes.”

"Oh my gosh,” you said, beaming with a timid smile and covering part of your face with your hand. "Thanks. I really try my best to handpick my playlists for each show."

"By the way, my name is—"

"Song Eunseok?" the professor called out, cutting him off.

The guy beside you raised his hand. “Here.”

"Audio engineering, am I correct?" Professor Yoon asked, and Eunseok nodded.

"Yes, Professor." The professor nodded again, showing interest in the course, and moved on to the remaining names.

“Ethics? For an audio engineering major?” you asked, teasing a little. He shook his head, smiling knowingly as if he was aware of his own choices.

“Yeah, I know. I had no choice. It was either this or something worse, and I heard Mr. Yoon is pretty relaxed about people coming in late, as long as they show up.”

"Gosh, that's a relief at least,” you said, starting to feel a bit more relaxed. “I’m beginning to feel the weight of this class in the morning."

"Tell me about it," he replied. “But attendance is part of the grade, right?”

“Yeah,” you sighed. “I guess that’ll force me to show up, even if I barely slept.”

“Nah, I’m still going to use my allowed absences,” Eunseok said with a grin. “Might as well.”

His laid-back nature helped put you at ease, and for the rest of the class, you ended up sharing quiet, witty comments about the presentation slides on the screen. You still managed to keep one ear on the lecture, but it was tough not to laugh when he whispered that the color scheme looked like it came straight from PowerPoint defaults. You knew that he had chosen audio engineering because of his love for music, which was something the two of you had in common. By the time class was almost over, you exchanged playlists and song recommendations.

Overall, the hour felt lighter. At least now, you had a friend to sit next to, making the early morning a little more enjoyable.

Professor Yoon assigned a pair work, and you had a hunch that this, "Socratic buddies", he called, would be frequent. The task is due by lunchtime, and by the time class ends precisely at ten o'clock, you have already decided on a topic for discussion and sketched a rough draft of your outline.

“Hey, want to grab something to eat while we work on this? We could get some food at the mess hall and reserve seats in the library,” Eunseok asked as you left the lecture hall. You nodded, finding the idea tempting—and your stomach agreed, making an embarrassing growling sound.

Eunseok paused and blinked, as he glanced down at you clutching your stomach to stifle the noise, then he soon burst out laughing.

“Your stomach is very vocal. Quite convenient for you, huh” Eunseok teased, still chuckling as you both started walking.

“No judgement here please. I barely had time to grab anything to eat this morning.”

“Well, our class schedule isn't exactly merciful.”

You got what you needed when you arrived at the mess hall: something that would fill you up without making any noise while you ate in the library.

The two of you were quiet in the library, seated at a table meant for four. Surprisingly, it wasn’t difficult to share a comfortable silence with this stranger, who had soon become a friend. He was focused on typing on his own laptop, sharing his thoughts and personal reflections on the shared manuscript.

Once you were done, he parted ways, mentioning that he needed to stop by the audio lab in his building.

Left alone, you returned to your usual routine in the library. Some days, you worked on assignments; other days, you drafted scripts for the station. Today, you managed to do both—typing half-formed thoughts into a document while pausing occasionally to observe the campus outside.

Seated near the entrance doors, you glanced at the people passing by. When you didn’t feel like typing, you took breaks to watch others busy in their own worlds, sometimes focusing on a specific person as if you were birdwatching.

You chose your first target: a teacher, since she was scanning through the section meant for faculty, specifically in the physics area. Your body trembled at the thought of the subject. Disliking numbers and formulas, you moved on to another target.

A tall figure, this time, a guy, standing half-turned away, bag slung low over one shoulder. He walked with a casual slouch, hands stuffed into the pockets of a faded hoodie. He settled into a line of desks meant for one person where people were charging their gadgets, facing your direction and directly in your line of sight.

As he pulled down his hoodie, put on his headphones, and placed his laptop in front of him to charge, you suddenly recognized him: the bassist.

Panic set in—the beating of your heart echoed that night, deep, loud, and unrelenting. You looked away, then back again. Your hands hovered uselessly over the keyboard for a moment as the words you had been typing faded away, replaced by the steady thump of your heart in your ears.

His presence felt almost out of place in the library’s quiet atmosphere, as if he had stepped in from another world. You wondered if he even recognized you or if he remembered the sea of faces from the stage.

You risked one more glance.

He wore a relaxed expression, completely absorbed, and your mind wandered back to what your friend had once said about him, something about looking like he was trying to unlock the fourth dimension.

You pressed your lips together to hide a laugh. That description really did fit, now that you saw it for yourself: eyes fixed on the screen like the rest of the world had faded out.

Then he shifted, rummaging through his bag and switched to his earbuds—simple wired ones, nothing fancy—plugging them into his laptop.

It was a tiny detail, but it somehow made him feel more real. Less like that boy under bright stage lights and sudden applause, and more like just another student trying to get through the day.

You took a deep breath and forced your gaze back to the blinking cursor. The broadcasting scripts wouldn’t write themselves. Even though your chest still felt embarrassingly tight, as if keeping a secret.

There then it became a routine.

Ethics in the morning, grabbing a quick bite in the library for assignments with Eunseok and him in the same spot as always like a habit.

But there were times when it felt circumstantial. Like the time Eunseok dragged you out to get coffee from that small café near the library—and just as you were leaving, there he was from a distance, holding the same coffee cup. Or on the path toward the broadcast station by the humanities building, where gazebos lined the park—and there he was again.

It was getting out of hand, you could barely think clearly, your mind sometimes wandered off connecting the dots together, like every circumstance were related to each other. Seunghan would snap you back to reality with a flick to your shoulder or a sharp “Earth to Y/N.”

Sohee, on the other hand, was quieter about it. He suspected something was up but kept it discreet—until he dropped the bomb. “Something good happened? You’ve been out of it for the past few days and grinning to yourself like a maniac,” he said.

You shot him a look, wide-eyed. “Nothing really. Just that many things happened.” you mumbled, drinking water to hide your face.

“Things… Hm, things like Anton?” he said, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

“Anton?” You asked, confused.

“Mhm, Anton Lee.” Sohee nodded, unfazed.

“Who the fuck’s Anton Lee?”

“The bassist.” he answered, deadpan.

You stopped breathing—literally, choking on your own saliva. Coughing, Seunghan rushed in to pat your back, trying to help.

“I’m sorry, what? How do you know his name?” You questioned him and he just deadpanned, mischievously shrugging his shoulders, feigning innocence.

“Jimmy. Lee. How did you know his name?”

“Through a confidential informant.” he replied.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” You ran to him, grabbing his shoulders like you could shake the answer out of him. “I’ve been trying to know what his name is and you know—wait a minute. How do you even know I’ve been thinking about him?”

“Like I said. Confidential informant.” he prodded again.

“Informant? Not information?” you shot back.

“Sohee’s a scary guy,” Seunghan commented on the side, like he was clutching his pearls. “I wouldn’t mess with someone like that.”

“I’m dying to know, Sohee Lee!” You felt your heart racing as you continued to shake him for answers, but all he gave you was that infuriating shrug and the smug grin he wore all too well.

You swore you’d hunt down that so-called confidential informant he was bragging about.

No amount of pestering could get more out of him, and Seunghan only added fuel to the fire with teasing side comments. Eventually, the conversation moved on, but the name lingered in your mind.

Anton.

Anton Lee.

It suited him. Simple yet striking.

Anton Lee. The bassist.

You promised yourself you wouldn’t overthink it but that night, lying in bed, your chest fluttered embarrassingly at the thought. Now that he had a name, it felt almost too real.

The next morning came too early, as always.

Ethics at 8 a.m. was still the worst decision you’d made this semester, but at least the routine brought some comfort: your usual seat in the back row, with Eunseok settling in next to you a few minutes later, flashing a sleepy grin. Only, Eunseok wasn’t there today. He hadn’t even arrived for class thirty minutes late like he sometimes (on the daily) was.

You picked up your things and made your way to the front of the lecture hall to your professor.

“Mr. Yoon?” you called gently, and he turned towards you, his brows slightly furrowed as if trying to place your face.

“Yes…remind me, your name again?” he asked, and you didn’t take it personally. With the number of students he handled every semester, it was understandable.

You told him your name, and his expression softened in recognition. “What can I help you with?”

“Can I work on this assignment individually? My Socratic buddy is absent today,” you explained.

Mr. Yoon shook his head lightly. “I’m afraid not. Usually, I allow it for reflection essays, but today’s discussion is specifically designed for two different perspectives.”

