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l0vemin · 2 years

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♡ fan with minho

↳ pairing: minho x reader ↳ word count: 12.5k ↳ genre: sex work!au (streamer!reader), s2l, smut ↳ summary: when a streamer that goes by the name of baby blue announces she’ll pick a random comment and invite the fan over to have sex with them, minho thinks it’s all a big scam—until he wins. ↳ warnings: 18+, minors dni! explicit content, sex work, sexual topics, discussion of sex as a subscriber award, mentions of cheating (reader/minho aren’t cheating), streaming sexual content, blowjob, fingering, protected sex, use of 'baby,' 'good girl,' and 'slut'; the mc refers to herself as 'cumdump' once for the video ↳ masterlist ♡ updates ♡ read on AO3

if you want to support my writing, you can buy me a coffee here, and let me know what you thought about the story here. thank you! ♡ (links to be added later)

“To thank you all for your support during these past couple of months, I want to give back to you. So, I’ve decided to pick out a random tipper who leaves a comment and have some fun with that fan,” you grin at the camera, flashing your teeth to your fanbase—all 5,000 of them.

The views are low nowadays, though. You got into streaming because a girl from uni told you it was easy money. It was, but only if you went all the way and showed everything. You had no problem with your body or being sexual, but you just didn’t want to show the entire world everything for money.

That made your streams an acquired taste. After all, your “fans” were men who didn’t have to see the inside of your cunt to get off to it, men who enjoyed the things you were saying, men who didn’t mind you having a skirt on while you rode your suction dildo. The one special thing about your streams—other than the fact that nobody’s seen your pussy up front—is how you treat your fanbase.

Most other streamers are either being extra sweet and taking tips, babying themselves to earn more money, or they’re demeaning the guys watching them, earning in a day more than you do in a month. People love being degraded, apparently.

However, none of that is your thing. Instead, you opt for praise, telling your audience the things you would like to hear if the roles were reversed. You wouldn’t log into the site and tip some random guy who’d ask you to ‘come for daddy’ or tell you you’re disgusting for watching him. That would just make you feel gross.

No, you’d go for the nice guy who’d ask about your day, tell you he wanted to come with you, praise you for being good and touching yourself. You do all that during every stream. When you come, you ask the audience if they came too, thanking them for being there with you, wishing them a good night’s rest and sweet dreams.

The fans that do like it are loyal, praising you with comments during every stream, never missing one. However, there are some people who get bored of you. The whole shtick worked for a while until your views started dropping.

The guys who subscribed to you either liked you for what you were or were hoping you were going to go hardcore eventually. When that didn’t happen, a lot of them stopped watching altogether, and many stopped tipping.

Because of this, you’ve now decided to pick a random commenter and fuck him on camera. It’s not a choice you’re happy about nor something you take pride in, but you need money to afford uni. Without school, you won’t be able to get a good job, and you’ll be forced to do worse things for money, even though fucking a random guy isn’t exactly ideal.

But, a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do, so you explain the rules. “I’ll pick a comment from the ones you’ve sent in since last Friday until next Friday, so you have ten more days to tip and leave a comment for me. The lucky winner will get to come to this room and have fun with me while the rest of you watch. If it goes well, we can think about doing it again.”

With that, you thank everyone for joining the stream and coming with you and end it, hoping that the ten-day deadline will incentivize more people to tip.

“So, I’ve decided to pick out a random tipper who leaves a comment and have some fun with that fan,” you chuckled at the end of this announcement, flashing your pretty teeth.

However, Minho missed the smile because he basically stopped watching at that point, mostly because he came all over himself and the desk and was too busy cleaning up. Thankfully, none of it got onto the keyboard.

Your little “raffle” was a scam, like everything else. There’s no way in hell a girl like you was going to select a random guy and let him come to her place and fuck her, no fucking way. It would be totally unsafe and careless, not to mention downright disgusting. Minho didn’t think of himself as a model, but he was sure there were some nasty people watching you. Would you really have the stomach to fuck some random dude on camera? He didn’t take you for that kind of a girl.

The scam was a good idea, though. The poor bastards would shower you with tip money, not realizing that you’ll show your boyfriend to them and pretend he’s a random fan. Minho can already bet the guy will be jacked, firm all over, and have a great cock that will somehow get you to come—all on the first time with a “random” fan.

But, Minho knows he will still watch, especially if you’re going to show this guy fucking you. He’s one of your biggest fans, but not in a creepy way. He finds you comforting and pretty, even though you always have a mask that covers your eyes, nose, and most of your cheeks. You calm him down and you’re always so sweet with the things you say.

It’s not one of his proudest moments, but one time, when he got dumped and had a terrible day, he watched your stream, and you responded to a comment in a way that made him cry. A guy who tipped you earlier said he had a terrible day and felt unlovable, so you shouted him out at the end of the stream.

“And if you’ve had a bad day today, just remember it will pass. I know it’s not much comfort because good days will too, let’s be honest, but what you’re feeling now isn’t the end of the road and it’s not a permanent state. I’m happy you’re here if that means anything. You help me out through a lot, even if we don’t know each other. So, if you can make someone you don’t even know happy, imagine what you can do to someone you know in real life. No one is unlovable, no matter how real that fear seems sometimes.”

For some reason, your words got to Minho that day, maybe because he felt like he was unwanted and unlovable himself. So, he would definitely be here until the end, even if you fuck your boyfriend on stream and pretend he’s a fan. He can’t blame you for hustling like that.

You spend most of next Saturday going through the comments, trying to find one that stands out. Most of the comments came after your announcement, of course. Usually, the comments you get are “you’re so fucking hot”, “show more”, “want to fuck you”, or something along those lines. Now, they’re mostly “i want to win the raffle”, “fuck me!”, “pick me”, and the like. None of them are noteworthy.

And then, one catches your eye.

Someone using the username Lino98 has commented the Saturday before you announced the raffle, therefore not with the goal of winning it. Because of this, you have a feeling the comment might actually be sincere. It reads:

Tip: $100

Hey, Baby Blue! I know you won’t even see this, but I wanted to thank you for all your hard work regardless. I found your stream when I was going through a rough time with a breakup.

I had to move out, money was tight, and I felt alone, so your streams felt like I had some kind of company, especially with the way you talk to us on the other end. I know it sounds strange, but it really did help.

I’m finally doing better and have some money to spare, so I wanted to tip you as a thank you for all the times you’ve helped me without knowing.

Like you said, if you can make a stranger this happy, imagine how you can make someone in your real life feel. So, here’s a stranger telling you you’ve made him feel less alone.

All the best!

The comment is the winning one, you just know the second you read it fully. You’ve never seen anything remotely similar to it on your channel, so you select Lino98 as the winner, deciding to announce it on stream tomorrow. The guy actually put in some effort, even if what he wrote was bullshit.

When you announce that he’s the winner on stream, you promise Lino98 you’ll DM him in a minute, after ending the stream. Of course, you instantly do it, even though you’re scared shitless. Is ‘98 his birth year? You hope so because that would mean he’s on the younger side. Selecting an old fan would be a disaster because you’d never be able to get into it.

Baby Blue: Hey, Lino98! Congrats :) Can you tell me your current location so we can arrange it?

It sounds so transactional, and you hate it, but there’s not much you can do. If you don’t go through with this, everyone will think you’ve scammed all your fans out of money. Your channel would not survive that kind of a scandal, even if you refunded everyone.

Lino98: are you messing with me?

Baby Blue: why would i do that? you won

Lino98: uh, it’s not a prank?

Baby Blue: no!

Lino98: i’m sorry, it just seems… strange

Baby Blue: incoming video call

Minho’s heart starts racing when he sees your username flashing across the screen. It’s the first time anyone he follows on this site called him, and he’s not sure how to react.

Clearly, you’re real and you want to show him that. He fucking won the raffle. He will get to ‘have fun’ with you, whatever that meant.

However, Minho can’t answer your video call. Or, at least, he can’t show himself on camera. You’ve just had a stream, which means his pants are around his ankles, cock softening on his cum stained stomach, his chest not fairing any better. You were super sweet today, showering them with praise, and Minho came twice. There’s no way he’s letting you see it.

So, he answers after disabling the camera option. “Hi!” he says, unsure of how else to greet someone he’s been drooling over for months, if it’s really you.

And it is.

You show yourself on camera in the same outfit you wore minutes ago on stream, mask still hiding most of your face, but it’s unmistakably you.

“Hey, Lino98!” you greet him sweetly, and his mind draws blanks. Baby Blue is using his username, talking to him directly. “I know it’s kind of unbelievable, so here!” With that, you grab a pen and write something down on your palm. Then you show him what you wrote, and it’s “Lino98, you won!!!”, which makes him chuckle.

“I guess you’re real after all.” His breath hitches in his throat when you giggle at his words and look to the side sheepishly.

“I guess you are too… So, can you tell me where you are? You don’t have to give the details, just the general area.”

“Sure, I’m in Seoul at the moment,” he admits, hoping you’ll say you’re in that area so you two can go through with this, even though he’s scared shitless of it.

“Great,” you say excitedly, not letting on how you really feel. You can’t be excited about meeting some random guy whose comment you may or may not have even read. “I’m… Around there too. Good. Do you maybe want to meet up tomorrow, if you don’t already have plans?”

“To-tomorrow?” Minho stutters, clearing his throat and sitting up in his chair as reality smacks him across the face. Tomorrow? He’s going to meet you tomorrow? Do you want him to come over to your place and ‘have fun’? In front of your entire audience? You look at him questioningly, so he coughs and responds, “Ah… Okay, I don’t have any plans.”

“Great! I’ll send you the address of this cafe. We can get a drink there and just talk if that’s okay with you.” And just like that, you make him feel a lot lighter. Okay, you’ll just see each other in person tomorrow and arrange for the thing then. “Is that okay?”

“Of course, sounds great,” Minho responds. “I’ll wait for your message then.”

You arrange to meet up around 3 with you promising to send him the address as soon as you get off the call. Just when you’re saying your goodbyes and about to hang up, you pause and just look at the camera.

“Sorry, can you tell me why you didn’t turn on the cam?” you ask so sweetly you have him biting his lip. Somehow, you sound even better when you’re addressing him directly.

“Can I be honest?” Minho asks, hoping you won’t take it the wrong way. When you nod, he continues. “I came all over myself earlier, so I didn’t think it would be a good look.”

His response makes you kick your head back and laugh, and it’s probably the most sincere laughter he’s ever heard from you. “It honestly sounds kind of hot,” you admit. “See you tomorrow!”

When he walks into the cafe, Minho realizes you’re a real person. Up until this point, you were just a random internet persona, someone unattainable, someone he was never even supposed to meet.

As soon as your eyes meet, he knows it’s you, even though the mask is off. You’re even prettier without it—there’s nothing on your face you should ever hide. Surprisingly, you’re just a girl. You’re not some sex symbol he’s had in his mind all this time, not some kind of superior being, not a person that commands attention.

He’s walked in here happy that he was going to get to fuck you, but now that he sees that you’re just a person like him, Minho feels guilt wash over him. What is he doing? He came here to “collect his reward” for a $100 tip—and the reward was another person. It didn’t feel right. If you were really doing this, you needed the money badly, and he couldn’t let you go through with it just because he was horny for you.

“Hey!” He walks over to you and offers you his hand to shake, hoping he doesn’t sound cold. Minho’s just shitting bricks at this point—it’s the first time he’s meeting someone of the opposite gender for a date of sorts since his breakup, and this is the furthest thing from a date, so why are his palms sweating?

“Lino?” You cock your eyebrows up when he approaches you. When Minho nods, feeling dumb for forgetting to introduce himself, you stand up and shake his hand firmly. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too,” he says, sitting down across from you, looking around. Is he a disappointment to you? He’s not exactly tall nor buff, even though he dances a lot. None of that is visible, though, and you may be feeling let down. “Nice place.”

“It really is,” you say, looking around as well before gulping. Is it a sign of nervousness or boredom? “My first time here.”

Funny how you’re setting a boundary right from the start, showing him you don’t come to this place often in case he becomes a stalker and decides to hang around here every day in hopes of seeing you. “Mine too.”

The waiter comes to get your order, and you look at Minho instantly, expecting him to order. “Please, you go first.”

“No, no, you go!” He nods at you and finds it funny how you’re so flustered in real life. You have thousands of people watching you weekly, dying for a chance to be around you, and you’re this shy? It doesn’t make sense. Still, it eases his nerves a bit.

Once the waiter is gone, Minho clears his throat and looks at you questioningly. You call the shots here. It’s your game, your idea, and he’s just here because you asked him to be. So, he waits for you to take the lead and explain how this is going to go down.

You open your mouth to say something but stop yourself and sigh, rubbing the corners of your eyes for a second as if you’re tired of it already. “I’m sorry, I haven’t done this before.”

“Met a stranger?” Minho asks with a smirk, knowing very well that’s not what you mean. He surprises himself by asking that since he’s no less nervous than you, fiddling with his fingers under the table, where you can’t see.

“No, met up with a guy who watches my streams,” you point out, cocking your head to the side. This time, you don’t look away—instead, you inspect his face, as if you’re now seeing him for the first time.

“Ah, I see,” is all Minho can mutter while you stare at him. So, he’s the first. Is he a disappointment?

“And the first time I’m doing the whole ‘fuck a fan’ thing,” you whisper to him, which makes his breath hitch in his throat. So it’s ‘fuck a fan’, not ‘have fun with a fan’, after all. “So I don't know how to act.”

Minho realizes you’re practically in the same boat then. “That makes two of us,” he says to comfort you, even though he has it worse. You already know he’s attracted to you, that he jerks off to you and has sent you a tip and a heartfelt comment. Minho is not that lucky—for all he knows, you might find him totally disgusting.

You smile at him weakly, but don’t say a thing for a while, and Minho realizes you’re a lot more nervous than you first seemed. You’re just a girl, after all, and you’re here because you promised him you’d fuck him in front of 5,000 people, that is all. Of course you’re having second thoughts and regretting it. A girl like you wouldn’t look give him a second glance in real life. He’s only here because he got lucky with the comment.

“Are you nervous?” Minho asks you just before the waiter brings the drinks.

As soon as he leaves, you clear your throat and respond, “Yes. Are you?”

“Of course.” When he says it, you seem to relax a bit, enough to take a sip of your coffee and sigh deeply. As someone who’s used to seeing you all sweet and bubbly, Minho hates seeing you like this and knowing he’s the reason you feel this way. So, he decides to do what’s best for you.

“Listen, I came here with the intent of going through with this, but I…” He pauses when he realizes you’re frowning. “I don’t want you to do this if you don’t want to. I’m a stranger, so I’m pretty sure you don’t. I am down to lie to the rest of your fans and say we did it. You can send me a pic from your room and I can pretend I took it, to make it believable for them.”

Your mouth is slightly open as you stare at him, unable to say a word for a minute or so, just staring at him. Are you thinking about taking the easy way out? Minho sure hopes so. He’d hate sleeping with you and knowing you hated every second of it.

Finally, you speak, and you do so softly, voice barely audible. “I’m guessing Lino98 isn’t your real name.”

He scoffs at this, feeling a bit dumb about not even telling you his name when that was the least he could have done. “No, it’s Minho. I’m guessing Baby Blue isn’t yours either.”

Surprisingly, you give him your name, and Minho thinks it suits you the second he hears it. Before he can tell you it’s a pretty name, you continue, “Listen Minho, it’s nice of you to offer that, if you’re doing it for me. But, I am doing this because I have to. My views went down the drain and I have to do something to get them up.”

“Why not, uh… Show more? No offense,” he adds at the end, hoping it doesn’t come off as mean or condescending.

Minho is not judging you at all for doing what you do. After all, he watches you do it and enjoys every second of it. It’s just a thing he never understood about your streams. At the same time, it’s the thing he loves about them—he sees you get off, but never sees more than the outline of your pussy, never getting a close-up. Not everything is served to him like in porn, and he enjoys that aspect of your work.

You lick your lips and take your time with the response. “I don’t feel comfortable with that.”

“But you feel—” Minho is about to ask how you feel comfortable with fucking a stranger, but he stops himself in time. Maybe you don’t want your private parts to be out there on the internet forever. Who the fuck was he to judge?

“I know, it makes no sense!” You shake your head as if you know exactly what he was going to ask before he cut himself off with a sharp sigh. “I should be more comfortable being on my own and letting people see everything than fucking someone I don’t know. But if I fuck someone on camera, I get to control it. The viewers don’t have to see my insides to see I’m getting fucked, if that makes sense.”

“It does, it does,” Minho hums with a nod, still processing it. It does make sense. You can have softcore sex on camera too, and not have the world see into your hole. “I’m sorry to hear about the views. I think your streams are unique and no one else does it like you.”

“Thank you.” You give him a small smile and take another long sip of your drink. “I wanted to meet you just to see if it would work out. I’ve never done this before. I have to say I’m relieved you’re attractive. Is that shallow?”

“Uhm, if you’re planning on fucking me, it’s not,” Minho says, blood rushing to his cheeks at his own choice of words. You think he’s attractive, though, and he’s too busy processing that piece of information. It’s a relief, really. He clearly thinks you’re the most arousing woman he’s ever met, so you’re off to a good start if you’re planning on doing this. “What would you do if you didn’t find me attractive?”

“Call it off. Choose someone else?” you suggest, sounding unsure of the options. “I mean, if we’re going to do it on camera, it has to look good. There has to be chemistry or something. People will know if I fake it, and it would be disappointing to see something that looks forced, I think.”

That’s true. The best part about your streams is that they don’t seem fake. You’re not out there screaming like you’re getting railed by two guys at once when you touch yourself. You do it slowly, taking your time, letting out hisses and grunts here and there, moaning only when you’re close to coming, which is also when your mouth gets a bit loose and dirty, which is Minho’s favorite part.

Because of this, he comes towards the end of your stream—if he can postpone it. He might be a creep, but there’s something really hot in hearing you tell him you want his cock inside of you instead of your fingers. You don’t mean him, of course, but when he’s watching, he pretends it all for him.

“You’re right,” he agrees with a gulp, realizing you’ve been staring at him while he thought about your last stream and how sweetly you said you need his ‘big fat cock.’ Your words, not his. “And why do it if it doesn’t work?” He shrugs. “I think people would notice something was off. I would.”

You nod, giving him yet another smile, before going on, “So, I know you were probably expecting to go to my place and do it now, but I was just hoping to get to meet you and see if you were, uh, normal and if we can talk. I feel this is better than just going straight to my place and then being extra awkward on camera.”

“I agree,” Minho simply says, instantly feeling bad for saying so little. The things he’s saying are only a fraction of what he’s thinking, and he wishes he had the balls to talk to you more, ask you more questions, make sure you’re fine with all of this. “I’m sorry I’m awkward, I don’t really… Go out a lot, as you know.”

“It’s fine, I don’t either.” You giggle with a shake of your head, looking just as gorgeous as you do on camera. Only this time, Minho can enjoy looking straight into your eyes, looking at your entire face, basking in how pretty you are.

“You don’t?”

“When?” You grin. “I’m either at work, at uni, studying, or streaming. So, don’t worry about being weird. If it makes you feel any better, I don’t think you’re being awkward at all. All I can think about is how weird I am being. Anyway, I thought your message was sweet.”

Now, this surprises him. Firstly, he’s taken aback by the fact that someone like you doesn’t go out. Then, he’s happy to hear you don’t find him awkward because he is—his palms are sweating, and his cock hardened a bit when you mentioned your streams. But, it’s the final part that intrigues him the most. “You read it? I thought you used one of those programs that picked for you.”

“Oh, no. I wanted to read the messages,” you start explaining, leaning back into your chair, finally looking somewhat relaxed. “Some people write really nasty things, and I didn’t want to pick one of those guys, so I read the comments myself. And yours came in before I even announced my plan, so I feel like I made a good call.”

“Thank you,” he hums appreciatively, once again disappointing himself with how untalkative he’s being. “I meant what I wrote.”

“Thank you then. It really made me happy to read it, knowing that what I’m doing is somehow useful to someone else, other than for just getting off,” you say, taking a deep breath and looking at him. He’s kind of pathetic and he knows it. You both do. “Anyway, we can just agree when you’re coming over or we can go the other route and get to know each other a bit better so it’s less awkward on stream.”

“I prefer the latter, if I’m honest,” Minho quickly responds, hoping you’ll say the same thing. He can’t imagine himself showing up at your place tomorrow and just fucking you without knowing anything about you.

“Thank God, me too!” you exclaim with a hand over your heart, shaking your head as you giggle. “I mean, taking you home now would be awkward even without the camera being there.”

Minho’s eyes widen at the mention of the camera and the implication behind it—people would be watching him and his cock try to please you. Would he perform well? “I forgot about that.”

“Is it a problem?” You lean in again, eyebrows furrowing over your face. “I do it often nowadays, so I’m used to it, but I know it’s weird if you haven’t done it before.”

“No, I guess. If it’s not for you.”

You wave it off with a smile. “It’s going to be my first time doing something like that, too, so I guess we’re in the same boat after all. I’ll give you a mask, of course, you don’t have to show your face. In fact, you don’t have to show a lot. Or anything,” you’re rambling quickly at this point, just adding more and more since Minho is not saying anything. “We can find some positions where not everything is visible if you don’t want people to see a lot. Maybe I can ride you with my skirt on.”

Before you mention that, Minho’s wondering how he’ll look on stream and if he wants people to see his dick. But, as soon as you mention you riding him, all the blood from his brain rushes down—the thought of it gets his cock hard. “We’ll… Uh, think of something, I guess. You’ll see what works best.”

“Are you nervous about it? We can do something that leaves you out of the frame almost completely or we can shoot it instead of going live if you want to be 100% sure they can’t see a thing,” you say softly, and Minho just can’t stop thinking about how cute you are, even though his heart is pounding against his rib cage and he’s sporting an erection. It’s cute that you worry about him this much.

