hyusun

[hyusun]

🐯 - Instructions Not Included - L.MK

Pairing: neighbor! mark × yn (university setting)

genre: soft fluff,, domestic chaos ??, friends-to-(maybe)-lovers word count : 3.1k ? warnings: cozy domesticity, soft chaos, excessive use of ikea furniture and that awkward falling in love with your neighbor energy vibe : you’ve known mark lee since freshman year, hallway nod than bestie. but when he moves into the apartment across the hall and drags you into a furniture-building result in muscle-aching mess, things start shifting. you start to wonder if this is just neighborly kindness, or something much more dangerous. like feelings.

a/n : this was supposed to be a short drabble… idk what this is honestly 😭 i just wanted them to build a shelf but now it’s a short fic with muscle pain and dramatic reaction to leg massage . this was inspired by my last-minute OCD arranging mania. i spent the whole saturday cleaning and rearranging my furniture like a sims character in real life, and now i’m left with sore muscles and regrets. anyway enjoy the delulu, i wrote this between muscle spasms and crying over cracked nails. also if u find a mark lee who builds furniture and massages your leg , pls tell him i’m free this weekend 😭 , enjoy the fic, stay hydrated, don’t trust IKEA screws. ok love u bye 💅🛠️🫶

You’d known Mark Lee since freshman year, not exactly best friends, but familiar in the way two tired students orbit the same academic hellscape. You shared a few electives, some tragically awkward group projects, and the occasional hallway nod that said, "We’re barely holding it together, huh?" Conversations between you never strayed far from the essentials: “Hey, when’s this due?” or “Are we even passing this class?” Just enough connection to remember his name, not enough to know his favorite coffee order.

So when you heard that he moved into the unit across the hall halfway through the semester, you didn’t expect fireworks or fate. At most, you predicted a few polite exchanges, maybe a borrowed screwdriver, maybe a smile when collecting mail at the same time. Maybe, just maybe, you were even looking forward to it. A little spark of curiosity never hurt anyone.

That spark turned into a full-blown emergency when Mark knocked on your door one fine Saturday morning. You had the day off, a rare treasure. The plan was simple: rot gloriously on your couch, binge the latest backstabbing k-drama, and maybe fall asleep with crumbs on your shirt. But the universe said, "Haha, no."

Because there he was, Mark Lee, standing at your door with panic in his eyes and desperation in his voice, looking less like your ex-classmate and more like Bob the Builder with a broken spirit. “Hi…” he greeted, voice tentative, eyes darting around like he was afraid you’d slam the door. “Uh, can you help me build my furniture? I asked the other guys but they’re either working or pretending to be. Jeno’s at practice, and Renjun said you’re good with… tools.” He gave you a sheepish smile, like he knew exactly how unconvincing he sounded.

Honestly, he looked like a lost puppy in a hardware store.

And you? Well, against your better judgment, and possibly your will to live, you sighed, stepped aside, and let chaos walk right in.

You regretted offering help the second you stepped inside his apartment.

Boxes were stacked like unstable Jenga towers. An unopened can of paint sat in the corner like a promise never kept. IKEA furniture parts were scattered across the floor, looking less like potential furniture and more like ancient ruins. And in the center of it all stood Mark, sweaty, overwhelmed, holding a screwdriver upside down as if preparing for battle, not a bookshelf.

Mark Lee was crouched in front of what was supposed to be a bookshelf, but currently looked more like a sad abstract art piece. He held a screwdriver, the wrong one, obviously, with the defeated look of someone who’d battled furniture and lost three times. 

“Hey,” he mumbled, scratching the back of his head. 

“So I think I built this upside down… three times.” You blinked at the Frankenstein shelf and then at him. 

“Have you… read the manual?” you asked, already bracing for disappointment. 

Mark lifted the instruction sheet, still upside down, and offered a sheepish grin. 

“I did, but… apparently not well.” You let out a long, theatrical sigh. 

“You’re lucky you’re cute.” That short-circuited him instantly. 

He blinked, once, twice, like his internal system had glitched. 

“W-what?” he stammered. 

“Nothing,” you said quickly, pushing past him with a roll of your eyes. 

“Move over. Let me fix it before this bookshelf becomes a safety hazard.”

You ended up spending the next six hours knee-deep in flat-pack chaos and mild existential dread. Between deciphering IKEA hieroglyphics, hammering rogue nails into place, and discovering that Mark couldn’t tell the difference between ivory and eggshell white, it became less of a building project and more of a bonding experience-slash-sitcom episode.

Somewhere between coats of paint, half of which mysteriously ended up in your hair, and Mark’s dramatic reading of the manual like it was Shakespeare, the awkward tension melted into laughter. Real laughter. The kind that left your stomach aching and your cheeks sore. The kind you hadn’t felt in a long time.

When the bookshelf finally stood upright, miraculously not leaning, or squeaking, Mark grinned and it almost knocked the breath out of you. His eyes lit up with the kind of boyish pride that should be illegal. “I couldn’t have done this without you,” he said, wiping sweat and possibly paint off his forehead. “No, seriously. I think I’d be sleeping on cardboard tonight if you didn’t show up.”

You leaned back against the wall, newly smudged with streaks of off-white and fingerprints, arms crossed and barely hiding your smile. “You still might be,” you replied, gesturing toward the mattress frame behind him. “Your bed’s still missing, like, three screws and possibly a soul.”

He laughed, full and unfiltered, the kind of laugh that crinkled his eyes and made your heart feel annoyingly warm. And then, just for a second, he looked at you. Really looked at you. Long enough for it to feel like time paused, just to make things weird for your heart.

“…You’re cool, Y/N,” he said softly, eyes lingering. “I’m really glad you live next door.”

Your heart did a full-blown Olympic backflip, tripped over itself, and then cartwheeled straight into locked territory.

You blamed it on the paint fumes. You had to. Anything else would’ve meant admitting the truth, That maybe, just maybe, Mark Lee was no longer just the guy from group projects. After helping Mark turn his apartment into a Pinterest board, the universe decided you hadn’t suffered enough. That very night, your manager called, desperate, pleading, and emotionally manipulative, to ask if you could cover a last-minute night shift. Someone bailed, and apparently you were the chosen sacrificial lamb. You should’ve said no. You really should’ve. But instead, you dragged your furniture-abused body into work, and by hour three, your muscles were screaming louder than your soul.

