dalgomii - Tumblr blog

dalgomii · 5 months ago

Text

Drawn to You

SYNOPSIS: you're convinced Renjun is secretly drawing lewd hentai. Why else would he be so goddamn protective of his sketchbook? PAIRING(S): Artist!Renjun x Muse!reader GENRE: highschool au, fluff WARNING(S): light swearing, can u tell im an amateur how do you do this, uhh reader is vv oblivious WORD COUNT: 14.3k AUTHOR'S NOTE: Don't worry (spoiler alert!) there's really no hentai involved!! Just 100% fluff I swear

Renjun was annoyingly talented.

The kind of talented that made you grip your hair and render your scalp bald because of just how effortless it all came to him. The kind that made you question if he was secretly an ancient art god cursed to live among mere mortals.

You’d seen his work countless times over the years, but you still remember the first time he showed it to you.

It was freshman year, and the two of you had been paired up for an investigative piece on cafeteria food for the school publication. A thrilling exposé on soggy fries and cold spaghetti.

Truly, groundbreaking journalism.

In all honesty, you had joined the club just to make your college application look fuller. Writing about the "mystery meat surprise" hadn’t exactly been what you’d envisioned, but hey, it was better than actually eating it.

Renjun, on the other hand, had taken the assignment way too seriously.

When he showed you his progress, you nearly choked on your saliva.

The photos you’d snapped during lunch, blurry, poorly lit, and somehow all slightly out of focus had been transformed. His illustrations weren’t just drawings, they were alive. The shading was perfect and the details were so vivid you could almost hear the crunch of the cafeteria fries (if they weren’t stale from sitting out for too long).

“Oh my God that looks sick!” You gasp, pausing from typing on your laptop to gape at his work.

Renjun had glanced at you, trying to act indifferent. “It’s just food,” he’d said, his tone dismissive.

Just food? It wasn’t “just food.” It was a masterpiece. It was the Mona Lisa of school lunches. It was so good your senior editor didn’t even bother reading the article.

“Looks great, team!” He said, ignoring the paragraphs you’ve written to admire Renjun’s artwork.

From that day on, you realized two things:

1. Renjun was ridiculously good at what he did. 2. You were going to have to step up your game if you didn’t want to look completely useless next to him.

So you did.

Over the years, journalism, which had started as just another bullet point for your college application, became a genuine passion. You proved reliable and integral to the club, eventually becoming Editor-in-Chief.

And Renjun? He stuck by your side, turning all your wild ideas into reality.

It was almost terrifying how well you worked together. You’d scribble out stick figures on napkins, and he’d turn them into actual art. Almost like he could read your mind and translate whatever was in your thoughts.

He was so annoyingly, unfairly talented, it was infuriating. But at least you got to take some credit as his partner.

Despite knowing Renjun for years, it perplexed you as to why the boy was still so shy in showing you his work. You showered him with praise every chance you got and you were very vocal about how much his art was a delight.

The biggest mystery lay in his portable sketchbook, a gift you had given him for his birthday last year.

He had jokingly rolled his eyes when he opened it up. “A sketchbook, how original,” tone dripping with sarcasm.

You smile unfazed and shrug, “Hey, at least I got you something. And no Hyuck, a kiss doesn’t count!” You pointed at the boy beside Renjun.

Donghyuck’s eyes widen and he raises his hands in defense. “My presence is the greatest gift of all, isn’t it, Renjunnie?” he cooed, puckering his lips dramatically.

Renjun raises a hand to smack him in the face.

He turns to you and gives a genuine smile. “Thank you (y/n).”

“I’ll put this away along with the 50 other sketchbooks I’ve been given.” He added, tone flat.

At the time, you assumed he was joking. You soon come to realize it was no exaggeration. You guess everyone else had the same idea for a present.

It took him months to go through all the other sketchbooks he had before he got around to using the one you gave him.

You’d think because you got it for him, he’d be showing you what he’s drawn.

Renjun was extremely overprotective, refusing to show you what was inside.

At first, when you saw him pull it out for the first time, you simply asked to see out of courtesy. But his adamant refusal piqued your interest. Renjun never relented, and until now, you have yet to see what’s inside.

The more he says no, the more curious you get. What’s in there? Why is he so protective of it? What makes this different from all the other pieces he’s shown you before?

And why did it feel like he was especially determined to keep it from you?

You mulled over these questions as you sat at your usual table in the courtyard, tossing your bag onto the seat beside you, barely missing Donghyuck by an inch and taking your place beside him.

He yells at you. “Are you blind? Why do you have to aim at me!”

You don’t bother sparing him a glance. “Too bad I missed.”

He mumbles a few curses under his breath and goes back to inhaling his burger.

You notice Renjun’s stuff sitting atop the table, the infamous sketchbook peeking out of his bag.

“You know,” you said casually, propping your chin on your palm, “I’ve always wondered what’s in that sketchbook.”

Haechan paused mid-bite and looks at you, “You haven’t seen it yet?”

Your eyes widen.

“Have you??” You stand.

Renjun showed Haechan of all people?

Hyuck takes his time chewing, dragging the silence intentionally, and then wiping his mouth before replying.

“I’ve seen it loads of times.” He smirks, clearly enjoying your growing impatience.

“No way, how could he show you and not me? He’s never let me look. Not even once. And i’m nicer than you!” You point accusatory.

Hyuck shrugged. “Maybe because it’s better that you don’t know.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You demanded but before he could answer, your conversation is cut short when Renjun arrives carrying a tray of food, Chenle and Jisung not too far behind.

“All I know is it’s full of Renjun’s favorite thing to draw.” Hyuck winks.

Renjun places down his tray, raising an eyebrow and looking at Hyuck suspiciously, “I like to draw what now?”

“Oh, nothing,” Haechan giggles. “I was just telling (y/n) about your sketchbook.” He waggles his eyebrows.

Renjun expression shifts from suspicion to alarm, immediately looking like he wants to commit murder, and stomps on over to Hyuck’s side of the table.

“I’m gonna kill you, Lee Donghyuck!”

Haechan immediately ducks down to avoid the wrath and fury of the boy, which did absolutely nothing as the latter starts poking him aggressively by the ribs.

Hyuck’s laughs and cries for help fill the ambiance and you can’t help but ponder over the ridiculous scene with confusion.

The most logical thing to do was use your head and make a guess.

“Dude. Don’t tell me you’re drawing lewd hentai on that thing.”

That got everyone’s attention.

Chenle and Jisung, who were preoccupied with their own conversation whip their heads so fast you swear you heard a crack.

“What the fuck did you just say?” Chenle nearly choked on his drink, about to burst into a loud fit of laughter. Jisung doubled over, banging his fist on the table.

Haechan’s terror ends as Renjun shoots you a look.

“No because, I’m being dead serious. Why else would you be so protective over that sketchbook anyway?” You explain exasperatedly.

“You’re an idiot.” He deadpans.

“Yeah, Renjun would at least be discreet about it,” Haechan chimed in. “No way he’s hauling his hentai collection to school every day, come on guys.”

“First of all, shut up I’m not done with you,’ He glares at Haechan. ‘Second, I DON’T DRAW HENTAI!” He barks at the rest of the table. A few heads turn to look at him weirdly, and Renjun’s cheeks turn red.

“Well you’re never gonna beat the allegations until you show us what’s inside.” Chenle shrugs, casually challenging him.

Jisung, ever the instigator, grins and starts chanting, “Show us! Show us!” while banging his fists on the table.

Not long after, the rest of you chant with him, even Hyuck, who’s still cowering under Renjun, enjoying his mortified expression.

Renjun groans, rolling his eyes, and grabs his bag. “You guys are all so stupid.” He muttered, before storming off the table to go back inside the school building.

Haechan laughs gleefully, satisfied with his reaction.

Chenle snickers and Jisung goes back to eating, both clearly unbothered about the whole thing.

But you can’t help but feel a little guilty. “Guys, we didn’t go too far right?” You ask.

“Nope!”

“Nah.”

Jisung shakes his head.

Despite the chorus of no’s, a tight feeling grows on your chest. Maybe you owed Renjun an apology.

Once the bell to your last period rang, signifying the end of classes, you spring up from your desk in a hurry, grabbing all your stuff and heading towards the door at lightspeed.

Your destination? The club room.

The Monday meeting for the school publication was a sacred ritual, brainstorming articles, assigning tasks, and sipping lukewarm vending machine coffee like it was a lifeline.

As the Editor-in-Chief, you had already planned out what to discuss, mostly just assigning tasks and articles for the members to work on.

But Renjun’s abrupt departure at lunch still weighed on your head. You hoped to catch him during club time and apologize.

A few minutes pass, and everyone seems to be settling in, with most of the members having sat down and your laptop already plugged into the projector.

Still no sign of Renjun.

You wait a few more minutes, hoping. Though it was clear he wasn’t showing up today.

You sigh. Regardless, you still have to move on with the meeting.

You clear your throat, which catches everyone’s attention, and you begin going through the list of topics on the agenda.

Halfway into the meeting, the door creaks loudly.

You turn to meet Renjun’s gaze who immediately looks away and shyly waves at the rest of the members.

“Sorry guys, Ms. Jeon held me back.” He smiled sheepishly.

He quickly takes a seat at the back of the room and you cough to try and stop the smile spreading on your face.

Once you finish up wrapping the meeting, your clubmates start to disperse, some lingered to chat. others bolted for the door in a hurry.

You’re clearing your desk and putting away your laptop when you feel someone approach the front of your table.

You look up to see Renjun clutching the strap of his messenger bag, eyes soft and a smile tugging at his lips.

“Hey, sorry for being late,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “I had to clarify some stuff with Ms. Jeon for this project I submitted.”

He held your gaze for a few seconds before looking away to shift his focus to the laptop in your hands. “Need help carrying that?”

You felt a wave of relief wash over you, his familiar presence easing the tension.

“I was starting to think you wouldn’t show up.” You slyly grin, raising your eyebrows to tease him.

“Yeah, well, I’m a busy person.” He rolls his eyes. “I have a ton of important things to do, too.”

“Like what? Doodling?” You laugh, the sound light and melodious, captivating Renjun like a song he couldn’t get out of his head. It was his favorite sound in the world.

Renjun shakes his head as if he’s in a trance.

You continue, “Actually one of those important things are the new tasks I assigned to you.” You lean forward, tone dripping with mock authority. “Better get to work on them soon!” You wink.

Before Renjun can protest, a girl with long, sleek hair steps forward, tucking a strand behind her ear shyly. Her cheeks are faintly flushed, and she hesitates for a moment before speaking.