“I am nervous because I’m uh, definitely not in the shape to be perceived by 5,000 people,” he’s quick to joke, which makes you laugh. “But, I mean, it is what it is. I’m sure you’ll think of something that shows as little of me as possible.”

The conversation flows easier after that. You and Minho discuss condoms, protection, and getting tested for STDs, which he appreciates. It’s not that he doesn’t trust you, but he wants you both to be safe. So, you decide to leave the cafe and got tested at the free clinic downtown, deciding that is the easiest and least painful option.

After Minho and you fill out the paperwork and get different samples taken, you’re asked to wait in the lobby, where you get cheap coffee from their machine and sit together in silence for a while.

You’re the first to speak, turning to face him. “Nervous about the results?” Minho knows you’re only asking because he’s been fidgeting and shaking his leg.

He doesn’t want to freak you out or come off as an irresponsible guy, but he also doesn’t want to lie. “Honestly… Kind of.”

You don’t seem shocked at all, even if you probably are. “Did you do something stupid or?”

A fair, simple question. Minho wishes the answer was simple too. Instead, it’s something that he hates talking about, that he avoids at all costs. “My ex did.”

“I’m sorry,” you tell him sweetly, hand moving down to give the hand that’s resting on his thigh a gentle pat, and the contact makes him shiver. “The one you wrote to me about?”

“Yeah,” is all he tells you, realizing he has talked to you, of all people, about it. He hasn’t said much, Minho remembers, but it was enough for you to figure out it was something bad.

“Oh. I’m sorry,” you hum gently, hand still on his, now giving it a light squeeze before you pull away. “I hope it will come back clean. You don’t deserve to deal with that.”

“Me too,” Minho says, needing to change the topic. “Are you nervous?”

Minho just doesn’t want to talk about his ex and how disgusted he felt when he realized she cheated on him with multiple guys. Yes, the sex was practically nonexistent because they were no longer in the honeymoon phase, but is the right response to that staying with your boyfriend and fucking anyone who offered behind his back? It’s something that hurts to talk about, so he doesn’t. His ego took a hit, and so did his heart.

“No.”

“Really?” Minho asks, knowing he’s sounding stupid for acting so surprised that someone’s sure they’re clean. Isn’t that how most people feel?

“Yeah, I haven’t had sex in ages,” you confess, lowering your voice. “And when I did, I used protection and got tested regularly, so I know I’m clean.”

It’s so funny, how people think less of sex workers of any kind than “regular” people. Here you are, a sex worker, not even doubting that you’re clean, while he, the guy who’s had sex with three women in his entire life, is scared shitless of finding out his ex left him with a bit more than a broken heart and an ugly breakup.

“So if we do it, it will be the first time in a while for both of us,” he concludes, wondering if you will go through with this. He wants to, of course, but under the condition that you really want it too, that you’re not just doing this as an obligation, which is insane. You are doing this as a chore, something to revive the channel.

Thankfully, the results shows you’re both clean, meaning you’re one step closer to Saturday, the day you’ve decided to fuck on stream.

Saturday night is here sooner than expected, and Minho doesn’t feel ready, even though he’s clean and trimmed and shaved for you. His crotch hasn’t received this much attention since his breakup because Minho just didn’t go out and pursue anyone new, not even for sex.

On top of doing that, he’s put on his most expensive cologne and worn the best clothes he owns, but it’s not like you care about his clothes. He’s there to fuck you, that’s it.

When he enters your apartment, thankful you trust him enough to give him the address without being afraid of him stalking you, Minho is too taken aback by you to even look around. You’re wearing a teeny tiny costume like the ones you usually wear for the stream. It’s strappy, showing off a lot of your skin, and the skirt is perfect.

When you lead the way inside, Minho realizes the bottom part of your ass cheeks is showing with every step you take, and it makes him salivate. Is he really going to get to feel you tonight? It’s surreal.

His hand is shaking when he gives you the simple flower arrangement he got for you from a lady that sells them near his place. It’s nothing fancy, but it felt weird showing up empty-handed. You seem happy with the flowers, even if they’re simple, but you notice his shaking when he hands them to you, so you grab his hand. “You good?”

“Nervous, that’s all.” Minho clears his throat, enjoying your touch. “Don’t worry.”

“Want to have a shot?” you suggest with a smirk.

Two shots later, you’re both chuckling at each other, feeling a bit more relaxed now that you know you’re both feeling nervous about it. Minho finally has time to look around and notice where you live. You probably have less money than him, which is saying a lot considering he’s barely been making ends meet for a couple of months now. The place is small, but everything is so neat and tidy, every little thing has its place. It’s charming, just like you.

“So, what do you have in mind?” he finally asks, getting some courage from the shots and the way you’re looking at him, your tits almost out for him to gawk at.

“I was thinking I can sit down and you can walk into the shot and let me suck you off,” you say as if it’s no big deal, as if it’s not a dream come true for him. “But don’t turn your back on them completely, more from the side, so they can see me do it, but they won’t see all of you. If that’s fine.”

Any idea that includes your mouth around his cock sounds perfect, but Minho has to disagree. “Hm… What do you think about me sitting and you sitting on top of me?”

“Oh?” you cock your head to the side and look at him. “What do you mean?”

“Your plan sounds great to me, but as a watcher, I think people watch to see you have fun, not some random guy who’s just here once,” Minho explains, feeling his cheeks get red. He’s outing himself as your biggest fan here, but he wants to make this worthwhile for you. If you’re doing it to get your views up, you should do it the right way and get all the views. “If you sit on me and let me play with you, they might, uh, feel like it’s them playing with you if that makes sense. And then I can… put it in if you want that.”

“Have me ride you while you sit?” you rephrase it in a way that makes his mouth water. “I think that would work. They won’t see practically anything, right? I mean, they will see your balls and some of your dick.”

It all sounds so transactional, but the way you’re treating him tells Minho it’s not exactly that, which kind of confuses him. But, he’s there to fuck you for the stream, that’s it.

“It’s fine,” Minho shrugs. “As long as no one can see my face, I’m good.”

“Okay,” you nod, patting his hand. “So, I start the stream…”

You go on about the pose in detail, explaining what you’re going to do with yourself, when you’re going to invite him in, how he should sit, when to put the condom on, remind him to cover his balls with his fist if he doesn’t want anyone to see them, and tell him you can stop at any time.

“If I’m on top of you and can’t see you shake your head, just whisper it to me and we’re stopping, no hard feelings, okay?” you end the monologue on a sweet note, and Minho nods again, repeating the same thing. “The same goes for you.”

And then, you take him to the room where it all happens, and he finally gets to see it from another angle. It all seems the same, but smaller than it does on stream. You go to your makeup desk and put on a mask, which makes you look like the good old Baby Blue he knows—dressed to kill, straps all over your body leaving just enough for his imagination, face hidden save from that pretty mouth and gorgeous eyes. Perfect.

You take another mask and walk over to Minho, putting it on him. When you make sure it’s on tightly, you run your hand through his hair, fixing it. “You look so pretty like this.” The compliment goes straight to his chest, and he chuckles, looking to the side.

“You do too,” Minho gulps, feeling sexual tension arise from having you so close, “but I prefer you without it.”

“I’d fuck you without it if I didn’t have to stream,” you admit before biting your lip. “Can’t let people see me, and all that.”

“Oh, no, don’t worry,” Minho shakes his head. “I didn’t mean—”

“I know, Minho,” you coo, patting his chest softly. “Relax… I’ll, uh, call you Lino during the stream, if that’s okay?”

“That’s perfect. I’ll, uh, be quiet?”

“No,” you say sharply before chuckling at yourself. “That sounded weird. I mean, you don’t have to. I’d love to hear you. You can call me Baby.”

“Baby it is,” he confirms, eyes focusing on how plump your lips look.

“And please, feel free to dirty talk all you want, that’s what gets people going,” you advise. “I don’t mind it. Just no ‘daddy’ talk.”

Minho grimaces with a grunt. “I’d never,” he says, placing a hand over his heart. “I’ll, uh, do my best.”

“You’ll do just fine,” you pat his chest again. This time, your hand moves up to cup his face. “And please, call me whatever you want. Slut, whore, baby, whatever.”

“I—” his voice breaks on his tongue, unable to form a sentence at the very idea of calling you those names. He can’t call you that, even if the very idea makes his dick twitch.

“I mean, I’m doing this for the fans, and you are one, I guess, so you probably think a lot of things they think. If you say those things to me while you fuck me, it might feel more real to them.”

It makes a lot of sense when you put it like that, so Minho agrees. “How will I know I’ve taken it too far? It’s not like I can ask in front of them.”

“Maybe, uh, we pat each other’s thighs twice when we want to tone it down a bit. How does that sound?”

It’s the first time you’ve included yourself in it, made sure you have a way out too, so Minho is happy with the deal. “Sounds good,” he tells you, still focused on your lips. “I don’t want to offend you, so please stop me if I say something too explicit. I’m… I don’t do this a lot.”

“Me neither, Minho,” you whisper at him, moving in closer until your chest is practically pressed flush against his. “You can’t offend me. Call me a whore all you want. If you want to tell me I’m a slut for getting naked for all those people, do it. It’s not that far off from what I think of it, anyway.”

There’s a lot to unpack here, Minho notes, and he really wants to stop you and tell you you’re the furthest thing from that he can possibly imagine, but words don’t come easy to him. If he starts this conversation now, he’ll definitely ruin the mood before the stream, and he can’t let that happen to you. “You… I… Okay. You’re, uh, not… That.”

“It starts soon,” you quickly change the subject. “Do you want to get naked?”

“N-now?” his voice falters a bit as a lump forms in his throat. So, this is how you want to do it. Is he just going to sit around naked while you entertain your audience for a while?

“Want me to help?” you offer , fingers now grazing his clothed chest, sending shivers that end up straight in his cock. Do you really think he’s going to say no to that?

“Please,” he says simply, wanting you to do it. Maybe that will help him get out of his head.

Minho thinks you’ll just unbuckle his belt, but you lean in instead and kiss him slowly. God, your mouth tastes like magic, and he just wants more. Somehow, he musters the courage to put a hand behind your head and touch it gently, pushing you towards his face.

At the same time, your fingers are working on the buttons of his button-up, not stopping until all of them are undone. Through it all, your lips stay against his, tongue roaming his mouth gently, the taste of cherry liquor still on it, making it even sweeter.

Your hands push his shirt off his shoulders and Minho moves his hands to his sides to let the shirt fall on the floor. It’s then that you unbuckle his belt and undo his zipper, tongue now back inside of your mouth while your lips play with his. Minho feels your fingers sneaking under the waistband of his boxers, before you breathe the question at him, “Okay?”

“Sure,” he whispers back before leaning into the kiss again, wanting to savor the feeling of your lips on his. The next second, you’re pulling his underwear and jeans down his legs. You don’t pull them down all the way. Instead, you do it just enough for his cock to spring free and for you to wrap your hand around it. At the same time, your teeth gently sink into his bottom lip.

Minho grunts loudly and kicks his head back—he can’t believe you are squeezing his cock, that he’s here with you, and that you want to do this with him. While he’s too busy recovering, you lean in and spit on his cock, which just makes him weak in the knees again.

“I understand if you don’t want people to see it, trust me,” you hum the words as your mouth makes its way up his neck to his jaw, his head still leaning back as he grunts, “but you have such a pretty cock.”

This is honestly the first time Minho’s received this specific compliment, and it warms his heart despite being so vulgar. It’s cute at the same time, which is exactly what he expects of you. “You’re pretty,” he finally says something, and it makes you chuckle and kiss him again.

Now, your hand is moving up and down his cock, tugging at it gently. “You’ll do just fine, don’t worry, okay?”

Your words are comforting, so he hums. “You will too,” he tells you, remembering you’re nervous about it too.

“Let’s get you naked,” you suggest and crouch down so you can pull his clothes down his legs and throw them on your bed where you previously discarded the shirt. You stay in the same position, looking up at him, his cock getting in the way as it stands upright, completely hard for you already. It’s embarrassing, really. “Pretty,” you giggle and lean in. “Can I?”

Minho nods, unsure of what you’re even asking, but he knows it’s going to bring him pleasure. The second he feels your mouth wrap around the head of his cock, he feels like he’s in heaven. When you suck it in and tease it with your tongue, Minho’s hands fly down to cup your face, thumbs gently caressing your cheeks. “You’re so fucking good,” he tells you weakly. “Fuck.”

You must like him, right? There’s no way you’d be sucking him off now, off-camera. There’s seemingly no other reason for you to do it other than to bring him pleasure, and that’s not a part of the deal. When you hum around his dick, Minho’s hips thrust into your face involuntarily, so you chuckle and pull away gently. A string of saliva connects your lips with his dick, and Minho wants to fuck you right away, kiss you all over.

“Can’t get too carried away just yet,” you chuckle as you speak, standing up on your feet and wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “Now you’re good and ready for the stream. Sure you want to do it?”

“Positive,” Minho nods, hands moving to your hips without asking. “Sure you want it?”

You hum in agreement and peck his lips. “You’re the best possible choice for this, it turns out. If you change your mind, just shake your head at me and I’m canceling it, before or during it, I don’t care, okay?”

“Same goes for you then,” Minho adds, wanting you to be on the same level. He then calls your name, remembering that he didn’t check some of the basics. “How do you, uh, like it?”

“Like what? Sex?”

“Being touched,” he breathes the words, the implication that he is going to touch you making him feel dizzy. “If we’ll start with me doing that, I’d like to make you feel good.”

“Uhm,” you sigh, taking a second to think before you continue, “You can touch me wherever you want, just be gentle at first. I mean, don’t try to shove fingers in if I’m not wet, but I’m thinking you already know that.”

“Yeah, of course,” he nods, hoping there aren’t guys out there who actually do that type of thing to women. “I know you usually touch yourself and use a vibrator at the same time, but you’re alone then. Do you want me to do both at the same time?”

“You can progress to that,” you agree with a smile. “If you want to.”

“And then, you’ll, uh, sit on me?” His cock twitches at the question, and you notice it—your gaze flies down and you smirk.

“Yes. If you want to change the position, we can move the chair to the side and you can bend me over it so that I’m facing the camera. I think they’ll get to see my face and you fucking me.”

His cock twitches again and Minho hopes he’ll be able to get this right for you.

And then, the show starts, and your bubbly persona is on. It’s not that you’re not really sweet off-camera, but you’re too sweet in front of it. He prefers the real you now that he knows you.

“Hey everyone! I’m happy you’re all here today,” you start, staring at the camera, aware of Minho’s presence next to the desk. “I have a special guest for a change. It’s Lino98 who won the comment game. I have to tell you guys he’s a lot more handsome than I hoped for. I guess I have some really hot people watching.”

Minho enjoys watching you do this even in person, even if you’re talking about him, which makes the tips of his ears turn red. You’re just saying these things for the stream, he knows, gassing it up so people would enjoy it more.

Then, you answer a couple of questions from tippers, as always, and lean back into the chair, your core still covered with the strappy underwear you have on, even though your legs are spread. At this point, Lino98 would start touching himself back home, but only lightly, tugging at his cock here and there while staring at your covered crotch and imagining he was there with you.

Well, now he is, and he resists the urge to jerk his cock even once. While you’re answering questions, you touch yourself, pinching your nipple here and there, pressing your fingers into your clit, and Minho notices the way your gaze flies to him as you buck your hips into your hand. Are you checking what he’s doing or do you want to look at him when you’re touching yourself?

His resolution is broken not even two minutes in—he spits in his palm and starts tugging at his cock while looking at you, just like he does back at home. But it’s real this time, and you’re right in front of him. Your fingers slide under the straps covering your crotch and one disappears inside of you as you answer a question about tonight. “Am I looking forward to it? Fuck yes,” you breathe out, looking at him. “I’ve been thinking about fucking Lino all day today. Even tasted his cock before we started, but I wanted to leave the rest of it for the stream.”

Minho can’t believe you’ve just admitted that to thousands of people. What’s even less believable is you thinking about fucking him all day. You did, however, take his cock into your mouth earlier, even if he didn’t ask you to. Did you really find him hot?

It all happens pretty fast, you calling him over, him sitting on the chair and you getting on top of him, spreading your legs and letting them flail on each side of his thighs, as if you’re forfeiting all control, like a doll in his hands. “Lino, handsome, you can touch,” you instruct him, moving one of your hands to the back to grab his neck gently from behind.

As if he’s been waiting for this moment forever—and sometimes, it does feel like forever—Minho grabs your tits, starting to squeeze them with shaky hands. They feel just as supple as he imagined, and his heart starts racing at the contact of your warm skin with his.

You roll your hips over his dick, moaning in response, as if he’s doing a great job. “Doesn’t he have nice hands? Can’t wait to feel them all over me,” you say, staring right at the camera, which makes him grunt. You’re too good at this. If he was watching this, he’d be eating you right up.

Minho looks at the camera himself, and then his gaze flies to the screen in front of you, where all the comments are moving fast, but not fast enough for him not to read some. “Bet he has a small dick”, “If this dude doesn’t come 10 seconds in, I’ll cut my dick off”, “Can he, like, do something,” “Boooooring”, “Not you fake moaning already” are some of the ones that catch his eye, and he regrets ever looking at the screen.

“You’re doing good, Lino,” you tell him softly, turning your head to the side so you can whisper at him, show him you’re still here with him. “Minho, forget about them. Just think about me, okay? I really want to fuck you.”

Those seem to be the magic words he needs to hear to start groping your breasts harder, pulling the nipples before rubbing them, giving your tits a light smack between gropes. “Fuck,” you mutter, but don’t pat his thigh, which means you like it. You don’t want him to stop. “Touch me.”

Minho doesn’t need to be told twice—his fingers are under the straps that cover your cunt before you can even react, and he’s surprised to find you soaking, your slit wet and soft, ready for him.

“So wet for me already,” he gets balls to say out loud, knowing people can hear him. He’d like to hear the same thing if he was watching some lucky bastard fuck you. Besides, it’s true. “Did you get this wet just because I touched you for a second there? Slut.”

The nickname makes you grunt and arch your back into his chest, legs spreading wider, still handing over his thighs. He’s rubbing your clit now, and even if the audience can’t exactly see it, they can clearly see his fingers moving under the straps of the underwear and can probably notice how the light red strap that covers your slit slowly becomes dark red as it gets soaked because of him.

“Want to taste you so bad,” he hisses at you, and your hand flies up to his mouth, finger that was in your cunt a minute ago now tapping against his lips, and it’s the hottest thing anyone’s ever done to him.

Without any shame, Minho sucks your middle finger into his mouth and licks it clean, overwhelmed by your taste and smell. “So fucking tasty,” he mumbles when your finger leaves his mouth. “Want to eat you out all night.”

“I want that too, baby,” you tell him sweetly, hips rolling in circles as he rubs your clit with the pads of his fingers. “You guys like that, huh?” you ask the audience, spreading your legs even more. “Lino’s being so good to me… Touching me just right.”

“Want me to be better?” he asks softly, and you nod, enjoying the way he’s nuzzled up to your neck now and pressing kisses to it as if you’re somewhere all alone and he’s taking his sweet time with you.

The next second, his finger is inside of you, and your hips buck into him instinctively, a grunt leaving your mouth. He’s no expert, but he feels like his finger is filling you up nicely—your walls feel tight around it, lubed up enough for him to move around without hurting or scratching you. “Good, Baby?” Minho asks you through clenched teeth, feeling his cock leak precum, stuck between your back and his stomach.

“Perfect, Lino”, you say loudly, looking at him instead of at the camera, just for a second. “Want you so bad. Want it all.”

“Let me make you feel good then,” Minho suggests, voice sounding a lot more confident now when he realizes you’re actually enjoying it.

While keeping his finger inside of you, he moves his other hand from your tit down to your clit and starts rubbing it. This way, he has a lot more control of you, especially since you hold onto his biceps and let him do whatever he wants for thousands of people to see. The view from his position is amazing—he sees your tits and hard nipples, the curve of your stomach, and your strap-covered crotch, both his hands under the straps, bringing you pleasure.

“God!” you grunt, jerking your hips into his hands. “So fucking good! More, please.”

“More what, Baby?” Minho snickers, feeling proud of himself. If you’re faking, you’re a pro at it—his finger is soaked, and he’s sure the strap is completely wet with your juices by now, and that the viewers can see it too.

“Fingers, Lino, please,” you beg, nails digging into his biceps as you whine. “Please, I need it, don’t tease me.”

His gaze flies to the comment screen as he pulls out his finger and circles your entrance with two of them now, getting them both wet. People are saying you’re acting like a needy slut for him, commenting on how hot you look when someone's making you feel good, some telling him he should go harder on you.

Someone writes that Lino98 should slap you around and show you your place, which annoys him to no end. Nobody should talk about you that way. Instead of doing what the commenter asked, Minho leans in and peppers kisses along your jawline while adding another finger, two of them now filling your pussy right.

“Good, Baby?” he asks but doesn’t need to—you’ve let out such a satisfied moan, mouth fully open, eyebrows furrowing over your eyes, that it’s pretty clear you love having him in you. “I want you badly too, but we need to stretch you out first, hm…”

You moan back, rolling your hips in circles, getting a bit lost in pleasure. “You’re so good, Lino, so fucking good with your hands… I told you guys I like his hands right away. He knows how to use them too. Feel your fingers filling me up, feel it so well, baby…”

“Good, you should,” Minho moans in response, getting even more turned on now that you’re so pliant and needy. “Want you to feel all of it.”

Slowly but surely, Minho stretches your cunt open. One finger, two, three, until you’re throwing your hips down onto his, fucking yourself against them with your head kicked back, feet propped up on his knees.

The fingers fit just right, and your walls wrap around them hungrily, making him imagine what it will feel like to have them around his cock. Minho’s hands are over your cunt, so no one can see it, just like you asked him to.

“Like that, hm?” he asks you, wondering if you can hear him over the moaning he hopes isn’t fake. “Like having a cunt full of fingers?”