“Oh,” you managed, trying not to let your shoulders droop.

“But don’t worry,” he added with a reassuring smile. “I’ll help you find someone who doesn’t have a partner yet. Is that alright?” You nodded with a polite smile.

He turned back to the class and raised his voice just enough to carry over the chatter.

“Anyone still without a partner, please come up here.”

At that exact moment, your phone buzzed in your hand. You glanced down, recognizing Eunseok’s name.

Y/NNNNN

My Socratic buddy

I just woke up with the worst headache of my life

I have this urge to vomit and I’m sensitive to every noise I hear

I’m super sick :”((

Please tell Mr. Yoon I emailed him

Have fun today without me, my Socratic buddy

Heh ;)

You huffed out a quiet laugh, your fingers flying as you typed back.

My dearest Socratic buddy.

I know you’re hungover.

A tall figure stepped up beside you, but you barely noticed—still half grinning at your screen.

You finally locked your phone and turned your attention back, just as a soft, deep voice beside you spoke: “Mr. Yoon, I don’t have a partner today.”

Mr. Yoon’s gaze flicked to him, a hint of recognition sparking in his eyes.

“Ah, Mr. Anton Lee, am I correct? One of the few audio engineering majors I handle.”

“Yes, sir,” the voice replied, low and smooth.

Anton Lee?

Your chest tightened, realization flaring like static under your skin.

Anton, the bassist—he was your classmate?

You glanced up, really seeing him for the first time beyond the stage lights or the distance of the library. He was strikingly close now, his hair slightly tousled, a calm expression resting on his face that felt strangely both familiar and foreign.

Mr. Yoon brought you back to the moment with a purposeful tone.

“You two can pair up for today’s activity.”

──⠀taglist ⠀.⠀@jkeydiary ⠀@feymine ⠀@dreamiestay ⠀@kirijuns ⠀@ventlool ⠀@jaellymint ⠀@made-in-jingdezhen

──⠀next page to⠀.⠀masterlist⠀chap i⠀chap ii⠀chap iii

© anthoscope. do not plagiarize, repost, and translate. all rights reserved.

[anthoscope]

as much as I don’t want to disclose some details, i’ll let you in a little secret.

he was indeed there, the whole time ;)

mastermind: a short series⠀( l.cy )

pairing ⠀anton lee x gn!reader

genre/s⠀fluff, slice-of-life, university!au

warning/s ⠀cursing

a/n ⠀hi! this is my first work of riize and i'm also new with the riizeblr community. this series will be short, and i came up with it because my writer instincts just went wild when i heard mastermind by taylor swift for the first time from an edit, and i just had to. comment down below or reblog this if u want to be added to the taglist once i publish one of the chapters!

synopsis ⠀it’s a universal experience to have one person you always encounter on campus, a person you might know or not. for you, it’s anton lee—your first-semester crush, whose familiar face keeps turning up wherever you are.

— the chapters.

chapter i: coincidental

chapter ii: circumstantial

chapter iii: consequential

© anthoscope. do not plagiarize, repost, and translate. all rights reserved.

[anthoscope]

The way y/n is literally me. My first semester crush ended up living in the same dorm building and I still see him around all the time. Hopefully y/n has more luck than I do and they get together

oh noooo, what happened between you two anon? 😔

tmi: this fic is a bit reality inspired. i have the same situation as u anon and i cant call myself lucky either 🤧🤕

[anthoscope]

i love ur anton fic oh my god as a communications major im running in laps and they havent even had a convo yet

omg im really happy to hear you enjoyed the fic and that you have similarities with yn 😖💓 (i hope i did justice in this fic of yn being a comms major)

and all i can say is—yn is a bare minimum enjoyer.

what?

who said that?!??!? 🤔🤯

[anthoscope]

bassist!anton is so irresistible 😩🧎‍♀️‍➡️🏃‍♀️‍➡️

chapter i: coincidental⠀( l.cy )

pairing ⠀anton lee x gn!reader

genre/s⠀fluff, slice-of-life, university!au

warning/s ⠀cursing, mentions of murder (during a conversation)

wc ⠀1.4k

a/n ⠀chapter one up ^^ feel free to play the song “endless song” by no reply for a more cinematic experience lol. i hope you enjoyed this one! taglist is still open fyi ( to those who wanted to be added tysm for taking an interest to this :(( <33 ) just comment or send an ask if you want to be a part of it

synopsis ⠀it’s a universal experience to have one person you always encounter on campus, a person you might know or not. for you, it’s anton lee—your first-semester crush, whose familiar face keeps turning up wherever you are.

Strange, you thought, but not impossible not ever seeing this one guy you’ve been crushing on ever since that university festival night.

It was the first semester of a new academic year. Your cluster of the humanities band performance for the battle of the bands contest was what one would expect for a cluster with fine arts courses. Explosive, unique, and deserving of loud applause and awes, especially with all of the high notes and the way each member shone all throughout the performance.

This was a sure win for your cluster.

While up next were the engineering cluster. You’d heard rumors here and there that they came unprepared, that they only gathered people through desperate pleading and were purely involuntary—the opposite of your cluster, who had to hold auditions, you really expected nothing.

You were still recovering from cheering so loud especially that your friends, Sohee and Seunghan, who were the vocalists in the band, jokingly threatened you that if they didn’t hear your voice screaming their names, they’ll hunt you down. It was already tiring enough to walk around the campus, scanning through all the booths and events, and you’d rather lie down on your bed in your dorm room and recover from the hell prelims dragged you through.

But you don’t take chances.

You cleared your throat and scanned through the fancam videos you made of them, which included your enthusiastic screams. Just as you were sending the proof of you cheering your cluster’s band, the engineering cluster’s band enters the stage and plugs up their instruments.

"If there was a criteria for being good looking, they'd have a high score for that one, for sure." The person on your right commented, and you looked up.

“Wow.” was all you could say. They were eye-catching for sure.

Their concept was youthful, especially with their outfits: plaid shirts, jeans, worn-out sneakers, and white tees. It’s a concept that’s easy to pull off if they prepared at the last minute.

“Hello, this is the engineering cluster, and we will be performing Endless Song by no reply.” The frontman vocalist nervously introduced, and they immediately started after the drummer gave their cue.

Their performance was clumsy, but in a way that felt natural. The piano opened soft and mellow, and the pianist’s nasal boyish voice filled the first verse. Then the bass, drums, and guitar swept in with the second verse. It wasn’t perfect, but with polish, you thought, they could score higher.

Though your eyes kept drifting back to one guy.

The bassist.

He kept on looking at his bass, as if focused on what note to play next even though he managed to play well when he looked at anywhere but the crowd in front of him. There was a microphone stand in front of him, meaning he was also singing.

But when?

The bass and piano stayed during the bridge, and he sings, a small voice coming out, shy—as if confessing something not meant to be heard by many.

You realized you'd been tapping your foot to the beat but stopped. The bass's quiet thud carried under your shoes, small vibrations that made you feel awake in a way you couldn’t name. The spring night air felt cold, but the spotlight on him was warm, bright enough that you couldn’t look away.

He starts a little shakey but slowly closes them as he focused.

"Did you know? I called quietly. This little voice the song that made me dream."

Suddenly, it's hard to look away.

He sang the rest of the chorus, now a little braver and a little surer, and you caught the moment his eyes opened, catching the light. A quick, fleeting smile, a bit infectious, like he was finally breathing.

The bass, guitar, and drums rose and fell, the piano steady for the outro. Then he looked at the crowd—really looked—and your breath hitched when his gaze stopped somewhere near you.

Just for a moment, it felt like he was looking at you.

"I will always sing for you. The endless stories, the passing time, your back-image—with this song."

The piano continued playing, now softer as it comes to an end. He looked away, smiling brightly, shoulders loosening as they all bowed.

You clapped too, slow, chest still fluttering like it hadn’t decided to calm down.

And ever since then, that was the last time you saw him.

“Hey, speaking of the university festival,” Sohee started, smirking behind his coffee cup. “Didn’t you have a crush on that bassist from engineering?”

You groaned, leaning back in your chair. “God, Sohee, must you bring that up—”

“You never ran into that bassist guy again?” he pressed on, grin widening, his eyes turning into a crescent line.

“Yeah,” Seunghan added to the teasing, leaning forward over the table. “You’ve been oddly quiet about your festival crush these days.”

You picked at the corner of your notebook and avoiding their gaze, trying not to sound too defensive.

