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[danihow]

i can imagine 😭😭 i actually gave up on the idea of med school lmao, i studied hard but im a compsci major now and i enjoy it so i guess it was meant to be or something 😭 i admire you so SO much for that truly U CAN DO ITTTT

Omg compsci sound so cool???? And i'm so glad you like it bc there's nothing worse than studying something you dont like!

And thank you sosososo much love 💝

[danihow]

iiiii misssss youuuu

HI LOVEEEEEEE, i know but hospital classes have been kicking my ass

[danihow]

omg this was do fun to do!

I'm a cupcakeeeee, and i truly find it amusing how it suggests my actual career

Thank you do much for the tag love @hanniehyun

Tagging @lord-westley @jeongcake @jaehunnyy @murswrites @forlix @onlyjaeyun

TAG GAME

find out what cake you are LINK

— job hunting village

IM A CUPCAKE GUYS 😭👍

tagging : @ikzume @boyfhee @hoonvrs @hsgpoet @okwons @okwonyo @odxrilove @tyunni @goldenhypen @euncsace @bywons @jaeyunverse @100203s @wonryllis @lilacnini @shuamorollss

[danihow]

YOOOOOO

WE HIT 800 FOLLOWERS

Like hold tf up

I'm going to cry??? MID CLASS??????

I'm seriously going to cry now, i feel like it was yesterday I hit 100 and did that super flopped celebration? I don't even know what to do to celebrate this (totally taking ideas in my asks and dms)

Thank you all so so so much, i'm forever grateful that you guys decided to read my works even if i'm such a bad blogger who posts every blue moon. I'm so sorry if its been a year or more since i don't post for what you followed me for, but thank you for staying.

Love you.

[danihow]

YOOOOOO

WE HIT 800 FOLLOWERS

Like hold tf up

I'm going to cry??? MID CLASS??????

I'm seriously going to cry now, i feel like it was yesterday I hit 100 and did that super flopped celebration? I don't even know what to do to celebrate this (totally taking ideas in my asks and dms)

Thank you all so so so much, i'm forever grateful that you guys decided to read my works even if i'm such a bad blogger who posts every blue moon. I'm so sorry if its been a year or more since i don't post for what you followed me for, but thank you for staying.

Love you.

[danihow]

pieces of you

single dad!chan. x fem!reader

genre : neighbors!au. fluff. angst. slow burn. mutual pining. 8.7k wc

summary : In which you and chan are each other's missing pieces. Alternatively, Chris and his daughter come knocking at your apartment asking for flour, and he's no longer embarrassed when you open the door.

a.n. : my chris best girl dad agenda is going strong!!!!!! my second fic for the winter falls collab with my writer xi hehe i hope you will all enjoy reading!! feedback is highly appreciated 🤍 the song chris will write for sowon is light by sleeping at last, highly recommend listening to it!!

winter falls masterlist.

i. 

“I can’t believe you’re making me do this.”

“Shh, daddy smile.”

Soft murmurs linger just beyond your door, elusive words that could easily be dismissed as figments of your imagination. However, any doubt in your mind dissipates with three resounding knocks, jolting you from your momentary contemplation. 

A reluctant groan escapes you as you glance down at your attire—a loosely hanging oversized hoodie, a testament to the numerous times it has been tugged down, and a pair of pajama pants whose matching top has mysteriously vanished. Clearly, you don't feel presentable enough to welcome anyone at this late hour. So, you remain motionless, futilely lowering the TV volume in hopes that whoever's behind the door will just continue with their night. But the knocks persist against your wish, so, with a resigned sigh, you rise from your seat, your blanket cascading to the ground in a soft descent.

“What–” the words dissolve in your mouth like a sweet nectar as you open the door, your eyes beholding no one in your periphery. A slight tug at your pants draws your attention downward, only to find the most adorable child your eyes have ever laid on. She's clad in Rapunzel-themed pajamas, wolf slippers bumping into your plain ones, and, to your surprise, a whisk cradled in her small hand. 

“Hey there,” your voice softens as you crouch to meet her warm gaze. You find an innocent happiness gleaming in her eyes, a radiant spark shining even beneath the corridor's muted light. Two dimples adorn her cheeks as she smiles at you. 

“Hi, my dad wants to tell you something,” she says, pointing with her whisk to the very end of the hallway. You crane your neck, trying to catch a glimpse of the elusive figure. 

“Your dad?”

“Mm. He’s a bit shy, that’s why he’s hiding,” she confides in a whisper. But, despite her earnest attempt, her words still resound loudly in the vacant space, causing giggles to spill out of your mouth. 

“And you aren’t shy?” you inquire, tilting your head. 

“Nu-uh,” she shakes her head with conviction as someone emerges behind her. She instinctively wraps an arm around their leg, nestling her cheek against their thigh. 

She isn't shy because she feels protected.

You rise from your place, eyes locking with a familiar shade of brown. Only these hold a mesmerizing quality to them making your very breath catch in your throat. Kindness pours from his gaze as it travels down your face, a sentiment that further materializes as delicate smile lines stitch around the corner of his eyes.  

He’s beautiful. 

Your eyes trail down to two pairs of dimples, mirroring the ones of his daughter perfectly. She is his living portrait, sharing his eyes, lips, and smile. Yet, his cheeks blush in a hue she does not possess, while his left hand fiddles with his earlobe, in an unspoken, timid gesture. For some odd reason, it pierces straight through your heart.

“Sorry for bothering you,” a smooth Australian accent rolls off his tongue, similar to rich butter spread on warm bread- it infuses your being with tingles pulsating from the base of your toes. You suddenly no longer miss your blanket.

“I'm your next-door neighbor. We were just making cookies and we realized we actually  don’t have flour,” he explains, a bashful smile imprinted onto his lips. 

“You didn’t check beforehand?” you ask, laughter tinting your voice. 

“I forgot,” he admits, but his tone sounds almost sad as if beating himself over it. A fleeting shadow veils his face briefly, dissipating like a passing cloud grazing the sun.

“Can we borrow some from you? I told Sowon that we could go to the store but she said it’s too cold out,” he asks, his hand resting on his daughter’s shoulder soothingly. 

“It is too cold out,” you agree with a frown, looking down at Sowon to which she smiles brightly, happy to have your support. 

“And of course, I'll bring you flour. Don’t worry about it. Do you want to come in meanwhile?”

“It's okay, we'll wait here. Don’t want to intrude.” 

“Thank you!” Sowon beams, her missing tooth in full display. 

“Yeah, thank you so much…” he trails out, tilting his head as if to silently inquire about your name.

“Yn. And you?”

“Chris.”

“Nice to meet you, Chris,” you smile, shaking his extended hand. His fingers wrap around your palm, and it feels as if you’re grasping thunder, crackling with an electricity that your eyes can’t behold, yet your soul does, suddenly illuminated from within. 

Your smile grows as you detach yourself from his hold, before bending forward to bop Sowon’s nose. “And nice to meet you too Rapunzel.” 

Your words make her hide behind her father’s leg, peeking out slightly to look at you. 

“See I'm not the only one who gets shy,” Chan chuckles, and Sowon whines in complaint, further burying her face in her dad’s grey sweatpants. 

Adorable, so much it stirs a long-forgotten melancholy within your being. 

“She gets a pass, she's still young, right Sowon?”

“Are you calling me old then?” Chan fakes outrage, bringing one hand to his chest while the other cradles Sowon’s back. 

“Old enough to forget about flour,” you wink and he laughs, looking down at your slippers. 

“Touché.” 

A few minutes go by before you come back, a recipient full of flour in your hands. The sight before you makes you pause in your tracks– Chris, leaning against the wall, Sowon propped on his hip, her arms loosely hanging around his neck, her eyes closed. 

“Did she…” you whisper and he turns to you. 

“Yeah, fell asleep,” he smiles fondly, tucking a few strands of her hair behind the curve of her ear. “She’ll be disappointed when she wakes up to no cookies. She wanted us to have a baking holiday tradition.”

“You don’t know how to make them?” 

“No, I was counting on a six-year-old to assist me,” he chuckles quietly, prompting a snort from you. 

“Well, keep the flour, in case you need it again.” 

“Thank you, Yn,” he grins, the smile taking over his entire face, grabbing the recipient from you. 

“You’re welcome Chris,” you say, as you both linger around the door still, not making any attempt to move. 

Your eyes refuse to peel away from his, as if there were a magnetic force drawing you to him, telling you that your gaze belonged to rest on him.

“Uhm,” he clears his throat, leaning away from the wall. “I'll get going.”

“Yeah, sleep well, Chris.”

“Thank you,” he smiles before turning around. 

An idea brews in your head, a germ sprouted by the clear adoration in which Sowon gazed at her dad, and the disappointment in his face as he said he would no longer be making cookies. Had you wished to dig a little deeper, you would’ve also found a long-buried feeling of a little girl who would have loved holiday traditions as well. You close the door before heading straight to your kitchen. 

One hour later 

You knock softly on Chris’ door, fidgeting from one foot to another. You almost retract back to your apartment after your fourth knock, when the door finally opens, Chris coming into your line of sight. 

“Hi,” you greet, hands behind your back. 

“Hey,” he smiles, leaning his arm on the doorway, right above your head. He tilts his head to the side, silently wondering what you want. The words dissolve in your mouth at the way his eyes fixate on you as if trying to peer behind your irises onto your mind. 

“Cookies,” you bring the plate before him, as his eyes grow wide, an incredulous smile drawn on his lips. 

“You made them?” 

“Yeah, didn't want Sowon to be disappointed,” you shrug and his eyes grow wild, racking all over your face in disbelief. 

“You didn't have to do this,” he finally says, tone softening, syllables ringing like a sweet sonnet in your ears. 

“I know. I wanted to. and I'm a baker so making cookies comes easily to me, don't worry about it,” you shrug sheepishly, biting your lower lip slightly. You felt scrutinized by him in ways you haven't felt before. 

“Thank you, Yn, I don’t even know what to say,” he says, his smile resembling a beam of light. A surge of pride courses through you at managing to bring it forth. 

“No need to say anything. I hope I didn't wake you up,” you smile sheepishly and he shakes his head. 

“No, I- I was working in my studio and Sowon is asleep. It's just us two. Always has been,” he adds, tone slightly changing, air growing heavier between you both. It's just them two. 

“Studio?” you inquire, hoping to dispel the tension latching around you both. 

“I'm a music producer,” he clarifies. “I made a studio here so I could stay the night with Sowon.” 

“I'm sure she appreciates that,” you say as you hand the plate to him. His fingertips brush against your own, and a slight electricity courses through you at the touch, the hallway suddenly brighter from the fireworks ricocheting off of you both.

“I…. I'll get going.”

“Yeah, yeah, don't want to take more of your time.”

“I'll see you around.” 

“Yeah, I'll see you,” he says, words not ringing carelessly into the air, sounding more like a promise. He'll see you, he'll make sure of it. 

ii. 

“Can you wait!” a voice echoes near the building entrance, and you prevent the elevator doors from closing as hurried steps near you. 

You recognize the voice easily by the light tingles running down your spine, the Australian accent shooting straight through your heart. Its owner materializes, Chris— leather jacket hugging his muscles snuggly, black t-shirt tucked into a pair of blue jeans, cap nestled on his head, rebellious strands of ebony hair peeking behind it.

You find the breath knocked out of you once again at his sight. He's beautiful, even more so in broad daylight, where every feature of his comes to life, beckoning, demanding your sole attention. 

“Hey, Yn,” he smiles in delight, uttering your name in a familiarity that infuses your being with warmth. Even though you've only talked once, two days ago. 

“Hey, Chris,” you greet back, pressing the fourth elevator button again. you face the mirror to find Chris already looking at you, his eyes instantly locking with yours. 

“The cookies were good,” he smiles softly and you grin. “I'm glad you think so.” 

“Where is your bakery? I need to taste more of your baking.” 

The butterflies in your stomach tone down at his words, your attraction momentarily forgotten as gratitude coats your heart instead.

“I can text you the address?” you propose. 

“Yeah, here,” he takes out his phone, a picture of him and Sowon set as his lock screen— their cheeks are pressed tightly to one another, messily done eyeliner on both their eyes. you giggle to yourself as you grab the device.

“Cute picture,” you muse and he brings an arm to his neck, scratching the side of it timidly. 

“She insists on trying her makeup on me.” 

“She makes you look better,” you giggle and he rolls his eyes, tongue poking against his cheek. 

“She wants to become a stylist,” he explains, as the elevator doors open. He lets you out first, arm stretched forward.

“I find her passion really cute so I buy her anything she asks for,” he shrugs and you chuckle, pointing to the bag of pink ribbons he is carrying. 

“Let me guess, she wants to use these on you?”

“Yeah. She also said that I quote ‘need to learn new hairstyles because her friends always come to class with intricate braids, and she can't go to class with a simple one.’” He repeats, tone growing slightly high-pitched as he mimics his daughter's words. Yet, the fond smile on his face is louder, screaming of his love for her. 

“She has you wrapped around your finger,” you muse, leaning against your door. The keys in your bag are long forgotten. 

“She can be very scary for such a little girl.” 

“What does she threaten you with?” you ask, feigning horror. 

“No goodnight kisses,” he whispers, as if scared she'd hear him beyond the wooden door. 