“Full of you, baby,” you moan back, rolling your hips. Every time Minho talks dirty to you, you clench around him as if you’re rewarding him for giving you what you need. “Can you give me your dick now? I want to feel it.”

“Whatever you want, Baby,” Minho tells you sweetly, sad to separate from your cunt even for a second.

However, you quickly place your feet on the floor and lift yourself up, putting the condom on his dick while explaining to your audience how hard it feels, praising his length and girth even though Minho knows he’s not the biggest out there.

“He’s pretty all over,” you tell them with your hand around the base of his condom-clad cock, giving it a light squeeze. “And such a fucking sweet guy. But he has a bit of a dirty mouth. He should speak more? Someone said that, Lino. Speak more for them. Tell me what all of them on the other side would tell me.”

“Okay,” Minho agrees with a shaky voice because he’s too busy internally screaming over the fact that you’ve just sunk down on his cock fully and moaned so hard he thinks he’s hurt you. Did he not stretch you well beforehand? God, you’re so tight around him. “All good, Baby?”

“The real thing feels so much better,” you say, breathing out slowly. “But so much bigger too. I’ll go slow.”

With that, you start moving, and it all becomes a blur for the next five minutes. He almost comes three times and whispers that at you so you can slow down and pretend you’re reading the comments.

All Minho tells you during those long, hard minutes are “fuck”, “just like that,” “so tight, so wet”, and different variations of the same thing—his pleasure increasing with every movement of your hips. It’s hard to look at the comments or you because all of it makes Minho want to blow, so he kicks his head back and touches your clit while you ride him.

Just a week ago, you were something unattainable, a secret pastime he never spoke about, his little secret. Now, he was quite literally inside of you, your body pressed into his chest as your hips slammed into his, his fingers rubbing your clit to make you feel good. After all, that’s all he’s thought about since he started watching you—how he’d please you if he were there with you.

Well, now’s his chance, and Minho has to stop focusing on his own pleasure and think about yours. So, he just thinks about his fingers and how he’s pressed them into your clit and moving them up and down, hopefully getting you as much friction as you need. He misses everything you say during the next couple of minutes, too busy focusing on your clit. However, Minho realizes you’re talking to the audience and just dirty talking.

“Fuck, Lino, there,” you suddenly hiss at him and he realizes that he’s getting you close. “Just like that, baby, make me come for them.”

Minho doesn’t want to make you come for them at all—he wants you to do it all for him. Still, he plays along, his orgasm now forgotten, “Ah, slut wants people to see her come all over a dick? Is that what you want?”

“Yes, Lino, please,” you fall into his chest, hips still smacking into his, hands holding onto the arm rest for support. “Make me come, I want it so bad.”

“I know,” he hums and kisses your neck, showing you he has a soft spot for you once again. It’s not exactly something Minho can hide, but he can mask it by giving you what you said you wanted. “You want all these men to watch you… Turns you on, right? Being slutty for so many guys. You’re so horny for us you asked me to come here so I can fuck your brains out for everyone to watch.”

You whine and nod, your body stiffening as your legs spread and clench together, your hips moving into and then away from his hand, body nearing release. “Good little slut… Maybe the rest of them will get this lucky too… Get to fill you with cock,” he goes on even when your voice gets louder and when you are just grunting and hissing and moaning, losing the ability to speak coherently. “I hope they can all see how well you’re riding me, getting me all wet, taking all of it.”

He’s not sure how long he talks dirty to you for and he can’t even remember everything he’s said—Minho gets lost in it too, especially since you sound so pretty as your body shudders on top of his. What Minho knows is that he stops it when he realizes you’re coming. Suddenly, he changes the tone he uses with you, lowering it, coaxing you sweetly, “Yeah, that’s right, come all over it for me, baby, show me how much you like it in you.”

It seems like his words turn you on even more because you speed your hips up instead of slowing down, head turning to the side so you can look right at him. Dark masks are covering both of your faces, but you still manage to look gorgeous like this. “Good girl,” he whispers. “You ride dick so well. Look so pretty doing it.”

“Fuck, you’re good,” you hiss back, eyes meeting his lips, which he takes as an invite to kiss you.

You two didn’t exactly discuss kissing, but you’ve kissed earlier off-camera, so Minho thinks it’s okay. While he’s being sweet to you with his mouth, Minho smacks your clit a couple of times, getting your hips to jerk up. “See?” he chuckles into the kiss. “Such an eager slut, Baby… Want it again?”

“Yes, Lino, please, more,” you plead before kissing him almost desperately, lips crashing, tongues clashing, moans getting muffled by his mouth. “Give it to me.”

Minho’s eyes shift to the screen and he reads some of the comments. He’s there for you, to help you get those views up, to entertain people, make them tip you. So, he has to play the part. “You guys want to know if she feels good?” he asks after realizing there are many comments asking the same thing. To be fair, he’d probably want to know the same thing if he was at home jerking off to the sight of you fucking yourself against someone’s dick. “She has the perfect cunt. Really tight and wet, clenches so hard when you touch her clit… Perfect. Wish I could show you.”

You stiffen at his words, which Minho instantly feels against his body, so he whispers, “Don’t worry, Baby, I would never do it.” You’re clearly afraid he’ll just pull out, which would probably let people see at least half of your slit, and that’s what you want to avoid.

“Mhm,” you hum, hand moving up to his face so you can cup it, thumb running along his jawline as you stare at the camera. “Maybe you guys will get to see one day. Maybe Lino will fuck me senseless and I’ll forget all about being a good girl and not showing you everything.”

The comment section suddenly start cheering for him, asking him to give it to you good, treat you like a slut. His hands start touching you all over, cock still inside of you, twitching with every grunt you make as you talk to the audience about how it feels to get fucked after a long time.

Minho just focuses on playing with your perfect tits, rubbing the nipples, while he gently rolls his hips, causing at least some friction between his insanely hard cock and your walls.

And then, you turn to him again, this time smiling sweetly. “They want you to fuck me like you mean it, Lino,” you tell him with a chuckle. “They want to see me ruined.”

“Do you want that, Baby?” Minho checks, not wanting to make any sudden moves unless he’s sure you’re all for it. Fuck what the audience wants.

Instead of answering, you lean back into his chest even more and throw each leg over the armrests, fully spread for the viewers. But, his cock is in you, and the straps are still all over your crotch, so they can see some parts of it, but not all, and definitely not the inside. Still, Minho is a bit shocked that you’re risking it all like this. Do you really like his cock that much?

And then, Minho decides to surprise you, for a change. His hands move under you, grabbing your ass from below and slightly lifting you, but not enough for his cock to fall out. “Ready?” he asks gently, and you almost melt in his arms. So, his sweet thing is not just a facade, he is like that even when he’s balls deep inside of you. “Give it to me,” you hiss at him, and the next second, you feel like you’re ascending. Minho is pumping you full of cock from below, bottoming out with each hard thrust. You want to respond to the comments, you want to put on a show, but you can’t.

“Want to fuck you dumb, Baby,” he grunts at you, low enough just for you to hear, and you melt again.

Your mind’s blank save for the waves of pleasure he’s causing to ripple through your body. The sex is so fucking good, and you can’t believe a guy who’s touching you for the first time can do it this well. It just doesn’t happen. “Ah fuck, Lino, just like that!”

He’s told you he’s had sex with three women before you, and it made you think Minho wasn’t going to be that good. But, since they’ve all been longer relationships, he’s clearly had more practice than you thought. You’ve never had a guy do this to you, fuck you stupid like this, make you forget all about your own rules for streaming and about the stream itself.

At this point, if Minho pushes the straps to side and exposes your cunt to the world, you probably won’t even register it, just because he’s pistoning into you from below, turning your brain and legs into mush.

“Taking it so fucking well,” he groans as he fucks you, completely lost in pleasure, thighs smacking into yours harshly. The pain is minimal in comparison to what his dick is making you feel, so you let him fuck you like that. “Taking all of me on camera, hm…”

“Lino, fuck, fuck, fuck!” There’s not much you can tell him, even though you should be focusing on putting on a show and talking dirty and telling people how good it feels to fuck a fan. The truth is, it feels a bit too good.

Minho speeds up and moans so loudly you think he’s coming. At this point, you won’t even mind—you’ve put on a show already, you came with a dick in you, and if Minho comes, the deed is done.

However, he doesn't let himself come this time. He slows down and lets your ass fall back on his hips again, hands wrapping around you tight as his mouth latches onto your neck. “Your tight pussy is swallowing me, fuck,” Minho mumbles into your skin, his warm scent engulfing you. “Almost came.”

“You can do it whenever you want to, handsome,” you whisper, turning your attention to the camera to stop gawking at the man.

The comments are asking him to give it to you rough and leave you full of cum, as expected. “You guys are really nasty tonight,” you say teasingly, fingernails grazing his thigh. “Want Lino to use me as a cumdump the first time he’s fucking me, huh?”

His cock twitches inside of you at the thought, even though it’s not happening, and you both know it. “I’ll fill all your holes tonight, Baby.”

“I know you will,” you play along, clenching around him hard. “Why don’t you give it to me from the back?”

It all goes as planned, him behind you, fucking you until his dick goes numb because he focuses on the comments and can’t possibly come when so many people are cheering for him or saying they could do it better. How do you even do this? He'd go crazy just watching people write all sort of nasty things, some very dirty, others very cruel.

Minho thinks you notice that he’s not saying much and is just staring at the place where his body meets yours, cock disappearing between your wet folds, reappearing even wetter.

He thinks so because you turn your head back and whisper, “Can’t do it?” You don't look disappointed or annoyed—you looked genuinely worried, and it kind of warms his heart.

“I, I can,” he grunts back, keeping his voice down so the entire world doesn’t realize he’s struggling to come after putting it off for so long. “Just need to stop thinking.”

“Fuck me harder then,” you say loudly now, giving him a wink. “Want to feel you deep.”

Minho does, but he’s no closer to coming than he was before, even though he’s enjoying every second of this. It’s slowly turning into overstimulation, so he’s hissing after every couple of thrusts, dying to come. Somehow, you know what’s going on, so you whisper at him, “Blowjob?”

“Please,” he begs, not even able to feel bad about it.

The next second, you push the chair away and let him pull out of you slowly, let him cover his dick with his hands so not everyone sees it. You walk over to the camera and grin. “I think I’ll do something special tonight, something you don’t always see from me. What do you think, does Lino deserve to come in my mouth?”

The comments, of course, agree, and so does Minho. You turn around and look at him questioningly, as if you’re checking if it’s okay with him, so he simply nods. And then, magic happens.

You walk up to him and gently push him backwards until his back meets the wall. Then, you get down on your knees and stick your ass out so people get a good view of your barely-covered crotch while you suck his cock, which is exactly what you do immediately after.

You take all of him so well on the first go, gagging around it while looking up at Minho, and he can’t say anything. He can’t tell the audience your mouth feels perfect, which it does, he can’t call you a slut, or tell you you’re acting needy. All he can do is gulp and cup your face, tangling the fingers of one hand in your hair and gently caressing your scalp, enjoying the way you feel under his fingertips.

That, paired with the feeling of your warm mouth around him and your tear-filled eyes looking up at him is enough to make Minho forget where he is for a while. It helps that he’s far away from the computer and can’t see any negative or nasty comments. All he sees is you, and it seems like he’s all you’re thinking about because you’re not even blinking at this point, even though tears are streaming down your face as you struggle to deepthroat him. It gets wetter by the second and Minho feels his balls tighten.

“Baby, I’ll come,” he warns you with a hiss. “Can I—fuck, where?”

You hum gently, nodding your head before continuing to suck on his cock and bobbing your head on it so he moan and kicks his head back, gently pushing his hips into you as cum spurts into your tight throat. You keep going until the very last drop is out and then you let his cock fall out of your mouth.

However, you don’t move away from him and let people see his now practically flaccid cock. Instead, you grab both his hands and pull them down to motion for him to cover himself, a gesture Minho appreciates. He would have forgotten it in all the bliss he’s feeling.

And then, you stand up and open your mouth slightly, letting some of his cum slip out of your mouth, over your bottom lip, onto your chin. You go to the camera and show it to the audience, opening your mouth to show some of the cum still pooling around it before you swallow loudly. Minho thinks he will lose his mind because of you—he’s standing on the side watching you in awe. You’ve never discussed sucking him off or swallowing his cum, so now that he’s watching you do it, he feels amazed.

Once you’ve swallowed it all, you stick your tongue out and lap at the remnants of it on your chin, humming in the process. “Sweet, just as Lino. Thanks for visiting tonight, I hope you’ve had as much fun as I have. Sorry for going a bit quiet on you, it’s hard to think straight when you’re getting rammed like that. A huge thank you to Lino for being here and for being this amazing. I see you guys liked him too. Thanks once again for being here, and have a great night! Sweet dreams!”

You log off and turn to face him with a sigh. “Well… That was something.”

if you want to support my writing, you can buy me a coffee here, and let me know what you thought about the story here. thank you! ♡ (links to be added later)

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l0vemin · 2 years

Text

Winter and Spring Go Hand-in-hand

Pairing: Reader x Changbin

Word count: 22.6k

Summary: Changbin lives a quiet life in his little apartment. Every once in a while, he talks to his buddy Chan, who moved across the country to fulfill his dream of being a professional rugby player, and on other nights, Changbin heads to his regular boxing gym a few minutes away from his place.

No one on campus approaches him because Changbin looks like he would punch your lights out. It doesn’t have anything to do with his resting bitch face or his relatively soft tone of speaking, Changbin just looks scary with his giant muscles and tattoos. It’s not like he actually openly talks to anyone either, he’s way more shy than anyone on campus thinks.

At least until you sit next to him with your pastel yellow shirt tucked into the waistband of your white jeans, mismatched socks showing from right above where your low cut sneakers end.

Or in other words: The scary looking yet shy guy falls in love with his energetic and outgoing classmate over blueberry juice boxes and muesli bars…

Warnings: Physical fighting | Mild descriptions of blood and injuries | Implied sex | Mentions of alcohol

Masterlist | Teaser | Ao3 Link

One

Changbin’s silent as he pulls the wraps off of his left hand with his right. Sweat drips down the side of his face and mixes in with the blood from his nose as they reach his chin, breath heaving. The area clears out with a handful of people stopping momentarily to give him a congratulatory pat on the back before walking past him and out of the basement.

He looks around the, now empty, room. The single light is shining directly onto the boxing ring that’s covered with blood, sweat, tears, and spit. Changbin knows that the person who owns the gym, Nyra, only ever turns the lights off when she’s not in there, and judging by how he can still see her moving around in her office a level above the ring through the long mirror, she’s not leaving anytime soon.

Changbin debates whether or not he should shower immediately or after he gets home, where he can take his time and spend as long as he wants until the hot water runs out. He stays seated on the wooden bench for a moment longer as he battles his thoughts.

Showering at the gym means he can sleep immediately when he gets home, but showering at home means… being at home.

Home is tempting.

Tempting enough to get him off of the bench and throwing his hoodie over the sweat drenched t-shirt that he always wears when he boxes. Changbin turns around with his gym bag slung onto his shoulder, but just as he’s about to leave, he hears the sound of glass being knocked.

Turning around, he sees Nyra waving at him from her office with a smile on her face. Her hair is freshly cut, going from her mid-back to slightly above her shoulders and Nyra had made the decision to dye it a dark red colour.

The boxer returns the wave smally, but doesn’t make much effort to smile back. He wonders how a woman like her maintains such a polite and friendly attitude when she owns a boxing ring that has illegal boxing tournaments.

Changbin would think that the owner would be a bit… meaner. Not Nyra. Not with the way she’s always smiling when she greets everyone and how she’s so willing to hip bump some of the fighters without even knowing them for that long.

Whereas Changbin prefers his own company. He doesn’t like getting too close with people and he doesn’t do anything other than boxing, studying, and going to bars on the weekends when there aren’t any matches. The only other person that he’s ever actually taken a liking to had moved across the country to finish his studies.

Changbin has missed Chan ever since.

He hadn’t seen the blond haired Aussie in the past three years. The most he gets from Chan is a Discord call every few nights and a parcel from him containing random balls of yarn that Changbin can make use of.

By the time the boxer gets home, there’s a small box sitting right outside his apartment door. Changbing smiles slightly at the sight of Chan’s doodling at the right side of the box and a, “Changbinzzz” doodled onto the left.

He unlocks the door and lifts the box up, holding his door open with his backside as he slides into the small apartment.

The management that owned the student accommodations off-campus were too much of a hassle to get through, leading Changbin into buying an apartment a bit further away from campus but at a cheaper price.

The apartment is small. Big enough for a single person and cosy enough for Changbin. The walls are beige, wooden flooring throughout the lot. The kitchen is small and open with the couch right outside of it facing an old TV he had inherited from his grandparents.

On the coffee table sits a plethora of stuffed crocheted toys handmade by the boxer. He had arranged the octopus toys by colours of the rainbow and on the other side of the table sits a pair of crocheted deers.

The only thing that Changbin does other than boxing, sleeping, eating, studying, and shitting, is crocheting.

The repetitive weaving of the yarn is enough to soothe his mind and distract him from the rest of the world for a few hours. Changbin gets so immersed in crocheting that he quite literally spends hours on end just making a new stuffed toy to place somewhere in his apartment that somehow always seems to have space for his new friends.

But Changbin keeps his crochets secret. Even if he does make friends, he’s never really invited them to his apartment with the distance it is from his university campus. And he wants to keep it that way. He stares at the crocheted pig sitting on his bedside desk and smiles.

He can keep his adoration secret.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ♫ ⋅.} ───── ⊰

Class drones on as Changbin somewhat listens. His pen dances across his knuckles repeatedly in an attempt to keep him feeling more occupied rather than just listening to his professor explaining something about how the world is slowly becoming more and more digital.

He doesn’t remember exactly why he decided to choose media as his major, but Changbin’s also too lazy to even think about transferring to any other courses.

“Don’t forget that you have a paired project later in the semester,” his professor reminds as she stacks her books. “If you guys are clear with the lesson, you can leave. Those with questions, feel free to stay behind.” Changbin’s quick to shut his laptop and stuff it into his bag, standing up from his seat a little too eagerly before making a beeline out of class.

He can always read through the notes and the PowerPoint slides later on when he’s at home since the gym won’t be having any matches for another two or three days. Changbin sees it as a good thing. His bruises from the night before have started showing; scattering his face along with the more obvious scarring on his lip and split eyebrow.

Even Changbin felt a bit intimidated when he saw himself in the mirror. There isn’t a single wonder in his head on why people don’t approach him that much, but he’s also sure that the large snake tattoo climbing from his wrist up to his shoulder is probably one of the few things that scares people off.

His quiet and aloof personality is most likely the biggest reason. Changbin’s been keeping it that way since he was in high school. He got along with people when he needed to, but he never went out of his way to really introduce himself to anyone.

Changbin goes on with his day like he usually does: quietly and undisturbed.

But the next day isn’t. And, admittedly, he finds it a bit strange.

“Hi!” The person that sits next to him visually seems like the complete opposite of Changbin with your bright yellow coloured t-shirt tucked into your white jeans. He returns the greeting with a small wave, but it doesn’t seem to deter you at all. “I’m (Y/n). Transferred from biomedicine to media because med is a total pain in the ass.”

“Cool,” he says.

Changbin doesn’t outwardly question why you chose that specific seat out of all of the tens of different ones you could’ve chosen, but he doesn’t really want to chase you away either. You’re not bothering him that much, just a bit of a chatterbox, he thinks.

Class goes on oddly. You continue to try and make conversation with Changbin while only receiving one word responses or just silent nods or shakes of his head, yet, you still seem interested in being friendly with him.

You make a small joke that seems to break Changbin’s cold demeanour and the corner of his lip raises slightly, in which you gasp quietly and smile widely.

You have a nice smile, he thinks to himself.

As soon as your professor dismisses the class, Changbin’s stuffing his laptop into his bag and leaving the lecture hall. He expects you to leave, thinking that he’s either not that friendly or just not interested.

But you don’t.

“Hey, Changbin, what class do you have next?” you ask while jogging to keep up with his fast paced walking.

“Music theory,” he mutters.

“You’re taking music?” Changbin nods in response and you let out a small breath of awe. “That’s so cool! I would’ve loved to take music, but I don’t think I have the right rhythm in my mind for that. It’s why I thought biomedicine would be a good idea… but there’s too many terms for me to remember.” He continues to nod aimlessly as you talk.

Changbin listens to the way you talk about your old classes and how boring you thought they were until you finish with talking about how much you enjoyed photography, gushing about how pictures can hold more meaning than written words.

By then, you’ve unknowingly accompanied him to his next lecture hall where you wave at him and rush off to your own lecture hall. You hadn’t mentioned what class you had next and which building it was in, but Changbin doesn’t find it in himself to actually ask you when you wish him goodbye.

He doesn’t see you for the rest of his classes and, for a moment, Changbin wonders whether he had imagined the whole ordeal.

Until he hears you calling his name from across the field.

Changbin turns around to see you excitedly running up to him with your dark brown bag slung across your torso. He notes the small camera keychain that hangs off of the latch to the front, but doesn’t point it out when you’re standing in front of him.

“How were your classes?” you question as you start walking beside him.

“Alright,” Changbin states softly.

“Is Professor Jeong always this boring?”

“Mostly, yes,” he nods.

“I thought I was going crazy in his class! All he does is drone on and on without any emotion at all,” you claim in slight frustration. “I couldn't focus on anything at all. It was getting to the point where the words in my book just looked like they were all jumbled up!” Your hands move around frantically, physically showing your frustration, and Changbin takes note of it. He thinks you’re very animated.

Which, again, seems to completely contrast his own body language of rigid and straight movement.

“Do you live on campus?”

“No.”

“Ooh, that means you get more freedom and no curfew,” you wiggle your eyebrows, but he doesn’t do much to reciprocate the energy. “Do you have any classes tomorrow?”