“Guys, it wasn’t even that serious,” you muttered. “I just thought... maybe I'd see him around. I mean, our buildings are literally next to each other. But nothing. Not even once.”

"Is our Y/N in love?" Sohee gasped, and you gave him a disgusted look.

“Damn,” Seunghan whistled softly, “I can even spot random biology majors sometimes. But engineering students? These STEM majors are like walking corpses even in broad daylight. But still, never seeing him? That’s odd.”

“Face it, Y/N. Maybe the guy’s avoiding you,” Sohee teased, resting his chin on his palm.

“The joke is getting old, Jimmy Lee,” you shot back.

“No, but seriously. He reminds me of uncanny valley,” Seunghan continued, eyebrows scrunched. “Backstage that night? Your bass guy was staring into the void like he’d unlocked the fourth dimension.”

You let out a small laugh, ignoring how the words “your bass guy” made something in your chest flutter.

“By the way, what electives did you get for the second semester?” you asked, moving on.

“Uhm, I took Virtual Communications. Easy A, I heard,” Sohee said.

Seunghan nudged him, eyes wide. “Ten to noon under Mr. Myung?”

“What the fuck, we’re in the same class!” They jumped up from the couch, celebrating like kids on a pogo stick.

You rolled your eyes, a chuckle slipping out. These idiots could be cute sometimes.

Just when they weren’t grilling you.

“What about you?” they asked, turning to you with matching grins.

“Uhm…I took Ethics.”

The drop of their grins.

“Are you kidding me? Don’t tell me it’s at eight in the morning,” Seunghan said.

“Yeah?”

They threw their hands up.

“Existential crisis before breakfast, huh.” Seunghan sighed.

“Ah, yes, the age‑old question: why is murder wrong?” Sohee said.

“Bro, that’s a shit schedule you got right there,” Seunghan added.

“I feel like I’m getting ganged up on like a youngest child,” you muttered.

“We should’ve gone on Facetime when we were pre-registering,” It must end that way, right?

You didn’t tell them you had checked. That you’d hovered over other classes but ended up picking ethics.

A knock interrupted the teasing, your senior, Johnny, poking his head in.

“Good work today, everyone. Really. Y/N, your script was smooth this time.” He gave a small nod. “And you two—less bickering on Y/N today. Progress.”

Sohee and Seunghan exchanged a playful glare, pretending to be offended.

“Anyway, pack up and go home. I’ll be doing some minor touch-ups for transition today, and I'll upload it tonight. The station’s ours again at 3 PM and please,” he paused, for dramatic effect. "Save some energy again for tomorrow’s recorded session."

We all laughed, the tired kind that slipped out at the end of a long day. We bid our farewell, and thank yous.

Seunghan stretched, nearly knocking over an empty coffee cup. Sohee smacked his arm, convincing him something about trying “shadow boxing” for tomorrow’s gimmick, and you tucked your phone into your pocket, feeling the leftover buzz of the shift slowly fade.

It was already six in the evening—the usual time you wrapped up and the campus was still alive.

The station always felt strangely quiet after sign‑off: the red “ON AIR” light turned off, the leftover hum of equipment settling back into silence.

Somehow comforting, somehow lonely.

You and your friends walked out, splitting off in different directions after a round of goodbyes.

The festival felt far away.

Your silly crush, even further.

You remembered you had to wake up early tomorrow.

Gosh, was picking ethics really that bad?

──⠀taglist ⠀.⠀@jkeydiary ⠀@feymine ⠀@dreamiestay

──⠀next page to⠀.⠀masterlist⠀chap i⠀chap ii⠀chap iii

© anthoscope. do not plagiarize, repost, and translate. all rights reserved.

[anthoscope]

— @eternaldroplets on x (via letsbelonelytogetherr)

[anthoscope]

chapter ii: circumstantial⠀( l.cy )

pairing ⠀anton lee x gn!reader

genre/s⠀fluff, slice-of-life, university!au

warning/s ⠀cursing

wc ⠀2.5k

a/n ⠀gosh. this is a bit long but…full of twists and turns heh. wonder what happens with this chapter 🤓🤔

synopsis ⠀it’s a universal experience to have one person you always encounter on campus, a person you might know or not. for you, it’s anton lee—your first-semester crush, whose familiar face keeps turning up wherever you are.

Yeah. It was a mistake to take an ethics class at 8 in the morning. You’re finally realizing that, and you certainly deserved all the teasing from last night. As you walked to class, your body was groggy—your legs were moving fine, but your eyes were begging to close for a moment.

What made it worse than simply picking a morning class was the fact that you didn’t know anyone else in the class. Despite being a communications major and practically living behind a microphone in your free time, your talkative side was hidden without some familiarity. You should have signed up for virtual communications with those two idiots.

By the time you stepped into the lecture hall, it was nearly full; there were only about ten minutes left before class started. The only available seats were at the front—where you felt too exposed—and a few at the back. Some students were grouped together, others were with just one friend, and a few were lost in their phones and laptops. You considered sitting up front, but if you fell asleep in class, the professor would know right away.

So, you chose the back seat. You made your way to the last row and picked a seat by the wall near the back door. You placed your bag on the empty seat to your right, leaving the next one unclaimed.

Mr. Yoon, the professor, walked in and greeted everyone with a warm “Good morning.” You hoped his kind demeanor would remain consistent throughout the semester and that your grades wouldn’t depend on how cheerful he was at 8 in the morning.

It was ethics. How could anyone fail ethics? You certainly couldn’t imagine enduring a morning filled with existential questions about morality with a professor who might also be in a bad mood.

Mr. Yoon began to take out a folder from his bag and announced that he would start the roll call since attendance counted toward your grade. Well, there go your hopes and wishes.

Just then, a guy entered the room just before the roll call and paused at the door, scanning the seats as if searching for someone he knew. His gaze shifted toward the back and landed on the empty seat beside your bag.

He walked over, tall and slightly lanky, with soft-looking hair and wide, observant eyes that seemed familiar, even though his expression remained mostly blank. He reached the seat next to your bag and pointed at it, looking at you.

“Is this seat taken?” he asked, and you shook your head.

“Nope, go ahead.” He muttered a quiet thank you and sat down, and you gave him a small, polite smile.

The professor began calling names randomly, adding side comments and questions about students' majors and years.

When he reached your name, you raised your hand to indicate where you were, and he nodded, looking back at his list. The guy beside you leaned a little closer. “Excuse me,” he said softly.

You glanced at him, raising your eyebrows slightly. “Yeah?”

"Are you the one from the radio shows every evening?" His voice held hints of curiosity and fascination.

You let out a quiet laugh. "Yep, that's me."

"I thought so,” he replied, his lips curving into a smile. “You have great taste in music. I always tune in to discover something new, and out of all the hosts, we share similar tastes.”

"Oh my gosh,” you said, beaming with a timid smile and covering part of your face with your hand. "Thanks. I really try my best to handpick my playlists for each show."

"By the way, my name is—"

"Song Eunseok?" the professor called out, cutting him off.

The guy beside you raised his hand. “Here.”

"Audio engineering, am I correct?" Professor Yoon asked, and Eunseok nodded.

"Yes, Professor." The professor nodded again, showing interest in the course, and moved on to the remaining names.

“Ethics? For an audio engineering major?” you asked, teasing a little. He shook his head, smiling knowingly as if he was aware of his own choices.

“Yeah, I know. I had no choice. It was either this or something worse, and I heard Mr. Yoon is pretty relaxed about people coming in late, as long as they show up.”

"Gosh, that's a relief at least,” you said, starting to feel a bit more relaxed. “I’m beginning to feel the weight of this class in the morning."

"Tell me about it," he replied. “But attendance is part of the grade, right?”

“Yeah,” you sighed. “I guess that’ll force me to show up, even if I barely slept.”

“Nah, I’m still going to use my allowed absences,” Eunseok said with a grin. “Might as well.”

His laid-back nature helped put you at ease, and for the rest of the class, you ended up sharing quiet, witty comments about the presentation slides on the screen. You still managed to keep one ear on the lecture, but it was tough not to laugh when he whispered that the color scheme looked like it came straight from PowerPoint defaults. You knew that he had chosen audio engineering because of his love for music, which was something the two of you had in common. By the time class was almost over, you exchanged playlists and song recommendations.

Overall, the hour felt lighter. At least now, you had a friend to sit next to, making the early morning a little more enjoyable.