You should’ve known they’d come back to haunt you. The soreness had started like a whisper, tight calves here, a dull ache in your thighs there. But by the time you were walking home that morning, it had evolved into full-blown mutiny. Every step felt like a betrayal. Your hamstrings throbbed like they were mourning their own existence. Your calves pulsed with the rage of a hundred gym classes you never signed up for. And your lower back? Dead. Absolutely gone. Probably chilling in another dimension.

You limped through your front door, collapsed into a dramatic heap, and promised your legs you’d never lift another bookshelf for a man again.

Probably.

Maybe.

...Okay, if Mark asked nicely, maybe one more.

A few days after the hazardous diy olympics in Mark’s apartment, you found a post-it note stuck to your front door. It was scribbled in familiar messy handwriting:

“Movie night @ my place. 7PM. Popcorn provided. Presence required. :) —Mark”

Below it, in a different pen and suspiciously neater, someone had added:

“Renjun says bring snacks.”

His place now looked like something off a rental ad for “wholesome urban escape” walls freshly painted, furniture no longer a death trap, soft fairy lights casting a gentle glow over the living room, and enough throw pillows to suggest he had either excellent interior taste or a strong Pinterest addiction. 

No way this was Mark’s work.

You strongly suspected someone, Renjun, maybe had a hand in the decorating. That boy is known for his creative mind. Or one of his suspiciously stylish friends. Or maybe a girlfriend. Someone with a Pinterest board, taste, and enough rage to color-code the bookshelf. That thought alone made you did double, no triple thinking into accepting his invitation.

You had some hesitation at first, being in a room full of his friends? Socializing? On purpose? And what about his girlfriend? Is he single? He’s in a relationship? Would it be awkward if I go?  But the moment you saw Renjun’s name, you relaxed. You knew him from a shared elective class last semester. He was smart, sarcastic, and the kind of person who always seemed ten seconds away from either solving a physics equation or starting a petty argument for fun. Acquaintance? Yes. Safe zone? Definitely.

So you said yes.

And that’s how you ended up seated in a living room surrounded by the rest of Mark’s friends. One by one, you began mentally dissecting their characters  like in a sitcom you hadn’t signed up for but secretly loved.

Renjun was your safe bet, the kind of sarcastic genius with the face of an angel and the soul of a judgmental cat. Sharp-tongued, yes, but weirdly considerate too. The kind of guy who would absolutely roast you for using comic sans, then silently walk you home in the rain so you didn’t slip in your sneakers. You’d worked with him once in a group project. He carried the whole thing on his back while sipping bubble tea and side-eyeing everyone’s poorly aligned slides. Iconic, really.

Haechan, on the other hand… chaos incarnate. The moment you walked into Mark’s apartment, he stood up like a royal herald and declared at full volume, “may I present to you, her highness, neighbour yn ! welcome in!” You blinked. He winked. And just like that, you were trapped in the tornado that was created by Haechan. Loud, mischievous, and dangerously charming, he introduced himself with the confidence of a man who had never known shame and immediately told you Mark once cried during a dog food commercial. You didn’t know whether to laugh or leave. Probably both.

But still, under all the noise and teasing, you found yourself quietly thanking him. Because somehow, he made it easier to breathe. Easier not to feel like an outsider in a room full of inside jokes and history. You weren’t sure if it was the absurdity or the warmth underneath it, but whatever it was… it worked.

In the midst of Haechan chaos, there is Jeno, the popular university's main soccer player. He is quite funny, effortlessly polite, and always somehow holding a snack. He didn’t say much, but when he did, it was either a one-liner that made everyone wheeze or something incredibly practical like, “That candle’s about to catch the curtain.”

And next is Jaemin, He has a pretty face, prettier smile, and absolutely no shame. He was lounging on the armrest like it was a throne, judging everyone’s snack choices and occasionally complimenting your skin. He called you “bestie” five minutes after meeting you and offered to add you to his skincare group chat. You said yes. Obviously. His skin looked pampered, Period.

And then, of course, there was Mark.

The one who invited you. The one whose smile made you nervous. the one laughter is so infectious and charming, and somehow made you feel like this chaotic group of boys wasn’t so scary after all.

The boys had settled across the living room in chaotic harmony, like mismatched puzzle pieces that somehow still fit. The L-shaped couch groaned under the weight of bodies, snack bags on the coffee table , and energy louder than the TV itself. Jeno was already halfway through a bag of chips, lounging like a model off-duty, while Jaemin, legs perched dramatically on the armrest, sat like a decorative statue blessed with judgmental eyebrows and too much skincare knowledge.

Mark was on your right, lounging casually at the far end of the couch with a cushion tucked beneath one arm and a blanket draped around his waist like he lived in a Pinterest board. Meanwhile, Haechan sprawled across the floor in front of the coffee table, surrounded by popcorn crumbs and chaos. Renjun claimed the opposite end of the couch, locked in a heated debate about which movie to play, already calling the director “mid” before the title screen even loaded.

You, ever the guest but somehow not a stranger anymore, sat tucked into the lazy chair beside Mark. Your legs were curled slightly to the side, a burger-shaped plushie in your lap doubling as emotional support and leg buffer. You tried your best to look chill, calm and collected, like your spine wasn’t stiffening into an overly ripe pear and your hamstrings weren’t crying for mercy. But as the opening credits began to roll and the room dimmed into movie-mode, you shifted, just slightly, to stretch your legs into more comfortable position.

And that’s when it snap. A sharp, traitorous cramps shot up your calf like betrayal in muscle form. You hissed softly under your breath, the kind of pain that made you question every life decision that led to IKEA furniture and impromptu night shifts.

“Fuck.”

The word slipped out of you before you could catch it, half whisper, half prayer. A sharp sting pulsed up your calf like your muscles were filing a formal complaint.

Mark noticed. Of course he did. He just an arm away.

He leaned in, voice low, soft as velvet and warm as honey against your ear. “Legs still sore?”

Lucky for you, the others either didn’t notice your silent suffering… or mercifully spared you the embarrassment. Mark, however, noticed. Of course he did.

He chuckled softly, the sound brushing against your skin like warm static. Then, without warning, hesitation, or a shred of social protocol, he shifted closer. His hand slipped past the edge of the blanket, fingers brushing your calf like they’d done it before in a dream.

And then, like it was the most natural thing in the world, he gently lifted your sore leg onto his lap... and started massaging. Each movement was deliberate, his fingers pressing into tight knots of tension like he wasn’t just soothing a muscle, he was rewiring your nervous system from the outside in.

He moved slow and focused. Like he was trying to untangle knots in your muscles and your brain. Like he’d done it a thousand times before. Like this was just something he did, massaging your sore muscles in the glow of fairy lights, while his friends argued about movie ratings in the background.