“No,” he states.

“Then I’ll see you on Friday,” you say with the same smile on your face as before. The same one that Changbin thought was nice. “Bye, Changbin!”

“Bye.” His hand raises slightly to wave when you do as you run off in the direction of the dorms. Changbin lets out a breath that he hadn’t realised he was holding throughout your entire conversation. Well, he thinks that it was barely one with how short his replies were, but it’s the most that he’s gotten in a while.

By the time he gets home, the day he’s had with you starts fading away with the hours. He goes on with his evening routine of making himself dinner with music playing from his small baby pink speakers that looks like a mini gramophone; something that Chan had gifted to him on his 22nd birthday. He actually quite likes how cute it is because he thinks it sits nicely among his stuffed toys.

Changbin’s phone rings on the counter right beside him, the ringtone playing through his speakers and making it louder and even more irritating than it usually is. He answers it and sets it to speaker mode without even looking at the caller I.D.

“How’s my favourite buddy?” Chan’s voice coos from the other end.

“Hi, Chan,” Changbin chuckles.

Chan has a tendency to baby Changbin despite them being the same shoulder width and almost the same height. Changbin’s not even that much younger than the rugby player, but he remains the victim of Chan’s babying.

“How was your day, dude?”

“Kinda weird,” Changbin confesses without hesitation.

“Why so?”

“Someone actually sat next to me in class and spent their entire day talking to me.”

The line goes silent and Changbin can just imagine the shock on Chan’s face. He knows very well that it isn’t because Chan doesn’t think he’s friendly, but he knows very well that Changbin isn’t an easy person to approach.

“Interesting…?”

“It was weird. They kept talking to me even though I was… I guess talking the way I usually do around people I don’t know.”

“Ah, the one word responses,” Chan hums knowingly.

“Exactly,” Changbin nods—despite his friend not being able to see him—as he dumps salt into the boiling pot of water. “I just found it weird. There wasn’t anything weird about them, though. They’re pretty cool. They transferred to my course recently, which explains why they’re just here out of the blue… but I wasn’t expecting them to just sit next to me and start talking to me.”

"Did you stop them?"

"Why would I?"

"I thought you didn't like talking to strangers."

Changbin lets out a sigh at that, "that doesn't mean I'd straight up tell them to leave me alone. They weren't doing anything wrong."

“Are you going to actually talk to them eventually?” Chan asks with the sound of rustling and movement coming from his end. Changbin isn’t entirely sure of what Chan does in his free time other than gaming mainly because Chan doesn’t get the luxury of having a lot of free time.

Chan had left the neighbourhood they had grown up in together to fully immerse himself with being a professional rugby player, but with the lack of professional training centres in the area, Chan left to find one.

Which leads to the separation of the two. While Changbin spends most of his time crocheting or boxing, Chan spends most of his time running across fields and crashing into other people. They both decided that aggressively physical forms of sports were the ones for them.

It wasn’t like it was a surprise anyway.

Both of them are built for how rough the sports are. Changbin and Chan are considered buff with how much muscle mass they’ve built throughout the years, and it truly wasn’t a surprise that they both have the most fun with sports that require full body movement and impact.

“I guess I’m technically talking to them already,” Changbin says with a shrug as he stirs the pot of cheesy sauce. “I’m pretty sure they’ve managed to get more words out of me than any of my professors ever have.”

“I still find it a little comical that no one’s approached you because you look scary; talk about being judgemental,” Chan snorts.

“I wouldn’t blame them. I wouldn’t approach me either.”

“You’re the cutest person I know.”

Changbin lets out an exaggerated gasp at that, “you have no idea how hurt my ego is right now.”

“It’s true!” He laughs heartily. “You’re so insanely cute! If people actually took the time to know you, they’d know that you’re just a giant softy. I mean, look at your apartment, Binz. It’s filled with crocheted toys that are pastel coloured and look like they’re meant for babies. You have a little pink gramophone speaker that matches your creations and you’re only boxing because you think defence stances look really funny.”

“I don’t think anyone actually understands how funny that stance looks when you’re looking at them head on!” Changbin exclaims.

“Changbin, if any other person was in that stance, they’d be more scared of being hit in the face,” Chan chuckles.

The line goes silent for a moment with the sound of what Changbin can only assume is Chan typing something on his laptop before the man speaks again, “I’m coming back home for the Winter, by the way.”

“Wanna go bowling?”

“I’m shit at it, so no.”

“I wanna go to see you trip over the ball again,” Changbin snickers.

“Fuck you,” Chan scoffs out a laugh. “I get that you find a lot of things funny, but my bowling skills? Really?”

“Your atrocious bowling is considered a skill?”

“Wow, okay. Whatever you say, buddy.”

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ♫ ⋅.} ───── ⊰

Two

Changbin has to admit that he is a bit more beat up than usual today. For the first time in quite a while, he feels like his entire body aches from the boxing match he attended the night before. He’s also been having a shitty day so far with the way he overslept, had to basically sprint to class because the bus was late, and hadn’t had anything to eat in the past four hours he’s been on campus grounds.

Now, he’s sitting in the lecture hall waiting for his professor to arrive with a grumbling stomach and an aching everything. Changbin notices you walking in almost immediately. He thinks that you stand out a bit more than the other students in his class do. Your presence is bright and it’s prominent in a crowd, but he doesn’t know whether it’s because you’re always dressed in pastel colours or if it’s because you just naturally carry that sort of energy.

“Hey, Changbin!” you greet as you sit beside him just as you did two days ago. Changbin turns to you and nods in acknowledgement. He keeps his hood pulled over his face to try and hide the black eye and the broken skin that covers his face, but one glance in your direction makes you do a double take. “Oh my god, are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he nods and quickly turns away from you.

You have enough sense to not ask him any further, but it doesn’t stop you from trying to at least make Changbin’s day better. He misses the way your eyebrows knit together and your lips pursing. However, he does notice when you reach into your brown messenger bag and rummage through it for a moment before pulling out a small rectangular packet.

“Take it,” you urge as you place the muesli bar right beside where his hand rests on the table.

Changbin pauses when he stares at it, the realisation coming to him very slowly that you’re offering him a snack, before he looks at you completely.

“What?”

“You look like you could use a pick-me-up, so take it,” you say. “It has chocolate chips and strawberries. It’s one of the less oatmeal tasting types and has a bit more sweetness to it.” Changbin blinks twice before slowly picking the bar up.

“Thanks,” he mutters. The boxer wastes no time in ripping the top of the packet open and eating the muesli bar. A small sigh of relief leaves past Changbin’s lips at the taste of his first meal of the day despite it already being one in the afternoon.

“Feeling a bit better?” you ask once he’s finished.

Changbin nods and actually looks your way with a small smile, “yeah. Thank you.” You return the smile and reach into your bag once again to pull out five other muesli bars.

“If you need anymore, I still have some in stock,” you hum.

“I think I’m good for the rest of class.”

“Just let me know if you need anything else. I have a lot of things in this bag—you’d be surprised how much I could fit in here,” you ramble as you pull your bag onto your lap and start looking through it.

Changbin watches as you start pulling out random things such as your white and blue polka dot umbrella, the fluffy milk carton pencil case that you had bought from a Daiso, and two small boxes of blueberry juice.

“Here,” you place one of the juice boxes on Changbin’s side of the table, “you can have this one.”

His eyes widen in surprise and he can’t help but feel a bit bad that you’re offering him juice after giving him one of your snacks.

You lift your gaze away from your bag to smile at the boxer who opens his mouth to reject the juice but you quickly raise your hand in front of his face and shake your head, “no rejection. I wasn’t giving you a choice—you need the juice .”

“O-Okay,” he stutters, “thank you.”

Changbin quietly takes the plastic straw off of the side of the juice and stabs it into the top, sipping on it slowly throughout class. He feels the hours go by slightly faster with you chattering beside him as quietly as you possibly can to avoid being caught by your professor, still receiving the same short replies and body language answers until you’re both dismissed.

“What do you do in your free time?” you question as the two of you leave class side-by-side.

“Boxing,” Changbin answers.

“With people?”

“Yeah.”

“Is that why you’re covered in bruises?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s cool,” you claim gleefully. “It sounds like a lot of adrenaline.” Relief floods Changbin. He hadn’t even realised he was somewhat dreading your answer. The only person he’s met who was alright with his boxing habits was Chan. Most people just assume he’s either a sadist, a masochist, or a way too aggressive person.

Changbin wasn’t expecting you to be alright with it considering the gentle personality you seem to have. But, then again, you’ve only known each other for not even a week.

“I’m not one for sports,” you continue despite him not saying anything, “the only sport that I enjoyed when I was in high school was football, but even then, it wasn’t enough to keep me going.”

“Never really liked football,” Changbin claims.

“Why so?”

“Didn’t like running around a field.”

“But you like pacing around a boxing ring with some other dude?”

“I have my reason.” He glances at you with a smile on his face.

The black hoodie has lifted slightly, and now, you’re able to see just how much damage was done to Changbin’s face. The skin surrounding his right eye is splotched purple, the white of his left eye filled with red, and there’s a small scratch on his left cheek. His eyebrows have definitely split open a few times considering how they look uneven; his left having a slit running through the tail and his right looking more sparse with the more recent scar he had gotten.

But Changbin’s smile tells you that he genuinely doesn’t mind the injuries at all. The look on his face as you talk about boxing shows just how much he enjoys it.

“I can’t imagine how tired you feel after a match,” you mutter when you see the way the left corner of his lip struggles to raise with the smile with the cut on it.

“Very, but I like the sport.” Changbin’s hands dig into the pocket of his hoodie as the two of you step out of the media building and out into the open walkway of the campus.

The Autumn breeze is cooling as it brushes past you both and he lets out a content sigh at the idea of not having to worry about sweating too much while he’s attending classes.

“Do you have a favourite season?” you ask as you two start walking in the directions of the cafeteria.

“I like the colder ones,” Changbin states.

“Autumn or Winter?”

“Winter. I like snow.”

“I like Spring,” you hum. “I love seeing the flowers bloom. They make nice pictures.”

You seem like the type of person to like Spring, Changbin thinks. Everything about you just seems to follow the same kind of feeling that Spring radiates. He wonders whether you’re aware of that.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ♫ ⋅.} ───── ⊰

“This assignment will be done in pairs,” your professor announces. “You can either choose your own partner or let me know if you want them to be assigned instead.”

The entire class immediately opts for choosing their own partners and you immediately turn to Changbin.

“Assignment partner?”

“Sure,” he nods. You pull your phone out of your pocket, unlocking it and tapping the screen once before you hand it to him.

“Leave your number in there with whatever name you want,” you say as Changbin takes it. He saves his number into your phone and keeps his name simple; Changbinz.

He sends himself a message through your phone so that he can save your number and hands the device back to you right before your professor starts briefing everyone on the assignment. It’s a simple presentation essay where you have to go out and interview someone who does something that's interesting.

Once class ends, you're still stuck by his side until you part ways in the centre of campus where you return to your dorm and Changbin makes his way towards the campus gates.

He keeps his ears plugged and his hands stuck into the pocket of his hoodie as he stops at the bus stop, eyes glued to his phone when the notification banner appears.

(Y/n): Attached image (1) Look how pretty the leaves are!!!

Changbin breathes out a small laugh when he sees the picture. It’s a picture of a branch with only three leaves; golden, red, and brown. It’s so simple and normal to see the bare branches that bear leaves of those colours—especially halfway through the semester—but Changbin feels adoration filling him at how jovial you sound towards something as small as that.

Changbinz: Cool

Changbin could get used to this.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ♫ ⋅.} ───── ⊰

Three

“Do you not sleep early?”

The voice tears Changbin away from the punching bag he had been using, his body relaxing when he sees Nyra standing behind him with her arms crossed over her chest. He doesn’t say anything and shrugs in response, which only earns a sigh from the older woman.

“You’ve been coming to this gym for almost five and a half years and I don’t think I’ve ever heard you speak more than three words in the same sentence,” she quips.

“Not a talker,” he claims as he turns his attention back to the punching bag.

“Didn’t peg you as one. Chan always seemed to be the one who did most of the talking between the two of you,” Nyra chuckles. She lets out a small sigh and takes a step closer to him. The approach effectively stops Changbin from punching the bag and makes him turn his attention to her once again. “There’s this guy that’s been coming to the gym lately. He looks pretty brutal.”

“He’s a boxer.”

“He might be joining a match soon. I want you to be careful when you go into the ring with him. Remind yourself that these matches are still illegal," she advises. "You're a good kid and you’re a damn good fighter, but don’t be stupid. The last time you went against a guy who was stronger than you, we had to send you to the hospital.”

Changbin doesn’t say anything as he turns back to the fabric punching bag. He’s taking in the information from Nyra, but he honestly doesn’t know what to say, so he prefers not to say anything at all. She’s spent enough time around Changbin to know that he’s listening even if he doesn't say anything back.

“Your hooks are sloppy,” she points out after a moment of silently watching him. Changbin pauses for a moment before trying again; throwing a hook to the bag with his right arm. “Better,” Nyra claims. “I’m closing early today. Something’s come up and I figured you would be the only one around at this time.”

Changbin stops and nods, “I’ll leave.”

“If you wanna stay for longer, I can leave you the spare keys,” she offers, but the boxer shakes his head.

“It’s fine,” he reassures her as he picks his towel off of the rubber mat layered floor. “I’ll cool down at home.”

“Hey, that’s five words!” Nyra laughs.

“You’re getting there,” Changbin chuckles. He picks his hoodie off of the bench nearest to the punching bag and slips it on before he picks up his bag. “Do you want me to walk you to your car?” he offers.

Nyra shakes her head with a reassuring smile on her face, “I’m not the only one who stays here until the dead hour of the night. My fiancé insists on staying behind with me.” Changbin nods his head and makes his way towards the door. “Walk safe, Changbin.”

“You too, Nyra.”

He makes a quick movement towards the exit to avoid holding Nyra and her fiancé back from leaving. Phone in hand, Changbin’s ears are plugged the moment he’s outside of the building and he’s running through the messages he had gotten throughout the two hours he spent in the gym as he walks.

(Y/n): Someone’s playing with fireworks outside of campus Attached video (1) They look so pretty!

Changbinz: Yeah it is

(Y/n) : What are you doing?

Changbinz: Walking home Gym's not that far

(Y/n): At midnight?? Doesn't sound that safe

Changbinz: Dw 10 min walk I'm used to it

(Y/n): I worry though D: At least let me know when you’ve reached home so that I know you’re safe

Changbin stops in his movement. There’s a mixture of emotions that run throughout his body as he rereads your message a few times. Why would you worry about him?

Changbinz: You don’t have to worry It’s alright

(Y/n): We’re friends🙄 Ofc I’m gonna worry Who am I supposed to sit next to in class if anything happens to you

Changbinz: Haha I’ll be fine, (Y/n) Trust me I walk safe

There’s an array of thoughts that run through his head. Changbin looks around the empty streets and continues walking, his mind going through every single thought as he does.

He hadn’t realised just how much time the two of you have been spending together until now. You sit next to him in all of your shared classes almost everyday and you insist on getting lunch with Changbin to make sure that he’s eating well. Whenever he looks a bit rougher than usual, you’re shoving snacks and drinks into his hands to make sure that he’s at least had breakfast.

You take care of him really well, he realises. A strange feeling seems to overtake every other emotion Changbin has and, suddenly, it seems as though you’re glowing now in a completely different light in his eyes. Changbin hadn’t taken the time to actually try and take apart what sort of relationship the two of you shared; you just seemed to always be there.

You would send him random pictures of plants, animals, the sky—anything that you seemed to find joy in—and Changbin would reply as he usually would or he would sometimes forget to reply altogether. He wouldn’t reply after too long if he did forget, thinking that maybe it would be a bit awkward to reply about six hours after you had sent him something.

Changbin realises that you’ve suddenly become such a strong constant in his life in the past month of knowing each other and he wonders whether it’s a naturally building bond or if one of you seems to be fighting for it.

The moment he steps through his front door, he’s sent a message letting you know that he’s arrived home safely. Changbin moves around his apartment, taking a long shower, tossing his clothes into the laundry bag, before he starts rummaging through his fridge to find something to snack on before he goes to bed.

As usual, his speaker is perched on his kitchen counter playing one of his more chill playlists. The buzz of Changbin’s notification disturbs the constant flow of music and it tears him away from the inside of his fridge to check his phone.

(Y/n): I’m out for the night getting ramen You wanna join? It’s a few minutes away from campus

Changbinz: How far? I usually take the bus to campus

(Y/n): About like a ten minute walk I’ll send you the location and you just let me know if you wanna tag along Attached location (1)

Changbinz: Oh That’s not too far I’ll meet you there

(Y/n): Okie :D

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ♫ ⋅.} ───── ⊰

“Do you have any plans tomorrow?” you ask right before sticking a spoonful of ramen into your mouth. Changbin shakes his head, chewing on his own serving silently. “Do you do anything other than box?”

“I like walking around at night,” he admits.

“That sounds super sketchy,” you claim.

“It clears my mind,” Changbin chuckles. “I like being alone. It gives me a lot of time to think.”

“That’s good,” you say just as you stick a fried wonton into your mouth, “it’s good to have time to yourself. I’ve been spending a lot of my time alone ever since I moved into my dorm and it’s given me chances to think about who I am and what I want in life.” He nods along, showing that he’s listening. “The amount of time I spent thinking was one of the reasons why I decided to switch from biomed to media.”

“Do you enjoy it?”

“Media’s fun! It feels like it offers a lot of branches for me in the future,” you nod. “Maybe I could finally get into becoming a professional journalist. Put those photography skills to use for once. I’ve spent so long wondering what I wanted to do as a kid, but I never really knew until I started using a camera, you know? It’s like something that I’m both good at and something that I really enjoy.”

“I get that,” Changbin claims. “I box because it’s something I’m good at and something I enjoy doing. I could make pretty good money doing this in the future.”

“Beating people up for money? Sounds like highschool,” you quip.

“Would you believe me if I said highschool was the other way around?"

"No way…" you trail off, chopsticks slipping from your hand and splashing into the bowl of half-eaten ramen.

"Had my lunch money taken from me almost everyday," Changbin chuckles. "I realised looking a certain way makes it harder for them to want to bully you. So I started lifting weights, building muscle—anything that could get me to look like someone worth leaving alone."

"Oh…" You give him a sympathetic look but he only shakes his head with a smile.

"It's all in the past, (Y/n). Nothing to worry about."

"Oh wow, you've actually said my name," you point out, which earns a questioning look from the boxer. "We've known each other for over a month, spoke almost everyday, but this is the first time I've ever heard you say my name."

"Never had the need to. You'd always be the one calling my name from across campus," Changbin claims.

You grin, "I like it." He freezes. His hand has stopped halfway towards his mouth and Changbin looks up to see you smiling fondly at him.

He's aware that he hasn't said your name at all whenever you were talking, but it rolled off of his tongue so naturally that Changbin hadn't realised he even said it.

He likes it.

He likes saying your name, Changbin thinks as he returns the smile. "What's the plan after supper?" he asks after a moment of letting the moment settle.

"There's a plan?"

"You seem like the type of person who doesn't just eat at some ramen stall in the middle of the night. What's in that bouncy head of yours?"

"I'm sorry, did you just call my head 'bouncy'?" you gasp with a laugh.

"It seems like there's a lot going on in there; I assume your thoughts bounce around in there like an unending bouncy castle," Changbin jokes.

"Wow—Wow! Is this what you're like when you're chatty? I think I prefer when you're just nodding blankly," you quip.

"I could easily go back to that if you'd like."

"No! I was joking! I like when you talk," you quickly shake your head with a smile. Changbin feels the corners of his lip rising into one as well before he purses them to try and hide the bubbly feeling in his gut. "I think you have a nice voice."

"Thank you." He's honestly surprised that his voice isn't wavering or cracking from how flustered and giddy he feels on the inside. "I like your voice, too."

There's a silent sense of comfort shared between you two as you simply look at each other over a spread of cooled ramen and fried wontons, the scene simple yet enough for the both of you.

"I'll walk you back to your dorm after this," Changbin offers, breaking the silence.

"I'd feel bad making you walk all the way back to your apartment," you claim as you pick your chopsticks back up.

"I don't want you walking around alone late at night."

"But you do it all the time."

"I look like I'd kill you if you came too close," he deadpans. It immediately stops you from talking, sheepishly lowering your head when you realise that he's right.

You finish the rest of your meal and leave the warmth of the stall, stepping into the colder temperature of Autumn with your hands stuffed into the pocket of your thin jacket.

"What's life on campus like? Last I was there, the curfews were ruthless," Changbin asks as he walks beside you.

"They never really stop me nowadays, honestly," you say with your shoulders raising into a shrug. "To be fair, I am on good terms with the hall warden, so she's not really too worried about my whereabouts."

"Are you on good terms with everyone?"

"Mostly," you nod. "I learned pretty early on that acts of service and being nice can take you a long way. It's nice having people you can turn to whenever you need to, ya'know?"

"Odd. I've always thought that it was better to just do things yourself," he mutters.

"I think that it's good to ask people for help whenever you need to. Can't do everything yourself." Your conversation is abruptly cut short when you gasp and start running in the direction of the park. "I almost forgot about this! They light up the park for a whole week around this time of the season."

"I forgot they did this," Changbin hums as he looks around the park. Fairy lights hang from the trees and lead down the path towards a clearing right in the middle.

"This is so pretty," you breathe out in awe right before grabbing his shoulder and dragging him to the centre of the path. "Stand here and look pretty."

"What?"

"Just look around! Pretend I'm not even here!" you shout as you take a few steps away from him and pull your trusty film camera out of your bag.

"H-Hold on, I don't do pictures that well!" Changbin squeaks upon seeing your camera.

"Changbin, just look around!"

He lets out a sigh and stuffs his hands into the pocket of his plushy jacket as he looks up at the trees. Changbin has to admit that the park looks magical with the way it's decorated.