Professor Yoon assigned a pair work, and you had a hunch that this, "Socratic buddies", he called, would be frequent. The task is due by lunchtime, and by the time class ends precisely at ten o'clock, you have already decided on a topic for discussion and sketched a rough draft of your outline.

“Hey, want to grab something to eat while we work on this? We could get some food at the mess hall and reserve seats in the library,” Eunseok asked as you left the lecture hall. You nodded, finding the idea tempting—and your stomach agreed, making an embarrassing growling sound.

Eunseok paused and blinked, as he glanced down at you clutching your stomach to stifle the noise, then he soon burst out laughing.

“Your stomach is very vocal. Quite convenient for you, huh” Eunseok teased, still chuckling as you both started walking.

“No judgement here please. I barely had time to grab anything to eat this morning.”

“Well, our class schedule isn't exactly merciful.”

You got what you needed when you arrived at the mess hall: something that would fill you up without making any noise while you ate in the library.

The two of you were quiet in the library, seated at a table meant for four. Surprisingly, it wasn’t difficult to share a comfortable silence with this stranger, who had soon become a friend. He was focused on typing on his own laptop, sharing his thoughts and personal reflections on the shared manuscript.

Once you were done, he parted ways, mentioning that he needed to stop by the audio lab in his building.

Left alone, you returned to your usual routine in the library. Some days, you worked on assignments; other days, you drafted scripts for the station. Today, you managed to do both—typing half-formed thoughts into a document while pausing occasionally to observe the campus outside.

Seated near the entrance doors, you glanced at the people passing by. When you didn’t feel like typing, you took breaks to watch others busy in their own worlds, sometimes focusing on a specific person as if you were birdwatching.

You chose your first target: a teacher, since she was scanning through the section meant for faculty, specifically in the physics area. Your body trembled at the thought of the subject. Disliking numbers and formulas, you moved on to another target.

A tall figure, this time, a guy, standing half-turned away, bag slung low over one shoulder. He walked with a casual slouch, hands stuffed into the pockets of a faded hoodie. He settled into a line of desks meant for one person where people were charging their gadgets, facing your direction and directly in your line of sight.

As he pulled down his hoodie, put on his headphones, and placed his laptop in front of him to charge, you suddenly recognized him: the bassist.

Panic set in—the beating of your heart echoed that night, deep, loud, and unrelenting. You looked away, then back again. Your hands hovered uselessly over the keyboard for a moment as the words you had been typing faded away, replaced by the steady thump of your heart in your ears.

His presence felt almost out of place in the library’s quiet atmosphere, as if he had stepped in from another world. You wondered if he even recognized you or if he remembered the sea of faces from the stage.

You risked one more glance.

He wore a relaxed expression, completely absorbed, and your mind wandered back to what your friend had once said about him, something about looking like he was trying to unlock the fourth dimension.

You pressed your lips together to hide a laugh. That description really did fit, now that you saw it for yourself: eyes fixed on the screen like the rest of the world had faded out.

Then he shifted, rummaging through his bag and switched to his earbuds—simple wired ones, nothing fancy—plugging them into his laptop.

It was a tiny detail, but it somehow made him feel more real. Less like that boy under bright stage lights and sudden applause, and more like just another student trying to get through the day.

You took a deep breath and forced your gaze back to the blinking cursor. The broadcasting scripts wouldn’t write themselves. Even though your chest still felt embarrassingly tight, as if keeping a secret.

There then it became a routine.

Ethics in the morning, grabbing a quick bite in the library for assignments with Eunseok and him in the same spot as always like a habit.

But there were times when it felt circumstantial. Like the time Eunseok dragged you out to get coffee from that small café near the library—and just as you were leaving, there he was from a distance, holding the same coffee cup. Or on the path toward the broadcast station by the humanities building, where gazebos lined the park—and there he was again.

It was getting out of hand, you could barely think clearly, your mind sometimes wandered off connecting the dots together, like every circumstance were related to each other. Seunghan would snap you back to reality with a flick to your shoulder or a sharp “Earth to Y/N.”

Sohee, on the other hand, was quieter about it. He suspected something was up but kept it discreet—until he dropped the bomb. “Something good happened? You’ve been out of it for the past few days and grinning to yourself like a maniac,” he said.

You shot him a look, wide-eyed. “Nothing really. Just that many things happened.” you mumbled, drinking water to hide your face.

“Things… Hm, things like Anton?” he said, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

“Anton?” You asked, confused.

“Mhm, Anton Lee.” Sohee nodded, unfazed.

“Who the fuck’s Anton Lee?”

“The bassist.” he answered, deadpan.

You stopped breathing—literally, choking on your own saliva. Coughing, Seunghan rushed in to pat your back, trying to help.

“I’m sorry, what? How do you know his name?” You questioned him and he just deadpanned, mischievously shrugging his shoulders, feigning innocence.

“Jimmy. Lee. How did you know his name?”

“Through a confidential informant.” he replied.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” You ran to him, grabbing his shoulders like you could shake the answer out of him. “I’ve been trying to know what his name is and you know—wait a minute. How do you even know I’ve been thinking about him?”

“Like I said. Confidential informant.” he prodded again.

“Informant? Not information?” you shot back.

“Sohee’s a scary guy,” Seunghan commented on the side, like he was clutching his pearls. “I wouldn’t mess with someone like that.”

“I’m dying to know, Sohee Lee!” You felt your heart racing as you continued to shake him for answers, but all he gave you was that infuriating shrug and the smug grin he wore all too well.

You swore you’d hunt down that so-called confidential informant he was bragging about.

No amount of pestering could get more out of him, and Seunghan only added fuel to the fire with teasing side comments. Eventually, the conversation moved on, but the name lingered in your mind.

Anton.

Anton Lee.

It suited him. Simple yet striking.

Anton Lee. The bassist.

You promised yourself you wouldn’t overthink it but that night, lying in bed, your chest fluttered embarrassingly at the thought. Now that he had a name, it felt almost too real.

The next morning came too early, as always.

Ethics at 8 a.m. was still the worst decision you’d made this semester, but at least the routine brought some comfort: your usual seat in the back row, with Eunseok settling in next to you a few minutes later, flashing a sleepy grin. Only, Eunseok wasn’t there today. He hadn’t even arrived for class thirty minutes late like he sometimes (on the daily) was.

You picked up your things and made your way to the front of the lecture hall to your professor.

“Mr. Yoon?” you called gently, and he turned towards you, his brows slightly furrowed as if trying to place your face.

“Yes…remind me, your name again?” he asked, and you didn’t take it personally. With the number of students he handled every semester, it was understandable.

You told him your name, and his expression softened in recognition. ��What can I help you with?”

“Can I work on this assignment individually? My Socratic buddy is absent today,” you explained.

Mr. Yoon shook his head lightly. “I’m afraid not. Usually, I allow it for reflection essays, but today’s discussion is specifically designed for two different perspectives.”

“Oh,” you managed, trying not to let your shoulders droop.

“But don’t worry,” he added with a reassuring smile. “I’ll help you find someone who doesn’t have a partner yet. Is that alright?” You nodded with a polite smile.

He turned back to the class and raised his voice just enough to carry over the chatter.

“Anyone still without a partner, please come up here.”

At that exact moment, your phone buzzed in your hand. You glanced down, recognizing Eunseok’s name.

Y/NNNNN

My Socratic buddy

I just woke up with the worst headache of my life

I have this urge to vomit and I’m sensitive to every noise I hear

I’m super sick :”((

Please tell Mr. Yoon I emailed him

Have fun today without me, my Socratic buddy

Heh ;)

You huffed out a quiet laugh, your fingers flying as you typed back.

My dearest Socratic buddy.

I know you’re hungover.

A tall figure stepped up beside you, but you barely noticed—still half grinning at your screen.

You finally locked your phone and turned your attention back, just as a soft, deep voice beside you spoke: “Mr. Yoon, I don’t have a partner today.”

Mr. Yoon’s gaze flicked to him, a hint of recognition sparking in his eyes.

“Ah, Mr. Anton Lee, am I correct? One of the few audio engineering majors I handle.”

“Yes, sir,” the voice replied, low and smooth.

Anton Lee?

Your chest tightened, realization flaring like static under your skin.

Anton, the bassist—he was your classmate?

You glanced up, really seeing him for the first time beyond the stage lights or the distance of the library. He was strikingly close now, his hair slightly tousled, a calm expression resting on his face that felt strangely both familiar and foreign.

Mr. Yoon brought you back to the moment with a purposeful tone.

“You two can pair up for today’s activity.”