“Torture,” you gasp, placing your hand on his shoulder reassuringly. Yet, the smiles slip out of your face instantly. Was it normal for clothes to dissolve under your touch, layers of cotton and leather doing nothing to stop the warmth of his skin from seeping through you? Was it normal to be so affected by such an innocent touch? 

“Uhm,” you clear your throat, “I can help you. with her hair, I mean.” 

“You don't have to. I already took too much from your time with the cookies,” he seems truly apologetic, his tone sobering as if despising others doing things for him. You see yourself in him, in the way he wants to carry the world’s burden on his shoulders. It is a reflection you wish to mend. 

“I don't mind, I remember feeling jealous of the other girls in my school so I made myself learn all the braids.” 

And then you see his gratefulness, the twinkle in his eyes that you can only grasp for a millisecond before they disappear into moon crescents. Happiness looks grand on him, overtaking his entire face, brightening his features with a glow too ethereal to be of mankind, as if they were carved to translate joy. You find yourself willing to give up more of your time to see it.

“Thank you,” he breathes out and you nod, a grin taking over your face as well. 

“You’re welcome. Let me just change my clothes.” 

☃︎⋆꙳•❅

“And then, you pull the right strand all over to the middle one. Then you repeat, this way the ribbon is braided into the hair,” you explain to a very concentrated Chris, his eyebrows furrowed as he follows your movements. 

“It looks easy when you do it,” he frowns and you giggle, handing the mirror to Sowon so she'd be able to look at her hair. 

“Do you like it,” you ask, a tad apprehensive and she beams, dimples that almost swallow her chubby cheeks surging forth. 

“Pretty!” she exclaims and you giggle, bopping her nose. “You are pretty.”

“And you are pretty too. right, daddy?”

You turn back to find Chris watching you, a smile so fond on his face that it renders your insides putty, coats your cheek in the palest shade of pink.

“Very much so,” he says, tone quieter, his eyes never leaving yours. 

Sowon suddenly climbs on her dad’s lap, star and moon stickers in hand. She places them all over his face, and he sits there diligently, arms wrapped around her midriff so she won't slip away. Every carefully placed sticker is punctuated by a soft gasp from him and a small giggle from her. You could feel the love radiating from both of them, a feeling so strong it made your heart twist in your chest. 

Were there red neon exits you weren’t aware of in your being? Ones through which love trickled away all these years ago? Were the spaces between your fingers carved to hold someone’s hand, or to make everything you've ever wanted slip from your grasp?

“What do you think?” Sowon startles you and you force a smile on your face, willing the heaviness in your heart to dissipate. There were questions you'd never find the answers to, you had to make peace with that.

“I love it!” you grin and Sowon nods, satisfied. You look down at your lap as Chris fixates his eyes on you, a worried crease growing between his eyebrows. 

“Fun is over, you need to do your homework, Miss Bang,” he scolds and you snort, as Sowon rolls her eyes slightly. 

“Did you just roll your eyes at me?” he fakes offense and you giggle as Sowon huffs slightly. “Dad, I told you I have no homework. I already did it with uncle Felix.” 

“Oh, right,” he deflates slightly before brightening up once again, “then, you should put away all these hairbrushes and ribbons, okay?”

“Will you watch a movie later with me?”

“Of course, baby.”

“Okay then,” she grins, quickly standing up to start putting away her things. you smile, getting up your turn to leave. Chris understands and stands with you on cue. 

“You can stay and watch the movie with us.”

“It's okay, I have some things to work on,” you turn around, but then you feel his fingers wrapping around your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, hand still burning straight through your skin, igniting a million nerve ends with a simple touch. You avoid his eyes, looking down at the ground. It seems to be response enough for him. 

“We’re conditioned to say yes even when we aren’t, right?” he speaks softly, his words travel through your veins in a rapid course against the current of your blood— which one will reach your heart first and flood it? 

Your facade cracks. His voice wins. 

“So, you don't have to reply now,” his thumb swipes once across your pulse. “But I'll be here if you ever wish to tell the truth.” 

iii.

You’ve grown exceptionally fond of Chris in the span of mere months, more than you would like to admit to yourself. It was an easy task, as natural as the current of a waterfall. Yet, you did not plan for it, for a new emotion to settle on top of your lungs, to make you more aware of your heart and how it beats, slightly faster, around Chris. But it happened serendipitously, against all odds, when he knocked on your door at 10 p.m. asking for salt.

“Should I start buying groceries for you?” you joked, and it took Chris a millisecond longer to respond, his gaze wandering across your face, as if discovering the world’s eighth wonder, hidden in plain sight all these years. 

“For my defense, I have a daughter that likes experimenting with cooking,” he smiled, and you raised an eyebrow at him. 

“Just with salt?”

“She added four teaspoons of it in an omelet. Then forced me to eat it because I always tell her food shouldn't go to waste,” he shudders at the memory and you chuckle loudly. 

Chris knocks on the doors of your heart, once.

It happened when you spotted a cockroach the size of your palm on your bedroom wall. You would’ve killed it, you were going to, except it started flying towards you and you let out a loud shriek you didn’t know your vocal chords were capable of conjuring. So, you called Chris. 

“Can you please come over,” you murmured, crouching near the entrance door, a pair of slippers in your hand.

“Why are you whispering? are you okay?” he sounded worried, and you heard the turning of a lock as he opened the door to his apartment. He didn’t ask questions, instantly coming to your aid. A sudden urge to weep filled your being at his gesture. 

“There is a cockroach. a flying one,” you precised, horror dripping from your tongue and his laugh flooded your ear, tiny squeaks that made your hold on the slipper grow limp. 

“I'm from Australia,” he knocked on your door, and you stood up promptly. “I've seen worse,” he said once you finally opened it, his eyes softening incredibly when they met yours. 

He did kill the cockroach, by spraying your insect repellent enough times to asphyxiate you too. “I don't think I can sleep in there tonight,” you sighed, gulping down ice cold water, “why does it feel like we went through war?” 

“We? You were behind my back all the time.”

 “I was cheering you on, from afar. Spiritually.”

 “I can’t believe a cockroach scares you this much.”

 “You literally screamed when it flied towards you too.”

 “I didn't scream! I made a very manly, non-terrified sound.”

 “Mm, sure,” you giggled, voice softening at the blushing of the tip of his ears. Chris didn't have to force the door down to your heart, you willingly opened it for him. 

And after that, it was a race to find the silliest excuses to see one another. Chris suddenly taking up an inkling for baking, you manifesting a newfound interest in music, Sowon needing her makeup done for a dance, Chris visiting you in your bakery, Sowon craving your cookies and you teaching her the recipe, Chris knocking on your door and you knocking on his. The same giddy smiles on your faces as you usher each other in. And it always, always ending with a movie night. 

“Let's watch Tangled,” Sowon exclaims, clapping her hands excitedly. 

“Baby, we watched this movie for the past…” he looks at you for support. “Three,” you whisper, a bashful smile on your face. “Yeah, for the past three movie nights,” he whines slightly.

“But I love it,” she says, her pout morphing into a huge grin. “Again! Again! Again!”

“Fine,” he concedes, mouthing “save me,” from afar to you. You giggle softly while Sowon cozies up to your side, your arm naturally draping across her body while her legs stretch atop Chris’ lap, naturally, as if having you both by her side was the way things have always been. The only reality she’s ever known.

It is a fleeting fifty minutes as the three of you watch the movie, Sowon reciting excitedly the lines that she seems to remember. But then the quiet is replaced by her soft snores, her body growing light against you.

“She fell asleep,” you whisper, tapping Chris’ shoulder to catch his attention. He tilts his head to the side, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips as his eyes land on his daughter. 

“I'm sorry you have to watch the same movie every time,” he says apologetically and you shake your head. 

“I don't mind. Tangled is a good movie.” 

“Are you here just because of the movie?” he smiles, dimples peeking through. The juxtaposition between the weight of his words and the soft expression on his face makes a buzzing warmth spread through you. He’s cold and hot, in and out, yours but not. 

“What do you want me to be here for?” you throw back, squeezing his shoulder slightly. 

“The company.”

“I do find Sowon entertaining.”

“Just her?” he pouts and you giggle, tipping your head back. 

“And you too, I suppose, by extension.”

“By extension, mm,” he hums, as he gathers Sowon in his arms, freeing her from your hold. “Then I guess I shouldn't come visit you in your bakery anymore. Since you only enjoy my presence by extension.”

“So sassy,” you shout-whisper as you both walk to Sowon's bedroom, “I like your company too, idiot.” 

“Yeah?” he turns back to look at you, tone a tad bit too hopeful. He doesn’t care that he sounds eager for your approval, not when he feels as if he can only truly breathe when you're near. 

“Yeah, Chris, I really do,” you speak earnestly, and Chris bites his lower lip slightly, suddenly overwhelmed by the gentleness of your tone. Your eyes follow his action instantly. 

He lowers Sowon gently onto the bed and she stirs awake, blinking repeatedly at the both of you. “Yn,” she calls out quietly once her eyes land on yours and you kneel before her bed. Chris watches from the door entrance as Sowon cups her hand near your ear, before whispering something to you. He notices your body stiffening, your gaze fleeting to him before you relax, pressing a kiss to her cheek. 

He wishes he could freeze time, stitch this moment into his eyelids until it is the only thing he sees when he goes to sleep. Loneliness is too big of an enemy for one person to fight off, but it seems more harmless when you are near. 

Chris sees you right here, every night, not forcing your place into his family, but falling seamlessly into place. Perhaps you were the missing piece that’ll soothe the burn in his heart. Perhaps he’d let you in, even as fear paralyzes his being at the mere thought of asking you to stay. 

One week later. 

You've grown used to the knocks on your door at ungodly hours of the night, Chris seeking your company each time you both fail to fall asleep. Except this time, there is a chilling premonition in your heart as you walk to your home’s entrance, anxiety coiling like a steel ball in your throat. 

"What’s wrong?" you ask upon opening the door, locking eyes with Chris's bloodshot gaze.

“Sowon,” he heaves, tone laden with fear, so different from how he usually pronounces her name. The syllables pierce through your heart like an arrowhead dipped in alarm. 

"Sowon?" you question, peering behind him to his slightly ajar apartment door.

"Yes, she has a high fever, and it won’t come down. I tried everything, and I-I don’t know what to do anymore. She’s shaking, but I can’t—" He trembles, his quivers akin to delicate chinaware on the precipice of an earthquake, poised to shatter at your feet. You'd plunge to the ground first, anything to soften his impending collapse.  

“It’s okay,” you soothe, your voice soft as you grasp his wrist. “Let’s go see her, okay?”

“It's her first time being this sick,” he whispers, clearly distraught, one hand running through his freshly dyed blonde hair. 

“It's okay. Don’t panic, it happens. Did you give her medicine?”

“Yes, a few minutes ago,” he replies as you guide him towards her room.

“Good, it'll start working soon,” you reassure, opening the door and crouching before Sowon.

“Hey, Rapunzel," you coo softly, and Sowon attempts to muster a smile. Her cheeks flush, eyes dim like withered petals.

“How are you feeling?” you ask, pressing your hand to her feverish forehead. You cast a wary glance at Chan, who's anxiously biting his thumb.

“Cold,” she whispers, and you nod, peeling off her blanket. “I know you are, but you have a high fever. We need to let it cool down, okay?”

“I-I’m shaking,” Sowon sighs, lower lip protruding and trembling, both from the iciness clawing at her frail being, and the tears welling in her waterline, like a cup on the brink of overflowing. 

“Shh, don't cry. It will pass, it's okay,” you murmur soothingly, cradling her face on your lap, gently moving damp strands of her hair behind her ear.

"Chris, can you bring me a towel and a bowl with cold water?" you ask softly, and the man startles, painfully peeling his eyes away from his daughter, as if doing so would consign her to a dark fate.

"Sure. Sure," he repeats, scurrying out of the room.

Sowon buries her cheek in your thigh, small hands clinging tightly to yours. You tie her hair up into a loose bun as Chan hurriedly comes back, a bassinet in his hand.

"Thank you," you smile, as he kneels beside the bed, his hand resting on Someone's knee gently.

“Hey sweetheart,” he coos softly, and Sowon blinks at him, light spilling over her face. 

“Hey daddy,” she replies as you dip the towel into the water, before squeezing the fabric to remove any liquid excess. 

“You're being so strong. I love you so much my pretty girl,” he says, bringing her small hand to rest upon his cheek, bestowing a gentle kiss on her palm. 

The moment feels so intimate, so tender, that you almost feel like an intruder. You imagine this is what thorns on roses must feel like, so out of place amid delicate petals and stems. 

“I love you too,” she grins, and you remain silent, diligently wiping her face and neck with the dampened towel. You soon lose track of the number of times you've repeated this motion, but Sowon’s eyes are now closed and her body is no longer trembling. 

You rest your palm upon her forehead, a sigh of relief escaping your body as you realize that her fever has gone down noticeably- the medicine finally taking effect.

“It's better now,” you smile reassuringly and Chris’s eyes widen, irises shaking as he looks back to his daughter. 

“Will she be okay?” 

“She will be. She just needs to sleep a bit.” 

“Okay, thank you.” 

“Can we prepare her something to eat meanwhile?” 