“Hello.. About the articles I was assigned to, um, I was wondering if I could partner up with Renjun instead? I already asked Giselle if we could switch.”

Renjun turns to face her, his eyes lighting up in recognition.

“Oh, Yizhuo? You finally joined the club!”

She nods shyly, her hands fidgeting with each other. “I never would have if you didn’t encourage me to.” She says softly.

Renjun smiles. “Well, the minute I saw your designs in class, I knew you’d be a great fit here. You’re seriously impressive.”

You watch the two interact, your brow furrowing slightly. You’ve always been observant, but was Renjun always this nice? So full of compliments, so genuine?

“I’ll update the task list later!” You beam. Whatever the case, you should be supportive. Renjun was your friend after all.

Yizhuo smiles, satisfied, and waves goodbye to both of you before walking off.

“You seem in a much better mood now,” you muse.

“Huh?” Renjun blinks, clearly distracted.

“Lunch,” you said, folding your arms. “You seemed pretty pissed earlier. Sorry about that, by the way. We didn’t mean to take things too far.”

Renjun laughs as he recalls what happened at lunch. “I deal with them on a daily. You think I’d get seriously pissed off at that?” He shakes his head.

“I dunno,” you shrug, “you walked off pretty fast.”

“Well, you guys were being annoying,” he admits. “I also happened to have a project due that wasn’t finished. I didn’t really have any reason to stick around, so I just left.”

Honestly, Renjun could deal with his friends being annoying, but what really ticked him off was how they were dangerously close to outing the contents of his sketchbook to you. They were playing with fire, and it made his stomach twist with nerves.

“Anyways, what’s up with you and Yizhuo?” You ask, feigning nonchalance.

“Hm?” Renjun blinks at you. “Oh, we share a few classes,” he says casually. “She’s really talented. I told her she should join the club and help out with the art and layout stuff.”

You raise an eyebrow, not entirely convinced but deciding to let it go for now.

Renjun changes the subject, his tone turning softer as he flashes you an easy smile. “Wanna walk home together?” he asks.

You smile apologetically. “You can go ahead. I have to do an interview with some of the athletes.”

Renjun opens his mouth, ready to protest, but the firmness in your tone stops him. He hesitates for a moment, before letting out a quiet sigh.

“Fine,” he mutters, clearly reluctant, but he turns towards the door as you give him a small wave goodbye.

Renjun glances back briefly as if debating whether to say something else, but instead, continues to walk away, the soft sound of his footsteps fading down the hall.

It takes you a moment to notice the crumpled piece of paper that had slipped from Renjun’s bag. You bend down to pick it up.

You glance towards the door, intent on catching him, before he disappears down the hallway.

But when you step outside, the corridor is already empty, the faint echo of his footsteps long gone.

You retreat back inside, slinging your bag over your shoulder. Curiosity itches at you as you smooth out the crumpled sheet.

“Hm? Isn’t this from his sketchbook?” you murmur, noticing the distinct line of holes along the top edge and the familiar size of the page. It doesn’t take long to confirm, it’s definitely from the sketchbook you gave him.

Unfolding it completely, you turn the page around to reveal a portrait sketch. Though unfinished, the soft, feminine features were unmistakable. And the girl seemed to be wearing your school’s uniform.

You raise an eyebrow, staring at the drawing.

Renjun was drawing girls in your school now?

That alone would have been surprising. Renjun had always preferred sketching landscapes, inanimate objects, and quiet sceneries.

He never drew people.

Donghyuck had pestered him countless times to model for a portrait, only to be met with Renjun’s flat-out refusal, brushing him off with a scowl and a curt, “I don’t draw people.”

Yet here, on this page, was evidence to the contrary. And stranger still, the girl looked oddly familiar.

You glance at the page again, tracing the faint, unfinished lines of the girl’s face. It’s softer, more personal than anything you’ve seen him create before. There’s something about the delicacy of the details, the portrayal of her features.

It’s so unlike him, yet undeniably his work.

You rack your brain for an explanation, and your thoughts drift back to the interaction between Renjun and Yizhuo earlier.

Don’t tell me he’s sketching Yizhuo when they share classes?

Maybe it’s not so far-fetched. After all, the way he spoke to her and the compliments. It all made sense now in a way you hadn’t noticed before. But then again, the sketch was far too unfinished, too vague to really tell if it was her.

Still, there was one thing that was clear, Renjun had a crush.

And the revelation made your heart hurt.

You had caught yourself having more than platonic feelings for Renjun before, but you always convinced yourself that it was just friendly admiration, that it was no big deal, but now you couldn’t shake the feeling of something slipping out of your grasp.

After a long day at school, you collapsed onto your bed like a ragdoll, feeling utterly drained. For the rest of the afternoon, you weren’t exactly in the best mood. Too many thoughts circling in your head, all stemming from the realization you had made earlier. So much so that you had to send someone else to interview the school’s soccer captain.

The entire walk home left you pondering.

You were a journalist, after all. You couldn't help but try to tie the loose ends. You remembered when Renjun first started using his sketchbook. The first time you had seen it was around the first week of senior year. Which would also be when he would first meet Yizhuo in class.

Oh my God. The dots were starting to connect.

You suddenly remember what Hyuck said about Renjun’s favorite subject and his intense reaction.

So it was personal. But how come Hyuck knew? Why didn’t Renjun want you to know?

Ugh, boys.

The whole thing was getting too complicated. You buried your head in your pillow and groaned.

You grabbed your phone and opened a new note to list down the points of interest:

1. Renjun’s unfinished portrait. 2. The timeline of when he first started using his sketchbook. 3. Hyuck’s cryptic comment.

A small part of you hoped this was all just a misunderstanding. But the more you thought about it, the more you realized how selfish that was. He deserved your support, whether it was about his art or his love life.

But before you committed to the supportive friend act, you needed to get the facts straight and do a little investigating.

And who better to start with than the source himself?

The next day, you walked to the school courtyard with purpose. You plopped down next to Renjun, who was sitting across from Haechan, ranting animatedly about something.

“Like, the least she could do is tell me what I did wrong, but all she’s doing is give me the silent treatment!” Hyuck was complaining, clearly agitated, with his hands wildly moving in the air.

Renjun nodded, barely looking up from his food, picking at it absentmindedly. But as soon as he saw you, his expression brightened, and a warm smile spread across his face. “(y/n)!” he greeted you, his eyes lighting up at the sight of you.

“Oh hey, (y/n),” Hyuck greeted, pausing mid-sentence to wave at you. “What happened to you yesterday? Didn’t you say you were interviewing Jeno? Someone else came to practice.”

Renjun’s eyes narrowed, his gaze fixed on you as he waited for an answer. You did kind of blow him off for the interview yesterday.

“Hm? Oh something came up.” You wave them off.

The boys didn’t press the issue. Donghyuck, still grumbling about his chemistry partner, immediately shifted his focus back to complaining.

Renjun glanced up at you. “Sounds like you’ve got a lot on your plate. Is everything okay?”

You nodded, trying to act casual despite the questions swirling in your mind. “Yeah, just school stuff. You know how it is.”

There was a brief pause, and then Renjun gave you a small, knowing smile. “Well, if you need help with anything, you know where to find me.”

Your heart skipped a beat, but you quickly masked the feeling. You couldn't let this moment pass. You had a plan. You had to stick to it.

"Thanks, Renjun," you said, offering a tight smile. "Actually, I wanted to ask you about something."

Renjun looked at you expectantly, his gaze still soft. “What’s up?”

You hesitated for a moment, trying to choose your words carefully. Then, realizing there was no way around this, you just went for it.

You turn to face Renjun. “When were you gonna tell me about your crush?”

Renjun froze for a split second.

Donghyuck’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head in disbelief as he gripped his juice box to cover his mouth, eagerly waiting for Renjun’s response like he was watching a soap opera unfold.

Renjun coughs, clearing his throat. “What are you talking about?” He sputters, voice higher than usual, refusing to meet your gaze.

You pull out the crumpled piece of paper that fell from his bag and slowly unfold it, revealing the content.

Renjun almost chokes on his spit, and stares at the paper in horror, recognizing the sketch instantly. No way. There’s no way you got all that from just a drawing.

Put on the spot, Renjun is about to come clean, but you beat him to it. “This is Yizhuo, right?”

Hyuck facepalms in the background.

Renjun’s face contorts with confusion.

“I’m.. I’m right, aren’t I?” You ask, looking at the two of them.

Sensing the growing tension and the stares of disbelief, you push on, “She obviously likes you, and well, you guys got along pretty well last time, so it’s not hard to put two and two together.”

“(y/n),” Renjun cut in, his voice strained, but you were too caught up in your spiraling assumptions to stop.

“I mean, she’s even wearing our school uniform-”

Haechan burrows his forehead deeper into his palm and sighs.

Renjun’s expression is unreadable. Just as he’s about to explain himself out of this mess, Yizhuo walks up, casually greeting the table with a bright smile.

“Hey, guys!” she says, oblivious to the atmosphere hanging heavily around the group.

The three stared at her.

“I CAN’T WATCH THIS,” Donghyuck groaned dramatically, burying his face in his hands as if shielding himself from secondhand embarrassment.

Yizhuo, still unaware of the drama unfolding in front of her, looks around at the group. “What’s going on?” she asks, glancing at you and then at Renjun, sensing something is off but not quite catching on.

You glance at Renjun, then back at Yizhuo. “Oh, nothing,” you say “Just some interesting observations about Renjun’s love life.”

Renjun looks like he wants to end himself. "Really, it's not-"

Yizhuo cuts him off with a playful laugh. "You guys are acting weird today."

Haechan smiles apologetically at her, trying to ease the awkwardness. “Now isn’t really the time, sorry!”

Yizhuo blinks, clearly confused. Her smile fades as she nods. “Oh, okay. I'll catch you later then,” she says, her voice a little quieter now, before walking away.

As soon as she’s out of earshot, Renjun lets out a sigh of relief and leans back in his chair, muttering under his breath. “This is getting out of hand.”

He doesn't know whether to laugh, apologize, or just pretend none of this ever happened. Instead, he stays quiet, eyes flickering nervously between you and the sketch.

You glance at him, arms crossed. “What was that all about?”

Renjun stares at the table, his face flushed with a mix of embarrassment and frustration. “I wasn’t- It’s not-” he starts, but he can’t seem to find the right words.