──⠀taglist ⠀.⠀@jkeydiary ⠀@feymine ⠀@dreamiestay ⠀@kirijuns ⠀@ventlool ⠀@jaellymint ⠀@made-in-jingdezhen

──⠀next page to⠀.⠀masterlist⠀chap i⠀chap ii⠀chap iii

© anthoscope. do not plagiarize, repost, and translate. all rights reserved.

[anthoscope]

in your atmosphere⠀( h.sh )

pairing ⠀hong seunghan x gn!reader

genre/s⠀fluff, angst, childhood friends reunion

warning/s ⠀longing

wc ⠀3.2k

a/n ⠀seunghan and angst works so well, like peanut butter and jam. fight me if i'm wrong. i'll send you the time and location <(｀^´)>! aside from the jokes and all, this fic is inspired by another song, "in your atmosphere" by john mayer.

synopsis⠀"i'd die if i saw you." reader goes back to the old town they lived in their childhood and reminisces the memories of their first love—and they meet again, now older and with leftover feelings.

You didn't think you would be back—rather, you didn't know you could ever return to this small town again. After spending your whole childhood here, you left like the wind, leaving your parents behind and fending for yourself in college with student loans and part-time jobs on the side.

It wasn't an easy ride for you. In this small town, everybody knew everyone, which meant everybody knew everybody's businesses. It was that small, familiar, and slow life, contrasting your routine in the city.

Quick-paced, strictly academics; you made friends in college, but not the kind you'd see outside the campus gates. It was lonely, and the air always felt tight in your chest.

But here, it was different. Full of green, trees, and birds chirping. You hadn't heard birds this loud in years. The sky was blue, the sunlight warm on your skin but never harsh, and the air—cold and nostalgic.

You decided to step outside your family's house, taking your rounds around it as it emptied. 

Gone was the kitchen oven that you'd see your mom bake your favorite brownies with a special ice cream on top, the living room with bookshelves of books you haven't read even once in your life, and your room, empty and not messy with posters full of favorite movies and celebrities you gushed over when you were in your teens.

You wandered slowly, letting your feet remember every corner. 

You did have everything you needed in this town. The small convenience store just ahead of your house was still open, though it now had shiny glass walls and a proper entrance door. But the old, colorful mushroom chairs were still there, now freshly painted and glossy.

You remembered you always had to fight for the green one with one of your classmates in grade school when you'd stop by here, but you always lost, crying your heart out when someone pushed you off, even if you'd sat there first.

Though, you always had someone behind you, someone who'd fight for you when you couldn't. Seunghan, that shorter kid but whose sense of justice felt bigger than his small frame, would drive away those who made you cry.

He was always by your side, your best friend. When you'd play tag and when you were the one 'it' and couldn't reach your peers because they were much faster and agile than you, Seunghan would slow down, let you catch him, and make sure you got to "win," seeing your frustration and the tears threatening to fall.

You caught yourself laughing, a sudden memory resurfacing of him tripping over his own feet once. He had a developing tooth that week that he'd been training on pushing back and forth to pull it out; desperate to meet the tooth fairy, he said, 'cause he'd give him money in change for his tooth. But after he fell on the dirt, his tooth came out—only for it to get lost right after.

"My money!" he sobbed, and you had promised him that day that you'd give him your tooth if he'd stop crying.

Years slipped by almost unnoticed. From scraped knees and playground dares, we grew into awkward teens, tripping over feelings we didn't know how to name.

You and your own insecurities, your changing body, the mood swings you didn't know how to control. Seunghan, who got taller and whose voice got deeper, started caring about his hair and clothes and had girls fawning over him.

Seunghan was a handsome guy, and he knew that himself, but no one ever knew why he hadn't flirted with all the pretty girls and seniors who would ask for his contacts even if mysterious chocolates were left in his locker.

What you didn't see then was that he liked you and had liked you for a long time.

One day, one of his friends pulled you aside, telling you to go behind the school library since Seunghan had something 'important' to say to you. There, he was nervously smoothing back hair stiff with gel with something hidden behind his back.

His confession was corny, like something he had read from a dummy's guide to confessing to your crush and a love song, with lines like:

"You're the apple to my pie, you're the straw to my berry, you're the smoke to my high—but I promise you I don't smoke. And…" he paused, his ears growing redder than a scarlet. "And you're the one I want to marry."

You should've felt the butterflies at that time, but you took this confession like it was a prank, too comical not to laugh until you clutched your stomach, saying, "Aren't those the lyrics to the 'Perfect Two'?"

He felt like he was caught red-handed and too embarrassed, but his conviction was stronger than his embarrassment.

"Y/N. I like you—I seriously and genuinely like you." The tone of seriousness of his words made you stop, and you took a look at him, now ready to take him seriously. 

You swore you had never seen your best friend with that face before until now—vulnerable, scared, but full of hope, and it made your stomach do flips. You looked away, unable to meet his eyes. But you felt it: the sincerity in his quiet atmosphere.

"Can I be your boyfriend?" he asked nervously, scared of your response since you were looking at anything but at him, and he revealed what he had hidden behind him: a bouquet and chocolates.

Still cliche and corny, but you knew this was true.

You nodded, and he released the breath he'd been holding, chest lifting like a weight was gone. His fist punched the air, and then he hugged you—nothing like how the two of you always did when you had to reconcile when you were fighting, but this was the start of something beyond that.

Because he was all of your firsts.

First person to hold hands with romantically when he'd wait for you outside your classroom to walk you back home.

First person who you're willing to share one ice cream with and how you'd always blush thinking about how you were indirectly kissing him right now.

First person to scoot over under one small umbrella you owned when it was raining even though he knowingly had one in his bag, but was more willing to get his shoulders wet just to be near you.

First person to share one earphones and prepare lunch for with an effort to put smiley faces on the scrambled eggs you made. You'd make side comments on how the eggs you made were too salty, and the smiley face from the ketchup had a wobbly smile that made it look like the drawing was dizzy-looking, but he always ate everything with gusto, was always grateful.

And then your first kiss.

It was on the bench at the bus stop when classes ended early. Both of you shared your dreams and hopes about the future, what you wished your own homes would look like, and where you'd like to travel when you had enough money.

Your feet were taking you to nowhere but somewhere, and when the both of you were tired, you sat down at the farthest bus stop in the town. It was quiet, the wist of the wind warm, but the both of you knew better than that. 

He scooted closer to you, his hand brushing yours resting on the bench. You looked at him, catching the soft, hopeful look in his eyes.

His gaze dropped down to your lips.

"Can I kiss you?"

You nodded, closing your eyes, too nervous to see, and he couldn't help but laugh at the view to which you smacked his arm too embarrassed to even deal with him teasing you.

Then he cupped your cheek when you looked away, tilting your face back to him, and kissed you. 

No teasing, no laughter this time. Just his warm, slightly chapped lips on yours. Your heart felt too big for your chest. You didn't know where to put your hands, but he guided you, one arm wrapping gently around your waist, the other resting against your nape.

When he pulled away, both of you breathless, he pressed his forehead to yours.

"Are you okay?" he asked, voice low and careful.

"I don't know how to kiss, Han," you whispered, a voice cracking.

He smiled softly, shaking his head. "Hey, it's okay. Here," he took your shaking hands in his, placed them on his cheeks, and brushed away the tear that slipped down yours.

"I won't force this on you if you're uncomfortable, Y/N. You know me. You just have to tell me, okay?" he softened up, his heart breaking a little at the sight of you almost crying.

You nodded, breathing in and out. When you relaxed a little, you looked up at him, and your eyes widened with the sight of him with eyes glistening too

"Why are you crying?"

"You know I've never had a strong heart, Y/N."

And you chuckled, begging for him not to cry too because then you'd ruin this precious moment.

You leaned forward first this time now, the one with a braver heart, kissing him, your arms wrapping around his neck as he came back around your waist.

At first, it was soft, a gentle press, your nervous breath catching against his mouth. But then the heat rushed in, your heart pounding so wildly it felt like it might burst through your ribs. Your hand slipped up from his shoulder to the side of his neck, fingertips brushing against the warmth of his skin.

His arm tightened around your waist, pulling you closer until your chests almost touched. The shock of closeness made your breath hitch, and he felt it, the tremor that ran through you, and instead of stopping, he leaned in further, tilting his head to deepen the kiss.

He caught the hint, mouth moving a little slower, a little deeper, tasting your sweet warmth. It wasn't perfect, teeth bumped, the way your noses brushed against each other, the nervous laugh you shared against each other's mouths when you moved your lips and leaned a certain angle, the warm, shaky exhales, and the intense gazes.