His hands were warm, steady. Firm but unhurried.

You froze at first contact.

Your body went stiff, your brain completely derailed, thoughts screeching into static. This wasn’t just kindness. This wasn’t normal. This was dangerous. This was how the main characters caught feelings and never recovered. You read enough novel to know this is not casual thing, it intimate.

You might’ve enjoyed it for a few blissful minutes, eyes half-lidded, breath caught somewhere between “ouch that hurt” and “that good?” Until, from the floor, Haechan’s voice cut through the moment like a sharp blade.

“ummm ?? Hello?? Is this legal??”

You flinched. Mark didn’t. Because of course he was too busy pretending this wasn’t turning into a public scandal.

Jeno’s head turned, eyes narrowing like he’d just detected the change in atmospheric pressure. Jaemin twisted around too, popcorn nearly flying. His expression morphed from entertained to scandalized in real time.

The room fell silent.

You could hear your existential crisis buzzing in the air like bad Wi-Fi. Lagging. Glitching. Dropping all your emotional signals at once.

The sound of crunching chips stopped. Even the background music from the TV faded into an awkward vacuum of judgment and stunned disbelief.

Four sets of eyes locked on you and Mark like you’d just committed a crime against bro code and public decency.

“Are we just gonna ignore the leg-on-lap situation?” Haechan asked, voice high and dramatic like he’d just walked in on a forbidden office affair.

Mark didn’t even blink. “Yeah,” he said, like it was the most normal thing in the world. “She helped me with everything. Her legs are sore.”

“Your hands,” Jeno deadpanned, one brow arched, “are on her inner thigh.”

“They are not!” Mark hissed defensively, ears flushing a telltale pink.

Haechan, ever the voice of calm chaos, gave a solemn nod. “They’re getting there, bro. Like. Real estate’s been claimed.”

You could’ve combusted. Or dissolved. Or slipped into the couch cushions and requested a new life. If someone opened the window, you were 90% sure you’d evaporate on the spot. But Mark, god bless his soft boy stubbornness, he didn’t stop. He just kept going, cheeks pink, jaw set with gentle determination.

“She helped me build my whole apartment,” he muttered, focused on his task. “I think this is… the least I can do.”

You almost cried.

Instead, you buried your face into the nearest pillow and let out a silent scream that could shatter glass.

Renjun, looking utterly over it, sighed like who had seen too much.. “Just get married already,” he muttered, before resume his attention to the movie like this wasn’t the most unhinged domestic tension he’d witnessed in weeks.

Mark finally pulled his hand away after you smacked his arm with a flustered little slap, cheeks burning. “I’m fine,” you lied, breathless. “Perfect, actually. Might go for a jog. Climb Everest. Who knows.”

He grinned, like he could see right through your nonsense, and gave your knee one last pat before tucking his hand sheepishly into the blanket again.

Your heart? that thing was still buffering. Stuck on loop. Replaying the moment Mark Lee touched your leg like he hadn’t just rewritten your entire nervous system with his bare hands.

The rest of the movie blurred past in a fog. Explosions on screen, popcorn rustling, the occasional Haechan commentary, none of it registered. Your focus was shot, derailed somewhere between Mark’s hands and your rapidly developing crush.

When the credits rolled and the room buzzed back to life, you stood, stretched with a quiet groan, and politely excused yourself. Early lecture in the morning, you explained. Responsible student things.

You said your goodbyes, Jaemin extracting a promise for a future café trip like a girl bestie with an itinerary, and stepped toward the door.

Mark was already there. Lingering, like he’d been waiting.

Hands stuffed in his hoodie pockets, eyes flicking to yours, then away again.

He opened the door for you, but didn’t quite meet your gaze. You turned to thank him, for the invite, and the impromptu massage, but he beat you to it.

“Thank you for joining us tonight,” he said, voice a little softer now that it was just the two of you by the door. “And if, uh… if you’re free this weekend,” he added, shifting his weight from foot to foot, “I was thinking of going to IKEA. I need a lamp. Or maybe like… adult supervision.”

You arched a brow, the corner of your mouth tugging up. “Let me guess, you want me to help build it?”

Mark’s smile was soft, lopsided, and dangerous in the way only shy boys with dimples could be.

“Maybe,” he said, eyes flicking up to yours. “Maybe I just… wanna hang out with you again.”

And just like that, your heart short-circuited again.

You didn’t know where this was going.

But you hoped it went somewhere warm, with less back pain, fewer cracked nails, and instruction manuals that made sense.

And if the universe was feeling generous, maybe even somewhere dangerously close to love.

thank you so much for taking the time to read it and I didn't have time to beta prof this so I’d love to hear your thoughts, so any feedback is welcome! - 🌻 📌 💭 checkout my other delulus in the masterlist

All works are copyrighted © HyuSun, 2025. Please do not repost, rewrite, or distribute without explicit permission.

[hyusun]

it the boy birthday , what should i do?

[hyusun]

👑 - The Noodle Arm Incident - L.JN

Pairing: gym bro!Jeno x mark sister!yn

Genre: fluff, gym ???

Warning : puddle, stumble/fall, tore ligament, gym, sweat, heart eye, concerned bigbro mark ???

Vibe : A torn ligament, a traitorous puddle, and one dramatic fall later, yn finds herself in wrist rehab, dragged to the gym by her overly concerned brother. She expected sore muscles and awkward stretching, not Jeno, the quiet, kind helper who makes healing feel like less of a chore and more like… something worth showing up for. a/n : Sorry if the gym scene sounds hella vague… I’ve never stepped foot in a gym 💀 The only gym in my life is Gym Jungkook, and even Jeno stresses me out with those arms. Sometimes I genuinely feel like taking a bite out of his bicep. Just a lil chomp. Lemme know your thoughts before I embarrass myself even more 😩🏋️‍♂️💚

Accidents can happen to anyone, anytime, anywhere. Yours just happened to be during the last week of the semester, right before summer break. Of course.

You were walking to class, avoiding a small puddle near the university’s main entrance, when somehow, physics failed you. One bad step and you stumbled over your own foot, crashed onto the pavement, and instinctively threw out your left hand to break the fall.

Wrong move.

The pain was instant and intense. A sharp, searing kind that made your vision blur for a second. You sat there on the pavement, clutching your wrist, trying not to cry. Or scream. Or both. Lucky for your dignity, no one was around to witness your ungraceful fall from grace, just you, gravity, and that one traitorous puddle.

Gritting your teeth, you pulled out your phone with your good hand and shakily tapped on Mark’s contact. Your thumb trembled. Your pride was already bruised. Your wrist? Probably worse.