“Mm,” he absentmindedly nods, his fingers trailing down Sowon’s features delicately, resting upon her round cheeks. 

"She looks just like you," you softly smile.

"I know," he admits, not with pride but in surrender, as if his reflection was nothing but a cursed fate. His voice tastes like ocean water, salty, acid, suffocating.

“Chris…” you trail off and he shakes his head, abruptly standing up. 

“Let's make her chicken noodle soup. She loves it,” he says and you nod. A ticking bomb resides in his veins, devoid of a countdown, leaving you unsure of when he'll finally explode. 

You get your answer soon after—it takes two minutes and thirty-three seconds for the first tear to roll down Chris’s cheek. You spot it as you retrieve carrots from the fridge, averting your gaze as Chan angrily wipes it away.

A few seconds later, five tears follow the same agonizing trail, and now the knife is shaking in Chris’s hands. He squeezes his eyes shut as if frustrated by his pain, by the emotions escaping through the cracks in his heart.

You stay silent, bringing the water to a simmer.

The clank of metal against the counter snaps your attention, and you see Chris with his head lowered down, his hands tightly clutching the counter.

Your tongue moves before you can order it to speak. 

"Chris," you call out, your hand finding its place on his back. An ugly sob escapes his lips, a raw cry unearthed from the depths of the soil where he buried his feelings, never allowing himself the grace of grieving, then moving on. 

“I'm a horrible father,” he utters so brokenly as if this idea were cemented into his head, woven into every thought of himself—an adjective that lingers like a phantom each time Sowon calls him dad.

“You're not, what are you saying?” you gently turn him around so he'd face you. But his eyes remain downcast, as if ashamed to meet your gaze. 

“I didn't know what to do. I panicked. I-I wasn't enough to help her.”

“It's okay, you can't know everything, you are trying your best-”

“No, no, no, it's not just about this!” he snaps,  despair clinging to his eyes as he finally looks at you. “It’s hard. It’s so hard to be here alone, and I- I try but it's not enough, I can't do everything and I'm not a good enough parent for her, there will a-always be something missing.” 

“You're wrong,” you say but he shakes his head in disagreement. “Chris, you're wrong,” you cradle his face, taking you both by surprise. Your thumb swipes gently underneath the skin of his eyes, wiping his cascading tears. 

“You love Sowon. And she can feel it, she can see it, she can hear it. Everyone can. A parent can't be perfect, but they should love. And you love her.” 

“What if I can't even love her enough for a father? How will I ever fill the role of two parents?” he's leaning onto your palm, hanging onto your every word. You'd sit for hours and untangle every thread of his mind if you have to, until you single out the infested one and burn it away. 

“She loves you Chris. She looks at you as if you hang every star in the sky. As if you're responsible for every good thing that happens in our world. She loves you and you love her.”

You gaze up at the ceiling, tears welling in your eyes. Chan notices the subtle tremble in your hand against his cheek.

“If I had someone who loved me as much as you love Sowon when I was a child, I would've turned out so differently,” you smile bitterly, swallowing down the lump in your throat. 

“You won't be a perfect dad. You can't be. But she won't grow up with a throbbing heart, pulsating because of a void that cannot be filled. Her veins won't be poisoned by hate and abandonment. Because she knows what it's like to be loved,” you pause, as your voice breaks, traitorous tears rolling down your cheeks. “To be cared for.” 

Your eyes hold his in a silent conversation, secretly telling him what your tongue cannot speak of— Sowon, an untarnished blossom, won't unfurl into a solitary flower the way you did.

“I'm sorry,” he whispers after a while, eyes softening in understanding. His knuckles brush gently against your cheek. 

“Why are you apologizing?” 

“So you'd find a reason within you to forgive,” he says, as he leans forward to press a tender kiss on your forehead. And somehow it feels more intimate than any way you've been touched before. 

Five days later.

chris [11:32 p.m.]: you up?

yn [11:32 p.m.]: i just got bad flashbacks to my college years

chris [11:33 p.m.]: ajaksjsbsbbs

chris [11:33 p.m.]: i didn’t mean it like that ㅠㅠ 

chris [11:33 p.m.]: wanna come over? i'm in the studio but im not feeling inspired 

yn [11:34 p.m.]: and how will i help? 

chris [11:34 p.m.]: i find your presence inspiring 

You don’t reply, instead putting on your slippers and walking over to his apartment. He opens the door before you even have the chance to knock. 

“What are you working on?” you ask once you’re settled atop his chair, spinning around slightly. He looks down at the pillow on his lap, lightly plucking its pink fur. “A song for Sowon,” he admits softly and your eyes grow a little wide. 

“That is so sweet,” you pout, inching closer to him. “How is it going?”

“I've finished the melody and now I'm working on the lyrics. There is just.. so much i want to tell her, i'm unsure if ill be able to express it well.” 

“Can I read what you wrote?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, sure,” he searches through his papers. “Here.”

May these words be the first to find your ears

The world is brighter than the sun now that you're here

I'll give you everything I have

I'll teach you everything I know

I promise I'll do better

I will soften every edge

I'll hold the world to its best

And I'll do better

Tears spring to your eyes unexpectedly, you try to stop their flow but they fall upon the paper, splattering like a broken mosaic, mimicking the brokenness of your own heart. 

“I'm sorry,” you spin around, your back to him as you attempt to dry your tears, and yet they show no desire to stop. Chris is in your heart and he’s kicking every other emotion out, forcing you to make amends with your sadness, the one you buried years, years ago. 

Chris gently grabs the back of the chair, pulling you back to him before spinning your chair once again until you are facing him. You bury your face in your hands and his rests reassuringly on your knee, squeezing it slightly. “Is it so bad it made you sob?” 

“Shut up, you know this isn’t the case.” 

His hand delicately traces up your arm, gently lifting your fingers from your face. He kneels before you, his thumb tenderly wiping away the traces of tears on your cheeks.

“Talk to me?” 

“It's so beautiful, so warm, so loving. Everything a parent should think of their child,” a traitorous hiccup escapes your lips. “Everything my parents never felt for me.” 

Chris’ mouth morphs into a pout, eyebrows scrunching tightly. You shake your head, smoothing down the worried crease between his eyes. 

“I don't feel sad over things I can't control and I love myself enough now to compensate for what I didn't have, but sometimes-'' your voice breaks, Chan’s hold on your hands tightens. “It stings to remember what could’ve been.” 

Stings was an understatement, it is rather a pulsating void, throbbing in ache every day, calling out for its missing piece. How can I fill you with what was lost when it chose to walk away? 

“Come here,” he whispers, coaxing you to your feet, his arms enveloping your body as he guides your head to the crook of his neck. His body runs warm, the material of his sweatshirt soft, and he smells nice too, the contours of his muscles tailor-made to complement the ridges of your own. 

“You grew up well, Yn. You did well.”

You clutch his shirt, tightening your grip as you fist the fabric in your palm. He's patting your back, and time slows down to match the rhythm of his touch. 

“Love can be hard, I know. Especially when the people who left are the ones supposed to be staying.” 

He understands, more than anyone you know. He missed out on a different kind of love too, two facets of the same coin. 

“You’re doing well too, Chris. You shouldn’t doubt yourself as much,” your arms trail up to encircle his neck, as his nose tickles your hair. You're the one hugging him now. “Sowon is really smart, she told me that she loves you a lot. She can feel it. She sees everything you do for her.”

“Is that what she told you that movie night?”

“Partly,” you whisper, and Chris leans away slightly, his warm palms still pressed to your waist, holding you close. 

“What else did she tell you?” he asks, curiosity barely hidden in his tone.

You pause for a while, eyes going over the entire room before finally locking on him.

“She thanked me, said that I make you smile more.” You suck in a deep breath, gathering your courage. “Do I?” 

“There are small lines that don’t show on my face until you're near.” 

“Oh.” That is the only coherent response you can formulate, and Chris giggles, a tiny squeak escaping his lips in a huff. “Cute,” he murmurs, planting a tender kiss on your temple. His lips linger, holding onto the moment a beat longer than necessary, causing your eyes to close in delight. Both of you find yourselves blushing as he leans away, a shared warmth coloring the space between you.

“Sorry, didn't mean to make the mood somber,” you say sheepishly as you sit back down, eyeing Chris’s laptop. “I wanna hear this,” you quickly point to a random track on his screen before he can reply, hoping to make the sadness flee away.

“This one? It’s not really good, let's listen to something else,” his rambling and eagerness to change the track pique your curiosity and you quickly click on the song before he can stop you.

connected.mp3 starts playing. 

Sultry beats inundate your ears, weaving through your veins and whisking you away to the pulsating rhythm of a dance club. You knew Chris produced good music, yet you never fathomed that his voice could be so luxuriously rich, cascading over you like molten wax. You feel a blush rise to your cheeks at the suggestive lyrics, the innuendos peeking behind every word. And then, a sudden jealousy claws at your heart, at the thought of Chris hunched in his studio, fantasizing about connecting with someone who isn’t you. 

You wished to be the only one Chris liked. 

“It’s a- a demo for one of my clients,” he explains through a stutter once the song is done, and you nod meekly, willing your body’s temperature to go down, for the possessivity crinkling in you to fizzle out. 

So, you put on your best taunting smirk.

“I know you want me don’t crumble.. No need to be desperate we’re just getting started,” you sing-song back. “You were feeling so cocky when you wrote this, right?” you grin, inching your chair closer to his. “Feeling yourself, Mr. Bang?”

He chuckles with a hint of annoyance, running his tongue along the expanse of his lower lip. Leaning back into his chair, he casually spreads his legs a bit wider, a gesture that suddenly leaves you feeling dizzy, on him.

“It’s cute how affected you seem by it,” he throws nonchalantly, crossing his arms before his chest.

“I'm not,” you smile, although your erratic heartbeat spoke of a different tale, you just didn't need to voice it to him. “I think you were the one getting all hot and bothered in your studio,” you stand between his legs, hovering over him as he leans back fully in his chair. 

“I was thinking of a pretty girl.”

“Yeah?”

“Mm,” he suddenly grabs your waist, you feel like your entire body is ablaze. “The prettiest.”

"Who is she?" you exhale, teetering on the edge of crashing your lips onto his, like an incoherent love poem, hastily scrambled on a notebook in a fit of anger.

“y–” The door suddenly opens, Sowon’s small frame standing by the door, she’s rubbing her eyes tiredly, her chick plushie dangling from her hand (a gift from her uncle Felix as she explained to you). You quickly scramble away from Chris as he clears his throat loudly.

“Daddy, I can't sleep,” she says faintly, a tiny pout drawn on her lips, and you can see Chris physically melt at her words, at the way she paddles to his chair, and tries her best to climb up his legs. She fails to do so, so he quickly scopes her up his arms until she’s buried in his hold. Her small hands wound up around his neck, and he tenderly pats down her hair, his gaze never wavering from her frame.

“Want me to sing to you, sweetheart?”

“Yes,” she whispers, before making grabby hands at you, your heart softens like clay dough as you scoot closer, enclosing her fingers in your hold. 

“Sleep well, Sowonnie,” you whisper. 

“Can’t you stay with us?” she asks and you feel your blood freeze in your veins, your heart skipping three beats at once.

To stay. What a frightening concept. Even more scary when you realize that you aren’t opposed to it. 

You yearn to stay, for the first time in years, you wish you could. 

You swallow the growing lump in your throat, before smiling reassuringly. “I'll stay till you fall asleep.” 

Conditions, it is the way it has always been for you. staying till you’re no longer useful, staying till you're no longer wanted. Staying, but always with a time limit, always with an expiration date. 

iv. 

You’re avoiding him. 

Chris knows you are, since you no longer come over to his house, claiming that you’re tired, or that you have an important order to bake for the next day. He would have believed you had he not seen you only once in the past three weeks. 

Those were excuses, and each one of them weighed heavily on Chris’ heart, on his home too, his studio particularly, the one that got used to the sound of your laugh. 

He misses you. He never thought he’d miss someone again, craving you presence as if every breath leaving his body depended on you. He wasn’t a stranger to intimacy, fleeting hookups every now and then. Strangers invited him to their bed, knowing what they were signing up for– one night of pleasure, never to be seen again, their faces blurring into an indistinct mass in his mind, like an impressionist painting where no features stand out. Yet, with you, every detail is etched in his memory. 

He could pick you out of a crowded room, recognize the delicate curve of your neck, the fullness of your lips, and the way your nose scrunches when you smile.

He could draw the moles scattered on your body from memory alone, recognize your scent from miles away– your cotton shampoo and the specific laundry detergent you love to use and a hint of vanilla that never truly leaves you. 

He’d remember the curve of your lashes and the cascading of your hair, the airy giggles you leave across like a trail for him to follow everywhere, and your eyes– the way they gazed at him, softening slightly around the edges, shining brightly as if crafted from stardust, the way they softened even more when you looked at Sowon, voice growing slightly high pitched as you listened to his daughter’s rambles.

How did you manage to make his home yours without ever living in it?

“Dad?” Sowon calls out and he snaps his head up, locking eyes with his little girl. She’s sitting on a high stool, munching on her pizza, a pensive look on her face.

“Yes, sweetheart?” he asks, walking over to her side.

“Where is Ynnie?” she asks in a small voice and he freezes, mulling over his response. He settles for the truth.