And once you both broke apart too quickly, gasping for air, but it was real. Your pulse drummed under his palm where he held your cheek, and every shaky exhale you let out seemed to draw him in further.

Your heart was beating so fast you swore he could hear it too and maybe he did, because when you pulled back, breathless and flushed, he rested his forehead on yours and let out a shaky laugh.

"Is this really happening?" He whispered, voice low and trembling.

"I…I don't know." you answered honestly, voice barely there.

He smiled then that bright and vibrant grin that included his eyes, the one that always made you feel warm all over but this time it felt more special, like this sight was for the both of you to share and only the both of you.

"Are you okay?" He asked again, but the question felt more like it was directed to him.

"Yeah… just nervous."

He chuckled, pushing back a stray strand of hair from your face and behind your ears, replying, "Me too."

The sun was already starting to set, painting the sky in streaks of orange and purple. You sat there on that bench together, hands still tangled together, shoulders brushing, hearts still beating too fast.

Neither of you said it out loud, but you both knew that this felt like it would last forever.

The year of graduation came. You were now seniors, preoccupied with entrance exams, course choices, and the question that always hung in the air: where do we go from here?

You were accepted into a university far from this town—farther than where most of your batchmates chose to stay. Farther than where Seunghan would be.

It led to your first real fight with him. At the park, near the playground where you'd shared so many quiet afternoons, your words stumbled out sharp and messy. Back and forth, voices rising and cracking.

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"Because I knew you'd react like this!"

"How is it fair that you get to leave without even asking what I think?"

"Because it's my future, Han! College won't wait for anyone."

In the end, both of you realized why you were truly upset: not because of the college choice itself, but because it meant you'd be far from each other.

When the anger faded, you sat on the swing set together and made a promise. Your first real promise to each other:

"No matter what, we'll keep in touch," you told him, voice small but hopeful.

"Every day," he added. "Always."

And you did. At first, it was easy. Messages that lasted for hours, voice calls late at night, sharing photos of new places, new routines, small funny stories you couldn't tell anyone else.

But then months turned to weeks, weeks to days. Replies got shorter. Calls got rarer. You both found yourselves staring at blank screens, not knowing what to say.

Until, slowly, you stopped reaching out altogether—not because you didn't want to, but because you didn't know how anymore.

You arrive at that same place again, walking towards the swing that was now shorter than you. It felt like it was harder to reach this when you were still smaller.

You sat down on the swing, the cold metal chain biting against your palms. You kicked the dirt a little, letting the swing move just enough to make the chains creak, that same old familiar sound.

The sky above is soft orange, already hinting at dusk, the breeze cooler than you remember. You breathed in deeply. It still smelled the same: grass, earth, something faintly metallic from the old playground.

Your chest felt tight. It's the same place where you promised to stay in touch. The same place where you both realized you were growing up and growing apart.

You leaned forward slightly, elbows on your knees, head bowed. The weight of the years pressed on your shoulders.

"Y/N?"

Your head jerked up. That familiar voice but more strained and much more mature.

And there he was. Seunghan.

He looked older, face sharper, his long hair before was now long gone, and he had a much cleaner shorter cut. His eyes looked tired as if he was catching up sleep, but his eyes were wide and surprised.

For a second, it feels like time folds in on itself, like nothing has changed at all. But then you catch the look on his face: shock, disbelief, and pain.

"Why are you here?" he asked, in a lower pitch than what you remembered, like you weren't supposed to be here.

You swallowed, your own voice small when it came out. "I'm selling our house."

"I see..." he ended, not knowing what to do next but his instincts are yelling at him to just take you in his arms again, like nothing happened. But he knew better, he had no position to do that.

"Sit next to me." you finally spoke out and he looked a bit shocked but still obliged, sitting to the swing next to yours.

It was silent, a comfortable silence like they deserved this time to take a time to pause before speaking up, and catching up.

"You know, the town changed a lot while you were gone." He finally spoke up and you looked at him, staring at the distance.

"I noticed, yeah." you said, gaze on the familiar playground now faded around the edges.

"My life changed a lot too… after we stopped talking." He glanced over, catching your eyes before looking away again. "I work from home now. Graduated the same year you did, I think. The aunty at the convenience store passed away—her daughter's running it now."

You stayed silent, letting him continue.

"My parents… they're getting older. But they still want to stay. I used to think it was stubborn. But now I kind of get it. If you stay long enough, the world outside feels… less real." He lets out a quiet laugh, almost breathless.

"I understand a bit better now, why you had to leave, Y/N. Back then, I pushed you too hard. Sorry about that."

"No, it's okay," you said, voice gentler than you thought it would be. "We were still kids."

"Yeah," he echoed, softer. "We were."

Silence overcame once again. The playground around you emptied out, kids running off to homes you barely remember. The sun dipped lower, the light catching on the metal chains, turning them gold.

"You might not have noticed," he said quietly, "but today's the same day you left town."

Your breath caught.

"Why do you still come back, Han? We lost contact—we moved on."

"You did, Y/N." His voice dropped even softer, almost breaking.

A beat passed.

Then he whispered, voice raw:

"God… it's been so long since I've heard you say my name."

Silence drapes over you both—heavy, warm, painful.

"Maybe…" he started, voice unsteady, "…maybe I love hurting myself, thinking that we could be something again."

"Maybe we could," you said, almost too immediately, barely above a whisper, tasting the hope before it burns.

He sighed, the sound tired, older. "You don't understand, Y/N. I was hurt for a long time… and it still hurts, even just sitting here talking to you after so many years. I'm leaving this town for good. With my kids."

Kids.

The word settled between you like dust.

You hesitated, your throat tight, then asked carefully, almost afraid:

"How many?"

"Two," he said. "One girl. One boy."

"Just like what you always wanted," you managed, your voice cracking.

"Yeah…" he murmured, a small, sad smile flickering across his face.

You inhaled shakily. "I came back here… hoping you'd be here. Because if I didn't, I know I'd die just thinking about it, about us..." you paused.

"And I know I'd die if I did see you here… and I'd die if I didn't see you where we were."

He looked at you, and for a moment the years melt away.

"That was us."

"Yeah," you whispered back, pained. "It was…"

Then, behind him, a small voice broke through.

"Dad! Let's go! Grandpa's crying because he saw our bags!"

A girl—hair dark, and bright-eyed like his, so unmistakably his.

Your chest tightened painfully.

"She's beautiful," you said, words raw.

Seunghan stood up to approach them going to him and then he looked at you. His smile stretches wide, almost too wide, bright and breaking all at once. He lifted a hand and waved.

"Goodbye, Y/N," his eyes seemed to say, even if his mouth didn't.

You watched as he walked away, his kid tugging at his hands. And for a second, you think you'll turn back too, but you don't.

You looked ahead.

And you never looked back again.

© anthoscope. do not plagiarize, repost, and translate. all rights reserved.

[anthoscope]

‘Love is an organic thing. It rots and softens.’

Words by Clementine Von Radics

[anthoscope]

omg, i didn't expect to have such a long review of my first riize fic 🥺 y/n is def part of the broadasting station along with the duo (jimmy lee and calvin hong) and i never got to experience prereg myself because my univ changed our registration from the hunger games to block sectioning (tyL)

and i fear that you're so accurate with all of your guesses hahaha. i hope you liked this one!

chapter i: coincidental⠀( l.cy )

pairing ⠀anton lee x gn!reader

genre/s⠀fluff, slice-of-life, university!au

warning/s ⠀cursing, mentions of murder (during a conversation)

wc ⠀1.4k

a/n ⠀chapter one up ^^ feel free to play the song “endless song” by no reply for a more cinematic experience lol. i hope you enjoyed this one! taglist is still open fyi ( to those who wanted to be added tysm for taking an interest to this :(( <33 ) just comment or send an ask if you want to be a part of it

synopsis ⠀it’s a universal experience to have one person you always encounter on campus, a person you might know or not. for you, it’s anton lee—your first-semester crush, whose familiar face keeps turning up wherever you are.

Strange, you thought, but not impossible not ever seeing this one guy you’ve been crushing on ever since that university festival night.

It was the first semester of a new academic year. Your cluster of the humanities band performance for the battle of the bands contest was what one would expect for a cluster with fine arts courses. Explosive, unique, and deserving of loud applause and awes, especially with all of the high notes and the way each member shone all throughout the performance.