The lights are orange and yellow as they lead down the path, the leaves slowly falling with every gust of wind almost as if they were programmed to make the area appear more beautiful.

Your shoes crunch against the dried leaves on the ground and it makes Changbin turn around to face you.

"Now we wait until I've developed them and we'll see what it looks like," you chirp as you fiddle with the rewind crank.

"Do you develop them yourself?"

"When I have the time," you nod, still preoccupied with making sure your film is cranked enough. "Usually I bring around my digital camera, but sometimes, it's nicer to use a film one. I feel film cameras hold memories better."

"Did you bring it out here because you invited me?"

"Yes, and no. I invited you out because I wanted to hang out and I decided on the film on a whim." You wrap the sling of your camera around your hand to secure it. "Come on! Let's walk around more."

Changbin barely has any time to react when you grab onto his wrist with your free hand and start pulling him around the park, but he honestly doesn't mind.

It's been a while since he's been out with someone like this—out and enjoying being with someone. You seem to make it so easy to walk around with and your energy is contagious enough that Changbin can't help but feel your excitement as it waves off of you.

He obediently listens and follows whatever instructions you give him for a picture, standing underneath a tree or sitting at a bench, looking at the sky wistfully or at the leaves in thought.

Changbin doesn't think he's ever truly felt this comfortable around someone before—at least after Chan. But, even then, Chan sticks to what Changbin tells him. The rugby player rarely ever does anything new around him and he waits for Changbin to tell him what he wants.

You're different, but it works. You're glowing in a way that Changbin's never known a person could glow before.

If Changbin likes Winter because he's always associated himself with the cold and silent weather, then you're Spring that comes afterwards; gleaming sunlight to melt the blankets of snow to bring the bloom of flora.

Maybe if he was more poetic, he would actually be able to properly put his feelings down on paper and shove it into your face without having to talk to you about it, but Changbin was never one for words.

So he'll show you instead.

As you're taking a picture of the gazebo at the centre of the park, Changbin waits until you pull your camera away from your face before he silently holds onto your wrist and turns you around, pulling you closer until your chests are almost touching and his cheek is inches from yours.

"Huh?" you squeak out at the sudden action and you feel heat creeping up your neck at the sudden closeness of Changbin's body. "H-Hi," you swallow nervously.

He silently takes the camera from your hands, your fingers loosening as your eyes stay glued to his face out of the sheer anxiousness of what he's about to do next.

Changbin smiles at your flustered state before bringing the camera up with the lens facing you.

"Smile," he says before turning to look at the lens. It takes a moment before you realise what's happening, but for a split second, you completely lose yourself in Changbin's presence.

You turn to the camera and smile. Maybe this is what it's like falling in love, you think as the 'click' emits from the camera.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ♫ ⋅.} ───── ⊰

Four

More time passes and Changbin realises that he's started waiting for the sound of your voice calling out to him from across the campus fountain.

He managed to get you to spill your schedule, which leads to him waiting outside your lecture halls at times where you're not sharing classes.

"Last class?" Changbin asks.

"Yep, all I wanna do now is just curl up into a ball and take a nap," you say with a yawn as your arms extend into a stretch over your head. "What about you?"

"I was going to just head home, finish some work and then head to the gym," he explains as you start walking. "I feel like I haven't done enough lately, so it'll be nice to do something intense."

"Do you have a gym partner?"

"Why? You wanna join?" he jokes.

"Why not?" Your head tilts curiously when Changbin's face washes with panic.

"It's…"

"Oh come on, I've always wanted to try boxing."

"It's not that," he shakes his head. "It's…" Changbin sighs and leans his head closer to yours, "the gym I go to is pretty… sketchy. The boxing matches there are illegal. They happen without any proper supervision and there aren't any rules. You could do whatever trick you know and, as long as you get the other dude down, you're the winner."

The curiosity on your face is slowly replaced with mild horror with the way your eyes widen.

"But if you wanna come down and watch the match I have tonight, then sure. I won't stop you," Changbin shrugs. He pauses when you don't say anything and turns his entire body to face you. "Do you want to?"

"I… I guess, yeah," you nod albeit hesitantly.

"You don't have to if you don't want to, you know."

"I'm kinda curious to see what kind of stuff you do outside of school," you claim as you begin walking.

"Then I'll pick you up at your place at six and we can grab dinner before heading straight over." Changbin scans your side profile at the suggestion and you nod.

This is the first time he's seen you relatively uncertain about something or more hesitant to enter new territory.

Changbin's honestly quite worried at how you'd react upon seeing the actual fighting right in front of your eyes, but you reassure him—when you've reached the gym—that you'll be fine.

"Just… don't talk to anyone. They can get a bit freaky, if you need anything head over to her—" Changbin's hand raises to point at Nyra from across the room, "she owns this place and we're on good terms."

"Alright," you nod nervously. "Are you… you usually win these things, right?"

"Most of the time," he nods. You think he's being a bit too nonchalant about going in to get himself beat up, but you trust that he knows what he's doing. "Just let me know if you're going anywhere or if you wanna leave. I don't like the idea of leaving you in the middle of this crowd alone."

"Y-Yeah, I won't leave this spot," you reassure him. Changbin gives you one last look where his hands raise to grip onto your shoulders. He opens his mouth to say something, but chooses not to, and sighs instead.

"Don't follow or talk to weird people," he repeats after a moment of hesitation.

"I promise. I'll be fine, Binz. I'm more worried about you, honestly. Now, go and get ready. I'll be here." Changbin gives you one last look before he disappears to the side of the stage.

You catch sight of the woman he had mentioned as she approaches Changbin, her head leaning towards him when he mutters something. Immediately, she raises her head and makes eye contact with you.

You feel more nerves filling you as she approaches you, hand extended, she gives you a warm smile, "(Y/n), Changbin's asked me to bring you somewhere a little less crowded but in a place where you can watch the match. Come on, I'll take you to my favourite spot to watch everything."

You follow the woman through the crowd and out of the room. The hallway is empty and the loud chatter and cheering from the crowd has faded away. Nyra leads you further down until you reach a door on the right which opens up to what looks like an office with a horizontal window that overlooks the boxing ring.

“This is my office,” Nyra announces as she closes the door once you’ve stepped inside. “I’m usually overlooking the entire match from here because the crowd can get pretty wild and I’d rather not have blood or sweat spurted onto me.”

Your face contorts in disgust at the thought of it and a, “oh god,” leaves past your lips in a hiss.

“Yeah, it gets pretty gross. We can just watch it from here and Changbin will still be able to see you from the ring,” she hums. Nyra pulls a chair out for you right in front of the metal desk flush against the window before making her way over to a clear-door fridge on the other end of the room. “Beer?”

“No thank you. I only drink on occasion,” you answer just as Changbin steps into the ring. His fists are wrapped with dark red wraps, no gloves whatsoever to soften the impact on his knuckles, but most likely provides stronger punches. He isn’t wearing any sort of shin guards either; casually dressed in a pair of sweatpants and a muscle tee that he had worn a hoodie over.

“What about sprite?”

“Sprite’s alright.” You don’t tear your eyes away from your classmate when you see his opponent stepping into the ring.

The man is taller than Changbin—very obviously—but shoulders aren’t as broad and his build doesn’t look as fully muscled as Changbin’s does.

“That’s Jisoo,” Nyra starts as she takes the chair beside you, her right hand placing an opened can of Sprite on the table and the other holding an opened bottle of beer, “he’s a regular here, too. Doesn’t join matches as often as Changbin does, but they’re a pretty decent match-up.”

“I asked Changbin earlier, but I’m just worried it’s an ego thing; he wins most of the time, right?” you ask while sparing a glance at her.

“Mostly, yes,” she nods. “Changbin’s in the top three. He’s won every fight he’s been in so far and he doesn’t seem to be intending to lose anytime soon.”

It’s small, but the relief that floods throughout you is enough to calm your nerves when you see Changbin and Jisoo circling each other. There’s a certain look in Changbin’s eyes that you don’t think you’ve ever seen before. His eyes, which typically hold barely any emotion in them, hold a fire within them.

Whether it’s the passion he has for the sport or if it’s the intention to avoid a trip to the hospital, you’re uncertain what’s actually fueling him from within to look as deadly as he does now.

Only now do you truly understand why a lot of people often avoid Changbin. Out of the gym, he doesn’t look much different, but actually seeing him in the ring right in front of you, you can understand why he’s not scared of walking around at night.

Changbin looks like he’s ready to destroy anything in his path and the look is enough to even send chills down your spine despite knowing that he’s anything but deadly.

“Don’t worry,” Nyra reassures you when she sees how tense you look. “So, how did you meet Changbin? I don’t think I’ve ever seen him bringing anyone here to watch a match or even talk to anyone else here.”

“He’s my classmate. We’re in the same course,” you explain softly.

“How’d you break through that shell of his?”

“Juice boxes and muesli bars.”

The sound of the referee blowing a whistle causes both you and Nyra to go silent as you watch the boxers. Jisoo throws the first punch which Changbin dodges with ease, following up with a hook to the skull that has his opponent stumbling to the left.

It’s not as bad as you originally think it is. There’s not as much blood as you had expected and there’s mostly a lot of pacing back and forth between the two as they make their way around the ring.

“Why aren’t they doing anything?” you wonder after a moment.

“They’re waiting for an opportunity,” Nyra answers. You glance at her with wide eyes, not realising that your thoughts were spoken. “Changbin’s always like this. He’s mostly on defence until the golden opportunity appears and he strikes them down.” You let out an ‘oh’ with your eyes moving back to the boxing ring.

Just as you turn back, Changbin’s fist hits Jisoo right in the centre of his nose, blood staining his knuckles. The punch seems to click something in the both of them, because now, the fight seems to have only begun. Punches and kicks are thrown left and right, more blood starting to spill and more obvious injuries starting to form.

Jisoo remains one of the bloodier of the two from his—now broken—nose and the various cuts that cover his face. You quickly notice that Changbin’s first tactic is to aim for his body before throwing strikes to his face.

“If you watch closely enough, Changbin’s trying to tire him out,” Nyra explains. She leans closer to you and raises her hand to give a more visual explanation, “watch how Jisoo punches mostly with his left because that’s his dominant hand. Changbin is more likely to punch him in his left shoulder before aiming for his face. But Changbin’s also a bit more rash. His unpredictability is both a flaw and a strength. The less his opponent is able to guess what his next move is, the better it is for him to win, but if he stays too rash, he won’t last that long.”

“It’s like he’s sprinting,” you breathe out in realisation.

“Exactly. Changbin has a lot of stamina, but he burns it extremely quickly.” Nyra continues to explain both of their tactics as the fight goes on and the more you see Jisoo losing, the more hyped up you get. Changbin kicks Jisoo’s torso, sending the man backwards and onto the ropes of the ring. “There you go! Kick his ass!” she cheers.

“Oh!” you gasp when you see Jisoo recovering way quicker than you expected and immediately elbow Changbin in the jaw. “Oh, no,” you hiss when he hooks Changbin on the other side of his jaw.

“Get his ass, Changbin!” Nyra shouts, shooting up from her seat to lean closer to the window. “Come on!” Another hook to the face has Changbin stumbling backwards onto the ground.

“No!” you cry out as you shoot up from your seat as well. “Come on, come on,” you chant, hoping that he wouldn’t lose this fight.

“Get up, Changbin!” Nyra yells. The boxer does as you hope he would, standing up with his fists in front of his face in defence as he glares at Jisoo. “You can do this!”

“Come on, Bins,” you whisper as you watch. Even from a distance, you’re able to see the way his chest heaves and the sweat drips off of his face, dripping straight onto the floor that’s been stained from many years of fighting.

“Oh?” Nyra tilts her head curiously, noting the way Changbin’s eyes seem to flit around the ring as he and Jisoo circle each other. “(Y/n), lean closer to the window,” she orders.

“What?”

“Just do it.”

You give her a weird look but do it anyway. Changbin’s eyes flit around when he’s facing your direction. He makes eye contact with you almost instantly and you give him a thumbs up and mouth, “you got this.” For a moment, his shoulders relax when he sees you and the change in attention worries you when Jisoo suddenly lunges towards him.

But Changbin immediately grabs onto the back of his head and slams his face right onto his knee, the man dropping to the ground and going limp.

Pure joy and relief floods you at the sight of the referee climbing into the ring and raising Changbin’s arm into the air.“He did it!” you gasp while bouncing on your feet excitedly. “He won!” You start jumping up and down in joy as you see the way he looks around the crowd.

“Hell yeah!” Nyra cheers. “I knew he could do it. Jisoo’s not strong enough to go against that beast.”

From Changbin’s view, the sound of the crowd has turned into muffled buzzing. One of the hooks from Jisoo had definitely hit his ear which has most likely temporarily fucked up his hearing.

His first thought as he looks around is looking for you. And he knows where you are, so he turns to face Nyra’s office to see you excitedly jump with the gym owner. A smile makes its way onto Changbin’s face as he watches how happy you look upon his victory and your energy seems to still find its way to him despite being separated by walls.

He watches as you quickly leave the room, his smile dropping when he no longer sees you only for you to come running through the door and into the ring to hug him.

“Oh, you did such a great job!” you squeal with your arms around him. You’ve completely ignored the way that Changbin’s covered in blood and sweat as you hug him tightly and the suddenness of the entire act makes him struggle to process what’s happening with how he’s trying to also pull himself out of his boxing mindset.

Slowly, Changbin returns the hug; his arms wrapping around your waist as he rests his chin against your shoulder, eyes shutting as he starts to catch his breath in the comfort of your embrace.

Changbin wonders whether you’ll come to more of his matches. He wonders whether you enjoy watching him fight as much as he enjoys the act of it. He wonders whether you’d share all of his wins and losses with him because, as he watches the way you react, Changbin wants you to share the experiences with him.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ♫ ⋅.} ───── ⊰

“That was so cool!” you excitedly babble as you follow Changbin down the streets. “I was so anxious when you fell over. I was worried that you would’ve gotten way more hurt than you’re used to!”

“Is that so?” he chuckles.

“Of course! I didn’t mind whether or not you would win, I was more worried about how hurt you would be afterwards,” you nod. “But that was so cool, Bins! It was like watching something straight out of an action movie. Nyra was explaining everything to me while you were fighting and it was so interesting watching it play out exactly like how she said it would.” Changbin smiles as he listens to you ramble on about what it was like from your point of view. “It wasn’t as bloody as I thought it would be and it was really exhilarating to watch.”

“Imagine how it feels being in the fight,” Changbin hums.

“What do you feel when you’re in the ring?”

Changbin lets out a small sigh, his lips jutting out slightly as he thinks about it. “It feels like I’m aware of nothing but my opponent. I don’t hear anything from the crowd other than my own heartbeat and my own breathing. I don’t see anything else except for whoever I’m fighting,” he explains after a moment. “My mind was basically, ‘where’s the punch coming from?’, ‘when’s the next hit and where do I go next?,’ you know? My head’s completely filled with trying to predict what he’s doing and trying to find a way to avoid or counter it.”

“Amazing,” you breathe out. “You can actually think like that while you’re fighting. I would’ve thought that you would only be feeling adrenaline.”

“The adrenaline is always there. I think it fuels my thinking while I fight because I know that if I lose, I could be losing more than I possibly expect. One wrong move and I could lose my sight or my hearing. I’m essentially fighting for survival since there aren’t any rules and a lot of illegal moves are used. I used to be scared when I first started, but now, the fear is what makes me better at fighting.”

“I can only imagine how terrifying it must’ve been the first time.”

“Yeah, well, I won my first match by chance,” Changbin claims with a small laugh. “I only won because I panicked and punched the guy so hard, I broke his nose and knocked him out. I ended up winning a thousand bucks from how many people had bet on the match.”

“How are you feeling now, though? I’m going to assume you feel extremely sore right now, but does anything hurt extra?” you ask as you hold onto his wrist to stop him from walking and forcing him to look at you.

Changbin’s surprised by the sudden action and he’s even more surprised at the way your hands quickly move around his torso to see if he’s in any extreme condition, but he only laughs and holds onto both of your wrists, “I’m fine, (Y/n). I promise. It’s nothing more than a few bruises that’ll last a few days that I can just cure with a few ice packs and muscle patches.” He lowers your hands and smiles.

“Are you just saying that so I won’t worry?” Your eyes narrow accusingly at his claim but Changbin shakes his head.

“I promise. Now, come on. Let’s get your cute butt back home,” he hums as he starts walking, unaware of the way his right hand still holds onto yours as you walk. You feel heat creeping up your neck at the realisation that Changbin has not noticed that you’re holding hands and you hesitate to bring it up.

“Bins, do you mean to hold my hand?” you ask teasingly.

Changbin looks down and immediately rips his hand away from yours out of shock, his cheeks flushing immensely as he stares at you in mild horror, “s-sorry. I didn’t—”

“I don’t mind,” you quickly cut him off as you held onto his hand again. Changbin looks down at your hand with wide eyes, his lips sealed shut. “Are you okay with it?”

“Y-Yeah,” he nods, shoulders slowly relaxing the longer you both stand on the streets with your fingers locked. “Yeah, I’m fine with it,” Changbin grins. He squeezes your hand lightly as he starts walking in the direction of your campus.

“Don’t you wanna stop by your place first? You can shower and get all of this sweat off of you,” you suggest, knowing that Changbin’s apartment is along the way to campus.

“I don’t mind,” he shrugs, “but you’ll just be spending a bit of time in my living room, then. I take really long showers after a match to just burst my muscles with hot water.”

“That’s fine,” you reassure him.

“Yeah, I think you’ll have a lot of things to do in my place, actually,” Changbin wonders with a small laugh.

You tilt your head curiously at his words, but he doesn’t say anything more on what he means. So, you follow Changbin back to his apartment with your hand still securely held in his, the feeling of comfort filling you every time you remember that your hands are still locked.

Maybe you’re more into Changbin than you initially thought, but friends hold hands, right? That’s totally normal… right?

You don’t let your thoughts dive into it that much and simply allow yourself to enjoy the moment. The air is cold, but not too cold to the point where your jacket isn’t enough, but it’s cold enough to send you shivering slightly every time a breeze blows.

The walk to his apartment doesn’t take that long. It’s a generic looking apartment building that only goes up to the tenth floor judging by the numbers in the lift and Changbin presses only to the third floor. He leads you down the hallway until you reach a door on the left and he unlocks it.

“Help yourself to anything in my fridge or any of my snacks,” Changbin says as he locks the door behind the both of you. “I have a lot of power bars and protein… if that’s your thing.”

“Not a protein-pumped person, but good to know,” you chuckle, turning around and immediately freezing in your tracks when you reach the living room.

“I have some other stuff in here, too, hold on,” he sighs as he rummages through his fridge. Everything in it is mostly high protein meals that only Changbin would eat considering he lives alone, but there are a handful of goodies in there that he thinks you might enjoy. “Ahah!” Changbin triumphantly cheers as he pulls out a carton of lime flavoured yogurt. “Do you like lime flavoured things?”

He turns around only to be faced with your frozen form. Your eyes are glued to the lines of crocheted stuffed toys that decorate his otherwise empty living room, looking around slowly in disbelief.

“Did you make these?” you ask as you take a step closer to his coffee table. Your hand reaches to gingerly pick up the pastel green octopus out of the neatly arranged line of rainbow coloured octopus.

“Yeah,” Changbin hums as he places the yogurt on the coffee table. “I crochet in my free time. It’s fun.” You turn around to look at him with an expression that he can’t read and it sends a sense of anxiety throughout Changbin’s mind.

Do you find it strange? What if this isn’t what you had in mind when you imagined Changbin’s home? He stands awkwardly as he watches you slowly approach him until you’re standing right in front of him.

“Changbin, this is amazing,” you breathe out in awe, pure adoration filling your eyes as you look down at the octopus in your hands. “I… I don’t know what I was expecting coming into your home, but I wasn’t expecting this. You’re an absolute gem, Bins.” You lift your head to meet his eyes and you smile, “I don’t think anyone really has seen how amazing you are past this whole ‘I’ll punch your lights out’ exterior. I’ve never met someone like you before. One of a kind.”

Changbin stares at you with wide eyes. He can feel his eyes stinging with tears and an unknown sensation overwhelming his entire being as he just looks at you.

“No one’s ever told me that before,” he whispers as he takes a step closer towards you. The closer Changbin gets, the more he realises what the sensation is; adoration and what he can only call love. “I know we haven’t known each other for that long, but (Y/n), I think I’m falling for you.” The confession leaves his mouth smoothly, not a single ounce of hesitation stopping him from speaking. There isn’t any kind of insecurity of whether or not you don’t return the feeling because, somehow, Changbin feels like he knows that you love him back.

“I was questioning it before, but I think I have too,” you chuckle.

“Is it okay if I…” Changbin’s hand raises to your cheek and you nod when you realise what he’s talking about.

The boxer takes a step closer, leaning his face until his breath fans over your face, before he presses his lips against yours. There’s an exhilarating feeling that floods him the moment your lips touch and it has your hands nimbly raising to both sides of his waist as he deepens the kiss just a bit more.

Changbin pulls away after a moment. He lets out a breath before smiling and resting his forehead against yours, “how are you this wonderful?” It makes you laugh slightly. “You can spend the night here. Stay in my bedroom—I’ll sleep on the couch. I don’t want you walking around so late at night, it’s dangerous.”

“I’m not opposed to staying the night,” you hum. “I wanna see more of you. I know you have so much to offer and I want to explore every part of it.”

“I wouldn’t stop you if you did.”

You smile and wrap your arms around him, nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck. “Thank you for showing me this side of you, Changbin.”

“Thank you for giving me the opportunity.”

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ♫ ⋅.} ───── ⊰

Five

“Chan’s spending a few nights in my place around Christmas,” Changbin says as you both walk down the streets. The moon is sitting high in the sky as you walk under the yellow lit streetlights and towards the gym.

“Chan?” You turn to him with questioning eyes.