“I don't know, baby.”

“Does she not want to play with me anymore?” Sowon whispers, and he doesn’t remember his daughter ever being this tentative about voicing a question. 

“No!” he's quick to reassure, cradling Sowon’s face between his much larger hands. “Of course not baby she loves you a lot.”

“Okay…” she nods, a small pout drawn on her lips still. Chris senses his heart physically crack in his chest.

“Do you wanna work in the studio with me?” he says in a joyful tone, and she instantly cheers up, the twinkle in her eyes found again. “Yes!” 

“Finish your food first, okay Wonnie?” 

“Okay!” 

In Chris's life, regrets have been scarce, and certainly not in the form of Sowon, his beacon of hope, as he named her. Having her was beholding a sun wherever he went. However, a fear lingers, a whisper in his heart, suggesting that letting you go might be his one true regret.

So when his daughter falls asleep, he knocks on your door once again. He's suddenly transported into that cold night, months ago, where he asked you for flour. Had he known you were behind it he would’ve knocked much sooner. 

“Hi,” you greet softly once you open the door. He takes a step forward, his wolf slippers matching with Sowon’s bump into your plain ones. You avert your gaze, finding anything but him to fixate on.

“You're avoiding me,” he says matter-of-factly, voice soft, resigning to you.

“I'm not,” you contradict, even as your eyes remain on the ground. He finds himself missing the color of your irises.

"Look at me, hm?" he implores, and you stay rooted in place. A soft sigh escapes him as he cradles your right cheek with his warm hand, his thumb gently sweeping across your cheekbone. "Yn, please, I want to look at you."

Maybe it is the pleading tone of his voice or the way his thumb tenderly grazes your skin, but something about Chris makes your resolve unravel, threads of fear unknotting before your eyes. So, you finally look at him. An exhale of relief escapes him. 

And then you speak.

“You asked me if I was okay, and I didn't reply, back then,” you say, leaning your head further against his palm as tears well up in your waterline. “Do you still want to know my answer?”

“Of course, always.”

“I'm happy. With you, with sowon. I feel this warmth that I have never known before when I'm with you. It was almost easy to forget I've known you during winter,” you chuckle dryly, “but it is all an illusion, I lie to myself thinking I could stay, I… I can't, I-“

“What if I ask you to stay?” he brings your hand to his heart, where it beats erratically, pulse seeping through your skin.

He’s as scared as you are.

“Chris…”

“What if I told you, Yn, please stay with me,” he breathes out, guiding your hand to gently cup his cheek. “Would you? Would you stay?”

“I'm terrified,” you whisper, as he tilts his head, bestowing a tender kiss on your palm. 

“I know, so am I. But, you make me believe that even my bruised parts are worthy of love.”

He wins, before years of skeletons and piled up doubts, he wins. 

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I'm staying.”

“You are?”

“I am,” you giggle lightly and he staggers back, the sun pouring into his smile. 

“Um, wow, okay. Thank you for staying,” his voice sounds airy, happiness floating in his tone, and you find it contagious, imprinting into your own.

“Thank you for asking me to stay.”

“You made it less daunting,” he pats your head, smoothing your hair down. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.”

He giggles in response and you can't help but mirror the sound. “Why are you so nervous?”

“Whaaat? I'm not,” his tone grows high-pitched and you roll your eyes amusedly. 

“What happened to connected Chris?” 

“He is flustered by the girl he wrote about.”

Your cheeks tint red as he places a hand above your head, caging you in place. 

“I think the girl should get paid for being the muse.”

“Oh yeah?” he smirks, “I'll think about it.” His grin softens, as a content expression washes over his face. You know you must look the same. “Let's talk more tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay,” you grin, before placing a chaste kiss on his cheek. “Good night, Chris.”

“Good night, yn.”

You quietly watch as he walks to his apartment door, his hand settling on the door knob. He pauses, for a few seconds where the air around you stills, before swiveling around and walking over to you again. 

you win. 

“I forgot something,” he breathes out, before crashing his lips onto yours, furiously, as if needing to imprint his essence onto you, tainting your soul the way you have tainted him, permanently altering the composition of his being. His lips move on yours as if they've done this before, a dance they have rehearsed countless times, perhaps in all the dreams Chris visited you in. Yet, nothing compares to how it feels to have him touch you, lick your lower lip and drag his hand up your hips, press you against your apartment door, and nibble at your neck. 

Nothing could have prepared you for the passion he shows you, for how delicious it feels to be pressed against him, for the storm that your lips conjure, swirling in your heart in vibrant shades of red. Then, for the softness of his lips as they slow down their course, plump and rosy as they meet your own, tenderly, more gently, one kiss after the other. “My hope,” he whispers, as his lips find yours again, “my missing piece.”

He’s hot and cold, in yet seeking no out, finally yours.

bonus (one year later). 

“So I brought the eggs, milk, sugar,” Chris enumerates as he takes out the groceries, and you turn to look at Sowon to find her already gazing at you, a mischievous look on her face. 

“How much do you wanna bet he forgot flour?” you whisper and she giggles, burying her face in her hands to stifle her laugh.

“And… Wait, where is the flour?” he trails off and you burst out laughing, as you and Sowon high-five each other excitedly. 

“Daddy, you are really bad at groceries.”

“Am I?” he smiles sheepishly, fiddling with his earlobe in a manner that still makes your heart melt, renders your insides butterflies speaking of Chris’ name.

“Yes, it’s good Mom bought it,” she says naturally, looking down at her iPad. You and Chris freeze in your tracks, eyes instantly locking with one another, yours and his, glossy with emotion, a loving tide enveloping you both. 

It's her first time calling you mom. 

You swallow down the lump in your throat, crafted not by thorns but by petals, not by ache but with love, before placing your chin on the small of her shoulder, murmuring softly. "Mm, will you help me bake, baby?"

“Yes! I wanna be a baker when I grow up, just like you.”

“What happened to being a stylist?”

“I can't be both?” she frowns innocently. 

“You can be anything you want, princess.” you bop her nose and she giggles, pressing a sweet kiss to your cheek. 

In the grip of winter, Chris discovers a warmth that defies the season, casting off years of cold from the recesses of his bones. A soft smile graces his lips as he gazes at you, his hopes, his girls, the three of you clad in wolf slippers.

He’ll propose to you tomorrow.

[danihow]

[danihow]

If you’re a current Kpop writer on here, can you reblog this and/or leave a comment? We’re trying to figure out who all is still here!

[danihow]

can you do hospital prompts 💕💗

why yes i can! here you go :)

scenarios for those stuck in the hospital 🏥

"hang in there, please...."

holding onto their hand as a form of comfort, whether the injured is awake or not.

bringing a bunch of their favorite board games to play to kill time

crying to themselves as they're left alone for the first time when visiting hours are over (horrible experience btw i do not recommend)

"what the hell happened?!"

(if there's space) climbing into the bed with them and cuddling away

"you're going to be okay, i promise."

"are you still in pain?"

bringing a plush (or other comfort item) for them

"you can go home, y'know." "absolutely not. i'm not leaving until i have to."

"you scared the shit out of me, you know that?"

holding back tears as they're being treated (whether this be because of the anxious wait, or having to watch them cry out in pain of their own)

"rest. i'll still be here when you wake up.."

[danihow]

Can I ask how you made the collages for your nav and master list? They’re so cute! I’ve been trying to make some collages for my own but it always puts a full size photo in lmao

Hiii, i made them in canva with the personalized sizing option, so i gave them the size i wanted and just downloased them! Smts when you post they resize to the original you had

[danihow]

Stupid presentation

Non Idol!Yang Jeongin (I.N) x Fem!Reader Stray Kids

Word Count: 4.96k

Summary: You did a great job ignoring those who disliked you, you thought you were great at it, specially woth Jeongin, that until college work forces you to work together.

Warnings: College AU, fluff, non idol AU, a bit of crack, big ass misundesrtanding, language, mentions of being wasted at a party, mentions of alcohol, kinda enemies to friends.

A/N: This actually took me way too much more than I expected it to take and I kinda want to write more of it.

Tuesday, 1:34 p.m.

You couldn't fucking believe it.

Of all the fucking people in the goddamn classroom you had to pull out the name of the only one who didn't stand you.

Yang Fucking Jeongin.

At the beginning of the semester you had chosen this class as the obligatory extra class you were supposed to take this year, having postponed it last semester for the will of your mental health after how challenging it all had been in your life.

Still, you never thought to meet in this particular class, which was named officially Humanism in War, your last semester's classmate from your career-related subject who you could swear to any power above couldn't stand you after being paired up for a project not only once but TWICE and he, both times, asked the teacher to switch the two of you.

You never understood what you had done to him to apparently abhor you like that, but it wasn't like you were in the need to ask him when he held that intimidating aura every time he was around you, knowing for sure your question wasn't going to be answered, at least not in a friendly way.

Now, until this specific moment in the timeline you both habited, you thought, no, you knew you had done a great job avoiding any interaction between the both of you, not daring to look at him, picking literally anyone else when you had to choose work partners (even if at the end you ended up doing all of it alone), waiting until he went out of the classroom just not to bump into him, basically all you could do to not bother him, you did.

At least before now, right when your professor told all of you the partners for the last presentation were going to be picked randomly by the left side of the classroom via papers, to what he grabbed a bowl full of the names of those sat at the other side of the class room, the man trying his best to make his students interact more than they have been and, much to your dismay, you and Jeongin were sat on total opposites of the class, you on the left and him on the right, meaning there was a 1/22 chance to pick him, it was less than 5% of probability but to you it was still 5 too many.

When the professor stood at your side, leaning the bowl to you still with a bunch of papers in it you felt your stomach twirl nervously and kind of scared, no one had gotten Jeongin yet and you honestly didn't want to spend your time with someone with such an attitude toward your mere existence, so, after a flash prayer to anyone that could hear you from above your hand got in the bowl, picking one of the neatly folded papers and taking it out.

"Don't open it yet." Your professor said, moving on to the student who sat behind you.

A couple of minutes after you were all signaled to open up the papers and look at the name written on them. Your fingers slowly taking the corners of the red piece and unfolding it, your eyebrows furrowing when your eyes read "Yang Jeongin" written in cursive.

"And remember, I don't do changes." Professor Changmin said, placing the bowl in his desk and looking at the rest of the class, his free hand on his hip.

Fuck.

There it went all your effort to avoid the guy, who looked around in search of someone making eye contact with him, confused to find no one. Just before turning his attention back to the board, where the teacher had started scribbling the basic rules and point to follow for the work.

Tuesday, 1:53 p.m.

"Now you can pack up, see you on Thursday." The deep voice of the professor echoed through the silent classroom, that quickly filled with the sound of quiet chattering and the ruffling of papers and backpacks.

"Who did you get?" Heeseung asked, his eyes looking over your shoulder at your paper with curiosity, a snort almost leaving him at the name he read. "Dude, I'm so sorry for you, but at least you know he will do his part of the job, unlike all your other partners."

Heeseung was a tall guy you befriended on your calculus class last semester and who decided to get in this class with you because it was the last one you could share before your careers tore your paths apart, him swearing to not let that tear the friendship the two of you built apart. He knew about this weird thing Jeongin had going on with you ever since he saw it blossom every time he picked you up your classes six months prior.

"Shut up Hee." You said, playfully hitting him in the arm as you put your tablet away in your bag.

"Rude~" He sing-songed, putting his computer away.

"Who do you got?" You asked back, putting all your pens back in the pencil case.

"Ryujin." He said, his head moving a bit to were the girl sat, talking to her friend, who you recalled to be called Yuna.

"She's nice, she was in my art class too." You said, remembering a couple of time you two crossed words.

"We'll see how she's in partner works." He said, standing up once the Professor dismissed all of you. "See you around Y/N."

"Where are you heading to?"

"I told a friend of mine I'd help him with his graduation essay." He smiled, shrugging his shoulders.

"A'right, see you around Hee."

Standing up you noticed Jeongin standing awkwardly in his desk, still confused, sighing you realized this was probably the moment you had to speak up, swallowing you nerves and giving slow dreadful steps towards him. "Hi..." You muttered, trying your best trying to sound confident, his piercing gaze falling on you, an eyebrow raised. "I guess we are going to be working together." You said, showing him the paper with his name cautiously, he himself taking it to check if it is his name, and it was.

A small frown on his lips he nodded. "Okay." He said, giving you the paper back. "Message me to decide on our parts." And with that, he just walked out.

How in hell would you message him? You didn't have his number.

Wednesday, 11:14 a.m.

What kind of person expects you to message them without a number?

You had asked now around 10 different people from you career for Jenin’s number, some of them who you'd seen talking to him a couple of times.

It wasn't until after walking around almost all of campus trying to spot more of the guys you've seen Jeongin walk around with, which, was a tiring and time wasting task, you finally got a number form this guy named Hyunjin, who you've seen too around Heeseung a couple of times.

"What kind of jackass kid am I raising?" He asks in a whisper to himself with a frown on his face as he wrote your number down on his phone to send you his contact and to send Jeongin yours. "I'm sorry about him, he's just dumb most of the time." He said, a ding on your phone as his message got in with a contact named 'dumb kid'. "Ignore the name, it just proves my point further on, now I have to head to class, tho it was nice meeting you Y/N."