This was a sure win for your cluster.

While up next were the engineering cluster. You’d heard rumors here and there that they came unprepared, that they only gathered people through desperate pleading and were purely involuntary—the opposite of your cluster, who had to hold auditions, you really expected nothing.

You were still recovering from cheering so loud especially that your friends, Sohee and Seunghan, who were the vocalists in the band, jokingly threatened you that if they didn’t hear your voice screaming their names, they’ll hunt you down. It was already tiring enough to walk around the campus, scanning through all the booths and events, and you’d rather lie down on your bed in your dorm room and recover from the hell prelims dragged you through.

But you don’t take chances.

You cleared your throat and scanned through the fancam videos you made of them, which included your enthusiastic screams. Just as you were sending the proof of you cheering your cluster’s band, the engineering cluster’s band enters the stage and plugs up their instruments.

"If there was a criteria for being good looking, they'd have a high score for that one, for sure." The person on your right commented, and you looked up.

“Wow.” was all you could say. They were eye-catching for sure.

Their concept was youthful, especially with their outfits: plaid shirts, jeans, worn-out sneakers, and white tees. It’s a concept that’s easy to pull off if they prepared at the last minute.

“Hello, this is the engineering cluster, and we will be performing Endless Song by no reply.” The frontman vocalist nervously introduced, and they immediately started after the drummer gave their cue.

Their performance was clumsy, but in a way that felt natural. The piano opened soft and mellow, and the pianist’s nasal boyish voice filled the first verse. Then the bass, drums, and guitar swept in with the second verse. It wasn’t perfect, but with polish, you thought, they could score higher.

Though your eyes kept drifting back to one guy.

The bassist.

He kept on looking at his bass, as if focused on what note to play next even though he managed to play well when he looked at anywhere but the crowd in front of him. There was a microphone stand in front of him, meaning he was also singing.

But when?

The bass and piano stayed during the bridge, and he sings, a small voice coming out, shy—as if confessing something not meant to be heard by many.

You realized you'd been tapping your foot to the beat but stopped. The bass's quiet thud carried under your shoes, small vibrations that made you feel awake in a way you couldn’t name. The spring night air felt cold, but the spotlight on him was warm, bright enough that you couldn’t look away.

He starts a little shakey but slowly closes them as he focused.

"Did you know? I called quietly. This little voice the song that made me dream."

Suddenly, it's hard to look away.

He sang the rest of the chorus, now a little braver and a little surer, and you caught the moment his eyes opened, catching the light. A quick, fleeting smile, a bit infectious, like he was finally breathing.

The bass, guitar, and drums rose and fell, the piano steady for the outro. Then he looked at the crowd—really looked—and your breath hitched when his gaze stopped somewhere near you.

Just for a moment, it felt like he was looking at you.

"I will always sing for you. The endless stories, the passing time, your back-image—with this song."

The piano continued playing, now softer as it comes to an end. He looked away, smiling brightly, shoulders loosening as they all bowed.

“Hey, speaking of the university festival,” Sohee started, smirking behind his coffee cup. “Didn’t you have a crush on that bassist from engineering?”

You clapped too, slow, chest still fluttering like it hadn’t decided to calm down.

And ever since then, that was the last time you saw him.

You groaned, leaning back in your chair. “God, Sohee, must you bring that up—”

“You never ran into that bassist guy again?” he pressed on, grin widening, his eyes turning into a crescent line.

“Yeah,” Seunghan added to the teasing, leaning forward over the table. “You’ve been oddly quiet about your festival crush these days.”

You picked at the corner of your notebook and avoiding their gaze, trying not to sound too defensive.

“Guys, it wasn’t even that serious,” you muttered. “I just thought... maybe I'd see him around. I mean, our buildings are literally next to each other. But nothing. Not even once.”

"Is our Y/N in love?" Sohee gasped, and you gave him a disgusted look.

“Damn,” Seunghan whistled softly, “I can even spot random biology majors sometimes. But engineering students? These STEM majors are like walking corpses even in broad daylight. But still, never seeing him? That’s odd.”

“Face it, Y/N. Maybe the guy’s avoiding you,” Sohee teased, resting his chin on his palm.

“The joke is getting old, Jimmy Lee,” you shot back.

“No, but seriously. He reminds me of uncanny valley,” Seunghan continued, eyebrows scrunched. “Backstage that night? Your bass guy was staring into the void like he’d unlocked the fourth dimension.”

You let out a small laugh, ignoring how the words “your bass guy” made something in your chest flutter.

“By the way, what electives did you get for the second semester?” you asked, moving on.

“Uhm, I took Virtual Communications. Easy A, I heard,” Sohee said.

Seunghan nudged him, eyes wide. “Ten to noon under Mr. Myung?”

“What the fuck, we’re in the same class!” They jumped up from the couch, celebrating like kids on a pogo stick.

You rolled your eyes, a chuckle slipping out. These idiots could be cute sometimes.

Just when they weren’t grilling you.

“What about you?” they asked, turning to you with matching grins.

“Uhm…I took Ethics.”

The drop of their grins.

“Are you kidding me? Don’t tell me it’s at eight in the morning,” Seunghan said.

“Yeah?”

They threw their hands up.

“Existential crisis before breakfast, huh.” Seunghan sighed.

“Ah, yes, the age‑old question: why is murder wrong?” Sohee said.

“Bro, that’s a shit schedule you got right there,” Seunghan added.

“I feel like I’m getting ganged up on like a youngest child,” you muttered.

“We should’ve gone on Facetime when we were pre-registering,” It must end that way, right?

You didn’t tell them you had checked. That you’d hovered over other classes but ended up picking ethics.

A knock interrupted the teasing, your senior, Johnny, poking his head in.

“Good work today, everyone. Really. Y/N, your script was smooth this time.” He gave a small nod. “And you two—less bickering on Y/N today. Progress.”

Sohee and Seunghan exchanged a playful glare, pretending to be offended.

“Anyway, pack up and go home. I’ll be doing some minor touch-ups for transition today, and I'll upload it tonight. The station’s ours again at 3 PM and please,” he paused, for dramatic effect. "Save some energy again for tomorrow’s recorded session."

We all laughed, the tired kind that slipped out at the end of a long day. We bid our farewell, and thank yous.

Seunghan stretched, nearly knocking over an empty coffee cup. Sohee smacked his arm, convincing him something about trying “shadow boxing” for tomorrow’s gimmick, and you tucked your phone into your pocket, feeling the leftover buzz of the shift slowly fade.

Somehow comforting, somehow lonely.

It was already six in the evening—the usual time you wrapped up and the campus was still alive.

The station always felt strangely quiet after sign‑off: the red “ON AIR” light turned off, the leftover hum of equipment settling back into silence.

You and your friends walked out, splitting off in different directions after a round of goodbyes.

The festival felt far away.

Your silly crush, even further.

You remembered you had to wake up early tomorrow.

Gosh, was picking ethics really that bad?

──⠀taglist ⠀.⠀@jkeydiary ⠀@feymine

──⠀next page to⠀.⠀masterlist⠀chap i⠀chap ii⠀chap iii

© anthoscope. do not plagiarize, repost, and translate. all rights reserved.

[anthoscope]

chapter i: coincidental⠀( l.cy )

pairing ⠀anton lee x gn!reader

genre/s⠀fluff, slice-of-life, university!au

warning/s ⠀cursing, mentions of murder (during a conversation)

wc ⠀1.4k

a/n ⠀chapter one up ^^ feel free to play the song “endless song” by no reply for a more cinematic experience lol. i hope you enjoyed this one! taglist is still open fyi ( to those who wanted to be added tysm for taking an interest to this :(( <33 ) just comment or send an ask if you want to be a part of it

synopsis ⠀it’s a universal experience to have one person you always encounter on campus, a person you might know or not. for you, it’s anton lee—your first-semester crush, whose familiar face keeps turning up wherever you are.

Strange, you thought, but not impossible not ever seeing this one guy you’ve been crushing on ever since that university festival night.

It was the first semester of a new academic year. Your cluster of the humanities band performance for the battle of the bands contest was what one would expect for a cluster with fine arts courses. Explosive, unique, and deserving of loud applause and awes, especially with all of the high notes and the way each member shone all throughout the performance.

This was a sure win for your cluster.

While up next were the engineering cluster. You’d heard rumors here and there that they came unprepared, that they only gathered people through desperate pleading and were purely involuntary—the opposite of your cluster, who had to hold auditions, you really expected nothing.