He picked up on the first ring.

“Mark,” you breathed, trying to sound calm. You did not succeed. “What happened?” “I think I broke myself,” you muttered, swallowing a wince. “…Did you fall again?” “Pavement attacked me.” He sighed so loud you could practically hear his soul leaving his body. “Stay there. I’m coming.”

And he did, like he was auditioning for the next Fast & Furious movie, tires screeching and all. You didn’t even make it into the car before he started his rant.

“You’re singlehandedly aging me a decade, you know that?” “Hello to you too.” “I let you walk to class and you try to fight the sidewalk?” “It started it.” “You keep this up and I’m installing airbags on your shoes.”

By the time he got you to the hospital, he’d already named your injury: The Noodle Arm Incident.

And sadly, it stuck.

At the hospital, after a long wait and a whole lot of poking, the doctor gave you the bad news: torn ligament in your left wrist. No surgery, thank god, but at least a month of rest and light physical therapy. Your entire summer break? Canceled.

Mark, ever the problem-solver slash honorary parent, took it upon himself to personally enroll you at his friend’s gym.

Which brings us to your first day at the gym, three weeks post-injury, wrist still wrapped but starting to feel more like your own again.

You were sitting in the passenger seat of Mark’s car, nervously staring at the gym sign through the windshield like it might explode.

“I don’t wanna go in,” you mumbled.

“You’re not being drafted to war,” he deadpanned. “You're doing wrist curls, not combat training.”

“Says the guy with two functioning wrists.”

Mark sighed dramatically but softened. “Look, I wouldn’t bring you here if I didn’t trust them. And Jeno’s cool. He’s chill. Just follow his lead and don’t try to lift a car on day one.”

You scoffed. “Ha-ha. Very funny.”

But he still waited at the entrance with you, hands on your shoulders like a proud dad. “You got this. Just don’t fall in the gym, okay?”

You smacked his arm with your good hand and walked in.

The gym smelled like rubber mats and metal. Music thumped gently in the background, not loud enough to drown your thoughts. You stood there awkwardly, unsure where to go, when someone approached from the free weights section.

“You’re Mark’s sister?" he asked, voice low but kind.

You turned, and there he was. Jeno. You’d see him in passing a few times, all arms and quiet energy, the type who never skipped leg day or chest day. He looked effortlessly cool, even in a plain black tank and sweats.

You nodded. “Yeah, first time here, for wrist rehab. Also... I have no idea what I’m doing.”

He smiled, eyes soft. “That’s okay. I’ll help.”

And help he did. He adjusted your form gently, made sure you didn’t overextend your wrist, explained things patiently like he wasn’t rushing to get back to his own routine. It could’ve felt awkward, but somehow it didn’t. Not with him.

He didn’t treat you like you were fragile,just careful. Respectful. Kind.

That day marked the beginning of a slow, unexpected rhythm. You started coming in regularly. Sometimes you’d spot him already there, nodding a quiet hello. Other times, he’d show up mid-session, offer you a spare water bottle, or casually walk you through a new machine like it was no big deal.

One day, after a longer-than-usual workout, both of you sat on the floor, legs stretched out, breathing heavy.

“Want to get something to eat?” he asked.

You blinked. “Now?”

He nodded. “Yeah. You earned it.”

The post-gym meal was nothing fancy, grilled chicken rice bowls at a quiet corner shop, but somehow, it felt like the most comforting thing you’d had in a while.

Maybe it was the way Jeno listened when you spoke, genuinely and without distraction, like every word mattered. He shared stories about gymming with his best friend Jaemin, how college stress led him to find peace through lifting weights. 

In return, you told him your noodle arm origin story, how a puddle and a poor judgment of balance led to your wrist betraying you. He laughed, not mockingly, but with that low, breathy kind of laugh that made your chest flutter and your face burn a little. It felt like the beginning of something soft, and slowly unfolding.

Weeks passed, and gym time slowly became something more than just rehab. Your wrist healed beautifully, no longer wrapped or aching, and your routine shifted into full-body sets instead of just babying your left side. You were stronger now, not just in your wrist, but in the way you carried yourself. More confident. And through it all, Jeno was there. Most sessions, you'd find him already waiting, towel slung over his shoulder, greeting you with a soft smile like it was the best part of his day. Maybe it was. 

You’d train side by side, exchanging quiet encouragements, spotting each other during tougher sets, sharing water bottles when you forgot yours. It wasn’t just healing your body anymore, it felt like healing your spirit too. One rep, one smile, one shared silence at a time.

He’d walk you to your car sometimes, even if his session wasn’t done yet. You started to notice the way his hand would hover near your lower back when you walked through crowded spaces. The way he always knew when to push you, and when to let you rest.

And one evening, after your usual session together, both of you sweaty, tired, and sharing a quiet moment after workout for the day , you noticed something. As you were getting ready to  head toward your car, Jeno didn’t follow. Instead, he turned back toward the gym, wiping his neck with his towel.

“You’re going again?” you asked, confused.

He paused, glancing over his shoulder. “Yeah,” he said, a little sheepish. “Jaemin’s coming. I usually gym with him in the evenings.”

You blinked. “Wait… so I’m... your warm-up?”

He laughed softly, rubbing the back of his neck. “No. I mean… kind of? Not really. I just... didn’t want to stop gymming with you.”

Your brows lifted slightly, a quiet beat passing between you.

He looked at you then, more earnest than you’d ever seen him. “I like this. Us. Working out together. Even if I’ve gotta do double sessions, it’s worth it.”

There was a strange little flutter in your chest. A pause in your breath. Maybe it was the endorphins. Or maybe... it wasn’t.

You smiled, eyes soft. “You’re insane.”

He grinned back. “A little bit. But for a good reason.”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips was hard to hide. “So you’d rather suffer through two gym sessions than skip one with me?”

He shrugged, casual, like he hadn’t just thrown your heart into a somersault. “I mean, yeah. Kinda hard to go back to leg day with Jaemin after laughing through planks with you.”

You laughed quietly, trying to ignore the way your heart felt too big in your chest. “You laugh through planks?”

“With you, apparently.”

There was something in his tone. Not teasing. Not playful. Just... honest. And it made the silence stretch, not awkward, but full. Full of things unspoken. Like how you’d started looking forward to gym days not for progress, but for him. Like how you caught yourself scanning the room for him before your workouts even began. Like how his presence made the air feel lighter.

You tucked your towel into your bag, suddenly very aware of how close he was standing.

“Well,” you said, gently, “don’t let Jaemin outlift me.”