Haechan, unable to handle the suspense, leans in with a solemn expression and pats him on the shoulder. “You’re in deep now, Renjunnie.”

As if by divine intervention, you hear your phone buzz with a notification. Pulling it out, you see an email from your club moderator.

You read the subject. “MEET AFTER CLASS – IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT.”

You blink, the urgency radiating through the screen. “What could it be?” you mutter, sliding your phone back into your pocket. Whatever it was, it seemed serious enough to derail your investigative sleuthing.

It looks like Renjun’s prayers were answered.

He has no idea what the email is about, but judging by your expression, he figures it might just save him from more of your interrogations.

“What’s up?” he asks, leaning over slightly to peek at your phone.

“Club stuff,” you mumble, pocketing the device. “Mr. Lee wants to meet us after class.”

Renjun can’t help but feel relieved. Whatever this meeting is, it’s a welcome distraction from the increasingly intense scrutiny you’ve been giving him lately.

The rest of the day passes by without a hitch. By the time the final bell rings, you find yourself in Lee’s office.

Renjun is already there and he glances up when you walk in. Your stomach does that annoying flip thing again, but you push it down and greet the man behind the table.

“Oh (Y/n), good you’re here” Mr. Lee claps his hands, “I’ve got some exciting news.”

“We’ve been invited to participate in this year’s Inter-School Journalism Competition,” he announces, smile wide and anticipating your reactions.

You tilt your head in confusion. “Didn’t we already compete in the yearly national one a few months ago?”

“No, this,” Mr. Han continues, “is different. It’s a brand new event with only the best most prestigious private schools in the city. We’ll need to bring our A-game if we want to win.”

The room is quiet for a beat before Renjun raises his hand. “What’s the prize?”

“School pride?” Mr. Lee offers.

“Boring,” Renjun mutters, slumping back in his seat.

“Well there were mentions of a cash prize,” The older man replies. That perked Renjun right up.

“Moving on, i’ve already decided on the pairings for the main event. The judges will be expecting nothing short of excellence from our school.”

Your school had built a solid reputation for being well-rounded, brimming with talent, and consistently bringing home trophies and medals from every competition. The school publication was no exception, with its latest victory just a few months ago.

“And after some thought,” Mr. Han says, glancing meaningfully at you and Renjun, “I’ve decided the best team for this challenge is none other than you two.”

You and Renjun exchange a look, and almost in unison, a knowing smile spreads across both your faces.

You give a small nod, already reaching for your notebook to jot down notes.

Renjun huffs out a quiet laugh, glancing sideways at you. “No pressure, huh?”

You shrug, a subtle smile tugging at your lips. “We’ve been working as team for years. We got this.”

Renjun grins, leaning forward slightly. “What she said. We’re ready for this.”

Mr. Lee gives a satisfied nod. “Good. I trust you two will make us proud.”

“We always do,” you respond smoothly, already feeling the spark of excitement building in your chest.

After the meeting, you and Renjun walk out the office together.

“Looks like we're going big for senior year” you say.

“One last competition before we graduate. Fitting for a grand finale don’t you think?” Renjun replies. He glances at you. “Well? What’s the plan, Boss?”

“Eager to win and leave your mark?” you tease, clutching your bag straps as the two of you leave campus.

“Hey, I’m just here to make your words look good,” he quips, “You lead, I follow.”

You roll your eyes, “Alright, let’s start practicing tomorrow then.”

Over the course of the week, the two of you settle into a rhythm effortlessly, the years of working together have ingrained a telepathic understanding between you.

There’s no hesitation, no doubt. Just you and Renjun doing what you do best, creating something extraordinary together.

One late afternoon, you sat cross-legged on the floor of Renjun’s living room, scattered papers, empty coffee cups, and the unmistakable chaos of two seniors working filling the area. Your laptop was balanced on your knees, as you furiously typed and then immediately backspaced.

Renjun, hunched over at the table with his ipad, twirled his pencil idly, the page in front of him still frustratingly blank.

“Okay,” you announced, breaking the silence. “What do you think of this opening line, The heart of a community lies in its stories, passed down through generations blah blah something like that?”

Renjun snorted, tilting his head to look at you. “Sounds like it came straight out of a Hallmark card.”

You shot him a glare. “It’s called setting the tone, Picasso. At least I have words on the page. How’s your masterpiece coming along?”

He holds up his ipad, screen empty and blaringly white. “Behold, art block!”

You chuck one of the empty cups at him. “How eye-opening.”

Renjun throws his hands up dramatically with a groan. “This is the worst, I have no creative juices in me.”

You stare at him, trying to think of something that can get him out of his slump.

“Hey, I have an idea,” you said suddenly. “Why don’t you draw something different for once? Something you don’t usually draw like, I don’t know, a self-portrait?”

“Different? I think you mean narcissistic.”

“Oh, come on!” you pressed, “You’re always making landscapes and still-life. Aren’t artists supposed to experiment or whatever?”

He raised an eyebrow. “My best work isn’t for public viewing.”

Somehow your thoughts drift to his sketchbook.

“Wow, cryptic much? Fine, keep your magnum opus to yourself.”

You both returned to your work and eventually, your efforts led to major progress with Renjun’s sketch coming to life and your words started to make sense on the screen.

When you finally leaned back to admire the draft, you glance over to check up on your partner.

“I’ll never get tired of looking at your work. You’re amazing,�� you murmured, watching as Renjun added the final touches to his illustration.

He looked up at you, his pencil stilling. For a moment, he doesn’t reply, his gaze softening. “So are you,” he said, his voice quieter than usual.

The air shifted, and for a second, neither of you moved or looked away from each other’s gaze.

Then you laughed awkwardly, brushing off the moment as you closed your laptop.

“Okay, let’s call it a day before we both start crying over how great we are.”

Renjun offers to walk you home. You hadn’t even noticed how long the two of you have been at it, surprised by the sunset that decorates the sky as you and Renjun walk side by side. Renjun has your bag slung over his shoulder, so you can move comfortably.

“Not bad for a day’s work,” he said, nudging your arm lightly.

“Yeah, we might actually win this thing,” you replied, glancing at him with a grin. “I carried, though.”

He shook his head, feigning exasperation. “Here we go again. Next thing I know, you’re replacing me and putting up a one-woman show with showstopping prose and stick figure drawings.”

You laughed, the sound echoing in the quiet street. “Admit it. I could pull it off.”

Renjun rolled his eyes but smiled anyway. “(Y/N), you’re the best writer I know, but let’s be real, you’ll never find a better partner than me. Bet no one else can read your mind. No one gets you the way I do.”

He paused, then quickly added, “Your ideas I mean. No one gets your ideas like I do.” His cleared his throat.

His words lingered in the air, catching you off guard.

You turned to him, your expression softer. “You’re right I don’t think this project would be half as good without you.”

Renjun hesitated, his heart thudding louder in his chest. “Thanks,” he said, his voice quieter now. “I could say the same about you.”

You smiled, but before he could summon the courage to say more, you added, “Y’know, Yizhuo’s really talented too. She’d probably love working on something like this with you.”

“Yizhuo?”

“Yeah,” you said casually, though your tone wavered just enough to betray your nerves. “She seems interested in you.”

Renjun blinked, his expression unreadable. “She’s talented, yeah. But it’s not like that plus not my type.”

As you reach your house, Renjun slows his steps, his fingers tightening slightly around the strap of your bag.

“(Y/N), I need to tell you something-”

“Good evening!” a neighbor called, interrupting him as they waved from across the street.

You wave back and then look at Renjun, urging him to continue.

Renjun sighed, the moment slipping through his fingers. He gave you a strained smile instead. “See you tomorrow.”

“Yeah, bye!” you replied, stepping onto your porch.

He lingered for a second longer, his hand hovered awkwardly at his side, as if he was about to say something else, then he winced and walked away.

When he was a good distance from your house, Renjun slapped his forehead lightly, shaking his head like he was trying to knock some sense back into it.

"What was that?" he grumbled, walking away with exaggerated speed, pretending he hadn't just tried to make a fool of himself by confessing.

The next day, the usual lunch table was chaos incarnate. Donghyuck had claimed the middle seat, legs sprawled out as he lectured Jisung on why "studying was overrated" and that it was all a massive waste of time.

Chenle was half-heartedly listening, his attention divided between his food and the Stephen Curry live game playing on his phone.

You walked to the table with Yoo Jimin, who had just come out of biology. Jimin, a cheerleader and one of your closest friends, was looking a bit frazzled as she crammed for a quiz in her next period. Her eyes narrowed as she glared at Hyuck, who was trying to distract her and be a bad influence on Jisung.

“Don’t listen to him, Ji,” she said, pointing a finger at Hyuck. “Seriously, not everyone can just read the material once and get a perfect score on the exam, Hyuck!”

You sat down next to Renjun, pulling out your laptop to work on more drafts for the articles you were assigned. Well, trying to work. The chaos around you wasn’t exactly conducive to productivity.

“Okay, seriously,” Renjun muttered, trying and failing to concentrate as Donghyuck launched into yet another dramatic rant. “How does anyone get anything done around here?” His eyes flicked to Jimin, who was practically juggling three things at once while trying to block out Donghyuck’s nonstop yapping.

You shrugged, typing away at your laptop without looking up. “We don’t. We just pretend to be productive.”

“Oh like how you pretend to look busy ‘researching’ on your laptop?” Renjun shot back, looking at your screen.

You narrowed your eyes at him, leaning back slightly. “I’m not pretending okay? I’m researching important things.”

Renjun raised an eyebrow. “Like what, exactly?”

“I’m gathering vital information for my articles,” you said, defensive. “Just some sources, that’s all.”

“Uh-huh.” Renjun narrowed his eyes, clearly not buying it. “Sure, and by 'sources,' you mean aliens are real and the moon landing was faked?”

“I can’t help it if they’re fascinating, okay?”

“Sure,” Renjun said with a chuckle, shaking his head. “You should be a conspiracy theorist not a writer.”

“Didn’t you believe in those before?” Jisung chimed in.

Renjun rolled his eyes, “Yeah, when I was like 15.”

“Honestly, if anyone’s pretending to be productive, it’s Renjun. The guy hasn’t done anything for the past hour.” Chenle snorted.

Renjun’s head snapped up. “Excuse me? I’m planning. There’s a difference between procrastination and preparation.”

“Ladies, please, stop fighting,” Jimin interjected, holding her palms out to mediate and calm everyone down. “I’m trying to study here, and you’re all giving me a headache.”

“Not me!” you said, laughing as you reached for your drink. “ I’m also trying to get some work done.”