“Yeah, the guy that sends me yarn every few weeks. Have I never told you about him before?”

You shake your head, “don’t think so.”

“He’s my best friend. Left to a sports university to get his rugby dream running. He usually stays at my apartment for Christmas because his family moved with him and he spends every Christmas here with me,” he explains. “He’s the only other person that I’ve actually gotten close with.”

“How did he do that? Nyra said that you don’t talk to anyone else at all,” you claim.

“We grew up together. I think it was the fact that we were in the same class throughout elementary and high school, so we just always sat next to each other and we just ended up talking to each other eventually. I used to box with him at the same gym, so Nyra knows who he is. Are you going anywhere for Christmas?”

“Not really. I’m not feeling any Christmas parties this year.”

“You can stay over with us if you’d like,” Changbin offers. “We can spend an entire week like it’s a giant slumber party until after Chan leaves.”

“Would Chan be alright with that?” You glance at your boyfriend, unsure. “Feels like I’d be invading on time with your buddy.”

“He wouldn’t mind. He might actually be more excited than I was knowing that I have a significant other now,” he snorts. “I’ll give him a heads up, but Chan’s usually down for anything.”

You let out a small hum at that and continue the walk in mostly silence. There isn’t much of a plan as to what the both of you have planned for the day since you’re both finished with class and there’s still a few more hours before Changbin heads to the gym to workout.

He brushes your hand with his before completely holding onto it. “Is there anything fun to do around this area?” Changbin asks right after you’ve stepped past the campus gates.

“In this area, not really,” you sigh. “But I do know that if we find a bus and head towards the edge of town, there’s a farm that lets people pick pumpkins.”

“A bus to the edge of town?” Changbin considers the idea but then he shakes his head, “I’m too lazy to do that.”

“Pumpkin spice lattes from Starbucks?”

“Yeah, let’s do that.”

Starbucks isn’t too far away from campus. Ten minute walk into town and there’s one right on the street corner, and while Changbin doesn’t typically drink coffee, he still doesn’t mind getting a pumpkin spice latte just as an excuse to hangout with you.

With your hands locked, you walk in the direction of the town. The weather has slowly started getting colder and colder as Winter nears, which explains the puffy jackets you both have on. In your pockets are hot packs to keep your hands warm and with the new baby pink scarf that Changbin had crocheted for you, your neck is warm underneath the soft yarn.

You make sure to put on the scarf everyday before you attend your classes. Especially with what happened the day you had forgotten and Changbin was about ready to crochet you a new one right in the middle of class because he just so happened to have some extra yarn in his backpack.

Ever since you had started dating him a few weeks prior, Changbin had been nothing but doting and caring. You hadn’t realised how caring he was from the way he always seemed to be forgetting to take care of himself, but you realise very quickly that Changbin just… doesn’t realise that he’s not actually doing much for himself.

“Are you going for the Christmas ball?” Changbin asks a few minutes into the walk.

“Probably not,” you answer with a hum.

“Why not?”

“Don’t feel like it.”

“Seems like something you’d like, though.” He glances at you with a curious glint in his eyes, but you only shake your head.

“I went last year and it was pretty boring. It’s just a bunch of drunk college students dancing to really questionable Christmas jingles in the middle of the park when it’s super cold,” you huff. “My friends don’t really enjoy it that much either, but Felix goes because his favourite booty call is always there.”

“Which one?”

“You know what? I'm not sure either. I just know that he has Yeji and Wooyoung’s numbers pinned so that he doesn’t have to look that far to get to their contacts,” you snort. It’s amusing to you how Felix has friends that he has a lot of casual sex with. He’s not the type to settle down—that much you learned in your second year in the same course as him—but it still surprises you just how often he gets around without catching feelings for anyone. “If you ask me, I would be in love with at least one of his booty calls from how often he spends in their rooms.”

“Maybe he just doesn’t catch feelings when he has sex without any sort of emotional relationship built up to it,” Changbin guesses. “Chan’s like that, too. He’s always talking about this one guy in his class who he meets up with almost every Friday, but Chan doesn’t like him emotionally and the feeling seems to be mutual. They just have lots of sex.”

“That’s fair,” you wonder out loud.

“It’s probably just his way of having fun and relieving stress.”

“I get that, I’m not the type of person who has casual sex that often, so the idea is still a bit baffling to me,” you claim. “I always think it’s better to keep sex as something intimate, ya’know?”

“Then it’s a good thing that you’re dating me and not Felix,” Changbin quips.

You laugh at that, sending a gleeful feeling throughout his chest. “I wouldn’t date Felix if he was the last man alive. That man acts like a toddler who needs constant care and affection; it would drain the life out of me,” you joke. “Imagine taking care of a twenty year old who cries if you buy him the wrong orange juice brand.”

“You can’t be mad at that!” he gasps loudly. “Not all juice brands taste the same, (Y/n).”

“I made sure to get him the one that tasted exactly the same; the effort was there!” you defend yourself with a scoff that does nothing to hide the amusement on your face.

“Don’t blame a man for wanting his orange juice,” Changbin scolds. “I would be upset, too, if you gave me a different brand of blueberry juice. The one you usually get is better than the others!”

You open your mouth to counter before you gasp and cover your mouth with your hand. The realisation that you have the same exact reasoning for the blueberry juice as Felix. “Oh god, I’m sorry,” you say with a laugh.

“But, I get it, Felix does act like a love-starved toddler,” he quickly adds with a snort.

“You should’ve seen him in our first year. He would barge into my dorm at midnight and just cuddle me while I was trying to finish my work. Felix might actually start cuddling you now that we’re dating.”

“My initial reaction to people getting too close to me is punching them in the gut… I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he mutters while awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck.

“Felix will find a way to get through that,” you chuckle.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ♫ ⋅.} ───── ⊰

“I warned you,” Changbin states. Felix is hunched over on the floor while violently heaving after being punched in the chest when he tried to hug Changbin without any notice.

“Changbin, it’s Felix! He can barely even throw a punch properly!” you exclaim as you help Felix stand.

“It’s fine,” Felix heaves. His arms hold onto his stomach tightly as he straightens himself as much as possible. “I just… It’s alright, man,” he reassures him. “I think that was the wake up call I needed.”

“You really need to stop hugging random people,” you nod. “Especially not Changbin. His first instinct is to hit people who get too close to him.”

“I wouldn’t have thought otherwise,” Felix chuckles lightly.

Changbin smiles at him sheepishly while rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, “yeah… I’m not used to physical touch that much.”

“It’s alright,” he reassures him once again. “I should’ve seen it coming, honestly. I’ve heard about you before; the dude who doesn’t really talk to anyone and spends most of his time at a boxing gym, so I really should’ve expected it. I just thought that maybe you wouldn’t hit me because you’re dating (Y/n).”

“(Y/n) is the only person who I won’t hit upon contact,” Changbin hums.

“That’s ass,” Felix huffs.

“It’s fair,” you hum with glee as you skip over to Changbin and press a kiss to his cheek. He pulls away slightly in surprise at the act, a big smile on his face as he looks at you. You return the smile as well before turning back to Felix, your smile dropping slightly when you see the look on his face, brown eyes flitting between both you and Changbin.

“That’s kinda cute, not gonna lie,” he points out.

“Say that again and I’ll punch you,” Changbin warns as he takes a step closer with his right hand curled into a fist. Felix visibly panics as he takes a step back but you only laugh and place your hand on Changbin’s chest.

“He’s just joking, Lix. Nothing to worry about,” you reassure him. “Now, come on. I wanted pancakes, so we’re getting pancakes while you two talk to each other and try not to beat each other up.” You grab onto both of their wrists with both of your hands and start pulling them into the pancake house right in front of you; the original reason that you were standing in the middle of the mall with both your best friend and your boyfriend in the first place.

You order your respective plates of pancakes before taking a seat at one of the booths, Changbin sitting across from you while Felix sits beside you.

In truth, Felix didn’t really give Changbin much of a choice as he immediately took the seat beside you the moment you sat down. The boxer didn’t question it as anything more than him being just a tad big protective of you—which he thought was understandable.

Anyone in this world would protect you the more they’d hang out with you, Changbin thinks. You’re just that bright enough that even someone as distant as Changbin had decided that he would do anything to keep you safe.

“So… Changbin,” Felix starts as he rests his elbows on the table and clasps his hands in front of himself. “(Y/n) said you’re a boxer.”

“Yeah,” he nods.

“Competitive?”

“Sort of.”

“You earn money from it?”

“Yeah.”

Felix stays silent as he stares at Changbin before he glances at you.”You weren’t kidding when you said he wasn’t much of a talker,” he whispers to you.

“Well, yeah, I wouldn’t have said it if it wasn’t true,” you mutter.

“Is it usually just one word replies?”

“He’s literally sitting right there, Lix,” you scoff while smacking his shoulder. “Dude, at least talk to him if you’re going to talk about him.”

“Right, right,” Felix quickly nods, clearing his throat. “My bad, dude. I think I’m just not used to reading this sort of short replies.”

“It’s fine,” Changbin reassures him with a slight raise to his hand. “I don’t really like… talking.”

“That’s alright,” he smiles.

“(Y/n) usually does the talking,” he adds. Changbin glances at you slightly and you flash him an encouraging smile when he does.

“Changbin doesn’t really mind people when they approach him, but he won’t exactly reciprocate the energy, you know?” you explain.

“I’ve never been able to. Wouldn’t stop people from talking, though”

“I see,” Felix nods. “I’m chill with that. You would answer if I ask you stuff, right?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s chill then.”

“I have one question,” Changbin claims just as the pancakes arrive, laying in front of all three of you.

As Felix would, his is filled with chocolate chips and topped with whipped cream and strawberries. Changbin went with a simple plain pancake batter with maple syrup while you got plain pancakes topped with fruits and honey.

“Shoot,” Felix says as he stuffs his mouth with a forkful of pancakes.

“(Y/n) mentioned your… uhm… I don’t know how else to put it,” Changbin mutters.

“Is it the booty call thing?” you ask. When he nods, you turn to Felix who glances between the two of you.

“What about my booty calls?” Felix questions.

“Not the kind to settle down?”

“Felix won’t settle down until he finds someone who will baby him to the max,” you groan.

“That’s exactly it,” he nods just as he sticks another mouthful into his mouth. “The people I have casual sex with now aren’t exactly the caring types—if you get what I mean—but what I look for romantically is different. If I met someone who was the really doting and caring type, then I’d consider that, yeah.”

“This applies to both…” Changbin trails off slowly.

“Anyone, basically. Gender doesn’t matter to me,” Felix finishes. “It’s not something I look for in a person. I see what kind of person they are, how they’d mostly treat me, how sweet they are, and how they treat animals and their family.”

“Ah, that’s an important one,” you nod in agreement.

“There’s a lot of things that I actively look for, but the most important one is probably whether or not they’ll care for me. The reason why I never had a thing for (Y/n) was mainly because they don’t baby me.”

“You’re a full grown ass man, Felix,” you snort.

“I like being babied,” he grumbles. Changbin stares at him for a moment as he nods slowly.

“You know what? I know someone that I think you’d get along with,” he claims.

“Really?”

“Yeah, he’s a good friend of mine who’s staying over for Christmas. Maybe you two should meet.”

“You think so?” Felix turns to you for any sort of explanation, but you only shrug. You have an assumption that Changbin means Chan, but you haven’t actually met Chan let alone spoken to him even through text.

“He’s a good guy,” Changbin adds.

Without saying another word, he sticks a forkful of pancakes into his mouth.

“I’d like more of an explanation on that, but you can explain it eventually,” Felix says with a nod.

“I can just—” Changbin pulls his phone out of the pocket of his jeans and places it onto the table unlocked and on an Instagram profile. “His name’s Bang Chan. He’s twenty-five this year, last year of uni. Sends me stuff every few days and calls me almost every night to make sure I’m alright since he can’t be here with me. He doesn’t do selfies that much, but you could probably find one.”

Felix pulls the phone closer to the both of you and scrolls through the profile. “Oh, wow.” His jaw almost drops to the floor when he finally finds a selfie of Chan in the profile. “Holy shit.” Felix brings the phone closer to his face with his eyes practically bulging out of his skull. “Jesus Christ, hot buff people are really just casually friends with more hot buff people, huh?”

You glance over at Changbin’s phone as well and your own eyes widen. “Holy shit.”

“Chan’s pretty hot, yeah,” Changbin nods nonchalantly as he continues eating his pancakes.

“Dude, he’s not just hot—he is hot,” Felix laughs in disbelief as he continues scrolling through the profile. “What’s he like?”

“Honestly—from the point of view of an old friend—he’s like a dad.”

“From what I know, Chan’s basically constantly babying Changbin. Almost subconsciously, right, Binz?”

“Yeah,” he nods. “A gentleman, too, I think. But that’s only what I’ve heard from his past partners.”

“Sweet, buff, and caring?” Felix repeats when his eyes move to Changbin. “Sounds like a dream come true.” He places the phone back onto the marble table and slides it back to its owner. “I’ll drop by during Christmas. (Y/n)’s spending the entire Christmas week at your place, right?”

“Yeah,” you nod.

“Then, sure, but also on the condition that you guys feed me for the entire week.”

“Deal,” Changbin smiles. “Chan usually does the cooking when he’s over, so I just let him do whatever he wants.”

“By the way, this is going to be invasive, but have you guys had sex yet?”

“I’m fucking leaving you here,” you start shoving Felix out of the booth while Changbin immediately starts choking on his food.

“It’s a genuine question!”

“Get your head out of your dick, Felix, or I’m going to kick you onto the floor,” you warn.

“No, we haven’t,” Changbin answers for you after a moment of coughing. “We’ve only been together for like… less than a month. I don’t—I think it’s—you know?”

“I totally get it; new relationship, getting to know each other—that whole thing,” Felix nods.

“What is wrong with you?”

“I’m trying to make conversation!”

“Talk about class, the gaming club—the fucking football team—I don’t know!”

“I don’t know what Changbin finds interesting!”

“Not our sex life!”

“I’m alright with it,” Changbin mutters, but you or Felix don’t seem to hear him.

“That’s not something you should ask people!”

“He’s the first guy you’ve dated since we’ve met, I—your sexually active best friend—am obligated to know if you guys are doing alright!”

“Oh my god, Felix.”

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ♫ ⋅.} ───── ⊰

Six

With Winter rolling in and the temperature getting colder, your break comes way sooner than you realise and you’ve realised you’ve been spending more and more time at Changbin’s apartment.

Changbin’s even taken the liberty in clearing out some of the space in his closet to make way for your clothes, partially because he’s giving you more reasons to stay at his place rather than heading back to yours whenever you forget to bring your overnight bag with you. And even though your main concern with the meetup you had with Felix was that Changbin would’ve been scared of being intimate with you, it didn’t exactly seem to stop him.

“Chan’s supposed to be coming over soon,” Changbin mumbles, knuckles gently running over the skin of your cheek.

“What do you wanna do while waiting?” you ask as you readjust yourself in his bed so that you were facing him.

“We could do a handful of things,” he shrugs, “we can watch a movie. I could teach you how to crochet your favourite animal.” Changbin moves slightly closer and his hand traces your jaw before his thumb and index hold onto your chin. Leaning in slowly, he presses his lips to yours.

It’s a slow kiss that doesn’t really feel like it’s leading anywhere, but Changbin’s lips feel warm on yours and it sends a comforting feeling throughout your entire body.

When he pulls away, the only thing in Changbin’s eyes is adoration. “We could just do this until he gets here.”

“What? Make out for hours?” you giggle.

“I mean, we don’t have to just make out.” You stare at him for a moment before pulling away slightly.

“Now?”

“Why not?” Changbin sits up slightly and rests his weight on his arm. “I mean, we don’t have to if you’re not ready. I’m just saying that I’m ready for it.”

You push yourself up so that you’re in the same exact position as him, “like… right now?”

“Yeah,” he nods. “If you don’t want to, it’s totally fine.”

“I do!” you squeak, but you shut your mouth immediately when you realise that you may have sounded a bit too eager. “I’m just… a bit surprised… I guess. I wasn’t expecting anything until another few months—but I’m alright with it!”

“You sure?” Changbin asks.

“Yeah,” you nod. He moves closer once again with his hand on your cheek, kissing you with the same pace as before before he pulls away abruptly.

“You’re certain that you want this?”

“Yes, Changbin,” you laugh slightly. “Hundred percent.”

“If you wanna stop anytime, just let me know.”

“I promise I will,” you smile.

Changbin leans back in, his body closer to yours and his touch a bit more firm as it runs over your shoulder and down your back until he’s hovering over you.

And honestly, maybe you two should’ve been keeping more track on time, because when Changbin’s doorbell rings and he looks like he’s just done a full-body workout, it doesn’t really give that many options when he opens the door to see Chan standing there with his luggage bag and a huge smile on his face.

“Woah, man, you must’ve been doing some crazy workouts; look at you,” Chan laughs as he steps into the apartment.

“Yeah, something like that,” Changbin nods. His hand runs through his hair as he still tries to catch his breath. Chan leaves his bags in the living room and his coat along the armrest of his couch.

“So, what do you want for dinner? I can head to the grocery store and buy some stuff,” Chan offers while he runs through his phone. His head snaps up when he hears the sound of Changbin’s door open even with the boxer standing right in front of him and Changbin’s eyes widen, staring straight at the floor when he hears it as well.

“Hi,” you wave at Chan as you poke your head out of the room. The man blinks twice at you before at Changbin.

The dots connect but it’s an extremely slow process even though you’re wearing one of Changbin’s bigger hoodies and you look as worn out as he does. His eyes practically pop out of his skull when he does make the connection and Chan lets out an extremely loud sound at the realisation.

“Who is this?!” he exclaims, but Changbin’s still staring at the ground because he’s realised that he hasn’t told Chan that you’re dating.

You take another step out of Changbin’s room, “I’m (Y/n). We’ve been dating for a few months.”

“You’ve been dating for a few months?! Why didn’t you tell me?!” Chan turns to Changbin with what you could only explain as the most shock you’ve ever seen on a person’s face before.

“I think I forgot,” he confesses softly.

“Forgot?!”

“I’m sorry! I was so caught up with school, and boxing, and (Y/n)!”

“Dude?! You don’t talk to people! I’m your best friend—I’m supposed to have this whole ‘I’m super protective of my bro’ shit prepared!”

As you stand in Changbin’s living room while they go back and forth, you realise that maybe this is what Changbin felt when you and Felix were arguing at the pancake house.

“We spoke like every weekend ever since you brought them up the first time!”

“I know! But whenever you called, it had already slipped my mind!”

“But still!”

“I said I was sorry!”

“Okay!” you exclaim as you step in between the two. “Hi, Chan, I’m (Y/n)! You guys are just going to keep going back and forth on this because the same exact thing happened to my friend and I a few weeks ago when I introduced him to Changbin,” you say while looking at Chan. You turn to Changbin right after, “Changbin, honey, I’m so sorry Felix and I argue so much because now I understand how you feel whenever we do. Anyway, I’m hungry and Felix just texted asking what time he should come over.”

“Felix?”

“He’s (Y/n)’s best friend,” Changbin says right before he turns his attention to you. “He can come over any time and stay over for as long as he’d like.”

“Are we spending the entire week of Christmas together, then?” Chan asks.

“Pretty much,” you nod. “If you want alone time with Changbin, just let me know. I can head back to my dorm anytime.”

“It’s fine. I just wasn’t expecting to find out about his partner so suddenly,” he chuckles.

“My friend Felix is probably going to crash here, too. He doesn’t want to be lonely on Christmas and all of his booty calls are busy,” you claim.

“I get that. I’m here for Christmas for two reasons; one, I don’t see Changbin often, and two, my own booty call isn’t around during Christmas.”

“Ah, so you and Felix are exactly the same,” Changbin quips. “I have a feeling you two are going to really like each other.” He glances at you and you have your lips pressed together into a straight line to stop your smile from showing.

“I’m going to assume you guys have inside jokes now that I’m going to learn about eventually because Changbin can’t keep his mouth shut,” Chan snorts.

“Oh, it’s nothing. We just think that you and Felix are pretty similar in character, so you might get along really well,” you explain briefly with a dismissive wave of your hand. “You’ll understand when he gets here—trust me.” The rugby player gives you an amused look as he tosses his phone onto the couch and crosses his arms over his chest.

“Bet.”

⊱ ───��── {.⋅ ♫ ⋅.} ───── ⊰

“This isn’t going to work,” Changbin laughs.

“If I know anything about Felix, it’s that you just need Chan to baby him and Felix will go falling like it’s nothing,” you hum. “If we can get them to spend a whole day just together, Chan’s bound to baby him eventually.”

“You’re not wrong about that.”

“Yeah! So it’s the perfect plan!”

“The perfect plan to get two guys who have their own booty calls into finally settling down with each other?” Changbin summarises, amused. You nod your head excitedly which only makes him smile further. “Fine, we can give it a shot. I still don’t know how it’s gonna work, both of them are too invested in a no-strings-attached relationship than anything.”

“Well, Chan likes someone he can take care of and Felix likes being taken care of. It’s a perfect dynamic!” you claim. “Plus, you heard what Felix said! If he finds someone who will baby him or take care of him, he'll consider it. We just have to play cupid for a little bit.”

“I thought you weren’t the kind to meddle in other peoples’ love lives.”

“This isn’t meddling,” you snort while shaking your head. “It’s just… pushing them closer to each other.”

“(Y/n).”

“Okay, fine, it’s meddling—but you can’t say that maybe it’s time they both find someone! Chan’s twenty-five, last year in college and Felix is in his third year of biomed! Maybe they’ll end up getting married!”

“Okay, now you just sound crazy.”

“Can we just try? Pretty please?” You clasp your hands together and jut your lips into a pout, doing the best puppy eyes you can manage in order to convince Changbin. He stares at you a few times before sighing.

“Fine, we can try.”