You were still recovering from cheering so loud especially that your friends, Sohee and Seunghan, who were the vocalists in the band, jokingly threatened you that if they didn’t hear your voice screaming their names, they’ll hunt you down. It was already tiring enough to walk around the campus, scanning through all the booths and events, and you’d rather lie down on your bed in your dorm room and recover from the hell prelims dragged you through.

But you don’t take chances.

You cleared your throat and scanned through the fancam videos you made of them, which included your enthusiastic screams. Just as you were sending the proof of you cheering your cluster’s band, the engineering cluster’s band enters the stage and plugs up their instruments.

"If there was a criteria for being good looking, they'd have a high score for that one, for sure." The person on your right commented, and you looked up.

“Wow.” was all you could say. They were eye-catching for sure.

Their concept was youthful, especially with their outfits: plaid shirts, jeans, worn-out sneakers, and white tees. It’s a concept that’s easy to pull off if they prepared at the last minute.

“Hello, this is the engineering cluster, and we will be performing Endless Song by no reply.” The frontman vocalist nervously introduced, and they immediately started after the drummer gave their cue.

Their performance was clumsy, but in a way that felt natural. The piano opened soft and mellow, and the pianist’s nasal boyish voice filled the first verse. Then the bass, drums, and guitar swept in with the second verse. It wasn’t perfect, but with polish, you thought, they could score higher.

Though your eyes kept drifting back to one guy.

The bassist.

He kept on looking at his bass, as if focused on what note to play next even though he managed to play well when he looked at anywhere but the crowd in front of him. There was a microphone stand in front of him, meaning he was also singing.

But when?

The bass and piano stayed during the bridge, and he sings, a small voice coming out, shy—as if confessing something not meant to be heard by many.

You realized you'd been tapping your foot to the beat but stopped. The bass's quiet thud carried under your shoes, small vibrations that made you feel awake in a way you couldn’t name. The spring night air felt cold, but the spotlight on him was warm, bright enough that you couldn’t look away.

He starts a little shakey but slowly closes them as he focused.

"Did you know? I called quietly. This little voice the song that made me dream."

Suddenly, it's hard to look away.

He sang the rest of the chorus, now a little braver and a little surer, and you caught the moment his eyes opened, catching the light. A quick, fleeting smile, a bit infectious, like he was finally breathing.

The bass, guitar, and drums rose and fell, the piano steady for the outro. Then he looked at the crowd—really looked—and your breath hitched when his gaze stopped somewhere near you.

Just for a moment, it felt like he was looking at you.

"I will always sing for you. The endless stories, the passing time, your back-image—with this song."

The piano continued playing, now softer as it comes to an end. He looked away, smiling brightly, shoulders loosening as they all bowed.

You clapped too, slow, chest still fluttering like it hadn’t decided to calm down.

And ever since then, that was the last time you saw him.

“Hey, speaking of the university festival,” Sohee started, smirking behind his coffee cup. “Didn’t you have a crush on that bassist from engineering?”

You groaned, leaning back in your chair. “God, Sohee, must you bring that up—”

“You never ran into that bassist guy again?” he pressed on, grin widening, his eyes turning into a crescent line.

“Yeah,” Seunghan added to the teasing, leaning forward over the table. “You’ve been oddly quiet about your festival crush these days.”

You picked at the corner of your notebook and avoiding their gaze, trying not to sound too defensive.

“Guys, it wasn’t even that serious,” you muttered. “I just thought... maybe I'd see him around. I mean, our buildings are literally next to each other. But nothing. Not even once.”

"Is our Y/N in love?" Sohee gasped, and you gave him a disgusted look.

“Damn,” Seunghan whistled softly, “I can even spot random biology majors sometimes. But engineering students? These STEM majors are like walking corpses even in broad daylight. But still, never seeing him? That’s odd.”

“Face it, Y/N. Maybe the guy’s avoiding you,” Sohee teased, resting his chin on his palm.

“The joke is getting old, Jimmy Lee,” you shot back.

“No, but seriously. He reminds me of uncanny valley,” Seunghan continued, eyebrows scrunched. “Backstage that night? Your bass guy was staring into the void like he’d unlocked the fourth dimension.”

You let out a small laugh, ignoring how the words “your bass guy” made something in your chest flutter.

“By the way, what electives did you get for the second semester?” you asked, moving on.

“Uhm, I took Virtual Communications. Easy A, I heard,” Sohee said.

Seunghan nudged him, eyes wide. “Ten to noon under Mr. Myung?”

“What the fuck, we’re in the same class!” They jumped up from the couch, celebrating like kids on a pogo stick.

You rolled your eyes, a chuckle slipping out. These idiots could be cute sometimes.

Just when they weren’t grilling you.

“What about you?” they asked, turning to you with matching grins.

“Uhm…I took Ethics.”

The drop of their grins.

“Are you kidding me? Don’t tell me it’s at eight in the morning,” Seunghan said.

“Yeah?”

They threw their hands up.

“Existential crisis before breakfast, huh.” Seunghan sighed.

“Ah, yes, the age‑old question: why is murder wrong?” Sohee said.

“Bro, that’s a shit schedule you got right there,” Seunghan added.

“I feel like I’m getting ganged up on like a youngest child,” you muttered.

“We should’ve gone on Facetime when we were pre-registering,”

You didn’t tell them you had checked. That you’d hovered over other classes but ended up picking ethics.

A knock interrupted the teasing, your senior, Johnny, poking his head in.

“Good work today, everyone. Really. Y/N, your script was smooth this time.” He gave a small nod. “And you two—less bickering on Y/N today. Progress.”

Sohee and Seunghan exchanged a playful glare, pretending to be offended.

“Anyway, pack up and go home. I’ll be doing some minor touch-ups for transition today, and I'll upload it tonight. The station’s ours again at 3 PM and please,” he paused, for dramatic effect. "Save some energy again for tomorrow’s recorded session."

We all laughed, the tired kind that slipped out at the end of a long day. We bid our farewell, and thank yous.

Seunghan stretched, nearly knocking over an empty coffee cup. Sohee smacked his arm, convincing him something about trying “shadow boxing” for tomorrow’s gimmick, and you tucked your phone into your pocket, feeling the leftover buzz of the shift slowly fade.

It was already six in the evening—the usual time you wrapped up and the campus was still alive.

The station always felt strangely quiet after sign‑off: the red “ON AIR” light turned off, the leftover hum of equipment settling back into silence.

Somehow comforting, somehow lonely.

You and your friends walked out, splitting off in different directions after a round of goodbyes.

The festival felt far away.

Your silly crush, even further.

You remembered you had to wake up early tomorrow.

Gosh, was picking ethics really that bad?

──⠀taglist ⠀.⠀@jkeydiary ⠀@feymine ⠀@dreamiestay

──⠀next page to⠀.⠀masterlist⠀chap i⠀chap ii⠀chap iii

© anthoscope. do not plagiarize, repost, and translate. all rights reserved.

[anthoscope]

001⠀頁⠀:⠀𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

this is...⠀⠀wyn⠀,⠀she/her⠀,⠀nineteen⠀, ⠀filo , ⠀sfw&nsfw

is also...⠀⠀@aqupistau⠀@cupofwyn⠀(will repost old fics here)

fandoms to be written...⠀ riize⠀exo⠀nct⠀bnd⠀haikyuu⠀jjk⠀

──⠀latest work⠀.⠀mastermind: chapter ii (lee chanyoung)

──⠀next page to⠀.⠀navigation⠀⠀ masterlist⠀⠀tags⠀⠀info⠀⠀ficrec

© anthoscope. do not plagiarize, repost, and translate. all rights reserved.

[anthoscope]

mastermind: a short series⠀( l.cy )

pairing ⠀anton lee x gn!reader

genre/s⠀fluff, slice-of-life, university!au

warning/s ⠀cursing

a/n ⠀hi! this is my first work of riize and i'm also new with the riizeblr community. this series will be short, and i came up with it because my writer instincts just went wild when i heard mastermind by taylor swift for the first time from an edit, and i just had to. comment down below or reblog this if u want to be added to the taglist once i publish one of the chapters!

synopsis ⠀it’s a universal experience to have one person you always encounter on campus, a person you might know or not. for you, it’s anton lee—your first-semester crush, whose familiar face keeps turning up wherever you are.

— the chapters.

chapter i: coincidental

chapter ii: circumstantial

chapter iii: consequential

© anthoscope. do not plagiarize, repost, and translate. all rights reserved.