Renjun takes another peek at your screen. “Yeah, reading theories about how pigeons are spies for the government.”

“Shut up!” You exclaimed, quickly hiding your embarrassed face behind your laptop.

“How childish.” Donghyuck clicks his tongue.

“Seriously, (y/n)?” Chenle teases.

“Can’t defend you on this one, babe.” Jimin shakes her head, laughing.

“Does that mean bird watching goes both ways?” Jisung innocently asks.

The question gets him a smack from Donghyuck.

Once the bell signalled the end of classes, the school hallways were rowdy with the sound of lockers slamming and the chatter of students excitedly heading home or to their extracurriculars.

Renjun glanced over at you with a small smile. “You looked over the stuff I sent you, right? Not like last time when we wasted hours because you didn’t come prepared?”

You roll your eyes, scoffing. “That was one time, and I still pulled through, thank you very much. Besides, you’re the one who forgot your charger.”

“I don’t recall that,” Renjun said with faux seriousness.

“Your Ipad literally died and you lost all your progress,” you shot back.

“Huh. Must be my selective memory.”

Your conversation was cut short by the sound of hurried footsteps behind them.

“Renjun!”

The two of you turned simultaneously to see Yizhuo jogging towards your direction, a folder clutched tightly in her hands.

You could feel your stomach tighten instinctively.

“Yizhuo,” Renjun greeted, his brows lifting slightly in surprise. “What’s up?”

Yizhuo stopped in front of you, catching her breath. “Sorry to bother, but could I borrow Renjun for a bit? I’m working on this design for the club website, and I can’t get it to look right. I thought, well, maybe you could help?”

She held up the folder as if to seal the deal, her eyes fixed on Renjun in quiet desperation.

(Y/N) waited, her heart sinking a little even before Renjun responded.

“Oh,” he started, glancing at Yizhuo and then at (Y/N).

His hesitation stretched for what felt like an eternity, though it was only a second.

“If it’s urgent, I don’t mind,” You said quickly, forcing a smile that you hoped didn’t look as strained as it felt. “I can start on my own. It’s no big deal.”

Renjun frowned slightly. “Are you sure? I won’t take long.”

“Positive,” you lied, adjusting your bag strap and taking a small step back. “You should help her. I’ll be in the club room.”

“Thanks,” Yizhuo said, looking genuinely relieved.

Renjun hesitated again, his eyes meeting yours to make sure you’re okay, before finally nodding. “Alright. I’ll meet you there as soon as I can, okay?”

“Sure,” You said, waving them off. “Don’t worry about it.”

As you turned to head toward the club room, your smile faded. The dull ache in your chest made your shoulders sag slightly, but you shook it off, muttering under your breath, “It’s fine. It’s fine. Totally fine.”

You couldn’t stand the thought of walking into the club room alone, wearing your emotions like a banner for everyone to see. The familiar faces there would immediately pick up on your mood.

Not wanting to plaster on a fake smile and pretend everything was fine, you turned down a quieter hallway.

The knob of the student council office was cool beneath your hand as you twisted it, the door creaking faintly as it opened. Inside, Jaemin, the student council president, sat hunched over a pile of neatly stacked papers. His head snapped up at the intrusion, his pen pausing mid-sentence.

“(Y/N)?” he said, brows raised in mild surprise. “Need something?”

You dropped your bag onto the floor with a heavy sigh, slumping into the seat next to him. “Just a quiet place to work,” you mumbled.

Jaemin studied you for a beat longer, his sharp eyes catching the way your usual spark seemed dimmer. He opened his mouth as if to say something but thought better of it, simply nodding and returning to his plans.

The two of you worked in silence. It wasn’t awkward, silence rarely was with Jaemin. There was an unspoken understanding between you, a mutual respect forged from countless school events and preparations.

Your paths had often crossed, with you, tirelessly documenting every event for the school publication, and him, meticulously organizing those very events. Over time, your shared dedication to your responsibilities made you relate to each other.

Both of you knew the weight of leadership, the long hours and constant expectations. And in this moment, with Jaemin quietly focused on his plans and you pretending to focus on yours, that understanding was enough.

You stared at the screen in front of you. The cursor blinked expectantly, daring you to type something, anything, but your mind was elsewhere.

Specifically, it was on Renjun.

The image of him leaving with Yizhuo was like a broken record, replaying over and over in your mind.

You tell yourself it’s fine. Renjun was just helping Yizhuo, nothing more.

Your fingers finally pressed down on the keys, typing the beginnings of a sentence. It was nothing groundbreaking but at least it was something. You tried to continue going.

Then your thoughts betray you.

What if they’re laughing together right now? You wondered. What if she tells him she likes him? What if he says he likes her back?

You blinked, vision suddenly blurry. You blinked again, confused, until the first tear fell.

You didn’t even notice it at first, only when Jaemin’s chair screeched against the floor did you realize something was wrong.

“Whoa.” His voice broke through the silence, a mix of surprise and concern. “What’s going on?”

You blinked rapidly, reaching up to swipe at your cheeks. “What? Nothing. I’m fine.”

Jaemin stood, abandoning his paperwork as he strode over. His brows furrowed as he crouched slightly to meet your gaze. “You’re crying.”

“No, I’m not,” you denied quickly, though your voice betrayed you.

“Uh-huh,” he said, unconvinced. “Care to explain why your eyes are leaking?”

You huffed. “It’s nothing. Just stress, okay?”

“I’ve seen you stress over things countless of times but I’ve never seen you look this sad and cry. ” he replied, pulling up the chair beside her. “So spill it.”

You hesitated, the words catching in your throat. Finally, you sighed, your shoulders slumping. “I think- I like Renjun.”

Jaemin leaned back slightly. “Wow. Really took you long enough to figure that one out.”

You glared at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugged, his expression neutral. “Nothing. Go on.”

You hesitated again, voice faltering. “I think I like him, but he’s- he’s with Yizhuo right now. Probably having the time of his life while I’m in here, crying over- over-”

Your voice broke, and you buried your face in your hands, words muffled. “It’s so stupid!”

Jaemin let out a long sigh, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the desk. He studied you for a moment, the corners of his mouth twitching upward, though he suppressed the urge to laugh.

“Okay,” he said, his tone careful but light. “First of all, breathe. You look like you’re about to pass out.”

“It’s not funny.” You glare.

“It’s a little funny,” he admitted. “But only because you’re making this into a bigger deal than it is.”

“How is this not a big deal?” You shot back. “I just realized I have feelings for my friend, and he’s probably out there falling for someone else. Do you know how terrifying that is?”

Jaemin considered this for a moment, then nodded. “Okay, fair. But do you know what’s even scarier?”

“What?”

“Not telling him,” he said simply. “Not saying anything and spending the rest of your life wondering what might’ve happened if you did.”

You frowned. “What if he doesn’t feel the same?”

“And what if he does?” Jaemin countered, leaning closer. “You won’t know unless you try.”

You bit your lip, the gears in your mind turning. You wanted to believe him.

Jaemin nudged your shoulder gently, offering you a small smile. “Hey, worst case scenario? You tell him, he doesn’t feel the same, and you never have to see him again.”

You shake your head, shoulders shaking as you wiped your eyes. “We still have that stupid competition coming up. I can’t avoid him.”

“Do it after then,” he said, grinning. “Talk to him, okay?”

It was the last day before the competition, and the club room was alive with chaos. Members participating in the minor events were scattered everywhere, frantically preparing.

Renjun, inexplicably, was nowhere to be found.

You, however, were laser-focused on your laptop, typing away with intensity. That is, until a figure appeared in your peripheral vision.

You looked up to see Yizhuo standing in front of you.

“Oh, hey! What’s up?” you greeted, briefly pausing your work.

She shyly handed you her phone. “I finally finished the design for our website. What do you think?”

Holy. Renjun wasn’t kidding when he said she was talented. It was clean, modern, yet still fitting for a publication run by youthful highschoolers, the kind of aesthetic that screamed professional without being boring. It was way better than the corporate-esque snoozefest your site used to have.

“This is amazing,” you said, genuinely impressed. “Wow. You outdid yourself.”

She smiled timidly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m glad you think so.”

“Actually,” she added with a small laugh, “I can’t take all the credit. Renjun gave me a lot of pointers.”

You nodded, smiling politely. “Yeah, I’m sure he did.”

But to your surprise, she didn’t stop there. “He’s really talented, you know. A good guy.”

Your eyebrows furrowed slightly. “I know.”

What was she getting at?

“If he’s such a great guy,” she mused, her tone casual, “why doesn’t he have a girlfriend?”

Wow, not exactly subtle there, huh?

“Well,” you replied, leveling her with a look, “if you like him so much, why don’t you date him?”

Her eyes widened. “Oh, no! That’s not what I meant!”

She burst into laughter at the absurdity of your words. “No, no, I like someone else,” she added, giggling as her gaze drifted toward another member.

You followed her glance. “Giselle?”

Yizhuo’s cheeks turned pink as she gave a small, sheepish nod.

“Wait, but then why the partner switch?” you asked, thoroughly confused.

“I was too nervous to pair up with her,” she admitted. “I get shy really easily, you know?”

“Huh.” You squinted, trying to piece it all together. “So you and Renjun-?”

“We’re just friends!” she said quickly, waving her arms like she was trying to signal a plane. “I swear. I really just asked him for help and advice on art stuff.”

You laughed. “Alright, alright. You don’t have to explain yourself.”

Yizhuo shook her head. “No, I mean it! The last thing I want is to give you any wrong ideas and ruin his chances.”

You blinked. “Ruin his chances with who?”

Her eyes widened for a split second before she gave a nervous laugh and waved you off. “Nothing! Forget I said anything.”

With that, she spun on her heel. “Anyway, good luck tomorrow!” she called over her shoulder as she walked off.

Weird.

So, Renjun doesn’t like her.

The realization hit you like a wave of cool, refreshing relief. Suddenly, your chest felt lighter, like some invisible weight had been lifted. You couldn’t help the small, satisfied smile tugging at your lips as you got back to work.

The competition venue was alive with energy and the excited chatter of students.

You and Renjun stood near your station, materials laying everywhere haphazardly. You had already turned in your entries. Everything was ready. It was all done.

Renjun paced back and forth. “What if the judges hate it?” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “Or worse, what if they don’t get it?”

You leaned against the table, arms crossed, watching him with amusement. “Renjun, it doesn’t get as straightforward as this, as long as they have eyes and can see. They’ll get it.”