He smiled, but it was softer this time. “He doesn’t stand a chance.”

You looked at him then, and he looked right back. Not rushed. Not hesitant. Just there—open and present. And in that quiet moment, with post-workout sweat still cooling on your skin and the scent of gym mats lingering faintly in the air, you knew.

“So,” you started, slinging your bag over your shoulder, trying to sound casual even though your pulse was doing jumping jacks. “Second gym session of the night. You sure your muscles won’t file a complaint?”

Jeno chuckled, falling into step beside you as you both walked toward the exit again. “They might. But Jaemin talks more than he lifts, so I’ll be fine.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t peg him for a chatterbox.”

“Oh, he narrates everything,” Jeno said with a soft grin. “Last week he gave a TED Talk about protein intake while bench pressing.”

You laughed, loud enough that a couple of gym-goers looked over. But Jeno just smiled like he didn’t care. Like maybe that laugh was the best thing he’d heard all day.

At the entrance, you paused. He stopped too.

“Hey,” he said, his voice quieter now. “Do you wanna come with us? It’s nothing serious. Just legs and Jaemin’s bad playlist.”

You hesitated, not because you didn’t want to, you want to but because your heart suddenly felt too full. Like if you said yes, you were saying yes to something more than just squats. But before you could overthink it, you saw the way he was looking at you. Not expecting. Not pushing. Just... hopeful.

You smiled. “Nah. I’ll let you suffer with Jaemin solo tonight. But maybe… after?”

He tilted his head. “After?”

“Bubble tea. If your legs still function.”

Jeno grinned, and this time, there was something different in it. Something a little giddy. “Deal.”

And then, like it was the most natural thing in the world, he reached out and gently bumped your pinky with his. Just a touch. Just a quiet promise.

“I’ll text you when I’m done,” he said, walking backward now, still smiling.

You watched him go, that flutter in your chest blooming into something steady. Something warm. You weren’t sure what this was becoming, but whatever it was, it felt good.

It felt like something that had been waiting to happen all along.

thank you so much for taking the time to read it. I’d love to hear your thoughts, so any feedback is welcome! - 🌻 📌 💭 checkout my other delulus in the masterlist

All works are copyrighted © HyuSun, 2025. Please do not repost, rewrite, or distribute without explicit permission.

[hyusun]

i really like your works 🫶🏻

anon ur words >>> my will to live 😭💗 thank u for liking my delulu 🫶

[hyusun]

🌻 - 39.4 Degrees of Stupid - L.HC

Pairing: roommate!Haechan x yn

Genre: fluff, slow-burn ???

Warning : fever and snotty nose, rain/storm

Vibe : haechan ran through the rain after finals just to catch a game session , and ended up with a 39.4 degree fever and a blocked nose. yn, his unlucky roommate, spends her day off nursing him back to life and sanity. It’s chaotic, exhausting... and maybe a little bit sweet in the end.

The rain came down like grief-thick, endless, humming against windows and rooftops like the world was trying to cry out everything finals had wrung from your bones. You’d barely collapsed face-first into your bed, hoping to sleep away the academic carnage, when the front door slammed open like a thunderclap.

A soaked figure exploded into the apartment, trailing puddles and chaos in his wake, like some tragic Shakespearean fool who fought nature and lost.

And, of course, it was Haechan.

Your beloved, stupid housemate. Drenched to the bone. Hoodie plastered to his skin like betrayal, sneakers squelching with every dramatic step as he announced his arrival like a war hero returning from battle.

You didn't even lift your head from the couch.

“Why are you wet?” you called out, deadpan, too emotionally bankrupt to deal with his nonsense.

“I had to run!” he shouted, breathless, triumphant, utterly insane. “My ranked game session started in ten minutes!”

You rolled over just enough to glare. “You ran through a monsoon. For pixels.”

“They’re competitive pixels. It was my post-finals treat!”

“Your immune system is not going to treat you.”

But he waved you off, water still dripping from his sleeves, tracking a trail of regret all the way to his bedroom. You made a mental note to let natural selection do its thing.

But nature works fast.

By the next morning, your phone buzzed with a single dramatic message: “I’m dying. Bring water. And love. Mostly water.”

And when you dragged yourself out of bed and into the living room, what you found was not a man, but a melting popsicle of blankets and tissues. Haechan lay half-buried on the couch, nose red, cheeks flushed, fever blazing high enough you could feel the heat radiating from him like he was auditioning for the role of ‘Human Stove.’

He looked up at you with the wheezy pride of someone who made a dumb decision and refused to regret it. “It’s not that bad,” he said, voice sounding like a kazoo underwater. “I’m thriving.”

“You’re fermenting,” you corrected, crossing your arms. “Your fever could boil soup.”

He sniffled violently. “You’re being dramatic.”

“You ran through a thunderstorm to play League, Haechan.”

“It was a team game.”

He gasped, actually gasped—like you’d slapped him with a wet sock. “How dare—” But his righteous wail was immediately swallowed by a rapid-fire sneezing fit that sounded like a dying trumpet and shook the tissue box on his chest.

You didn’t even flinch. Just calmly handed him another tissue like this was your normal Thursday. A beat passes, and silence drapes over you both like a second comforter. Just as sleep begins to pull him under, you hear it—soft, barely audible.

“Thanks, yn... If I die, you get my gaming chair.”

You slapped a cold compress on his forehead, no gentleness spared, and when he whimpered, you rolled your eyes and adjusted the blanket around him. You were supposed to be doing nothing today. Catching up on sleep. Watching trashy variety shows. But no,your birdbrain roommate had turned your one peaceful day off into a medical emergency wrapped in fleece.

Still, when his hand twitched slightly and he shifted to lean into your touch, something inside you softened. Maybe it was the fever. Maybe it was the way his lashes fluttered every time you checked his temperature. Maybe it was because you were hopeless.

You spent the day beside him, nursing him like some reluctant Florence Nightingale with a grudge. You cooked him porridge while he dramatically insisted he was “withering.” You force-fed him vitamin C and wiped his sweat away while he tried to flirt between coughs.

At one point, you caught him staring at you with that hazy, fever-glazed look, quiet, almost reverent.

"You have nice hands," he murmured, like it was a secret.

You froze mid-spoon.

"And a nice heart," he added, lips chapped and clumsy. "And maybe a nice face, but I can’t really see you clearly.”

You blinked.

He blinked.

Then promptly sneezed into a tissue with the force of a hurricane.

“Moment ruined,” you muttered.

“I regret nothing,” he mumbled, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips like he hadn’t just nearly given himself pneumonia for a ranked match.