He doesn’t know what he was expecting. Changbin just knew that you wanted to plan a whole day just for Felix and Chan to spend together so that, in your words, ‘they would realise that they’re perfect for each other’, which Changbin honestly thinks is a little bullshit, but he’s in love with you at this point, so he doesn’t mind.

Your ‘perfect plan’ has led to you convincing Felix to take Chan to a bar downtown for the night while you and Changbin have your own date night at a hotpot restaurant not too far from his apartment.

“They’ll be fine, right?”

“I don’t know, baby, this was your idea,” Changbin chuckles as he watches how hesitant you’ve become while swishing a strip of meat around in the boiling pot of broth.

“Do you think they’ll get along?” you ask.

“They’re both relatively nice people,” he hums.

“Okay, but what if they don’t end up liking each other as much?”

“Then it just means they’re not as compatible as we initially thought.”

“What if we’ve just ruined their relationship completely?”

“Okay, that’s just being irrational.”

“I’m serious!”

“(Y/n), baby,” he puts his chopsticks down onto the table and reaches out to hold both of your hands, “trust me. We haven’t just ruined their relationship completely. You never know! Maybe they will like each other way more than we thought. Right now, let’s not focus on those two and just focus on the hotpot.”

Changbin’s honestly hoping that you do drop Felix and Chan’s relationship because he can’t be too bothered to worry about whether the night ends with them fucking or if the night ends with them deciding they wanna give it a real shot.

But you don’t and Changbin just lets it happen.

“Wait, what if they actually end up deciding they’re perfect for each other? Would that mean we make perfect wingmen?”

“Probably. What’s the worst that could happen, honestly?” Changbin wonders out loud.

“They could end up hating each other and then possibly hating us for making them hang out with each other.” He freezes in his movement and stares at you. Changbin’s honestly speechless at how far your thoughts go.

“(Y/n), you’re overthinking this. It’s going to be fine, alright? Just let it go with the flow. You can’t force anything between them.”

“I know I can’t, but now I’m just a bit worried,” you sigh.

“‘A bit’ is an understatement,” he chuckles. “How about we head to the arcade later so that we can take your mind off of things. By the time we get home, they’re probably already there, too. So… let them do their thing while we do ours. Alright?”

“Alright,” you nod.

You finally drop the topic there and spend the rest of the evening enjoying your date night with Changbin. As promised, he takes you to the arcade across the street to try and keep your mind too busy from thinking of whatever situation Chan and Felix could have possibly ended up in, and while you’re both playing one of the ring toss games, Changbin gets a message from Chan telling him that the two have already reached his apartment safe and sound.

“See, (Y/n)? They’re fine!” Chan yells over the loud arcade ambiance and you smile at him.

“I’m already over it, Binz. I think I'm just worrying for Felix,” you say.

“It’s alright to be worried, I was a bit too for Chan, but you were just throwing shit around, babe. It was funny,” he laughs. “This is exactly why I initially called your head bouncy.”

“Yes, I gathered.”

Changbin gives you a cheeky smile as he raises his finger to your cheek to poke at the skin, “you’re adorable when your head is being all bouncy.”

“Out of context, that sounds like it could’ve easily come out of a serial killer’s mouth,” you quip.

“I’m just trying to be nice!” he exclaims.

You take a step closer to him and laugh, “I know, honey. I think it’s sweet.” Pressing a kiss to his cheek, Changbin lets out a gleeful giggle when you do and wraps his arm around your waist to keep you close to him. “But I think I’m out of tokens, so we should probably head back before we waste more of our money here.”

“Agreed.”

Changbin keeps his arm around your waist as you leave the arcade and start the leisurely walk in the direction of his apartment, giggling and laughing at nothing as the cold air brushes past you. But the two of you pay it no mind with each others’ warmth doing more than enough to stop the cold from biting your skin.

“I am going to bet my entire lunch for this week that Felix has kicked Chan out of the guest room and claimed it as his own,” Changbin says as you walk through the corridor of his apartment building.

“Oh please, I have faith in them to have at least come to some kind of a civil agreement,” you laugh while rolling your eyes.

“Really? Those two?” He smiles.

Changbin unlocks his front door and pushes it open, but his eyes immediately widen and a yell rips through his throat when he realises what’s going on.

“What—oh my god!” you scream after pushing past him to see what’s wrong. The last thing you were expecting to see was Felix and Chan scrambling off of each other and off of the floor, grabbing the nearest piece of fabric to cover themselves up.

“In my fucking living room?! Are you two fucking serious?!” Changbin shouts as he closes his front door.

“You guys were taking a long time!” Chan defends. “We didn’t think that you two would be back so soon!”

“And that gives you guys the excuse to fuck in my apartment?! And on my living room floor?! You could’ve done it in the bathroom or the fucking guest room—talk about being fucking uncivil—my parents sit in my living room!”

“What event led up to this?! Why are you guys having sex in the middle of the fucking galaxy?!”

“Jesus, it’s not my fault Chan’s built the way he is,” Felix grumbles, earning a smack from the older man and a sharp glare.

“Dude,” Chan hisses.

“Jesus Christ, I don’t even want to hear it,” Changbin grumbles as he disappears into his bedroom. You stand in the living room with your hands awkwardly rubbing together, staring at the two men with your lips pursed together and your eyes trained to the ceiling to avoid looking at something that you would regret seeing.

“Couldn’t have you guys done it in the guest room or something?” you scoff.

“We couldn’t help ourselves…” Chan confesses softly.

“In the living room? Seriously?”

“At least it wasn’t his bed!” Felix reasons, but you only glare at him in response, which effectively shuts him up.

“Both of you go into the guest room and continue your shit in there,” you say, strictly enough to get them both nodding with their heads hanging low before they scurry into the guest room. You let out a small sigh when your attention turns to the blankets and clothes that scatter the living room floor, a grimace contorting your features as you try stepping over them to avoid any… suspicious fluids… and make your way into Changbin’s bedroom.

“I think your plan worked,” Changbin jokes when he sees you coming into the room. He sat at the edge of his bed with his phone in his hand and his winter coat laid on the bed beside him.

“Might have worked a little too well,” you laugh. “I made them head into the guest room, so we’ll most likely wake up to a clean-ish living room.”

“That’s something we can joke about in the future,” he snorts. “I was expecting them to get along, but not on my living room floor.” Changbin extends his arms towards you and makes grabby hands, “cuddles, please?”

“Okay, Binz,” you chuckle as you take a step closer to him and let his arms wrap around your waist.

He pulls you close against him and practically smushes his face against your belly with his arms loosely around you. You run your hands through Changbin’s hair with a smile on your face at the way he just seems to melt at your touch.

You realise now that he’s way more into you than you had originally thought, but the more you think of it, the more you realise that you might be as well.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ♫ ⋅.} ───── ⊰

Seven

“I’m just saying that I don’t think it’s a good idea, Binz. Did you see him?” you reason as you both step into his apartment. Changbin haphazardly tosses his keys on the counter and turns to you while taking a deep breath.

“I understand the concern, (Y/n), but I think I can take it,” he argues softly.

Maybe you two should’ve remembered that Felix and Chan were still in the other room. Christmas had ended, but Chan decided to extend his stay for the sake of getting to know Felix more and your friend, on the other hand, just decided he had nothing else to do and nowhere else to go, which led the both of them to stay even after New Years.

��You heard what Nyra said! She’s worried about you, too”

“I don’t need her worrying about me.” Changbin turns his back towards you and it makes you shut your eyes in frustration.

You had followed him to the gym to just keep him company and explore the gym with Nyra, but when a man twice the size of Changbin walked into the gym. At the time, you were sitting on one of the machines with Nyra standing beside you, her eyes immediately flitting to the man the moment his presence was made known in the room. You watched him as well, but more importantly, you were watching the way Changbin was eyeing him.

A small conversation with Nyra made all three of you realise that the man was interested in joining the matches.

“No matches until the end of February. Gives time for everyone time to settle down after Christmas and the New Years before getting in another match,” she explained. The man nodded, glancing at both you and Changbin before going on about his business. “Stop thinking about it,” Nyra warned when she saw the look on Changbin’s face. “I don’t think you should fight him, Changbin.”

Changbin stayed silent even after you had placed your hand on his shoulder to try and divert his attention, but his eyes were practically glued to the man.

“You don’t have anything to prove in that gym,” you add as you follow him into the living room.

“That’s not the point.”

“Then why do you want to fight him so bad?”

“It feels like a challenge for myself.”

“You’re going to get sent to the hospital!”

“Then I’ll take that with my pride!” he yells as he turns around to face you. “You know that I’d get injured doing shit like this and you were fine with it before Christmas—what changed that?!”

“It changed when the woman, who’s been watching you fight for the past five years, thinks it’s a bad idea!” you retaliate.

“Nyra babies me! Of course she would! She’s like ten years older than me and I’m a college student who earns money from fighting in her gym! What difference is one match?!”

“Exactly! What difference is one match, Changbin? You tell me.”

“I’m not having this argument,” he states as he turns around.

“I don’t want to follow you to a match and then be in the hospital a few hours later,” you continue as you watch Changbin throw his coat onto the couch.

“Why do you think that I won’t win that one? It’s not like you know anything about boxing,” he huffs. Your arms cross over your chest.

“You’re right, I don’t, but I know when to trust my gut, Bin. I’m just asking that you don’t go to this one match.” You stand in front of him and take his hands in yours, “please, Changbin? Just this once.”

He stares at you for a moment, and it seems like he takes the thought into consideration before he shakes his head, “I’ll be fine, (Y/n).” You let out a scoff and pull your hands away from him, which immediately sends Changbin into the same annoyed look from before.

“Why are you so insistent on fighting that guy?”

“Because it doesn’t seem like anything will go wrong! Why don’t you trust me?”

“I don’t trust him!”

“Hey.” The voice snaps the both of you out of the argument and has you turning in the direction of the guest room to see Chan poking his head out of the room, hair messy and lips swollen, “you guys alright?”

“Yeah,” Changbin nods. “Don’t worry about it, just go back to whatever you were doing.” He rubs his fingers against his forehead in an attempt to ease the frustration as Chan looks between you and Changbin.

“Okay,” he nods. “Just checking in.” From the spot you’re in, you’re able to catch a glimpse of Felix sitting on the bed with the covers pulled up to his chest as he stares at you.

“It’s fine Chan, we’re just… at a disagreement right now,” you mutter.

“Yeah, okay,” he nods once again right before closing the door. You let out a sigh and turn your attention back to Changbin, who avoids looking at you and keeps his gaze on the floor instead.

“I’m not comfortable with watching you go against this guy,” you say softly after a moment.

“Then just don’t come for the match,” Changbin states.

An overwhelming sense of rage runs throughout your body and, before you can think, you’ve picked up one of the octopus off of his coffee table and thrown it at him.

But the problem is that the octopus is soft and it wouldn’t do any damage to anyone, so it bounces straight off of Changbin’s chest. He stares at the plush toy on the ground with his jaw dropped and his eyes wide.

“Why aren’t you worried at all?! I’m telling you that I’m worried! I’m letting you know that I’m uncomfortable because I don’t want you getting hurt!” you shout as you throw another octopus at him. The blue one bounces off of his head this time and disappears somewhere in the living room. “Are you even listening to me? Don’t you get it?!”

“I am,” he nods. “I just…You’d kill me if I told you what I noticed.”

“What?” You cross your arms over your chest and stare at him, watching him with sharp eyes.

“I thought the way the octopus bounced off of me was funny.” Changbin doesn’t think he’s ever seen you this angry before, but then again, he doesn’t think he’s ever seen you angry before, but the rage in your eyes is enough to have him shrinking in his spot.

Only for you to grab another octopus to throw it at him and he can’t help but snort when he feels the way it bounces off of his chest.

“Changbin!” you groan while throwing another one… which only makes him laugh even more. You let out an annoyed grumble without saying anything more and just watch as Changbin crouches down to pick up one of the octopus.

“It’s funny, baby, look,” he says softly as he throws it against himself, the toy going flying in the opposite direction and bouncing against the floor. Changbin laughs before he tries it again with another octopus on the coffee table, a pink one, the toy doing the same thing as before as it bounces off of his head and towards the other end of the room.

You feel your stomach bubbling and you can’t help but laugh as well when Changbin does it again.

“Okay, you’re right,” you laugh when he does it with one of the deers. You take a step forward and take his hands in yours.

“I promise I’ll be careful, honey,” Changbin promises while raising your hands to his face. “I always go into the ring wondering what’s going to happen, but I know when to tap out if I need to. I’ll just not get up if I know that something’s not right.”

“Promise me that you’ll be careful.”

“I promise,” he nods. “I understand if it makes you uncomfortable, but I need you to understand that boxing is something that I genuinely enjoy and genuinely want to excel at. If I avoid a match that I’m scared I’ll lose, I won’t ever move from this spot that I’m in. I’ll be careful.”

You give Changbin a weak smile before nodding. “Okay,” you whisper as he pulls you closer to him. “Don’t be dumb.”

“I’ll try,” he chuckles right as he presses a kiss to the top of your head.

He ushers you into the bedroom, giving you more reassurance before Changbin picks his phone up from his couch only to see messages from Chan that had been sent while you were arguing.

Chan: Yo You guys alright? Yk what Don’t answer that Do you want Felix and I to leave for a bit or smth? We don’t wanna intrude or anything We can always spend the night at his place Oh you aren’t arguing anymore What in the world did you say to them Oh man Why would you say that?? Whatever Have fun with (Y/n) and ignore whatever you hear from our room <3

Binz: Please Dude Just one night of peace and quiet I’m begging you

Chan: Hey Felix was doing just that :D

Binz: PLEASE God please I just want to SLEEP I just want one night of sleep with my partner and without the horrific sounds of whatever the fuck you and Felix do when you’re in MY guest room in MY apartment

Chan: I’ll try to keep him down He seems to like that

Binz: P L E A S E

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ♫ ⋅.} ───── ⊰

The next match that Changbin attends only comes by about a month later when it’s Spring. He didn’t even know who he was going up against until he was standing in the ring and the man climbed into the ring as well, staring at him dead in the eye.

Changbin could feel his heart drop at the realisation and he glances at where you are, seeing the worried look in your eyes when you see him as well.

Whenever Changbin steps into the ring, he only has one thing on his mind:

Be the less beat up of the two.

He doesn’t care if he wins or not, honestly. Changbin’s pride lies in whether or not he suffers more injuries than his opponent, because, to him, it determines his skill in his own defence. If he can make it out of the ring with less bruises and, hopefully, no broken bones, Changbin considers himself the better fighter in general because he doesn’t have to pay any medical bills.

But now, he has another thing on his mind.

From his side of the ring, Changbin’s able to see you standing in Nyra’s office—your usual seat in the gym to avoid the crowd—smiling and cheering him on. Even with the glass separating the both of you, he can practically hear your voice whenever you cheer or curse. Nyra’s always sitting beside you with a bottle of beer in her hands and amusement painted on her face.

She’s always thought you were rather cute, even for Changbin. Nyra didn’t hesitate to make you feel more comfortable at the gym and she definitely didn’t hesitate to voice out her own opinions against Changbin going against the new guy, but she only shrugged when she realised that he had made up his mind.

He needs a clear head. The adrenaline is already pumping through his veins and his mind is mostly void of anything that could possibly distract him. There was a brief moment where Changbin had allowed himself to let you enter his thoughts, but your disapproval towards the entire match would only bother him more. And the fact that you’re willing there to watch him only makes him feel just a tad more guilty.

Granted, the guilt is honestly always there and it has been ever since you started following Changbin to his matches; he never wanted to give you any reason to worry but he simply couldn’t give up boxing.

His attention turns back to reality and the man that stands in front of him. The kind of fear that runs throughout Changbin’s body is something that he hasn’t felt in years. It’s the sort of fear that actually makes him doubt his ability to make it out of this match alive.

And when the fight begins, Changbin realises that the fear is justifiable. He hasn’t gone against someone this strong in years and he isn’t sure of his own ability as blood starts to drip down his chin and onto the floor.

From Nyra’s office, you watch anxiously, both you and the older woman knowing that Changbin won’t actually make it out of the match alive. You can only hope that he sticks by his promise of tapping out before it’s too late.

“Tap out, Binz,” you whisper anxiously. “Please tap out now.”

Changbin knows that he’s losing stamina from the way his arms aren’t moving the way they normally do. Pain overwhelms him and he feels like he can barely breathe in the room as the crowd chants his name because Changbin doesn’t lose. He knows that too well, but his fractured ankle and his, most likely, broken ribs say otherwise.

And it’s his pride that stops him from tapping out—from keeping his promise—as he throws another swing only for the man to punch him in his stomach once to disorient him and knee him in the face.

Changbin doesn’t even have the energy to let out any sort of cry as he falls to the ground. He feels his body twitching from the pain and his breathing starting to get more and more uneven.

“Changbin!” your voice cries out. There’s a moment where Changbin can feel himself being dragged out of the ring with his blood staining the floor before your face appears in his field of vision. “Changbin, hey, honey, can you hear me?” you call as you hold onto his face.

“(Y/n)?”

“Hold on, Changbin. Nyra, call an ambulance! You’ll be fine, honey, just hold on,” you frantically ramble as you lay his head on your lap.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters, “I… I should’ve tapped out.”

“No, it’s okay,” you quickly reassure him. “I-It’s alright, baby. Just keep breathing for me, okay? Just stay awake for a bit longer.”

“They’re on their way, but we need to get him out of this room to breathe,” Nyra explains as she starts pulling him out of the area. “God, I should’ve seen this coming,” she sighs with her hand rubbing against her forehead nervously. “You’re going to give me a heart attack one day, kid.”

“I guess that’s one thing I can achieve,” Changbin chuckles right before coughing violently, only to let out a whine of pain from when pain shoots throughout his chest.

“Wait until Chan hears about this,” you huff when you see the way his hand weakly holds onto his chest.

“He’d find it amusing,” he claims.

“Sounds a lot like him,” Nyra chuckles. “What hurts, Changbin?”

“Everything. My chest hurts a lot and I’m pretty sure my ankle is broken.”

“You just sit here and look…” she trails off and sighs, “look pretty. The ambulance is almost here. You know the drill, right?”

“Tell them that I got beat up in a regulated boxing match and say that your fiance is a referee,” he mutters.

“If anything you give them his contact details.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Changbin nods.

“Drink,” you practically order as you hold a bottle of water with a straw right in front of him, the sudden appearance of the bottle almost startling Changbin for a moment.

He doesn’t say anything as he drinks from the bottle, silently watching and listening as you and Nyra seem to frantically move around the place while trying to keep him awake.

“You’re not allowed to join a match until you get the greenlight to continue fighting,” Nyra scolds just as her fiancee comes barging into the room.

“Damn, you’re still alive?” Aki laughs.

“Unfortunately, yes,” Changbin jokes, which only earns a soft scoff from you.

The man slips a business card into Changbin’s hand, “give them this if they ask about what happened.”

“You’re lucky I’m marrying a lawyer,” Nyra says while clicking her tongue in faux annoyance.

“I’m so lucky you chose the dude who you deemed was the best in bed,” he chuckles. Nyra glares at him while Aki snickers from beside her, his arm slinging over her shoulders to pull her closer.

“Aww, it’s alright, lovely. I think you’re the best in bed, too,” he coos.

“Say that again in front of these kids and I’m not marrying you,” she grumbles. Aki laughs heartily before pressing a kiss to the side of her head.

“While we wait for the paramedics and Changbin’s oddly chatty; how did this little creature break through your shell?” he asks with his hand gesturing to you.

“They fed me and kept me alive during class,” Changbin answers lazily before you have the chance to respond. “Basically kept me company everyday while we were on campus and, over time, I realised that I really like them. They’re always so cute and bubbly. I think I always just imagine them to be what Spring is.”

“Wow, okay,” you cough awkwardly as your face starts to warm, “he’s very chatty today.”

“I just think you’re very lovely,” he hums with a tired smile on his face, loving eyes glued to your face. “I always wonder how I’m so lucky that you chose to sit beside me out of all of the seats in the hall that day.”

“Changbin…” You’re ready to warn him—stop him from saying something that he would regret upon coming to his senses because Changbin’s never this open with how he feels even towards you.

“He’s not even pumped with drugs yet,” Aki laughs.

“I wonder what he’ll be like when he’s in the hospital then,” Nyra wonders.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ♫ ⋅.} ───── ⊰

“Did I really say that in front of them?” Changbin chuckles. You nod meekly with a bumble bee plushy in your hands—one of the many crocheted gifts your boyfriend had gifted you throughout your relationship.

“Yeah… Aki thought it was funny and he was trying to get you to say more, but I had to stop you before you said anything else,” you explain with a small laugh.

“What about when the paramedics came?”

“You weren’t really saying anything in the ambulance.”

“In the ER?”

“The moment they got the painkillers in your system, you were as high as a kite,” you hum.

“I didn’t say anything dumb, did I?”

“Nothing that I think you’d regret.”

Changbin nods and smiles after. He watches you with half-lidded eyes as you stand up to grab something from the other side of the hospital room. The exhaustion had finally kicked in and Changbin was unbelievably tired even after being prescribed painkillers and a handful of other meds that were supposed to help him sleep better throughout his recovery.

“Here.” You place a box of blueberry juice on the table beside him and Changbin can’t help but feel warmth spreading throughout his chest at the thought that you remembered to bring a box with you when you went back to your dorm to grab clothes.

“Thank you, (Y/n).”

“How do you feel?” You return to the chair right beside the bed and gently rest your hand on his forearm.

“Nothing hurts that much,” Changbin answers with a shrug. “Either I’ve learned how to completely block out the pain or the painkillers are doing their job.” You manage a laugh at his attempt to joke about the situation, but you still can’t help the dull aching in your own chest at the sight of Changbin so beat up. “Hey,” he reaches out to hold onto your hand and it makes you look him in the eyes, “I’m fine. I’m going to heal from this perfectly fine, alright?”