“But what if-”

“Look,” you said, softening your tone. “You’ve got this. We’ve got this. Your art is amazing and my words are practically Pulitzer-worthy. We’re a dream team, remember?”

He cracked a small smile at that, the tension in his shoulders easing just a bit. “You’re really confident about this, huh?”

“I mean, one of us has to be,” you teased. Then, after a beat, you held out your hand. “Come on. Good luck handshake.”

Renjun hesitated for a split second before taking your hand, his fingers warm against yours. He squeezed lightly, the corners of his mouth lifting into a genuine smile. “Thanks,” he said quietly. You try to ignore how he doesn’t let go of your hand after that.

When your school was called over for the awarding, the two of you walked to the stage together, your nerves finally catching up to you. Renjun must have noticed because he leaned in and whispered, “Hey, don’t freak out now. You said we’re a dream team, right?”

You shot him a glare. “That pep talk was for you, not me.”

You stood with the rest of your team as the judges announced the winners, your heart pounding in your chest.

Suddenly it all came down to the main event.

“First place-” the announcer began, pausing dramatically, “goes to (Y/N) and Renjun from NCT Highschool!”

The room erupted in cheers as your group celebrated. Renjun turned to you, his face lighting up.

“We did it!” he exclaimed, pulling you into a hug without thinking.

“Of course, we did,” you said, grinning back.

Renjun’s expression softened slightly, his gaze lingering on you a moment longer than it should have.

The celebration continued as everyone congratulated you.

Later, as the crowd thinned out, you and Renjun found a quiet corner to catch your breath.

“So,” Renjun started, fiddling with the strap of his bag, “there’s, uh something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

You raised an eyebrow, your own nerves spiking. “Funny, I was going to say the same thing.”

His eyes widened slightly. “Oh?”

Before either of you could elaborate, Mr. Lee, the club moderator, appeared out of nowhere, clapping his hands. “There you two are! Come on, we’re heading out for a celebratory dinner!”

You and Renjun shared a look, both of you suppressing groans.

“Guess this conversation will have to wait,” he muttered.

“Guess so,” you replied, falling into step beside him as you joined the rest of the group.

As you walked, your shoulder brushed against his, and neither of you moved away.

After the dinner, everyone headed home without incident, unless you count Giselle trying to smuggle three bread rolls into her bag. Meanwhile, Renjun lay sprawled on his bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying today’s events.

Unconsciously, Renjun had always been drawn to you.

From the moment he was paired with you in freshman year, something shifted inside him. His heart swelled with pride whenever you complimented his work; your words always so genuine, so sincere.

How could you praise him for being a great artist when the greatest piece of art he had ever seen stood right before him?

You were a work of art in his eyes.

Your drive to improve and exceed every expectation was one of the things Renjun admired most about you.

He watched as you took on challenges, never letting anything hold you back. Renjun often found himself in awe. You had a way of inspiring everyone around you to do better, to be better.

At first, he convinced himself it was just a fleeting crush, something that would fade as time passed. But that couldn't have been further from the truth.

The more time he spent with you, the more his feelings only intensified.

He couldn’t escape his attraction to you.

It wasn’t until the summer before your senior year that Renjun could no longer deny it.

Renjun wasn’t much of a partygoer, preferring the quiet comfort of his art and music, but your insistence that this was the last year of high school, that it was time to make memories, got him to cave. He promised himself he’d live it up with you this time.

The week before school started, a guy in his year, Park Jihoon, was throwing a party in his parent’s massive modern lakehouse, about an hour's drive from the city. Renjun didn’t know Jihoon well, beyond a few polite greetings in the hallways, but the guy was Haechan’s teammate on the soccer team, and a friend of Haechan was always welcome.

Renjun and his friends all agreed to meet to get food first. And as usual, he and Jaemin arrived first.

Jaemin was actively involved in various clubs and organizations, and before junior year ended, he had won the position of Student Council President, ensuring an even busier schedule for their final year. Summer was the only time he could spend with his friends, making up for his frequent absences by dedicating the break to spending quality time with them.

Jaemin, ever so considerate, asked everyone to text their orders in advance so they wouldn’t have to wait. Renjun didn’t need to wait for your message, though. He knew your go-to order by heart. By the time your reply finally came through, Renjun had already paid for it.

You arrived with Jimin just as the food was being brought to the table.

You greeted the boys with a wave and an excited grin, making Renjun’s stomach flip. You looked good. Too good, he thought, suddenly feeling nervous.

While Jimin slid into the booth without hesitation, swiping a fry from Jaemin’s tray, Renjun instinctively patted the seat beside him, motioning for you to sit there. When you settled in, he handed you your food before you could even ask.

“How much do I owe you?” you ask, already reaching for your wallet.

Renjun shook his head, waving you off. “It’s on me,” he said, keeping his voice casual even though his heart was racing at the sight of you all dolled up.

You gave him a grateful smile that made his chest tighten, then dug into your food. Meanwhile, Jaemin was locked in a battle to protect his fries from Jimin. Eventually relenting when she threatened to hurl a nugget at him.

You chuckled at the exchange, but Renjun’s focus was on you.

You catch Renjun staring at you and turn to meet his gaze, a soft laugh escaping your lips as you raise a hand to cover your amusement. He tilts his head in confusion, his brows furrowing slightly.

“What?” he asks, oblivious.

“You’ve got a little something…” You gesture to the corner of your mouth, a teasing smile tugging at your lips.

Renjun immediately tries to wipe it away with his hand, but he completely misses the spot. You let out another chuckle and grab a napkin, leaning closer to dab at the corner of his mouth.

Renjun freezes the moment your hand reaches out to him, his breath catching as your fingers brush lightly against his face.

“There,” you say quietly. You keep your focus on cleaning up the spot, refusing to meet his gaze, but you can feel the intensity of his stare.

Renjun swallows hard. “Uh… thanks,” he murmurs, his voice soft, though his ears betray him, turning a faint shade of pink.

Unbeknownst to the two of you, Jimin and Jaemin exchange a knowing glance from across the table.

Jaemin snickers, nudging her with his shoulder. “Give them a second. They might just forget we’re here.”

You glance up, noticing their poorly concealed smirks. “What?” you ask, narrowing your eyes suspiciously.

“Nothing,” Jimin chirps innocently, popping a fry into her mouth. “Just admiring the show.”

Renjun groans softly, hiding his face in his hand while you glare at the both of them. “Get your minds out of the gutter,” you mutter, but your cheeks stay warm as you sit back in your seat.

Jaemin grins knowingly, throwing another fry into his mouth. “Whatever you say.”

Scrambling to change the subject, you glance out the window and spot Haechan’s car pulling up to the diner. “Hyuck’s here,” you announce.

“Finally!” Jimin mutters, rising from her seat. Jaemin leans over to grab the bags to-go before all of you head outside, where the cool night air greets you. A chill runs down your spine, and without a word, Renjun shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over your shoulders.

“Thanks,” you whisper, pulling it close.

As you walk across the parking lot, you glance up, your eyes widening in awe at the clear sky above. Stars scatter across the night like glitter, catching your attention.

“Look!” you exclaim, pointing up.

Renjun follows the direction of your finger, his eyes softening as he takes in the view. “Maybe later we can sit outside and stargaze?”

You nod eagerly. “I’d like that.”

The moment is interrupted as the group climbs into Haechan’s car. His head pops up from the driver’s seat, and he whistles dramatically as he looks you and Jimin up and down. “Woah, looking fine, ladies!”

Jimin leans forward from the backseat and smacks him on the shoulder. “We were waiting for ages. What took you so long?”

Haechan yawns, feigning indifference. “Just had to make a few stops. You know how it is.”

He brightens up at the sight of Jaemin beside him, raising his bag of food.

Jaemin raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. “No, Hyuck, we really don’t.” Despite his deadpan tone, he feeds a bite to Haechan, who has his mouth waiting wide open like a baby bird.

Renjun claps his hands from the passenger seat. “Alright, guys, let’s get going!”

“It’s no fun to be early,” Haechan grumbles but drives off nonetheless.

As the car rumbles to life, you shroud yourself with Renjun’s jacket, already looking forward to the rext of the night.

Despite being a seniors-only party, the first person you spot is Sungchan, towering above the crowd. A junior, sure, but being on the same team as the host explained his presence. You couldn't help but wonder why Jisung wasn’t around.

Haechan had already vanished into the crowd, weaving effortlessly from group to group. The guy was a social butterfly, cracking jokes here, tossing a dramatic story there. It wasn’t a party unless Haechan was at the center of at least five conversations.

Meanwhile, Jaemin and Renjun made their way to the kitchen to grab drinks for the group. That left you holding onto Jimin’s hand as she pulled you toward the dancefloor, a grin plastered across her face.

The villa was packed, and the glowing lights made the party feel almost surreal. Out on the sprawling front deck, you recognized many familiar faces swaying under the fairy lights strung above.

“You look so hot right now!” Jimin yelled over the music, laughing as she twirled you.

After dancing through a handful of songs, your legs beg for a break, and you signal to Jimin that you need a drink. The two of you make your way through the crowd in search of the boys.

"Don’t tell me they got lost," Jimin groans, craning her long neck to scan the crowd.

As you walk around, you spot a chaotic scene: Renjun holding two cups, looking visibly annoyed, while Jaemin is laughing, trying to stop a drunk Sungchan from stealing one of your drinks.

“Guys, seriously?” you call out, finally reaching them.

“Don’t blame me,” Renjun says, handing you your drink with an exasperated look. “He came out of nowhere, demanding to ‘toast to senior year,’ like he’s not a junior.”

Sungchan grins sheepishly, holding up his own cup. “Hey, I just wanted to commemorate my last year with you guys!”

Renjun turns to you, his frown softening. “You okay? You look like you danced half the night away.”

You take a sip of your drink. “I did. Someone had to while you were busy being mugged by juniors.”

Renjun rolls his eyes, but there’s a faint smile on his face. “I was protecting your drink! No one’s touching it ever again.”

“Is that a promise?” you tease, nudging him lightly.

“Yes, boss!” he says with a mock-serious nod, but his warm gaze lingers just a little longer than necessary.

“Anyways, wanna look around?” Renjun asks, extending his arm toward you with a playful grin.

You smile brightly, slipping your arm through his without hesitation. “Lead the way!” you giggle.

You wander deeper into Jihoon’s villa.

As you pass by a particular doorway, you spot a sizable crowd gathered in the room, with none other than Lee Donghyuck at the center, passionately belting out a song into the karaoke mic. He’s fully committed, adding his signature dramatic flair to every note.