By early evening, he finally fell into a deep sleep. The rain outside had softened into a gentle hush, like the sky was finally letting go. You sat beside him beside the couch, half-dozing, your fingers still loosely wrapped around his wrist as if guarding him from any more of his own decisions. His fever had finally dipped. His breathing had slowed. And in that quiet, something delicate bloomed in the silence.

Later, just as the world was starting to settle into the night, you felt him stir. His eyes fluttered open, slow and dazed, landing on you with a softness that felt new. He looked at the blanket wrapped around him. By the way your head had tilted slightly off the couch. At your hand, still resting gently against his.

“Y/N,” he whispered, voice rough like sandpaper but gentler than you’d ever heard it. “Thanks for today.”

You didn’t answer,too tired, too close to falling asleep yourself.

But he kept speaking, his words barely above breath, fragile like paper.

“Stay close. Even when I’m not dying next time.”

You could’ve made a joke. Could’ve called him a dramatic little gremlin. Could’ve rolled your eyes.

Instead, you laced your fingers with his, and didn’t let go.

And outside, the rain finally stopped.

thank you so much for taking the time to read it. I’d love to hear your thoughts, so any feedback is welcome! - 🌻 📌 💭 checkout my other delulus in the masterlist

All works are copyrighted © HyuSun, 2025. Please do not repost, rewrite, or distribute without explicit permission.

[hyusun]

Dearest Universe,

I write to you not as a sane person, but as a humble victim of Mark Lee’s existence.

Oh, Mark Lee ...the man you're... you're— No because how does a human look like that!!!!?? Like, scientifically speaking, how does a person manage to be adorable, handsome, and ethereal all at once?!?!? Blacked out for a second just thinking about him, and honestly, might black out again any moment now. You’re making me lose my grip on reality ..... and by reality, I mean the very concept of time, space, and my ability to function as a regular human being. Literally malfunctioning like a Windows XP error screen, complete with that cursed pop-up sound effect. Physically holding onto a wall for support right now, because if I stand on my own, my knees will simply give up. Need to lie down. Not on a bed — no, in the middle of the street. Preferably under a sky full of stars so the universe can witness this breakdown. No thoughts, just Mark. Like my entire brain is a blank document titled Mark Lee Appreciation Thesis. Head empty. Heart dangerously full. Doctors would probably advise against this level of emotional cardiac overload. Yeah no words. Just vibes. And heart palpitations. And possibly tears, but the sexy kind. A walking jump scare for emotions — appearing out of nowhere on my feed, breathing, existing, and leaving me questioning everything I thought I knew about love and sanity.

But before you judge me, Universe, let me make this clear.

Haechan Lee, this is not cheating. This is character development !

I’m not betraying you… I’m building our future polyamorous empire, starting with Mark as our founding father. 😔🤝

Forever spiraling, A loyal fool with excellent taste

this man might just awaken the Shakespeare in me 🫠💕💕💕

250301 MARK Weibo Update

[hyusun]

🌻 - I Like You , A Little Bit More Than I Should - L.HC

Pairing : bff!haechan x bff!yn genre : fluff, slow burn??? warnings: heartache? late night drive.... vibe : Late-night drive with your best friend, Haechan — he makes you spill your hidden thoughts into the quiet night, every word wrapped in bathed breath. a/n: I got inspired by I Like You by Post Malone! 🎶 Please give it a listen—it’ll make this so much better! Hehe 😆✨ . Feel free to give feedback 💕

The night air was crisp, the kind that made you want to wrap yourself in a hoodie and never leave the comfort of a warm space. The road ahead stretched empty, bathed in the soft glow of streetlights, and the hum of the engine blended into the faint melody playing from the car speakers.

"Ooh, girl, I like you, I do…" 🎶

You glanced to your right, where Heachan sat, one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting lazily on the gear shift. His fingers tapped absentmindedly to the rhythm of the song, and for some reason, it made your chest tighten.

This wasn’t the first time you’d gone on a late-night drive together. It was your thing, the two of you, the quiet roads, music playing softly in the background, and no real destination. Just the comfort of each other’s presence.

He let out a small chuckle, breaking the silence. “You’re quiet tonight.”

You turned to him, raising an eyebrow. “I didn’t know we had to fill the silence all the time.”

Heachan smirked. “Nah, but usually you have something to say.”

"Hey, I've been thinkin' lately" 🎶

You rolled your eyes, pulling your hoodie sleeves over your hands and tucking them under your chin. “…..Just thinking.”

He glanced at you for a moment before looking back at the road. “About what?”

You hesitated, watching the way the passing lights cast shadows on his face. “About us.”

His fingers stopped tapping.

You didn’t mean to say it out loud. The words had just… slipped. But now they were hanging in the air between you, too heavy to ignore.

Heachan let out a breath, his grip on the wheel tightening slightly. “Yeah?”

You swallowed. “Yeah.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The only sound was the faint hum of the engine and the song from the radio. Then, without a word, he took a turn off the main road, driving towards a quiet hilltop where you’d parked more times than you could count.

When he finally put the car in park, he leaned back against his seat, staring ahead at the city lights below.

“You ever wonder why we do this?” he asked. His voice was softer now. Less teasing. More real.

Your fingers tightened around the sleeves of your hoodie. “What do you mean?” "I just want you, I just want you" 🎶

“This,” he gestured vaguely, “the late-night drives, the way we just get each other, the way I always wanna be around you.” He turned to look at you, his expression unreadable. “It’s not just friends, Y/N. You know that, right?”

Your heart pounded.

“I…” You exhaled, shaking your head as you smiled a little. “I was hoping you’d say it first.”

A slow grin spread across his face. “So, you do like me.”

“Shut up.” You groaned, covering your face with your hands, but he was already laughing, the warm, familiar sound filling the car.

“God, finally,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “I was gonna lose my mind if I had to pretend for another day.”

You peeked at him from between your fingers. “You were pretending?”

“Well,” he shrugged, “I tried. But I suck at it. I like you, Y/N. Probably too much.” "I like you" 🎶

The warmth in your chest spread, and without thinking, you reached over, lacing your fingers with his. His hand squeezed yours gently, like he’d been waiting for this. "I wanna be your girlfriend, baby" 🎶

“Guess we should stop pretending, then,” you murmured.

Heachan smiled, giving your hand another squeeze before bringing it to his lips in a dramatic, playful gesture. “Finally, you admit I’m irresistible.”

You rolled your eyes, but you didn’t pull away.

The city lights twinkled below, the car filled with quiet music and something even warmer—something real. Something that had been there all along.