And just like that he left, not without giving you a small wave accompanied by a friendly smile, quickly getting in the art faculty building.

Maybe you should message Jeongin first, the faster you got into working the faster you'd get out of it.

Next Thursday, 1:04 p.m.

After a long walk, getting a couple of turns wrong and getting lost in this part of the city you finally reach your destiny.

Currently standing in front of Jeongin's apparent apartment door, swaying back and forth over your heels and the ball of your feet, doubting if you should knock on the door or run away and disconnect from life, but the stupid presentation was due on Monday and the both of you were still missing a bunch of details, that being the reason why he called you to meet up in his apartment.

Why actually to his apartment? You didn't know, you were both managing quite well to do it separately without any issue and with no need to stablish an actual conversation, yeah, it was challenging but nothing impossible.

Finally, gathering up all the courage you knocked the door with your knuckles, regret immediately washing over you as you rather quickly heard footsteps on the other side of the door, right before being greeted by Jeongin himself, his hair a bit messy and curlier, unstyled, falling right above his glasses as he looked at you, face blank.

"Hi, come in." He said with no emotion in his voice, stepping aside and letting you pass, feeling now a bit overdressed with your nice shirt, done hair, jeans and clean shoes while he stood there, a pair of slippers for you on his hand while wearing a white shirt over some joggers and in his plain blue slippers. "Here, you can leave your shoes right there." He pointed to the space besides his shoes, that were neatly placed aside against the wall.

"Thank you." Was all you could say before sitting on the little stool he had, taking your shoes off and putting the pair of slippers he leaned you on.

"Now..." He started, slowly walking over to the living room, where you saw his computer set up on the table along with some papers, sticky notes and highlighters. " ...uh, I guess we should start." He said coldly, his gaze still holding that cold and sharp edge every time he spared a glance at you, who slowly became smaller and smaller over his presence. But still, it seemed that you didn't took notice of the way his edges softened a bit and his presence doubted, his facade stumbling for a few seconds.

"Mhm, let's start with whatever you want." You said, Jeongin noticing immediately how you looked everywhere but him, how you fidgeted with your rings and the way you ever so slightly moved your right foot to its side, you weren't nervous, he has seen you nervous before and this wasn't it, but he couldn't either pinpoint what the hell it could be so he just let it pass, it wasn't like you cared enough about him for it to be a topic.

Thursday, 1:33 p.m.

The first while was spent mostly by him talking about the presentation and how it should go, you just nodding along, mostly zoned out in your own thoughts than paying actual attention.

You were sat across Yang Jeongin in his living room, and somehow the room hadn't imploded the way Heeseung had teased you it would.

"Y/N!" Jeongin said rather loudly, his hand reaching out to shake your shoulder in an attempt to bring you back to reality. "Can you stop just nodding to everything I say and actually give me your opinion? This is not only my work; you know?" He said a bit harshly, kind of tired of the way you just agreed with him, he could tell you that the sky was fucking orange and you'd agree. "Why are you acting like this anyway? I thought you had a bit more of personality in you."

"Sorry." You answered rather quickly, averting his gaze, earning a sigh from him.

"Don't be sorry just- give me your opinion and stop thinking other stuff, that way we'll get done with all of this faster." He said, his voice lowering back to its normal volume, and slowly getting his body back in its place in the floor. "You need a break? I think I still have some snacks on the kitchen..." He suggested, his eyes unsure about whether he should.

Was he being nice? Like actually nice? To you?

"Uh- yeah sure, if it’s not a bother I wouldn't mind a break."

"It isn’t; you rather want something salty or something sweet?" He asked, getting up from his place, his back cracking a bit as he did so.

"I'd prefer something salty, thanks." You said, a small smile painted across your face as your eyes followed how he walked away, giving you a second to breathe and recompose yourself.

What the fuck dude? You though, your mind scolding you for how were acting so unsure, just giving him more reasons to not like you, but it wasn't like you cared, right?

Right?

Trying to calm your nerves your let your eyes dance around the boy's apartment, actually neater than you initially thought it would be, probably comparing it to your other male friends' houses.

The way he had it all organized and clean made you feel at ease, the decoration being actually really nice to look at with the colorful accents between all the white, plants here and there and a bunch of peculiar items in random furniture, as the red cassette player on a shelf, or the bunch of mini instruments all aligned on top of the sofa's back rest.

Just like that, scanning the room your eyes landed on the window, noting the way his apartment had a really nice view of the main street in front of it, not tall enough to see all the rooftops but tall enough to appreciate the architecture of the buildings nearby without disrupting the view of the sky, which right now was tinted in different tones of gray, covered in a blanket of heavy dark clouds that brought a menace of a storm, your mind remembering how your umbrella was left back at your place, resting on your room's doorknob.

"It turned really dark really quickly huh." A voice muttered from behind you, Jeongin coming back with a bowl of snacks on his hand and two bottles of some drink on the other, lending one to you as he placed the bowl in between you two. All the calmness you had collected escaping through the crack between your fingers unexpectedly, your muscles stiffing a bit as you took the bottle from his grasp and putting it aside, his eyes following your movements carefully. It was like you felt scared by him, almost as if he was dangerous, and he didn't like that.

"Yes." You nodded, eyes glued to the papers in front of you.

"So... you prefer taking on the first half or the second?" He asked rather awkwardly again, his gaze dancing through the mess of papers before finally settling on you, searching for your own eyes. "Y/N?"

"Oh, oh right, um... I don't know actually, you choose."

"I've already chosen half of all the work, you choose something too." He muttered, his attention focused on the way your eyes looked at all the highlighted papers, mind wondering why were you so weird towards him now. "Hey, I know you don't like me but I think we should make it work at least until we present, Y/N. I actively don't think it is that hard to answer such a simple question."

A donkey talking about ears. You thought before actually processing his words. "I'm the one who doesn’t like you?" You couldn't help but ask, how dare he say such a thing if he is the one that caused all of this I-avoid-you-and-you-avoid-me relationship between you.

"What do you mean?" His eyebrows furrowed, concerned eyes falling on yours that finally looked up to him. "I think it’s rather obvious."

"If one of us were to hate the other let me tell you it is definitely you."

"What? I don't hate you Y/N." He spoke, his voice genuinely concerned about where you got that information, false information, by the way.

"Oh you don't? Then why the heck was you so rude to me last semester and act so intimidating around me all the goddamn time? Huh? And not to mention all the avoiding." You said back, your eyes now unable to leave his, reading through his emotions just as he did with yours, finding a new found confidence in you, a confidence that suited you.

"I- You thought I disliked you because I acted intimidating?" His voice made a really intended emphasis on the last word.

"Well yes, what else would you expect me to think from that? And those two times you switched partners."

"I... you are right but, I don’t hate you Y/N, I thought you did."

The confusion each of you felt was beyond words, he was now trying to explain his behavior and all you were trying to do was to comprehend what the hell he was referring to, neither of you liking were the other was going.

"I did?"

"Yeah, you acted so vain and condescending around me on our first semester of the career I thought you hated me so I just acted the same way with you."

"Our first sem- When did we even talked during then?"

"Your friend was dating mine, remember? We met on that party your friend group invited mine." He said, explaining it all as if it was obvious. Silent settling between you two as the gears on your mind worked, unable to find his face in your memories, but it wasn't like you had a lot of memories from that night either.

"You were there?" Was all you could ask, pointing at him with the highlighter in your hand.

"Well duh, of course I was, I was Changbin's roommate during that time and all. I was dragged there." He said, his body leaning back to rest against the sofa behind him, an arm draped over it as you two talked, what an interesting turn of events.

"We met?" "You ask once again, apparently all you could do since all he was saying was not in your mind, at all.

"You don't remember?" Every question you asked, the more he thought you joked, but your face told the total opposite.

"No I- I don't remember seeing you there., along with a bunch of other things."

"I was the one that... you know what? It doesn't matter. Let's-"

"No, no, you cannot leave the topic now Yang Jeongin, what did I did that I was condescend and vain about?"

"You truly don't remember," He deadpanned, his brows almost becoming one in the middle of his forehead, his eyes wide upon you as he scanned your face for any gesture that meant it all as a joke.

"I ended that party kinda badly, in case you apparently didn’t noticed."

"No, I noticed. believe me, I took you home, Y/N."

"You- what?"

"You were so wasted after a couple of drinks your friends asked me to take you home." He started explaining. "You weren't able to even walk in a straight line and it didn't felt right to leave you on an uber alone so I went with you."

"You talked a lot that night, about a lot of things, we actually had fun, I think." He kept on talking, watching as your face morphed into an even more confused expression. "I left you in your apartment, you threw up on the bathroom a bit and then you flopped in your bed, after that I just left."

"I... I have no memory of that, I remember the hang over but not much of the party, I just assumed my friend and Changbin had dropped me at home, no one told me it was you."

"Well that explains why you ignored me after that." He mutters, your voice held so much doubt and at the same time so much sincerity he couldn't help but believe you. "I went to say hi to you the next day and you just flew by me, I believed you didn't like me after your drunk episode, I guess I did get kinda resented by that so I acted cold but I blamed you."

"No I swear I, I had no idea, if I had remembered I wouldn't have ignored you, it actually did throw me off the way you suddenly started acting colder when I thought we were strangers."

Now you felt bad, both of you felt bad, giving each other the cold shoulder for now almost a year because of nothing.

"Well, we weren't, at least in my head." He said, hand flying back to rub his neck, his gaze looking at a side, yours becoming too much for a moment.

"I now get that." You answered, nodding as silence settled in, again. "I guess now you switched partners because you thought I didn0t liked you."

"Yeah, and I guess you felt bad..."

"Yeah..." Suddenly, in the silence between your talking, droplets of water started falling against the window. "Sorry I didn't remembered you."

"Is not on you, I'm sorry I never talked it out with you."

"No one told me, don't worry about it now." And once again, both of your heads nodding to each other, slowly meeting each other gazes again, but now each holding a less hostile aura, trying to amend things. "So... it was just a big misunderstanding?" You asked, your voice tinier.

"Yeah... yeah I guess so."

"And, we're good now?"

"If you say we're good then we're good." He said, his facial expression genuine as he shrugged at your words.

"Alright."

"Okay."

"Okay..." Slowly, your eyes fell to the bottle in your hands, completely forgetting you had it until it started wetting your clothing. "Tea?" You asked, a little bit smilier as you stared at the label in the bottle, having spot this brand in the supermarket halls couple of times.

"Yeah I- uh, didn't knew if you wanted anything to drink so I brought one in case you liked it, if not I can go for a bottle of water or just leave it there." He rapidly sad, his mouth pressed on a resigned line as he regretted not going to buy more stuff in the morning, the thought of you not liking tea completely slipping his mind.

"Don't worry, I'll try it." You reassured, opening the bottle up and taking a small sip.

To Jeongin it was amusing the way your eyes spoke when you weren't avoiding his own, immediately lighting up after tasting the beverage, a glint of happiness behind them, telling him more than any other part of your face, making him smile a little bit, his mind recalling how they did the same that night a bunch of months ago. "You like it?"

"I love it, it's really good." You replied, taking another little sip, before realizing how far you two were from the work now but also not daring the break the cozy air surrounding your now cleared up minds. "We should keep on working."

"Yeah, yeah sure." He said, remembering all the mess on the coffee table, taking the bunch of papers in his hands and highlighting the most important parts for you to say as you got back to highlighting his before getting into actually finishing the PowerPoint. "Do you mind if I put on some music?" He asked, looking at you through his glasses, an index finger coming up to relocate them on the bridge of his nose.

"I don't, go ahead." You nodded, also don't minding the now comfortable silence between you, apparently talking things out really made a difference in people.

Around an hour later and a half, a bowl of chips and one third into a Spotify playlist you two are just giving the finishing touches to all of it just as you put the pen aside, your eyes scanning through the last bit of the information on the paper as Jeongin compared all you had done to the specified points your professor said to be evaluating.

"I think we are done." You whispered, putting the piece of scribbled paper at the end of the pile, glancing around to the mess you two had slowly created around the greenish carpet, rain falling heavily against the window of the apartment and a lighting illuminating the room just as the following thunder startled the two of you.

"Yeah, yeah I think we are." He said, rechecking that all of it was done and saved. "So..."

"I should probably get going back to my place." Your voice raised a bit, trying to talk over the increasing rain against the glass of the window, your hand picking up all the stuff spread on the floor.

"You got a car now?" He asked, doing the same as you.

"No, no, I... I was planning to walk over to my building."

"It’s in moments like this I question if you are talking seriously to me, Y/N." He said, taking his glasses off to clean them with his shirt while trying to look at you directly in your eyes, your confused face urging him to elaborate. "You planned on walking back with all that rain? Do you want to get hit by a lighting or something?"

"I just-"

"Stay a bit until it turns it down a bit, at least until there is no more lightings." He offered, putting the book over the pile of paper on his coffee table before standing up to put all of it on the kitchen isle, away from the living room. "Unless you have somewhere else to be." He says, looking over his shoulder back at you.

"I don't." You finally say, thinking how staying couldn’t mean any harm now that you two were good.

"What do you want to do meanwhile? Watch a movie or something?"