Just then, Jaemin pops up behind you, immediately whipping out his phone. Without missing a beat, he starts recording Haechan’s performance.

The song reaches its climax, the intensity building with each note, when suddenly the music cuts off mid-verse.

You squint through the crowd and spot Yangyang, grinning like a kid in a candy store, standing by the outlet with the unplugged wire dangling in his hand.

Despite the technical malfunction, Haechan keeps going, continuing to belt out the lyrics. The crowd around him goes wild, cheering him on as he finishes the grueling high note.

You and Renjun exchange a look, struggling to contain your laughter.

Jaemin, clearly enjoying the chaos, slaps his knee. "I’m definitely saving this moment for later!”

Haechan finishes his performance, clearly proud of himself, still unaware of the technical difficulties that occurred. He takes a dramatic bow, soaking in the applause, and spots Renjun.

He makes his way over to your group, grabbing Renjun and pulling him towards the center. “Alright, Renjunnie” he says mischievously, “You’re up next,” shoving the mic into his hands.

Renjun steps up to the karaoke machine hesitantly. After a long breath, the soft opening notes of a romantic ballad fill the room.

Renjun’s voice starts out smooth and controlled, his tone making the melody sound effortless.

You watch him, captivated, as his gaze occasionally flickers to the crowd. His eyes land on you for a brief moment, and something in his expression shifts. It’s as if the song lyrics are meant just for you.

You catch a fleeting glint of vulnerability in his eyes, as if, for just a moment, he’s being honest and opening his heart to you.

But as his eyes stay locked on you, there’s a slight crack in his voice.

Haechan snickers, poorly attempting to hide his expression with the back of his hand. You can hear Jaemin burst into laughter behind you.

He quickly recovers, his voice steady as he powers through the rest of the song. Despite the brief break in his performance, his singing is still amazing. You hadn’t expected him to sound this good. Hell, you hadn’t expected him to sing a ballad like this at all.

As the final notes echo in the room, Renjun finishes, his eyes darting to the ground for a moment, trying to shake off any embarrassment from the slip-up. The crowd, however, erupts into applause, clearly impressed.

Jaemin grins and gives Renjun a hearty clap on the back, “Not bad, Renjunnie, not bad!”

You smile at him warmly once he returns to your side, your heart beating faster. “You were really good, Renjun,” you say.

He scratches the back of his neck, a small blush creeping across his cheeks. “Thanks,” he mutters, clearly trying to play it off, but the smile forming on his face says otherwise.

And he thinks to himself, maybe that voice crack wasn’t so bad after all.

“Oh shit, has anyone seen Jimin?” Jaemin asks, glancing around with a worried frown.

You silently curse. The last time you saw her was in the kitchen. “Let’s check back there,” you suggest, nodding toward the kitchen.

You don’t wait for a response, stepping out of the doorway, scanning the crowd for the tall girl.

You nearly bump into a guy stumbling with a beer in hand. Renjun, who was closely following behind you, holds onto both sides of your arms with steady hands, his body pressing closely behind yours, enough for you to catch the scent of his cologne.

“She’s over there,” Jaemin suddenly says, pointing toward the living room, where you see Jimin in a heated beer pong match. Jaemin immediately heads toward her, leaving you and Renjun standing in the middle of the room.

You’re about to follow Jaemin when suddenly, the upbeat music blasting through the speakers changes to a slow cheesy love song. Groans ripple through the crowd and you can’t help but laugh.

To your surprise, Renjun extends his hand toward you, a grin on his face. “Dance with me?”

You raise a brow, stifling another laugh. “To this?”

Renjun shrugs. “Why not? I haven’t danced all night. It’d look weird if I dance to this alone.”

“Wouldn’t be the most embarrassing thing that’s happened to you tonight.” You tease.

Renjun rolls his eyes. “Just a minute ago, you were praising my singing.”

You laugh, before reaching to take his hand. Renjun’s eyes widen as you grab his hand without warning, leading him to the dancefloor.

You guide Renjun’s hands to your waist, and you loop yours around his neck, swaying gently to the music.

Renjun, however, remains stiff and the tips of his ears glow red even in the dim lighting.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, tilting your head with a pout. “I thought you wanted to dance.”

He lets out an awkward laugh, scratching the back of his neck. “I do, I just.. sorry. I guess I’m a little nervous.”

“Don’t be,” you reassure him, softening your voice. “It’s just me. Forget about everyone else.”

Something in your tone seems to ground him. He exhales, a quiet smile tugging at his lips, and his movements become more relaxed. The two of you sway in rhythm with the song as laughter and cheers fade into the background.

A few partygoers whistle and tease, but for you and Renjun, the rest of the world melts away. For just a moment, it’s like you’re the only two people in the room.

After some time dancing, you start to feel the warmth of the crowded room catching up to you, the air feeling heavy.

You lean closer to Renjun, your voice barely audible over the music. “It’s getting stuffy in here. Wanna grab a drink and head outside?”

Renjun nods and the two of you make your way to the kitchen, dodging partygoers and grabbing something to cool you down.

Moments later, you push through the front door, stepping into the night. Renjun trails behind, a quiet smile tugging at his lips as he looks up at the stars.

“Better?” he asks, offering a small cheers with his cup.

You grin, clinking your drink against his. “Much better.”

A group of footsteps shuffle past you, carrying a small boat towards the lake. You grimace. “Drunk teenagers on a canoe late at night? That sounds like a disaster waiting to happen.”

Renjun whistles. “Someone’s ending up on the news tomorrow. Wait is that Donghyuck?” He squints at one of the boys.

“Of course it is.” You sip your drink, throwing your free hand up in the air.

Thankfully, the group doesn’t get far. They abandon the boat halfway and opt to start a fire in the pit instead. The two of you continue your walk down to the lake. You feel a little tipsy and your steps are unsteady, Though, Renjun seems perfectly fine and you trust him. You let him lead you to a quiet spot.

You shrug his jacket off, and he lays it down for you to sit in.

The water glimmers under the moonlight as you plop down gracelessly, the alcohol making you giggle. Renjun settles beside you.

“Told you we’d go stargazing.” He grins.

You offer him a smile of your own, tilting your head to gaze up. It all seemed so peaceful. The stars are unbelievably clear, scattered like flecks of glitter across a vast canvas. It feels surreal. You could barely hear the faint sounds of the party in the background.

"They’re so pretty,” you whisper, your eyelids growing heavier. “It’s like one of your drawings.”

Renjun turns to you, his heart skipping a beat as he takes in the way the moonlight rests on your face, your expression peaceful.

His breath hitches.

The urge to sketch you right here and now nearly overwhelming.

The quiet between you both stretches, filled only by the soft rustle of leaves and the gentle sound of water against the shore. Renjun glances at you, his gaze lingering.

How does someone look like that without even trying? He wonders.

Renjun lies back slowly, keeping his eyes on you. You’re like something out of a dream, he thinks. He imagines tracing the lines of your face, the softness of your expression, capturing this exact moment forever.

As you mumble something incoherent, giggling softly to yourself, Renjun’s lips twitch into a fond smile. He shifts, glancing at the sky briefly before looking back at you.

By then, you’re leaning closer to his shoulder, your words slurring slightly. "I think I might be drunk. Junie, don’t let me do anything stupid."

His chuckle is soft and reassuring. "I won’t."

As you drift closer to sleep, Renjun shifts carefully, letting you rest against him. His gaze returns to the stars, but his mind is already sketching you in his imagination, a portrait of this perfect moment.

From that point on, Renjun was overcome with inspiration to make art. You had become his muse, often being the subject of his works. He drew you in class, sometimes during club meetings. He couldn’t help but recreate your image. You lived in his head rent-free.

The day he was late to the meeting, he had tried to draw you again, but nothing seemed right. Each stroke of his pencil felt wrong. Not feeling confident in his skills that day, he frustratedly tore the page and crumpled it, shoving it carelessly inside his bag.

He nearly had a heart attack when you found it. His heart raced as you smoothed out the page, studying the half-finished drawing.

Then your shared accomplishment at the competition gave him confidence.

Maybe it was fate giving him the push he needed, or maybe he was just tired of holding it in. Either way, it had been long enough. He had to tell you how he felt.

[1 new message from Renjun] Renjun: ru free tom? You: ??? You: why Renjun: i never got to tell u congrats You: cant u congratulate me over text Renjun: 😒 Renjun: just say yes omfg You: k fine Renjun: lets hang out at the park near ur place You: 👍

“You’re going out in that?”

You whip your head around to glare at Jimin, sprawled across your bed like it’s her own. She’s munching noisily on a bag of chips.

“What’s wrong with it?” you pout, turning back to the mirror. “And get off my bed! You’re leaving crumbs everywhere!”

Jimin ignores your second comment entirely, studying you.

You glance at your reflection again: a baggy, worn-out shirt that’s clearly seen better days, paired with a plain pair of jeans.

“That’s not something you wear on a date,” she says, shaking her head.

“For the last time, it’s not a date,” you groan.

Jimin tilts her head. “You know, we’ve been best friends for years.”

That much is true. Jimin was the first friend you made in high school, the one who sat at the empty desk beside you during your very first class. You never imagined that moment would be the start of a long-lasting friendship.

“And all this time,” she continues, “I always thought something would happen between you and Renjun. But here we are, months away from graduating, and still nothing. Honestly, I’m surprised.”

You stay silent, busying yourself with packing your bag as a distraction, hoping she drops the subject.

Jimin doesn’t, of course. She swings off the bed and starts rummaging through your closet like she owns it.

“Then again,” she says, “you were never one to talk about boys or feelings.”

“That’s because I was always focused on school,” you mumble, avoiding her gaze.

“And that’s one of the things I admire about you, (Y/N). You’re a go-getter.” She smiles, holding up a dress and extending it toward you.

You accept it, baffled.

She catches your expression and tilts her head. “Be honest, do you like Renjun?”

You hesitate.

Even though you told Jaemin already, it felt different to tell your best friend. As if there was no turning back.

It’s a valid question, of course. One you’ve dodged for as long as you can remember. While your friends had their fair share of romantic encounters. You were too preoccupied with your studies to pursue any relationship beyond platonic. You never saw it as a bad thing. You were perfectly content with your friends, they meant the world to you, and you couldn’t ask for anything more.

But do you actually like Renjun?

Well, he’s your friend. Of course, you do. His mere presence comforts you. You’ve gotten so used to each other, being familiar with each other’s preferences, dreams, and values. You knew him like the back of your hand. And he knew you in ways no one else does. Being with him feels like home.