And this time, neither of you ran from it.

thank you so much for taking the time to read it and I didn't have time to beta prof this so I’d love to hear your thoughts, so any feedback is welcome! - 🌻 📌 💭 checkout my other delulus in the masterlist

All works are copyrighted © HyuSun, 2025. Please do not repost, rewrite, or distribute without explicit permission.

[hyusun]

I saw momentum fancam omg did you see the tracklist? Bruhhh on fire 🔥 so many thing to say but haechan cover taeyong rap 😭🫶🏻🫠

[hyusun]

[10.37 pm] - Jaemin The neon signs hummed a quiet symphony, their flickering light spilling like liquid dreams onto the rain-kissed streets. Jaemin adjusted his jacket, the oversized fabric draping like armor as he glanced back at his member, the glow of the constellation’s shadow illuminated the shadowed cityscape.

Tonight, the rhythm of the streets was his to command, but beneath his composed exterior, his heart waged a silent war. His pulse wasn’t racing from the music, it was from the sight of her—Y/N.

She lingered by a food cart, her laughter drifting through the night like a haunting melody. The glow of the neon lights painted her in hues of fire and twilight, and Jaemin felt the fissures in his resolve deepen with every stolen glance.

“Late again, Renjun?” Jeno’s voice cut through the haze, a smirk tugging at his lips.

Renjun scoffed, tugging at the brim of his bucket hat. “Art takes time, my guy.”

Haechan snorted, folding his arms. “Art? More like excuses.”

“And yet I’m still better dressed than you,” Renjun sass back, earning chuckles from the group.

Mark shook his head, his voice light. “Alright, alright. Save the fire for the stage.”

The crew melted into the crowd, their presence a ripple in the city’s vibrant pulse. Jaemin hung back, his gaze sharp but restless. The bassline thrummed in his chest, yet his thoughts strayed to her, tethered like a kite caught on a wire.

By a flickering lamppost, a street artist worked with frenetic energy, colors clashing and blending in chaotic harmony. Jaemin crouched beside them, his mind drifting further into the labyrinth of Y/N’s laughter.

“Ever tried it?” the artist asked, their hands smeared with vibrant shades.

“Not yet,” Jaemin replied softly, his lips curling in a faint smile. “Maybe one day.”

“Better start before it’s too late,” they murmured, their gaze never leaving the canvas.

The moment stretched thin, suspended in the quiet hum of the city. Then her voice pierced through, unraveling the fragile calm.

“Jaemin.”

His name fell from her lips like a sigh, soft yet laced with gravity. He turned slowly, his heart sinking. She stood a few steps away, her expression unreadable, her presence undeniable.

“Still haunting these streets?” she asked, her tone caught between curiosity and reproach.

“Some things don’t change,” he replied, his voice steady despite the storm brewing within.

Her gaze flickered, searching his. “It’s been a while.”

“It has,” he admitted, the weight of unspoken words pressing between them.

Before the silence could stretch further, Mark’s voice boomed from the stage. “Alright, everyone! Let’s turn this place into a masterpiece, you know the drill!”

The crowd erupted as the beat dropped. Jeno’s sharp moves cut through the air, followed by Renjun’s seamless flow. Haechan’s voice soared, charging the atmosphere with electricity, while Chenle and Jisung ignited the crowd with their playful energy.

Jaemin stepped into the circle, his movements deliberate and precise, each step heavy with unspoken emotion. The cheers swelled around him, but his focus remained fractured, her gaze a weight he couldn’t shake.

As the final beat echoed, the crowd roared its approval. Jaemin stood, his breath steady, his heart anything but.

“Still got it,” he murmured, more to himself than anyone else.

Mark clapped him on the back, his grin wide. “Always, bro.”

The night pressed on, vibrant and unrelenting, but Jaemin felt the ache of unfinished stories, the fragments of a connection still lingering in the air. For him, this wasn’t just another day ,it was a tapestry of yearning, stitched together under the city’s unyielding glow.

All works are copyrighted © HyuSun, 2025. Please do not repost, rewrite, or distribute without explicit permission.

[hyusun]

erm djlj!haechan is lowkey giving Jeffery Dahmer…💀

Whoa, chill 😭

djlj! Haechan is just serving edgy and mysterious, nothing sus here 👀

[hyusun]

꧁ ༺ ── ˚₊‧꒰ა Odyssey ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ ── ༻ ꧂

Every odyssey begins with a quiet spark—an unseen compass pulling the soul toward horizons only the heart can chart.

────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆─────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆────

✦⋆𓆩✧ Realm ✧𓆪⋆✦ ✦ fluff - ☁ ✦ angst - 𐙚 ✦ slow burn - ঌ

☆: .☽ . Navigating Countless Trails .☽ ｡ﾟ☆

Haechan - 🌻

✦➤ Dark Jeans, Leather Jacket - ঌ ☁ ✦➤ Pt 2 - ☁ ঌ

✦➤I Like You , A Little Bit More Than I Should - ঌঌ 𐙚☁

✦➤ 39.4 Degrees of Stupid - ☁☁

Jaemin - 🐰

✦➤ 10.37 pm - 𐙚𐙚ঌ

Jeno - 👑

✦➤ Noodle Arm Accident - ☁ ঌ

Mark - 🐯

✦➤ Instructions Not Included ☁ ☁ঌ

✦•····················•✦•····················•✦✦•····················•✦•····················•✦

All works are copyrighted © HyuSun, 2025. Please do not repost, rewrite, or distribute without explicit permission.

✨ about me ✨ hi! i'm hyu (I'm just a girl) — i write fanfics for fun and escape — studied but my DNA still not connected properly — english is not my first language, so sorry for some typos — love k-pop, cats (only my cat lol), and quiet days — i write slow-burn, toothache fluffy, and sometimes chaos — broke but still buying cute stuff — mood goes up and down, but i try my best 💪 thanks for reading my stories 💛

[hyusun]

🌻 - Dark Jean, Leather Jacket , Pt. 2 - L.HC

Hours passed, though it was hard to tell how long you drifted in and out of sleep. The music eventually softened, replaced by the occasional clink of bottles and murmured goodbyes. You stirred, half-conscious, when you heard faint footsteps approach your door again.

A soft knock.

“Come in,” you rasped, your voice barely audible.

The door creaked open, and Haechan appeared, looking slightly disheveled but still effortlessly cool. His leather jacket was gone, and his dark hair fell messily across his forehead.

“You’re awake,” he said, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him. He carried a glass of water in one hand and what looked like a bowl of instant noodles in the other.