"Whatever you want, I don't care." You shrug, getting up after being sat on the carpet for way too long now, whining a bit while stretching up, your muscles sore and your legs a bit numb, the clock on the wall ticking a bit over 3 p.m. "You got any movies?"

"Uh. we can just zap a bit and see if we find anything on the TV." He says, coming back with a refilled bowl of chips.

"Sounds good enough to me." You say, stretching your arms over your head to get the soreness away. "Where is the bathroom?"

Wednesday, 3:54 p.m.

If a week prior to today someone had told you you would be sat peacefully on a rainy afternoon with Jeongin's arm draped over the back of the sofa you are both are comfortably seating on and not in the middle of world war iii, you would have ushered them away with a smack in the back of their head.

But now, in this very moment it was a reality. You and Jeongin seating besides each other half way into Mission Impossible after finding it just starting on a random TV channel. "Jeongin?" You asked, head turning slightly towards him to look him in the face.

"Hm?" He hummed back, glancing at you through the corner of his eye.

"By any chance do you have a spare blanket or hoodie?" I'm kinda freezing right now."

"Sure, I think I have a blanket somewhere in my room, give me a sec." He said, the sofa shifting as his weight was being lifted off of it, his figure disappearing down the hall.

During the last hour you had figured Jeongin to be a really nice guy, even funny to be around, you now guessing you were just damned to see the worst of it by the dumb misunderstanding you two had around. His eyes were now quite cute to stare at, especially the way the crinkled into crescent moons when smiling or laughing, his bubbly laugh a lot better than the silence you use to hear from him, and his figure not intimidating at all.

"Here you go." He said, his hand lending you both a hoodie and a blanket, choosing both against the cold air that the rain brought into the apartment, the heaters not doing much in the middle of what was supposed to be spring. "Are you really that cold?"

"Well, yeah, I don't know how you stand there just like that." You say, scanning his bare feet and his short sleeved shirt, that didn’t seem to be thick. "You are not cold at all?" You now asked, passing your head through the oversized light blue hoodie and placing the blanket over the both of your legs.

"No, I guess I'm kinda used to it." He answers, taking the blanket off his legs, uncovering your own a bit.

"Kinda, meaning that you still feel cold." You state, teasing him as you put the fluffy blanket over him again, making him look at you with a fake face of being done.

"Whatever floats your boat." He surrenders putting both hands up in the air, just as he makes himself comfy besides you.

"You never told me what I did on the party tho..." You said after a while.

"Huh?"

"You know, acting both vain and condescending..."

"Its on the past now Y/N, you were drunk." He answer, disregarding your question. "Either way, how even you got that drunk? You didn't drank that much."

"I guess we'll never know." You shrug, grabbing some chips from the bowl on your lap. "Thank you for taking care of me." You mutter, his ears still picking up on it and smiling.

"Any time."

Well, maybe, the stupid presentation wasn't so bad after all, both of you now thankful you picked the paper with Yang Jeongin scribbled on it.

©danihow. 2022. All rights reserved. Re-uploading, translating or any sort of modifying any work piece is not allowed.

This is a work of fiction, people mentioned or involved are actual human beings and none of this work is based on actual facts over the celebrities mentioned nor is intented to portray them in a realistic way.

Any problem detected on the information given may be comunicated to me via DM.

[danihow]

pairing: neighbor!wonbin x f!reader

genre: neighbors to lovers, babysitting!au (kinda)

warnings: reader has a baby brother, mentions of reader blushing, 2k

a/n: my first riize fic ^^ i hope yall enjoy this hehe

back to masterlist !

“you know, you shouldn’t even be here right now.”

“yn.”

wonbin’s tone is stern and you cross your arms, letting out a loud huff to show your discontentment. from your position in the kitchen, you can stare at your neighbor-turned-babysitter all day, but you’re currently angry, so you opt to pout and grumble instead.

you can clearly hear wonbin sigh in defeat and you watch him lean back on his arms on the floor from the corner of your eye. he’s a few feet away from your little brother, giving him enough space to draw in his coloring book.

the handsome boy (you’re angry, but not blind) turns to you, black hair perfectly framing his stupidly pretty face. your eyes fall to his lips for a second. one second too long apparently because soon he starts to grin and you have no other option than to look away and pout again.

a chuckle leaves his mouth and it annoys you more than it should.

he tilts his head a bit and looks at you, eyes raking over your casual outfit. you’re really trying to not look his way, simply because you refuse to give him the satisfaction of knowing your attention is on him but you’re still curious as to why he seems more concentrated on you than on his job.

don’t look.

your hand covers your mouth as you spin your pen with your fingers, swiftly clicking on it before writing a new sentence in your notebook, elbow propped up on the kitchen island.

all the while you flip a few pages in your textbook to get to a new chapter of history, wonbin hums, high fiving your brother when the latter shows him his colorful drawing.

you swear you’re not paying attention, but the way you can hear him smiling as he speaks softly makes your face burn, ears turning red. he’s good with kids, and although you’re supposed to be pissed at your parents– and thus him– you can’t help but admit he’s doing a good job.

you would have done a good job too, you tell yourself.

your hand stills over the counter, pen inches away from the paper. in not even one second, you went from being productive and finally getting some homework done to thinking about wonbin and his pretty eyes.

you hate this, because you swear you’re angry at him. or at least you’re supposed to.

deep down you know that the so-called hatred you have for him right now is a way to stop you from thinking about what you really feel for your neighbor.

gosh, his eyes are just so pretty.

maybe you’re overreacting a bit too. maybe you’re being a bit dramatic, because the way wonbin starts to frown as he notices your brows furrow makes your heart throb.

you had decided to sit at the kitchen island to do your homework, because the kitchen table seemed a bit too close to the living room. but now that you’re actually in the kitchen, you realize you’re facing him (and your little brother, of course) and if you’d even look up for one second, eye contact would be guaranteed.

this sucks, you think, as you slide off the barstool and wander deeper into the kitchen. maybe if you’d fake looking for something to eat in the fridge, he would finally look away.

without really being thirsty, you grab the first carton you find and move to pour yourself a glass of whatever said carton contains. ah, apple juice it is.

you think you’re finally starting to get more comfortable in your own home after wonbin’s arrival but then he lets out a giggle– one that you find absolutely adorable too– and your lips freeze on the brim of your glass, head snapping towards the living room. “what.” you almost bark out, eyes fierce.

“it’s nothing,” wonbin has to swallow a laugh and divert his eyes, waving his hand in front of his. “don’t worry about it!”

you put your glass down on the counter and put a hand on your hip, eyes big and confused. “tell me,” you just watch as he lets out another giggle at your desperate tone, “c’mon! i’m gonna think you’re making fun of me if you don’t tell me.”

“your slippers,” this time wonbin looks at you, really looks at you. he sees how your eyes go wide and how your nose twitches in surprise. he sees how your lips fall open and gape at him and he sees how eyelashes flutter when you blink rapidly. he speaks up again, still looking at you, “they’re cute.” you’re cute.

“ah,” you nod, a bit surprised.

“you can compliment me back, y’know”

“i can literally kick you out right now.”

wonbin only puts his two hands up, a teasing smile clear on his lips as he admits defeat.

–

it’s slowly getting darker outside, the sun disappearing behind the houses in your neighborhood.

you’re on the last page of your essay when wonbin closes the living room curtains and finally agrees to your brother’s request of watching his favorite film. you find it rather domestic, how he’d hauled your brother from the floor to the couch and how he’d draped your blanket over the both of them.

the disney film is on pause as your brother babbles about his classmates, excitedly recounting yesterday’s events. you go to turn on the stove to prepare dinner and smile to yourself when your brother mentions the solar planet you had helped him make for his science fair. you smile even bigger when wonbin applauds him and makes him promise to show him one day, because he has to see how good you two are (his words).

when the water is boiling in the pot and you’ve stacked and pushed aside all your school work to prepare for dinner, you don’t directly realize you set the table for three until wonbin points it out, leaning casually against the fridge.

“i didn’t know i was invited for dinner.”

you shrug in an effort to act as casual as he is, but it comes off as rather stiff so you just turn away, mindlessly stirring the pasta. “well, i wouldn’t want you to starve. who else would my parents turn to when they’re in need of a babysitter?” certainly not me.

you’re clearly still a bit bitter that your parents don’t trust you to babysit your own brother.

wonbin just laughs, like he’s having the most fun knowing you’re irritated at him for replacing your “part-time job”. you send him a nasty glare and it only makes him chuckle more, obviously entertained by your displeasure.

he goes to lean on the counter next to you as he watches you do your magic, as per your brother’s words, and lightly bumps his elbow into yours. “c’mon, i know you’re not really mad at me for being here.”

you flick his crossed arms and check to see if the pasta is not overcooked. “i just don’t understand why they’d waste money to get a babysitter for him when i literally exist and live here!” okay, so maybe you’re not being hundred percent honest and are more pissed about the babysitter being wonbin than the waste of money but he doesn’t have to know that.

wonbin continues to stare at your face, tracing your side profile with his eyes. “i offered to babysit, and your dad knows i’ve been saving up for a car...” his smile is teasing when he shrugs as you send him a glare.

“and what if i was saving up for a car? you’d be ruining my chances to do so.” you’re stubborn and not letting go.

your neighbor, who’s actually way too close to you for your liking (you’re sure he can count your beauty marks with how close he is) stifles a laugh. “we both know you’re not saving up for a car,” his voice insists on the ‘not’ and you know he sees you rolling your eyes. “besides, you don’t need one.”

the pasta looks good as you go to grab two oven mitts, glancing at wonbin from the corner of your eye. you’re confused and he knows because not even a second later and he’s grabbing the oven mitts from your hands and carrying the pasta to the kitchen table. “i can always just drive you around, y’know. contrary to what you think, i do actually enjoy your presence, babe.”

when his words register in your brain, you can’t seem to move from your spot in the kitchen and wonbin finds it all too cute, smiling while ushering your little brother to sit at the end of the table.

babe. babe? “babe?” your fingers find wonbin’s hand, wrapping slowly around his wrist when he walks past you to get some glasses. he stops in his tracks, tilting his head a bit and smirking at your surprised gaze and vulnerable tone.

he just nods, the top of his cheeks blushing only for a fraction of a second. unbeknownst to you, his heart is beating like crazy. “shouldn’t i have called you that? you don’t like it?”

you shake your head, still startled from him calling you by an affectionate nickname, something he had never done before and something you would have never guessed he would ever do.

“It’s alright,” you say, voice suddenly shakier than usual, “i didn’t expect it, that’s all.”

your fingers let go of his wrist but he doesn’t directly move away, staring at the way your other hand is holding tightly onto the kitchen counter. he notices how you’re reaching for the utensils but your mind is focusing on something else, your fingers absentmindedly pulling the kitchen drawer open.

suddenly, wonbin feels a pang of guilt. he can’t seem to decipher what the expression on your face means but he’s worried he might have gone too far, or that you’re too far gone in your head.

“hey,” his voice startles you out of your thoughts, “are you sure it’s okay? i can stop if you want–”

“no!-” your panicked tone startles him a bit and you clear your throat, fiddling with one of the rings on your fingers, “i mean, i– i didn’t mind it? i quite liked it.”

wonbin’s eyes widen a bit, surprised but thrilled. “oh.”

“yeah.”

the short awkward silence between the two of you gets interrupted by your younger brother’s complaints, and you quickly move past wonbin to serve the youngest one in the house a big plate of spaghetti (his favorite).

it’s only when you’re seated at the table that you realize wonbin’s marched over and took your plate, serving you before him. he looks almost ethereal under the warm kitchen lights and you can’t help but stare, this time not caring about getting caught.

the pasta looks extra good when he puts your plate down in front of you and your stomach grumbles at the sight, earning a slight chuckle from the boy in front of you.

your baby brother’s focus is entirely on his dinosaur shaped fork, which wonbin takes as an opportunity to reach over the table and grab your hand, drawing a stifled gasp out of you. his thumb is rubbing circles on the back of your palm and your hand feels heavy but comfortable in his grasp.

your gaze travels from your intertwined fingers to his face and you almost melt at the soft look in his eyes. it almost looks like he’s in love.

he is, but you don’t know that. yet.

“let me take you out on a date, please.”

the way his voice gets stuck in his throat and his tone gets breathier tells you everything you have to know and you squeeze his hand lightly in a comforting manner. he anxiously bites the inside of his cheek while he waits for your answer and he’s glad you don’t see his leg bouncing up and down under the table.

“i would love to, wonbin.” your cheeks turn red and your lips automatically curl, revealing the smile wonbin likes so much.

the stress leaves his body the second the words leave your mouth and he suppresses a nervous laugh, free hand coming up to push his hair back.

“yeah?”

“of course,” your smile is contagious when you nod, “how could i say no to you?”

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please do not copy, repost or steal any of my work. all content belongs to @odxrilove

[danihow]

my love (mine all mine) ☆ jake sim

☆ non-idol! jake x fem! reader ☆ summary: after years of abuse, jake is afraid of love, so why do you have to be so warm? ☆ genre: angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, implied adult! au, very domestic ☆ warning(s)? domestic violence and abuse, poor parenting, 1 mention of self harm, implied mention of suicide, kinda indulgent sorry ☆ word count: 1.5k

The earliest memory that Jake had was the sound of porcelain plates crashing against the tiled kitchen floor, and the wails of his mother. 