But isn’t that just… normal for best friends?

Then there’s the jealousy. The sting when another girl shows interest in him or when you wonder if he might feel the same about her.

“Maybe,” you finally reply, voice barely above a whisper.

“That’s not a no,” Jimin says softly, a knowing smile tugging at her lips.

You don’t answer, unsure of what to say, but you humor her. You slip into the dress and even fix your hair just a little.

You turn to look at Jimin, who’s back in her position on your bed, nodding excitedly and holding a thumbs-up of approval.

“What made you bring this up, anyway?” You ask, curious. You and Jimin were close, but she was never one to pry into your love life or lack thereof.

She hesitates for a second before smiling sheepishly. “Me and Yizhuo talked. I just wanted you to put your best foot forward. I don’t want you to regret anything.”

At first, you don’t understand, her words sink in slowly, but you can tell she’s just looking out for you.

Soon, she drops you off at the park entrance. You walk toward the large grass field, spotting Renjun waving from afar.

As you approach, your eyes widen at the sight of the setup, a picnic blanket spread out neatly, surrounded by an array of food.

“What’s all this?” you ask, stunned.

Renjun stands, taking your bag and setting it aside gently. He rubs the back of his neck.

“The weather was nice,” he says, “so I thought a picnic? If that’s okay.”

You beam at him. “Of course! You should’ve told me, I would’ve brought something!”

He waves his hands dismissively. “No, no! I wanted to do this. It wasn’t much trouble, really.”

You sit down, heart warm and fluttering in a way, you’re still too scared to name.

Jimin was right. This hangout felt far more like a date than you’d expected.

You and Renjun spend the afternoon sharing stories, and enjoying the food. The laughter feels effortless, the conversation warm and familiar. Somewhere along the way, you forget why you even met in the first place.

You’re popping a grape into your mouth when Renjun reaches into his bag and pulls out his sketchbook. The sight of it makes your smile falter. He and Yizhuo may not have something going on but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t romantically interested in someone else.

“I know you’ve been curious about what’s in here,” he starts, his tone unusually serious. “And I’m sorry for not coming clean with you.”

You raise a hand to stop him, shaking your head quickly. “Renjun, it’s okay. I swear. It was my fault. It was rude of me to keep insisting on seeing. I understand if it’s personal and you don’t feel comfortable sharing with me. I know it takes vulnerability to share your work.” You’re rambling, trying to stop him from opening the sketchbook because, deep down, you’re afraid. Afraid of seeing someone else on those pages, afraid of confirming what you’ve been trying to deny to yourself. But Renjun shakes his head, gently cutting you off.

“No, it’s not like that.” He says softly.

He opens the cover, and you brace yourself, resisting the urge to cover your eyes.

That is until he flipped the front page over. Your brows furrow in confusion.

He hands you the sketchbook, and you flip through the pages.

His work was gorgeous as always. But it’s not just the artistry that leaves you stunned. It’s the subject.

Page after page, it’s you.

Renjun shifts beside you, his voice steady. “The reason it was so hard to show you is because it’s hard to tell the girl you’ve been pining over for years that she’s the subject of your art.”

Your heart skips a beat as he continues, his gaze locking onto yours.

“Hyuck wasn’t wrong,” he adds, a small smile on his lips. “I draw what I love most. You’re my muse, (Y/N).”

His words hang in the air, and you’re left speechless, the pages trembling slightly in your hands.

You fight back the urge to cry, but a few tears escape anyway. Without thinking, you lean over and smack Renjun lightly on the chest.

He blinks, startled. “W-what’s wrong?” he asks, concerned.

“You really scared me!” you sniffle, glaring at him through glossy eyes.

Renjun looks at you, confused. “Wait. You didn’t think I was really drawing hentai in there, were you?”

You let out a laugh and smack him again, harder this time. He breaks into a relieved grin, clearly glad to see you smiling again.

“No! Ugh, never mind,” you mutter, shaking your head. You don’t want to spoil the moment.

Your attention shifts back to the sketchbook, flipping through the pages again. You can’t help but feel in awe at how beautifully he’d captured you in every drawing.

This was how he saw you?

You stop at a particular sketch, one of you sitting at a desk, head bent over a book.

“When was this?” you ask softly.

Renjun leans closer to glance at it, his expression fond. “Oh, that one? We were at the library. You looked really cute all focused.”

His confession catches you off guard. You trace the lines of the drawing with your fingers, feeling flustered.

“I didn’t even notice you were there,” you murmur, more to yourself than to him.

“That’s because you were too busy being you,” he says simply, his voice soft and steady.

“Thank you, Renjun.” You smile at him genuinely, the warmth in your voice matching the glow in your chest.

“I… You hesitate, trying to gather your courage, but the words don’t come out as planned. Instead, your mind scrambles, and you blurt, “I had no idea you were such a stalker!”

Renjun’s jaw drops, his eyes widening in a mix of horror and disbelief. “W-what?! Stalker?! I’m not a-”

You can’t help but burst into laughter at his reaction, clutching the sketchbook to your chest.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding!” you say between giggles.

Renjun narrows his eyes at you, crossing his arms. “You’re annoying, you know that?”

“And yet, you still drew me,” you tease, holding up the sketchbook like it’s evidence.

He huffs. “Yeah, well, maybe I like annoying.”

Your laughter softens. You look at him, the air between you shifting just slightly.

“Renjun,” you start again, your tone gentler this time. “Thank you. Truly. For everything. For always being there, for seeing me the way you do. I don’t think anyone’s ever made me feel as special as you do.”

He looks at you, his expression almost shy. “You don’t have to thank me for that. You are special, (Y/N). I just draw what I see.”

Before you can overthink it, you lean forward and plant a kiss on his cheek. His eyes go wide, his face flushing a deep red as he freezes like a statue.

You pull back, biting your lip to stifle a laugh at his reaction. “You okay there, Picasso?”

Renjun finally snaps out of it, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Yeah, I just wasn’t expecting that.” The growing grin on his face is impossible to miss.

“You know,” he starts, “I think I might need more inspiration for my next masterpiece.”

“Oh, really? And where exactly are you planning to find that?”

He leans closer, his gaze dropping to yours, playful and confident now. “Right here,” he says softly, “but I might need a lot more practice.”

Epilogue

Days had passed since that afternoon in the park, but every time you looked at Renjun, you couldn’t help but replay his confession in your head.

Now, you sat across from him in his room, your legs tucked beneath you as you watched him work on yet another piece. His brows furrowed in concentration, brush gliding across the canvas with a precision that never failed to amaze you.

"Are you almost done?” you teased, leaning over to peek at his work. “You’ve been at it for hours.”

“Art takes time,” Renjun replied without looking up, his lips twitching into a small smile. “And besides, you’re the one who said you wanted to see yourself in a different setting this time.”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “I didn’t mean I wanted to wait all day.”

“Patience, my muse,” he said, the grin on his face now unmistakable.

Your cheeks warmed at the nickname, though it wasn’t new. Renjun had taken to calling you that ever since his confession, and each time, it managed to disarm you.

Finally, he put down his brush and turned the canvas toward you. “Voilà.”

You gasped softly, taking in the details. It was you, of course, but this time, he’d drawn you in a flowing gown, surrounded by soft, dreamlike clouds. The way he’d captured your expression, it was as if he saw you as some ethereal being, untouchable and beautiful.

“Renjun,” you whispered, unable to tear your eyes away. “It’s stunning.”

“It’s easy when the subject’s already stunning.”

You rolled your eyes. “Cheesy.”

“Honest,” he corrected, leaning back against his bed.

You set the canvas aside and crawled over to where he sat, resting your head on his shoulder. He relaxed at your touch, his hand instinctively finding yours.

You sat there in comfortable silence, his hand in yours, the painting drying nearby. For now, everything you needed was right here.

And as Renjun pressed a feather-light kiss to the top of your head, you realized that sometimes, the most beautiful masterpieces weren’t drawn, they were lived.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: AND THAT CONCLUDES MY FIRST EVER FINISHED FIC!!!!! I had the general plot and a bunch of scenes of this written all the way back in 2020 but I quickly forgot about it. Then when I was cleaning my files recently, I saw this in my google drive and had a surge of inspiration to continue writing?? (it’s really the college burnout and me wanting to do anything but study). So to procrastinate, I continued where I left off and man, writing this has been so much fun!! Renjun in this was like a self-insert bcs I too, was an artist who did not draw irls until I drew my crush (who also happens to be a student journalist teehee). I still can’t believe I found the motivation to complete this but ig that’s what college depression does to you haha help

#۶ৎ — 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙨 ᵎ #ahhhh this was phenomenal!!#artist renjun will never not be #but this writing oof! the high school romcom vibes are so strong in this #they're so precious omg #also u draw?? ik u can't share those but ugh i'd love to see them!#renjun x reader #huang renjun x reader #huang renjun #renjun #renjun fluff #nct dream x reader #nct x reader

131 notes · View notes

dalgomii · 5 months ago

Text

۪ ݁ 이마크 — the anatomy of 'home'.

• SYNOPSIS .. neither of you have all that much to your name. but, here, in the small sanctuary of your brand new—and still very vacanct—apartment, with a mattress for bed, a small kitchenette yet waiting to filled with the smell of home and living off of takeout to your heart's content, you just might have the most priceless thing in the world: happiness.

♡ WORD COUNT .. 2.5k

☆ NOTES .. established relationship. you and mark talking through the night over a pizza picnic, that's the story. got way too poetic and in my feels at the ending and then fumbled it lol. happy first tumblr post to me, yay! :)

Lately the pep in his steps have been noticeable. Even the mundane task of picking up delivery and climbing five flights of stairs because the elevator still hasn't been installed in the building couldn't dampen his mood. Mark walks in through the front door, practically skipping, two boxes of pizza in his hand.

Inside is like a sea of knicknacks yet to find their rightful place in the one bedroom apartment tucked into the heart of a bustling metropolis.

You smile up at him from where you are sitting, unboxing the things your mothers had insisted on buying in the name of home decor. "Done chatting up the delivery guy?"

Mark rolls his eyes, setting the food on the kitchen counter which was overflowing with utensils left to be stowed away. His gaze stops at your Harry Potter mug, one of the few things finally freed from your incessant overdone packing with the wrapping paper to make sure nothing broke during transit.