“What’s that?” you asked, sitting up a little too quickly. A wave of dizziness hit you, and you groaned, leaning back against the headboard.

“Food. You haven’t eaten, right?” He set the water and bowl on your nightstand, then leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “Before you start, no, I didn’t cook it. Your kitchen’s a mess, and I’m not risking my life for your stove.”

Despite your grogginess, you chuckled. “Fair.”

“Drink this first,” he said, handing you the glass again. You obeyed without complaint this time, your throat grateful for the cool water.

As you set the glass down, he grabbed the bowl and handed it to you, chopsticks perched neatly on the edge. “It’s just ramen, but it’s hot. Should help.”

“Thanks,” you said quietly, taking the bowl.

He shrugged, but there was something softer in his expression now. “It’s no big deal.”

For a while, the two of you sat in comfortable silence as you ate. You could hear the faint sounds of your roommate cleaning up in the living room, but it felt like another world compared to the quiet sanctuary of your room.

“You didn’t have to stay,” you said after a while, breaking the silence.

Haechan raised an eyebrow. “And leave you to choke on your own misery? Nah. Besides, the party’s over. Nothing else to do.”

“Still,” you murmured, looking down at your bowl. “It’s… nice. Thank you.”

He smirked, leaning a little closer. “You keep saying that, I might start thinking you actually like me.”

You rolled your eyes, but the flush creeping up your neck wasn’t from your fever. “Don’t push your luck.”

He laughed softly, the sound surprisingly warm. “Fine, fine. But for the record, I’m not as bad as people think.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” you teased, though the corners of your mouth tugged upward.

“Well, you’ve seen me feed the sick and defend their honor against bad music. I’d say that’s a good start,” he quipped, standing up and stretching.

You laughed, shaking your head. “Alright, hero. What’s next? You gonna tuck me in, too?”

Haechan tilted his head, considering it for a moment. “Only if you say please.”

“Goodnight, Haechan,” you said pointedly, fighting back a smile.

He grinned, backing toward the door. “Night, princess. Don’t forget—finish the water.”

As he left, you couldn’t help but stare at the empty doorway, feeling oddly lighter despite your fever. Maybe Lee Haechan wasn’t such a bad person after all.

second part I guess ?! 🤷‍♀️ ,idk this feel a bit off 🤨 So any feedback is welcome! - 🌻

All works are copyrighted © HyuSun, 2025. Please do not repost, rewrite, or distribute without explicit permission.

[hyusun]

🌻 - Dark Jean, Leather Jacket - L.HC

The thumping bass from the living room vibrated faintly through your bedroom walls. Your roommate’s so-called “small gathering” had morphed into a full-blown party, and while you would normally roll your eyes and bear it, tonight you didn’t have the energy.

Your eyelids were heavy, but you couldn’t sleep. Every now and then, laughter or a yell from the living room jarred you back to the reality of the chaos just outside your door.

And then, the creak of your bedroom door.

“Hey, bathroom’s over there!” you croaked, assuming it was another drunk guest wandering into the wrong room.

“Uh… my bad.”

You froze at the voice. It was low, smooth, with a slight rasp that sent a chill down your spine.

Before you could say anything else, he stepped into the room, the dim hallway light spilling over his figure. Dark jeans, a leather jacket, and tousled hair that somehow looked effortlessly perfect—it was unmistakably Haechan.

“You don’t look so good,” he said, his sharp eyes narrowing as he took in the scene: the pile of tissues next to your bed, the barely touched glass of water, and the pale flush on your cheeks.

“Wow, thanks,” you muttered, your voice raspy from congestion. “Feel great, too.”

He ignored your sarcasm, crossing the room to your bedside. “You’re actually sick, huh?”

“No, I just thought I’d skip the party to work on my Oscar-worthy sick act,” you shot back weakly.

That earned you a smirk. “Cute,” he said, glancing at the glass of water. “When was the last time you drank anything?”

“I—” you started, then hesitated. Truthfully, you couldn’t remember.

He didn’t wait for an answer. Picking up the glass, he handed it to you, his fingers brushing yours as you took it. “Drink. You sound like you’ve been chewing on sandpaper.”

You hesitated, unsure what was more disorienting: your fever or the fact that Haechan was sitting on the edge of your bed, looking at you with something bordering on concern.

“I don’t need a babysitter,” you mumbled, sipping the water just to get him off your back.

“No, but you need common sense,” he retorted. “You’re supposed to drink fluids when you’re sick. Basic stuff.”

You glared at him over the rim of the glass, but the corners of his mouth quirked upward.

He leaned back slightly, his eyes flicking over you again, lingering just long enough to make you self-conscious. “Why didn’t your roommate tell anyone you were dying back here?”

“I’m not dying,” you replied, rolling your eyes. “And because she’s busy playing hostess to half the city.”

Haechan snorted, his smirk deepening. “Figures.” He tapped his fingers on his knee, glancing toward the door where the muffled bass still thumped. “You want me to tell them to turn the music down?”

You blinked, taken aback by the offer. “You’d do that?”

He shrugged, looking almost bored. “Sure. I have… a way with people.”

The playful arrogance in his voice was hard to miss, and despite yourself, you smiled. “And what’s the catch?”

“No catch. Just trying to be nice for once.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Lee Haechan, nice? That’s new.”

“Don’t get used to it,” he said with a mock-serious tone, though the glint in his eye betrayed him.

He stood, slipping his hands into his jacket pockets, but hesitated for a moment at the door. “Seriously, though. Get some rest. And drink that water. I’ll make sure your roommate doesn’t let anyone else stumble in here.”

“Why do you even care?” you asked, your voice soft.

He glanced over his shoulder, his smirk fading just a little. “Guess I’m full of surprises.”

And with that, he was gone, leaving you with a faint flutter in your chest that you stubbornly blamed on the fever.

the first story is out! thank you so much for taking the time to read it. I’d love to hear your thoughts, so any feedback is welcome! - 🌻

All works are copyrighted © HyuSun, 2025. Please do not repost, rewrite, or distribute without explicit permission.

[hyusun]

Intro - Hyu🌻

Hi everyone, this is Hyu! 🤗

After years of being a reader on this platform, I’m finally taking a shot at writing my own short stories.

This is my first attempt, so I’m still figuring out the format and style. I’ll be sharing a few drafts soon, and I’d really appreciate any feedback you have. Thanks!

[hyusun]

yk i have an idea for fic but I forgot them cause I have fish brain TT

[hyusun]

aa umm hii 🫶🏻

[hyusun]

I accidentally report someone post fxk 😭

How to undo this nooo 😭