For a period of time, it was all that he could remember: going home to a cold house, hand-in-hand with his older brother, his heart pounding in his chest as his young mind wondered if Dad was going to hurt Mom again, or if they'd go back to loving each other tonight. 

He couldn't have been any older than nine when he experienced the wrath of his father first-hand, when he came to school in May wearing a long-sleeve shirt and long pants as if the early-summer weather wasn't rising, the scent of citrus filling the air. Sure, the bruises, and later scars (because of course, his father just had to try to stab him with a broken beer bottle), hurt, but nothing would compare to the silence that rang through the house after a screaming match. It would pierce his ears every single time, so loud that it was deafening, yet so silent that Jake could hear every single breath that his mother took as she pulled at her hair, driving blades into her skin, ignoring the quiet rumble of her child's stomach. 

He'd gone to bed hungry many times. Too many times.

But, perhaps the worst memory that Jake had was the morning after his seventeenth birthday. Jake spent his birthday outside the house, not wanting to be suffocated by the taste of salty tears and domestic violence in the air. He came back late, much later than he should have. 

Thank god, neither of his parents were home, and his brother was already off to college by then. When they weren't screaming at each other, physically assaulting their son, or neglecting him, his parents were either off to work, or hanging out with their sketchy friends, drinking all of their responsibilities (like their children) away like nothing else mattered.

Or so he thought.

Because the next thing he knew, his mother was shrieking at him, hitting him with the same hands that should have been cradling his face. And when his bastard of a father heard the commotion, it was almost like he was excited, excited to have an excuse to put his son in a chokehold. It seemed like the only time that his parents wanted to agree with each other was when they could hurt him.

As his lungs closed in on him, his choked breaths gasping for air while Jake tried to pry his father's hands off his neck, he felt light-headed, a fuzzy feeling filling his head until his body lost all its strength.

Jake swore that he would have died that night, if it weren't for the barks of the family dog.

If his perception of family, love, and marriage wasn't already warped, that early morning of his seventeenth birthday did.

He vowed to himself then and there, that he would never get married, nor would he ever start a family. 

Yet, as you held him in your arms, enveloping him with warmth as hot tears streamed down his face, Jake could feel all his resolve slipping away.

Indeed, his vow held up. It held up all throughout college and for years into his adulthood. He became known as the "single friend," the friend that was always the designated driver because he'd rather die than consume a drop of alcohol.

But then you pranced your way into his life.

You, with your beautiful face. You, with the brightest smile that he'd ever seen. You, with the softest, most gentle touch.

When you wrapped your arms around his torso, pressing tender kisses against the nape of his neck as you giggled a soft,"I love you," Jake's heart pummeled to his stomach.

It was suffocating.

His hands were clammy, so moist with sweat that he had to wipe his palms on his jeans. His chest would pound, loud enough for it to be the only sound filling his ears. His stomach twisted, a hot coil curling in his abdomen. It was nauseating.

But the worst was what he felt in his throat.

Something wicked— Something overwhelming and painful— clambered up his throat. It wrapped itself around his neck, pulling tight like the noose his mother threatened to put around her own neck. When it crawled up to his mouth, Jake nearly threw it up. He tried to swallow it down, but he gagged.

And it was already too late.

He'd already muttered the words, "I love you, too" back.

Love was terrifying. If he loved, what would happen? Would he get married, and enter a life of pure misery? 

And what if he had kids?

When Jake was angry and he looked in the mirror, he hated the way that all he saw was his father's eyes staring back at him. His mother always told him that he looked like his father anyway. 

Jake knew he wouldn't. He would never lay a finger on another person, let alone his own kin. But as days and years passed, his voice only sounded more and more like his own father's. He couldn't help the way his expressions scarily resembled his mother's, the same ones that he'd seen contort into fear, wrath, and indifference.

But here he was.

In the dark, his face was buried in your shoulder, the same ones that he'd kissed. You patted his back as he let out sobs, wet and salty tears wetting your skin.

It was another night, where you and him would hang out and flirt in your apartment, maybe do a little kissing. 

Maybe he shouldn't have laid down with you. Maybe he shouldn't have let you put your fingers in his hair, stroking it gently as he laid on your chest. Maybe he shouldn't have listened to your every word as you traced his face, muttering to him everything about him that you loved about him. He shouldn't have, he really shouldn't have. Especially when you ended it all with a kiss to his eyelids, whispering into his ear, "I can't wait to marry you one day."

Jake always did his best to contain his emotions. After all, he'd learn to do it so well because of his home life. No one had to know about his struggles.

Yet he couldn't help the wave of emotions that crashed down on his shoulders. One moment, he was smiling in your kiss, the next his face was wet.

It didn't help when you were so warm to him. You cradled his face, kissing his tears away, hands holding him like he was a piece of glass. 

"I'm scared," was all he could say.

Because that was all he felt in that moment.

Fear.

Fear, because he couldn't figure out why he was crying. 

Fear, because now all his emotions were spilling out. 

Fear, because you said you wanted to marry him.

Fear, because he, too, wanted to marry you.

You didn't let him go that night.

You stayed there with him, letting him cry into your shoulder until the sun rose. You didn't know why exactly, but the way he gripped your waist like you'd leave him was enough to tell you.

"I know, I know," you'd whispered into his ear. "I know, Baby."

All he did in response was pull you closer, and chant your name like it was a prayer, like you were his god and he was your worshiper.

Jake's favorite memory was the sound of wailing.

Not the wailing of his mother, not the wailing of his older brother, but the wailing of the child in your arms.

He could only watch with misty eyes as the small newborn clung to your chest, loud crying filling the hospital room. 

"Jakey," you said weakly, flashing him a smile. "Look what we made."

We.

That's right. 

This child was his and yours. As he held the baby, being careful not to do anything stupid, Jake stared into its crying eyes (as if his eyes weren't crying, too). 

When Jake looked at his child, he saw his eyes. He saw the same eyes that his own father gave him. He wasn't filled with fear, or anger, or guilt— he felt love. 

This child didn't have his father's angry eyes, the eyes that Jake spent his entire life believing he inherited.

No, this child had Jake's eyes, Jake's eyes that were filled with love.

You giggled softly as you watched your husband's intent and utterly fascinated gaze at your child. He snapped his head up at you.

"I love you," he blurted. He didn't say it a lot. It felt like poison on his tongue when he did, something unnatural and not meant for him. But in that moment, it felt like his entire being was made to say it. "God, I love you so much."

Yes, Jake would run. 

He'd run, and run, and run, from love. 

He'd run as far as he could, until his legs gave out.

He'd run for eternity, because he knew that one day, he'd walk to you.

[danihow]

crush ☆ sunghoon park

☆ non-idol! bf! sunghoon x fem! reader ☆ summary: you love to tease your cute boyfriend, sunghoon. ☆ genre: fluff, cute n sleepy n whipped sunghoon ☆ warning(s)? nope! just fluff ☆ word count: 0.9k words

It was late at night when Sunghoon Park was shaken awake.

“Hoonie, wake up!” his girlfriend, you, whisper-yelled, shaking him emphatically. “I need you to wake up!”

Half-asleep with disheveled hair and grogginess, Sunghoon shot up. His pale hand shot for yours, clutching it close. 

“Di suhthih happeh (Did something happen)?” Sunghoon could barely pronounce his syllables. Rubbing his eyes, he glanced over at you. In the dark room, he could see your glassy eyes and perfect face- and goddamn was it perfect even in the absence of light.

“Yes!” you answered, squeezing his hand. “It’s really important!”

“Wha-” Sunghoon swiped another finger over his eyes, bringing a hand to grasp his silvery hair. “What happened?”

You slithered an arm around his waist, throwing a leg over his hips and pushing him back down onto the pillows so that you were snuggled right up against him. Sunghoon was too tired to question it, letting out a yawn. You stayed in a cuddled-up position for a few moments, before you giggled.

“I have a crush on someone.”

“What?!”

Sunghoon was wide awake now. He whipped his head over to yours against the pillows. You two lied like that, staring into each other’s eyes. You giggled again.

“Y-You have a crush on someone?” Sunghoon was appalled. You were his. How could you like someone else when he was right there?

Your lips wore a wide smile. “Shhh, you can’t tell anyone.”

“What are you talking about?!” Sunghoon vehemently asked, bringing his hands up to clutch your face. His fingers pressed onto your smiling cheeks, frowning at the way you looked so happy. 

You chuckled, leaning in to kiss Sunghoon's jaw.

“I’ll kill him,” Sunghoon muttered.

“You’ll what?” 

Sunghoon frown deepened. 

He pulled away, turning his back to you.

“I’m gonna kill that son of a bitch,” the man grumbled.

You shared a moment of silence.

Sunghoon Park couldn’t believe that his girlfriend had a crush on someone! And he didn’t know about it! At the same time, he couldn’t help but feel the dejection that came from the other side of the bed.

He sighed.

“Who is it?”

You didn’t respond.

Sunghoon sighed louder this time, turning back to you.

“Who’s your crush?”

A mischievous smile grew on your face, before you clung onto him again.

“It’s a guy,” you began, fingers coming up to play with Sunghoon's soft, white hair. “He has white hair.”

“Why would anyone have white hair?” Sunghoon murmured to himself, but not quiet enough to go unheard by you.

“And he’s really dumb,” you continued, watching the way Sunghoon seemed to perk up at that description. “But he’s handsome.” He deflated.

Sunghoon scowled.

You glanced over to him. With two fingers, you walked up his chest slowly, stopping at his chin.

“What’s his name?”

“Hmmm,” you pretended to think.

Your boyfriend filled his cheeks with air, frowning with impatience. "Can I just have a hint? Like a letter?" The desperation in his voice only made you want to tease him more.

You bit back a laugh, “I can’t tell you. You’ll know who immediately.”

Sunghoon scoffed, before asking, “Do I know him?”

“Yeeeaahh,” you drew out your syllable. “You know him reealllyy well.”

“As if I’d know a loser like him.”

You tapped Sunghoon's chin with the tips of your fingers, before softly caressing his cheeks. He leaned into your touch, inhaling your sweet scent.

“He has a mole on his eyelid,” you brushed your fingers over his eyes, connecting it up to his eyebrow, “And cute eyebrows.”

“He must be ugly.”

You tapped his brow-bone gently. “Not quite. I sleep with him sometimes.”

Sunghoon jolted back up at those words. He balled his hands into fists. 

“Who is it?” he grabbed your shoulders, shaking you. You watched the way his eyebrows furrowed and his lips pressed into a thin line. “Who do you like?”

You stifled a laugh. You took your time answering.

“But what if you tell someone?” you innocently cocked your head. “How can I trust you?”

Sunghoon squeezed your shoulder. “I won’t tell anyone!”

He looked at you with wide and dark eyes. He was completely serious.

“Pinky promise?” you extended your finger. Sunghoon linked his pinky with yours immediately, even going as far as to ‘lock’ the promise in. You motioned for him to come closer to you, cupping your hands around his ears. 

Sunghoon's heart pounded in his chest. How dare some guy come out of nowhere and take his girlfriend?

“His name is Sunghoon Park,” you whispered.

Sunghoon's heart dropped to his stomach. “He sounds like a bastard.”

You blinked at him and shook your head, before flopping back into bed, giggling.

“Wh– Why are you laughing?!” Sunghoon gently hit your leg that was under the blanket. Your fit of giggles and laughter didn’t die down until a few minutes later. His cheeks burned with both embarrassment and irritation. When you finally stopped laughing, Sunghoon looked at you seriously. “Are you going to tell me more about this ‘Sunghoon Park’ guy?”

“No.”

“Wha–”

“Good night!”

After a few pouty kisses, grumbles to himself, and twenty minutes, Sunghoon finally shot up from bed once again.

His cheeks were bright pink. His heart was racing, and he felt jittery.

“W-Wait!” he nearly yelled. “You have a crush on… me?”

“Mhm.”

“As in…. You like-like me?” You hummed. Sunghoon gasped, clasping a hand over his mouth. “Oh gosh! Oh my! Do you want to be my girlfriend?”

“I’m already your girlfriend.”

“Oh.”

“Dumbass.”

“Hey!”

[danihow]

OMG YOU'RE A MED STUDENT? ME TOOO

I love seeing this because being a kpop fan and a fic writer (not that anyone irl knows), people around me just think I don't have anything else to do in my life other than simping for skz and ateez

Also the way I GASPED when I saw your med student fic

oh

my

god

I loved it

Omg i am

I loved to do that fic because it felt so like in character eirh san, i'm so glad you liked itttt

[danihow]

falling and sleeping — choi jongho

synopsis. falling in love with you felt like falling asleep; natural and unnoticed. pairing. best friend!choi jongho x fem!reader. genre. fluff, crack, friends to lovers. warnings. cursing, none he's just a little nervous. wc. 1.5k. rating. pg-13

lilo’s notes. hiii here's a fluffy little jongho fic because i love him. this isn’t proofread btw i’m sorry for any errors! also, my upload schedule is now on saturday's :3

[ listening to . . . ] from the start by laufey

　　　　　　　　　masterlist.