If the cogs of his brain cleared from the fog of bliss long enough, he would vividly recall the story of winning it at a fun fair — a mere consolation prize as opposed to the big pygmy puff plushie he'd originally promised you. Still, no matter your carefully hidden disappointment he'd assume, you had kept the mug, taking it out every morning for it to enable your insane caffeine consumption.

Perhaps it's the fact he'd seen it with you so many times, warming your hands on a cold morning or staining the corners of the Sunday newspaper acting as paperweight, Mark had forgotten it was his to begin with.

"For your information, I was getting the scoop on the local restaurants. So when you come home too tired to cook, I can swoop in to save the day."

"So heroic, my knight in shining... takeout boxes? You know all this could be avoided if you just learnt to cook?" Your sarcasm is met with bubbling laughter, making you beam up at him. "Come here for a sec. How does this look?"

Raising a brow, Mark goes to stand right behind you, narrowing his eyes at the wall of cat pictures and movie posters framed above a white table that held up a shimmering and ridiculously fragile glass vase.

He frowned at a couple things he thought had long since lost, in his childhood home or the studio apartment he used to shared with three others which looked like it was struck by a hurricane on a good day, hung up on the tiny bit of space by his bookshelf.

Specifically a Wham! vinyl.

The one you'd bought Mark on his first birthday that you spent together as a couple. The effect of the years passed is visible on the not-so-shiny black surface marred with misplaced dents and scratches. Yet the 'I know you've wanted this for a long time. Happy Birthday, rockstar' written in black sharpie onto the center label is still as fresh as his memory of receiving it.

"It's pretty," he states finally, genuinely, and hopes to God he played it cool enough. But who was he kidding? Five years of desperately trying to be nonchalant wouldn't have been comparable to a second spent being yours. Mark adds as an afterthought, "Let's hope it stays that way if we stumble into it."

You can't help a snort, "If? More like 'when'. Your foot eye coordination is whack in the morning."

Mark lets out a scandalized gasp, pointing at you, "Take that back right now".

And you, being the responsible, independent, tax-paying adult, stick your tongue out at him making him shake his head before looking back at the picturesque nook in your new residence.

"We need to get some flowers for the vase, huh?"

"Hm? Oh, yeah", you smile over a stifled yawn, pretty and serene, stretching your hand up to your boyfriend. He takes it as cue to pull you up from the ground. His hand remains twined with yours even after you're standing. "Peace lilies. And maybe chrysanthemums for a pop of color?"

Mark finds himself grinning at your hopeful gaze, bringing your joined hands to his lips. "Anything you want. We can go first thing in the morning."

He feels his eyes widen when you cross the small distance between you, pressing a kiss to his jaw. "Thank you, you're the best," you whisper, brushing a few strands of his fringe away from his forehead before you moved away, leaving Mark standing there frozen like a statue. A very red in the face statue.

He thinks you know exactly how to make him weak in the knees.

You stand in the middle of the clustered living room, every inch of space on the floor filled with cardboard boxes and your belongings packed with bubble wrap. "I don't think we can finish this today. Plus, it's getting late. Let's just eat and go to bed, yeah?"

But everything you say goes in one ear and out the other. It's baffling how many times Mark would get stuck in his head over the smallest thing about you.

It's more of a habit he'd developed – or so his friends insist – back when he first met you at orientation on campus.

No, you weren't a wide-eyed freshmen and he wasn't one either. Yet, somehow the friend-of-the-world music major had managed to stumble upon the live art workshop your department had set up.

From then on, it was only ever "Did you see how beautiful her eyes are? It's like the whole galaxy is mapped in them!" or "She's so recklessly kind, dude! Today she ran into traffic to save this one old lady's cat! How much more perfect can she be?"

Mark Lee isn't a stranger to waxing poetics– hell, he does that for a living, writing lyrics with the power to make people laugh out loud, be a metaphorical shoulder for people to cry on, to feel so intensely with just words alone.

But then every syllable fails him when it comes to you, a soul so beyond the realm of letters and alphabets that nothing he could ever scrap together feels enough.

It's like the universe had decided from the very first moment you both locked eyes that this was it for him.

Mark knew it when you waved at him with amusement threaded into your expression from behind the stand you were running and he reciprocated shyly after looking around to make sure at least twenty times that it was indeed him you were waving at.

When Mark asked for your number after finishing a basketball game as state level champions because the adrenaline high of the win and the elation in having spotted you cheering him on as he nailed the deciding shot from halfway across the court turned him into his most confident self — only to be reduced to a stuttering mess when you saved his contact on your phone, blowing him a flying kiss goodbye before walking off alongside your giggling friends.

When his idea of a perfect first date to a fancy rooftop restaurant got rained on, and just when Mark was considering to never show you his face ever again, you both ended up in the backseat of his car on a McDonald's parking lot, talking and laughing and he found out that you were just as much of a rambler as him.

When a houseparty his friend Jaemin was throwing in their new shared apartment landed you on his bed, your lips like a safe haven, searing affection and praises onto his skin. That night Mark had been afraid to so much as go to sleep, scared that he would wake up to an empty room, and perhaps a half-assed note saying if he was a good fuck.

So he had stayed up till the wisps of dawn graced the city, holding you close and kissing your forehead over and over again. When you woke up, you had caught him in his bluff immediately, coming over that afternoon just to make sure he actually slept for more than an hour.

Mark thought love was a frightening emotion, too large for fickle mortal lives, too complex to fully comprehend.

And maybe he wouldn't really ever understand love in it's entirety, but he did see a version of it in you — one that was tailored for him and him only.

Mark knew it especially when after an entire year of flirty back and forths, holding each other through your biggest wins and losses, learning to be so well-versed in each other that it surpassed rationale, he asked you out.

You hadn't been particularly ecstatic, claiming you were going to ask him first but just as quick, your arms coiled around him in a tight embrace under the stars painted across the vast expanse of the universe witnessing that one deserted beach at exactly midnight.

Mark Lee fell in love with your smile but he kept falling over and over again for your heart. A heart that is irrefutably made of gold.

And he knew that if given the chance, he would remind you just how precious you are and how precious whatever it is you share is, over and over again till the sky falls.

It took Mark a while to bring you down from the pedestal he'd put you on, to accept that your love for him is as real as the existence of the world. Perhaps a speck of cosmic dust in the grand scheme of things but, to you, it is life.

That when you said "I want you to try hard, but try hard to be the best self of you. Mark, you're the sweetest, most hard-working person I have ever gotten the chance to know. So, please, don't take him away from me", you had meant every word.

It takes you snapping your fingers in front of his face to bring him out of his thoughts. You stand before him in a baggy t-shirt — one of his that you'd stolen ("permanently borrowed", you'd correct him) saying his detergent smelled better than your own — and your hair an untamed mess. You're the most beautiful person he had ever seen.

"Mark?" You whine again, cradling his face in your palms. "Baby, don't zone out again. Food?"

Huffing a laugh, Mark pulls you towards the kitchen island with a hand around your waist, "I'm here, I promise. Where do you wanna eat?"

You survey the living room that had turned into your temporary storehouse in dismay. "Dinner in bed?"

"Minus the bedframe, you mean?" Mark muses making you wail.

"Oh my God, for the last time, I'm sorry I didn't check the delivery date was so far away. Please forgive me, good sir!"

Mark clicks his tongue in faux contemplation, biting back a smile at your dramatics. "I'll think about it."

Pouting, you help Mark set the pizza boxes down by the matress in the middle of the bedroom floor, dragging him down to sit beside you. "What will it take for you to forgive me?"

"Hmm... A few kisses and maybe something else?" He smirks, wriggling his eyebrows and causing you to smack his chest.

"You're such a man," you hiss and then with a coy look, push him down to lay on his back as your straddle his waist. "Though, that can be arranged," you whisper low and sweet, but right as Mark's hands grip your hips, you roll away towards the food, "After we eat. I'm starving!"

"A minx, that's what you are!" Groaning, Mark drags you back into him, tickling your sides till you are begging to be freed.

Dinner goes on without either of you bothering to put something on the background. The T.V. isn't installed yet and though you have your laptops, the comfortable silence and occasional sparks of conversation are more than welcome.

"You think we were meant to meet?" You ask out of the blue, when the moon is high in the sky. There are empty pizza boxes crushed into the trashcan and two half-empty beer bottles rest by your feet. Your fingers trace mindless patterns on Mark's chest, nuzzling into his side while he leans against the wall as though it's a makeshift headboard. “Like there’s a huge, incomprehensible divine plan that we’re just... following?”

"Yeah," Mark says simply. Though you would loath to admit it, you admire Mark’s easy belief in his own convictions. "I think that people have, like, agency and responsibility and stuff, like – okay, so we met, but me asking for your number after that game, or asking you to move in with me was on me. The big stuff, that’s fate, or the plan, or whatever you wanna call it. But we can still choose where we go from there."

"So me and you — that’s the big stuff?" You ask teasingly, and nudge Mark with your shoulder.

He sputters comically, well-practiced indignation clear on his face, "Shut up, I’m trying to have a philosophical debate here.” But his pink ears betray him, a pretty flush creeping towards his neck.

"I kinda like the idea that it’s all random, though," you say. "Like, if everything’s a coincidence. If everything leading to this moment was just a lucky series of accidents. Don’t you think that makes it special?"

"I guess." Mark looks up at the clear doors leading to the balcony, one of the deciding factors in you settling for this building complex. The stars linger in the night like paint splattered on a dark canvas.

Back in his small shared rental, sitting out on his balcony at 3am smoking with his friends, he could count them on one hand.

The city is a graveyard of these stars, he has learned. Millions of wishes and dreams burdened onto the ones that make it past the blanket of smog just to be seen.

It takes him back to that small secluded beach in Busan, on a fleeting night amongst so many other insignificant ones. Two people, barely learning their place in the word, so utterly wrapped up in each other.

There, away from the glow of 10 million or so human lives, the stars were endless and shining in a way the city never lets them.

"It makes me feel like my life is really worth something," you continue, quieter, "If I’m here by accident, and I’m the product of so many billions of years of accidents. It makes me feel lucky. And it makes me grateful for the chance. To, you know, make something of that."

That night five years ago, maybe you both were different people, not at all the souls that remain in your body today. But if there's one secret of existence Mark had started to figure out, it would be that any version of him that came to be since you crossed paths, each one of them was utterly and irrevocably taken by the versions of you which followed.

And destiny may as well be a glorified lie crafted by people to make sense of this larger than life magnitude of adoration they can hold for another.

But Mark hopes, with everything he has, that destiny has led every variant of you and him across the universe into each others arms. Home.