“hyung!”

jongho burst into the living room of his shared dorm with wooyoung and hongjoong. hongjoong was nowhere to be found, likely at the studio or something, and wooyoung sprawled on the couch, watching a drama on the tv, scrolling through his phone, and taking occasional sips of his comically large coffee cup simultaneously. at the sound and sudden appearance of jongho, he looked away from the screen.

“something wrong?” he yawned, turning his phone off and dropping it on his chest.

“yes. i figured out my problem-“

wooyoung snorted, eyes drifting back to the television screen. “yeah? which one?”

“shut the fuck up, i’ll strangle you,” jongho paused what was supposed to be his dramatic monologue to glare at the dark haired fox-resembling man on the couch. he waited a second before sighing. “my y/n problem. i figured it out. so-“

“you have a problem with her?” at the mention of jongho’s best friend’s name, wooyoung’s attention was captured. if he had a problem with you, that meant something terrible must have happened. truthfully, wooyoung would hate that. he’d been rooting for the two of you for years, even if neither of you were aware of how perfect you were for each other.

“hey! stop interrupting me,” jongho kicked his shin lightly before continuing, “well, no, we don’t have a problem but things felt weird for some reason and i have come to a conclusion.”

“okay… and…?” wooyoung gestured for him to continue, his dramatic pause putting him on edge.

“i’m allergic to her.”

“… excuse me?” it was then that he decided to turn off the tv, giving his full attention to his younger friend.

“i’m allergic to her.”

“oh, for the love of-“ wooyoung groaned and threw himself back on the couch, screaming into a pillow, “CHOI JONGHO YOU’RE IN LOVE WITH HER!”

a confused expression crossed his face as he watched his friend’s dramatic antics and jongho sat down, forcefully pulling the pillow from wooyoung’s face. he should’ve found hongjoong instead, maybe he would’ve been more helpful.

“no, no, don’t be silly,” he tossed the pillow aside and spoke, hands flailing around to emphasise his point. wooyoung was on he verge of banging his head against a wall, “lately when i go near her my stomach itches and i feel all warm and sometimes it gets hard to breath and…”

the realisation that spread across his face was a picture wooyoung wanted to take and print out, plastering it on his wall and also adding it to his resume with the caption ‘i’m literally cupid.’

“… and oh my god i’m in love with her.”

a loud cheer left wooyoung as he sprang up from the couch, going on a five minute rant about how long he’d been waiting for this and how he always knew there was something. “you should go tell her right now.”

“w-what- no! i just figured out i’m in love with my best friend and you expect me to just… go and tell her?”

“that’s exactly what i expect,” he nodded, crossing his arms and leaning his weight on one leg, “didn’t she tell you about how she overheard someone say some guy from her workplace wanted to ask her out for valentines?”

“well, yeah… but-”

“no buts!” he held his palm up, silencing jongho. “you can’t let that home-wrecker ask her out before you. so, get your ass off that couch, change into something nice and go tell her you love her. and buy some flowers in the way.”

“it’s not home-wrecking if we aren’t even toge-“

“that’s besides the point, now do as i say if you ever want a relationship with her.” wooyoung rolled his eyes and turned on his heels, walking to where his jacket hung on the coat rack. he pulled out his wallet and, surprisingly, fished out his credit card to give to jongho. “this is for flowers and some chocolates only.”

and so half an hour later he was walking down the hallway of your floor of your apartment building, wearing an all-black ensemble of slacks a shirt and a trench coat, holding a bouquet of various flowers he didn’t know the names of in one hand and a small box of your favourite chocolate ms in the other. he could still abort and leave without you ever knowing he was there in the first place. you’d given him a key to the building a while ago, trusting him with it since your apartment was practically his second home.

he considered doing just that again, but the bought of you going out with another man who wasn’t him had his heart aching, giving him some courage to finally step in front of your door. he practiced what he wanted to say to you under his breath as he stared at the familiar dark grey door. when he thought he was ready, he reached out to ring the doorbell.

only to pull away at the last second and begging pacing back and forth nervously. eventually, he stopped, clenching his eyes shut and forcing himself to ring your doorbell. there was no going back now.

when you opened the door and you looked at him with your bright eyes and enchanting smile, he felt the nervousness in his stomach melt away and get replaced by butterflies and a soft pink tint on his cheeks. “oh, hey, jjong-“

“i love you.”

you blinked at him, not noticing the very obvious items in his hands, eyes fixed in his face. not quite understanding, you chuckled lightly, “you know i love you too.”

“no, you don’t get it. i mean, i in love with you. i fucking love you and i’m not sure if i’ve ever felt so strongly about someone in my life. i smile when someone mentions you, my heart flutters when i’m around you, fuck, when i see your smile it feels like all my problems have been solved and… your presence, god, it just fucks me up in the best way possible. i can’t believe i didn’t realise this sooner, but i’ve fallen for you, y/n. though, i suppose i didn’t realise it because falling felt like sleeping and sleeping feels so natural and easy that i never realised it until now.”

you stared at each other. he stared with all the admiration he could muster and you stared with mild shock and, under that, relief. “you… you love me?”

“oh my god, i… i’m sorry, i shouldn’t have- i’ve made things awkward, haven’t i? just- just forget that-“

you soft palm covering his lips drove him to silence, looking at you with wide eyes as you pulled him into your apartment, closing the door with your unoccupied hand. his heart skipped a beat as you grinned and whispered your next words.

“jongho, i love you—in that way—too.” you dropped your hand from his mouth slowly, looking down at the flowers and the chocolates, giggling, “you really didn’t have to get all this.”

you took them out of his hands slowly, avoiding his gaze, flustered as you placed his gifts on the marble counter of the kitchen behind you. he hadn’t said anything since your confession, cheeks burning and jaw dropped slightly. he couldn’t believe it. he couldn’t believe you liked loved him back.

he drew your attention to him, breathing out your name. “you… you love me too?”

“yes, you dense cabbage, i love you,” your laugh was melodic as you took both his hands in yours, nodding, “now shut up and kiss me.”

jongho’s expression finally changed into a giddy grin as he pulled his hands out of your grasp to hold your waist, leaning forward and brushing his lips against yours. when you didn’t protest, not that he expected you to, he deepened it into a proper kiss that he hoped conveyed his need for you. he felt like his knees would go weak as your delicate hands trailed up his torso to his head, brushing his hair absentmindedly as you kissed him back with equal intensity.

eventually, you had to separate to catch your breaths and jongho mentally cursed the human need for oxygen. he liked kissing you, your lips slotting together like puzzle pieces. when he felt like the tension had gone completely, he leaned forward to press repeated pecks to your lips, basking in the way you giggle and tried to meet each one of his quick kisses.

“i think i have a tiny crush on you,” you muttered once he decided he kissed you enough (it was never enough, really(l, but he wanted to let you breathe), fighting back a stupid grin.

“you think?” he snorted, one hand coming up to cup your cheek, thumb tracing your jawline and eyes full of affection.

“yeah, a teeny tiny one.”

he laughed heartily, giving you one more peck “i paid with wooyoung’s card, by the way.”

“in that case you should’ve gotten at least five more bouquets.”

　　[ network ... ] @cromernet

　　[ perm taglist — open ... ] @ad0rechuu @sankatchu @mlink64 @yeosangsbb @seonghwasbbgirl @likexaxdaydream @dreamingofyeo

[danihow]

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱𝘀・1.2k / 𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴・chan x gn!reader / 𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲𝘀・fluff, hurt/comfort, established relationship, berry being the perfect girl she is. inspired by these bubble messages and @cosmic-railwayxo's treachery. (love u deni)

𝟬𝟲:𝟯𝟲 — “Where’s my baby, hm?”

This is the question on Chan’s lips the moment he lets go of the bedroom door, closed with agonizing caution as to not wake the figure still curled up under the duvet inside.

It’s early. Early enough so the walls are colored a rich beige by new rays of sunlight, so his footsteps are the only sound reverberating around the hallways when he commences his search. Early enough to evidence how he was only bestowed a few hours of sleep before waking up with a budding headache and leaden eyelids.

But he doesn’t mind the lack of rest, not this time. Not when there’s a wad of love with a freckled snout and floppy ears under the same roof for the first time in too long.

“Berry?” Chan calls, his voice tattered and low, like sandpaper. He rakes his eyes over the spots he remembers to be her favorite. Maybe they’ve changed since he was last home. Maybe everything has changed since he was last home.

The thought causes a familiar pang to go off within him, poignant and powerful, but the quiet scuffle of paws against hardwood takes the edge off the guilt straightaway.

Chan finds the beginnings of a smile on his lips before she even rounds the corner, and when she does, well. His grin might as well split his face down the middle. He’s on his knees in seconds, outstretched hands rediscovering home in the puppy’s silky fur as she clambers onto him with blown pupils and excited pants.

His adoring coos of her name falter into muted laughter, which then fragments into a sob. His vision narrows to his precious girl and then starts to blur. When Berry climbs up to give his cheek a few happy licks, she’s fascinated by its saltiness.

You emerge from the bedroom a little over an hour later. Sleeping is hard enough when you’re jetlagged, and even harder when there’s only mattress where you remember Chan’s warm solidity to be. The fabric of Chan’s hoodie suppresses your vocalization of his name as you ungracefully pull it over your torso, still struggling to rouse your body from sleep.

Your beckon produces no response. You wrap a hand around the nearest door frame and peek your head into the living room, a little more alert now.

“Chan? Baby?”

You feel silly. How many visits has it been for you to still feel this nervous, wandering around Chan’s family home? Yet you undoubtedly are, whether because of your absentee boyfriend or that his whole family is a few walls away. You pad through the silent abode with mounting trepidation and intense care to not make any more sound than necessary.

Then you reach the family room and instantly come to a standstill, hands drifting to your sides, features deliquescing to a soft smile. 

Lying on the nearest couch is your boyfriend, head propped up on top of his elbow, his fluttering lashes and gently oscillating shoulders indicating that he’s asleep. You can’t see his face below his eyes, as he has his nose nuzzled into the Cavalier spaniel resting securely in his arms, snoring tacitly into his sleeve, slumbering as deeply as her human companion.

You’ve been stumbling upon Chan sleeping in unexpected places for the better part of two years now, but you still liquefy every time as if it’s the first. These are the moments, you’ve come to realize, when you can care for him in ways he would never let you while conscious: a lift of his laptop off his thighs, a brush of your lips against his hairline, a cardigan draped lightly over his back. These are the moments when you understand in full how far you’ve come together, for him to trust you with his exhaustion with such transparency, to be so vulnerable as to leave you with memories of him that he’ll never have.

Despite your prolonged experience, it’s hard to describe what exactly you’re feeling in this moment. The mere mention of Berry has always dissipated the shadows that veil his face, has always chased off the burdens that cling to his spine. How do you put it into words, seeing your happiness at his happiest?

It suddenly occurs to you that the window beside them is cracked open. That, and you spotted extra quilts in the top shelf of Chan’s closet last night.

Chan’s eyelids lift when he feels the gentle weight of a blanket fall upon his body; so do the corners of his lips, when the culprit materializes before him. Sitting on the edge of the couch, a hand hovering over his frame, face creased into a flinch.

“Sorry,” you whisper, closing the distance between your fingers and the curve of his neck. The pad of your thumb moves over his cheekbone like a willow branch skimming water. “I didn’t think that would wake you up.”

Both of you up, you mentally amend, seeing as Berry has noticed your presence and is wagging her tail with enough vigor for it to thump against Chan’s chest. He lets her wriggle out of his arms and into yours; you emit a noise of glee and gather her into you.

If only you had seen the expression he wears then, watching your eyes scrunch closed at the frenzied kisses she presses to your face. His first love and his very last.

“Don’t apologize,” he answers. “I’m the one who should be sorry for leaving you in bed, I just…”

His voice trails off, but he knows by the softness in your irises when they meet his that you already know.

You move like clockwork. Chan presses up into the back of the couch, the quilt’s edge lifted in wordless invitation. It is your chest that Berry burrows into this time, the top of her head sliding into the space between your chin and the sofa’s cushion. It is Chan’s chest that you’re folded into, the arms around your waist like the coziest of cabins in a sun-spattered wood. It is the back of your neck that he nuzzles his nose into, but not before he litters gossamer kisses across the expanse of skin, as if printing the notes to a lullaby he knows well.

Everything is warm, so warm, so right, and jetlag starts to feel like a distant trouble.

You open your mouth while teetering on the cusp of a dream.

“Baby?” 

He hums into you, listening.

“Always be happy, okay?”

You don’t notice the solitary tear that traverses the bridge of his nose, lands in the cotton of your hood, and dyes the bunched-up fabric a few shades darker. You don’t notice how his embrace around you tightens marginally, like how one’s eyes can’t help but find their dearest possession when the building’s on fire.

“Okay,” he whispers, and kisses your nape once more. Your and Chan’s eyes close together. Berry licks your chin again, then follows suit.

(Another hour later, Chan’s parents walk into the family room. They decide to go out to breakfast for fear of making too much noise in the kitchen, Chan’s mother blotting away tears as she ducks into shotgun, Chan’s father laughing at her sentimentality while blinking back his own.

Another few hours later, Hannah takes maybe fifty-some photographs of the triad of unmoving heaps occupying their couch. Then she grumbles at Berry for being dead asleep at eleven in the morning: “Those two arrived here from across the world yesterday. What’s your excuse?”)

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