“I know you will,” you claim softly as you let him pull your hand slightly closer so that it’s resting on his chest. “But you promised that you’d tap out,” you scold. You take the bumble bee with your free hand and gently whack Changbin on the chest with it.

“Ouch!” he winces, “oh, that one actually hurt this time.” The sneer on your face only makes Changbin breathe out a laugh. “I’m sorry I didn’t tap out sooner. My pride got in the way and now I guess I know more about my own limits. I think I get why you got really mad that time.”

“I just don’t want to be following you to the hospital so often when you could tap out earlier and we can patch you up at home. The feeling’s not as heavy when it’s just in your bathroom with your first-aid kit,” you sigh.

Changbin squeezes your hand lightly, “for what it’s worth, this really did a number on my ego. I don’t think I’ll be getting myself into fights with guys that look like that anytime soon.”

“You better not,” you quickly sit upright.

“I won’t, honey, I promise.” When Changbin sees the sceptical narrowing of your eyes he laughs, “I really promise this time, (Y/n). I don’t like making you worry. But I want you to promise something too.”

“What is it?”

“Promise me that you’ll stay by my side no matter how beat up I get.”

“Of course,” you nod. “That was never a question, Binz. I came to the match tonight because I needed to know what would happen. If you got hurt, I’d want to be the one who follows you in the ambulance, and if you win, I’d want to be the first to congratulate you.”

Changbin doesn’t think he’s ever felt anything like the feeling that spreads throughout his entire body and creeps under his skin. The warmth that overtakes everything else in his being as he sees the way you lift the bumble bee plushy and slowly distract yourself by poking it in the centre of its face when he doesn’t say anything else.

He wonders how hard it is to hold your attention for as long as he has because Changbin’s absolutely certain that your energy is too frantic for you to be focusing on only one person at a time, yet, he feels as though he’s accomplished something by winning your heart.

Changbin wonders whether you feel that way too. He’s only ever focused on a handful of people at once, but you’ve managed to direct his focus on you and you only. He watches for longer at the way you start trying to balance the plushy on one finger before he can’t hold it in anymore.

“I love you.” It’s the first time he’s ever said it in the past few months and it catches you off guard, the bumble bee clumsily stumbling out of your hands as you desperately try to catch it before it hits the ground.

“What?” You whip your head around to see Changbin watching you with so much love and adoration in his eyes that you’re sure his pupils are starting to form hearts.

“I love you, (Y/n),” he repeats without skipping a beat.

Mouth open, you stare at him in shock before the realisation hits you and you smile, “I love you, too.”

“Climb into the bed—I want cuddles,” Changbin demands instantly.

“I don’t think I’d even fit,” you laugh, but stand nonetheless.

It turns out that the hospital bed is big enough for the both of you with the guards lowered and the sofa chair placed right beside the bed just in case you fall out.

“Let’s move in together,” you suggest with your head on Changbin’s chest and your legs angled in a way to avoid his casted ankle.

“Okay,” Changbin hums.

“We can get a place closer to campus with bigger rooms for when Felix and Chan stay over,” you add.

“Okay,” he hums once again.

“Oh! And we can get cute paintings and wall decorations for the living room!”

“Okay, honey.”

“Oh! Oh! Can we get a display shelf for all of your crocheted creatures, too?”

“Okay.”

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ♫ ⋅.} ───── ⊰

Eight

“Honey, I’m home!” you announce as you kick your shoes off by the door. Feet pad out of the bedroom and the door opens to reveal Changbin excitedly bouncing towards you.

“I’ve missed you!” He crashes into you with his arms wrapping around your waist to tightly hug you.

“I’ve missed you, too, Binz,” you chuckle with your head resting on his shoulder.

“How was the trip? I saw some of the pictures you sent.” Changbin lets go of you to quickly pull you into the kitchen.

“It was amazing. There were so many sights to just see and take pictures of—I wish that I could’ve brought you along this time,” you sigh as you pull yourself up onto the counter to watch your fiancė move around the kitchen to make something for you to eat.

“Next time, baby,” Changbin says with a smile. He turns around to face you and pulls you into another hug.

“I know, but it’s always more fun whenever you join.”

“I can’t always follow you around the world and you can’t always be at the boxing gym, call it even,” he chuckles into the skin of your neck where he places a kiss right after. “I’m just glad you’re home and safe.”

You close your eyes and allow yourself to bask in Changbin’s embrace after a long month’s time away from him due to work; National Geographic’s travel magazines don’t write themselves and they need you to head out there yourself to bring them fresh and new ideas.

The rest of your university years are still vivid in your head from the moment you enrolled and up until you graduated. It only took a few months after you and Changbin had agreed to move in with each other before you found a small apartment right in the centre of campus and the boxing gym.

It had to have a guest room for whenever Chan and Felix stayed over for Christmas—which actually ended up becoming a yearly tradition for the four of you—and it needed to have enough space for Changbin to display all of his crocheted creations.

A year after you had graduated, you spent your time being a freelance writer. A few years later, you had been kicked up to becoming a travel writer for National Geographic which meant that you were able to travel the world on business; occasionally with Changbin by your side whenever he was able to join.

Changbin, on the other hand, had been going in and out of work until Nyra had passed the boxing gym down to him. She was getting too busy with her twins to constantly be at the gym and she thought who else would be better at it than Changbin? Of course, he agreed almost instantly and became the new owner.

It didn’t pay as much as being a travel writer, but Changbin was happy, and he was happy seeing you thrive in your own element as well. The shared income was also enough to buy you both a bigger apartment in the heart of the city with a view that you admire every night when you’re on the balcony. The three extra rooms were turned into study rooms for the both of you and a single guest room that was required for Chan and Felix even after so many years.

“Oh! What are you getting for Chan’s birthday?” you ask as you pull away from Changbin.

“I was thinking of getting him something to remind him that he’s thirty,” he snorts.

“Don’t!” you scoff as you smack his arm playfully. “Don’t do that to him! You’re thirty in two years, you know that?”

“Yeah, but I’m a fit boxer.”

“And he’s a fit rugby player.” You raise an eyebrow when Changbin fails to make any sort of come back and laugh when he does.

“You’re right,” he chuckles. “But I don’t know what to get him. He’s a professional rugby player—he gets paid thousands by being in an ad and he makes more whenever he earns a medal.”

“Mhm, and he invests in property,” you add.

“Felix isn’t that much help either. He makes more money than Chan and he’s still doing biology.”

“Make him something,” you suggest. “Where else is he supposed to get something that you made?”

“But I’ve already gifted him so many toys,” Changbin grumbles as he turns his attention to the glass display shelf stocked with the various crocheted plushies that he’s made throughout the years.

“Make him something that even you haven’t tried before. Create your own pattern to make something completely unique; I know you can.” He gives you a hesitant look before an idea actually pops into his head.

“I can crochet him something from one of the games he really likes,” he blurts out. “I can do that! Thank you!” Changbin pulls you in for another hug and almost squeezes the life out of you which makes you laugh and pat his shoulder in an attempt to make him let you go.

“We can do it together. I bought some yarn from Peru that I think you might have some fun using,” you say as you slide off of the counter and towards your luggage bag that’s still sitting in the hallway of your house.

“I’ll check it out later. Chan and Felix are dropping by soon because they said they missed you, too,” Changbin chuckles.

“How much do you wanna bet that Chan bought Felix another ring?” you joke as you start pushing your luggage bag into your shared bedroom.

“I’ll bet everything! Chan pays for everything even when Felix makes more money than he does,” he laughs. “It’s so amusing to me.”

“I mean, it’s not like Felix exactly stops him and Chan doesn’t seem to mind it either.”

“That’s because he likes spoiling him. It’s like they were made for each other,” Changbin says as he follows you into the bedroom.

“I thought you were cooking,” you say when you see him enter.

“I forgot to go grocery shopping, so I’m ordering pizza for your cute butt.” You pause in the middle of the room and turn around to face him with your hands on your hips.

“Almost seven years and you still call my butt cute,” you grin.

“Almost seven years and I’m marrying you, aren’t I?” Changbin steps closer, his lips mirroring the smile on your face. He raises your left hand to his face where he presses a kiss to the engagement ring that snugly sits on your ring finger. “I don’t care how old we get,” he says as he tugs your wrist until you’re flush against his chest, “your butt will always be cute to me—even when we’re eighty and we’re both old.”

“I wouldn’t doubt that for even a second.” He presses his lips to yours, a soft and sweet kiss that tells you how much he loves you even without him having to say it.

“I love you,” he says when he pulls away.

“I love you, too.” ⊱ ────── {.⋅ ♫ ⋅.} ───── ⊰ Tags: @deakyspuff @i-say-choco-you-say-ice-cream @gwynsapphire

#this is so cute #im cryin #stray kids imagines #stray kids fluff

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l0vemin · 2 years

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youngblood ↠ lee minho

◦ genre: college!au, best friends to lovers!au; angst, fluff

◦ pairings: reader x minho

◦ word count: 17.4k

◦ description: lee minho crashes at your apartment four out of seven days in a week, but you’re the crashing for him.

◦ warnings: explicit language, mentions of alcohol, suggestive, slow af burn

◦ a/n: hello after 4 months of not writing !!! self-quarantine brings out the best in me (due to lack of responsibilities) & here’s the fic I’ve been working on for the past week; I hope you like it :)

one.

Lee Minho tells you that he drowned his AirPods during that one campfire social by the beach and that he can’t afford to buy a new pair because he’s a dirt poor, money-starved college student who survives solely off of Shin Ramyun and its complementary mushroom flakes.

You know this because 1) he’s mentioned it before during the ten-minute break of your three-hour-long marketing lecture and even got the professor involved in a heated discussion about Apple’s obligation to make all of their product lines waterproof for maximum customer brand loyalty, 2) the past several calls with him have been staticy and demonic sounding, and 3) he actually FaceTimed you during his grocery trip last weekend and asked whether he should buy two five-packs of Shin Ramyun or one. You said one, but you’re pretty sure Minho’s too fucking weak to pass up on that two-for-one deal.

So here you are, grocery shopping on a Friday night (because you’ll never wake up early on a Saturday morning) and listening to your best friend wail about his misfortunes through the phone as you’re slapping every watermelon you come in contact with.

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l0vemin · 2 years

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haven

❥ han jisung x gn!reader

❥ genre: angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, established relationship

❥ warnings: descriptions of body issues, negative talk

❥ word count: 1.8K

❥ A/N: just a little something i wrote for you all while i’m away~ i hope you like it? i don’t usually write stuff like this ahahahah. lmk if it was okay…? and please reblog! this isn’t proofread btw. didn’t have time for that (p.s. buttons, this is especially for you)

standing in front of the mirror, you frowned as your eyes scanned over every inch of your body, feeling smaller and smaller with every second that passed by.

your thighs weren’t small enough.

your stomach wasn’t toned enough.

your arms weren’t thin enough.

nothing of yours ever felt enough. no matter how much you tried… you were never enough. never enough for your parents. never enough for your friends. never enough for yourself. and everyone always took every opportunity they had to remind you of that.

tears stung your eyes, the whites taking on a slight reddish tint as your mind kept repeating the same painful thoughts over and over. you wanted to cry. you desperately wanted to cry, but you couldn’t. you didn’t have the energy. crying would be so much easier but your body never allowed for things to be easy. you had to stand there with sobs clogging your throat, eyes glistening with tears that refused to shed, and a sick feeling in your stomach.

you weren’t sure how long you stood there, just staring at yourself. you couldn’t bear to look at yourself, and yet you couldn’t bring yourself to look away. it was as if your brain wanted to torture you. as if you deserved it.

completely engrossed in your thoughts, you didn’t even realise when jisung had made his way to the bedroom, arms crossed as he leaned against the door frame, simply staring at your static figure. he chewed on his lip and let out a small sigh, knowing exactly what was going through your head. it wasn’t the first time he’d caught you staring at yourself, a blank look of longing in your eyes.

he took small, slow steps approaching you, arms reaching over to meekly wrap around your waist, making you jump a little from the sudden sensation.

‘it’s just me, sweetie,’ he whispered, placing a kiss on your shoulder before placing his chin on top, looking at you through the mirror. calming your thumping heart, you turned your head to the side to look at him and forced a smile.

‘hi, when did you get home?’

‘hm, just got here,’ he hummed, swaying your body ever so slightly. ‘how long have you been standing here?’

‘huh? oh uh… i don’t know. not too long, i guess.’

‘really? because it’s been 5 minutes since i saw you standing here and you haven’t moved an inch.’

jisung pouted his lips slightly and you let out a sad chuckle. ‘sorry. i didn’t realise.’

he shook his head, his hair tickling your cheek slightly, forcing a faint smile to fall on your lips. ‘don’t apologise, sweetheart. tell me what’s going on in that beautiful mind of yours.’

‘nothing,’ you lied, not wanting to worry him. you knew how upset he got whenever he listened to you talk yourself down and you didn’t want to be the reason he couldn’t get a moment of peace after a long day at work. he came home to rest, you thought, not listen to your woes about things you could not change.

‘hmm… i see.’ there was a short pause before he pressed a quick kiss to your cheek. ‘look in the mirror.’

‘hm?’

‘look at my face,’ he said in a hushed tone and your eyes flickered to his reflection, meeting his gentle gaze. ‘i look so bloated today. and look at those dark circles. they make me look like a zombie. and yknow what, i think my cheeks are too chubby,’ he complained with a pout.

‘no they’re not.’

‘yes they are.’

you frowned. ‘don’t say that. you’re beautiful. i love your cheeks. especially when you eat and they fill up with food like a squirrel,’ you let out a small giggle, hand reaching up to pinch his stretchy cheek. ‘you look adorable.’

‘i don’t see why you like them,’ jisung shrugged, his face remaining expressionless, lips pressed into a thin line.

‘you don’t have to. just take my word for it. you’re beautiful. so so beautiful. even if you don’t see it.’

‘but what if… i told you someone said i didn’t look good. that i always looked too tired. that my face always looked swollen.’

your frown deepened the more he spoke, anger building up in your body. why would anyone say something like that to the sweetest human ever?

‘who said that?’ you asked right as you turned in his hold to face him. ‘give me their address. i’ll go teach them a lesson.’

jisung shrugged. ‘it’s their opinion.’

‘well their opinion is wrong. what’s the point of saying something mean that won’t benefit someone in any way? they just wanted to make you feel bad. you look perfect just as you are,’ you said with conviction, hands travelling up to hold his face in your palms. ‘you shouldn’t pay attention to people like that. they’re just projecting their insecurities onto you. no person who actually cares about you would say something so inconsiderate. and you don’t need to care about what they say since they clearly don’t care about you.’

jisung pressed his lips in a line to conceal his smile and nodded. he placed his hands on your wrist, pulling them away from his face, and laced his fingers with yours. ‘so why can’t you do the same?’

the moment his words settled in your brain, the angry creases in your forehead relaxed, eyes widening a little as you stared at him. you sputtered a little, trying to speak, to say something, but nothing came out. jisung let out a breathy chuckle, unlacing one hand to place it right under your jaw, his thumb rubbing circles in the soft expanse of your cheek.

‘you shouldn’t care about the opinions of people who clearly don’t care about your feelings either.’

‘t-that’s not the same.’

‘why?’

‘because… they’re right,’ you murmured, eyes darting away.

‘no they’re not. hey, look at me,’ he whispered, searching for your eyes as they travelled in every direction but his face. your lips quivered and you shook your head, afraid that you’d cry the moment you looked at him.

‘love… please?’ he tried again, finally getting you to relent. you turned your head to face him, eyes sparkling with tears you refused to shed. ‘i wish you could see yourself from my eyes. then you’d realise just how beautiful you are,’ he said softly, thumb brushing gentle strokes over your skin, his other hand pressing yours to his chest.

the corners of your lips pulled downwards and you looked away once more, shaking your head.

‘you don’t have to believe me. just take my word for it?’ he said, repeating your words. ‘i love every part of you.’

you looked into his eyes, a teardrop hanging at the corner of your eye. ‘why?’

‘why what?’

‘why do you love me? there are so many better people out there and–’ you cut yourself off, pouty lips hiding your clenched teeth. you couldn’t bear to continue. it hurt to even think about admitting that you felt you weren’t good enough for the man you loved most.

‘well of course there are better people out there. there are better people than me too. but you my love? you’re perfect for me,’ he pressed a kiss to your cheek. ‘i don’t want anyone better. i just want you. you’re kind, you take care of everyone around you, you take care of me, you’re my rock, my motivation, you’re the reason i actually believe there’s any good in this world.’ he breathed in deeply before continuing. ‘for so long… i felt broken on the inside. and completely alone. and i don’t feel that way with you. you’re my home. my haven. how could there be anything better?’

with every word that left his lips, you seemed to cry harder and harder, audible sobs leaving your lips as your forehead rested on his shoulder, his hand moving to rub circles on your back.

‘you’re more than enough for me, darling,’ he said, voice quivering just a little as he tried to control his own emotions. he didn’t want to cry in front of you. he knew he could, but he didn’t want to. he wanted to cheer you up. to make you smile.

jisung held you close, letting you cry for as long as you needed to, until your sobs subsided to small sniffles. pulling away, he wiped the tears off your cheeks with a small chuckle.

‘i love your beautiful eyes,’ he confessed, pressing a kiss on each eyelid.

‘even when they’re red and puffy from all the crying?’

‘especially then.’ his response made you laugh through your tears. ‘and i love your beautiful pretty little cheeks.’

kiss.

i love your nose.

kiss.

your lips.

kiss.

even your cute little chin.

kiss.

‘and your body? god…’ he breathed out, hands travelling down to your waist. stepping back, he looked you up and down and lets out a low whistle, eyebrows raised as he marvelled every inch of your body before looking back into your eyes and deliberately biting the side of his bottom lip.

you let out a small laugh, cheeks heating up. ‘stop it,’ you said, playfully smacking his bicep and he laughed.

‘what? it’s true. i could stare at you for hours and it still wouldn’t be enough.’

you rolled your eyes playfully and circled your arms around his neck, pulling him a little closer. ‘anything else?’

his eyes darted upwards and he hummed in deliberation. ‘how much time do you have? i could go on for days.’

you let out a loud laugh, shaking your head, and the man in your arms laughed along, happy to see the worried lines on your face dissipate. ‘you’re too much.’

‘and you’re just enough.’

‘okay i get it,’ you rolled your eyes playfully, having heard his little reminder enough times for it to ease your worries for the day at the very least. jisung smiled and pulled you closer by the waist, kissing you softly.

‘i know you don’t,’ he mumbled before pressing another chaste kiss, then pulling away. ‘but it’s okay. i’ll always be here to remind you how beautiful you are. and how amazing you are. and how incredibly in love i am with you. one day you’ll see yourself the way i do.’

‘and if i don’t?’

‘hmmm… that’s okay too. i’ll remind you for the rest of my life if i have to.’

‘you love me that much?’

‘i love you even more than that, darling. so much more than you can imagine. you’re my safe space. my most beautiful home. life would feel empty without you.’

you felt your heart swell with emotion, tears collecting in your waterline—but this time… from happiness and gratitude instead. not having enough words to express yourself, you rested your head against his shoulder, hugging him tighter than you ever did before. as if he’d disappear if you let go—and you couldn’t afford that. he was your home too.

your safe haven.

tag list: @fylithia @skiez @john-joong @haechanight @at1nys-blog @lost-leopard-beanie @laikaya @theirbbygirl @helo-xx @channies-luv @g-bbzz @rosesarentme @wrongbitch24 @ddaengpotate @cookiemonstermusic258 @dani41 @daydreaming-my-life-away @lee--felix @woofwoofbangbang @notonehorangdan @baekhyun-is-my-aesthetic @softnyams @herclementine @sweetestcherrywine

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l0vemin · 2 years

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the enemies to lovers project | lee minho

𝙙𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙢 𝙩𝙮𝙥𝙚: 𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘵; 𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘮𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴, 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘨𝘦 𝘢𝘶, 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵, 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧

𝙙𝙚𝙨𝙘𝙧𝙞𝙥𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣: 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘫𝘪𝘴𝘶𝘯𝘨'𝘴 𝘱𝘴𝘺𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘺 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘫𝘦𝘤𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘦 – 𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘮𝘺, 𝘭𝘦𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘩𝘰, 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘪𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘸𝘰 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘪𝘵. 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘸𝘰 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳, 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩, 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥.

𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩: ~18𝘬+

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: 𝘴𝘶𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨

𝘢/𝘯: 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺!!! 𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦! 𝘪 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘸𝘰 𝘥𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘢𝘩𝘩 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘦 >.< 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴, 𝘪 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘪𝘵! 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴, 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥!

prologue.

“You know I despise you, right?”

“Oh, despise. Such a big word, baby,” Minho drawled with an obnoxious smirk, the one that simultaneously made you want to rip his hair out and kiss those perfectly delectable lips of his, ��If it’s any consolation, I abhor your presence as well.”

“Wonderful,” you crossed your legs, a smile creeping onto your face as you leaned backward in your chair, “So why exactly are you here?”

Minho laughed, “The same reason I presume that you’re here for. A hundred dollars to put up with you is a tempting offer.”

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l0vemin · 2 years

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A Hundred Ways

A Hundred Ways || Jisung Oneshot

Genre(s): Fluff, hint of spice✨

Word Count: 2.2K

a/n: i like neck kisses. and i like jisung.

———

‘Affectionate’ wasn’t a strong enough word to describe Jisung’s loving nature. Not even close.

Even as your best friend he’d been touchy, but now that you were dating? He couldn’t seem to keep his hands- and, more often than not, his lips- off of you. Not that you were complaining.

In the mornings, he’d try to convince you to sleep in as long as possible- legs tangled with yours, head nuzzled into your neck, cute whines pleading for ‘five more minutes’ that became half an hour, then another, and another.

When you’d finally convinced him to wake up, he’d cling to you. He’d rest his sleepy head on your shoulder as you made the two of you coffee, or ordered it via delivery. If it was a work day, and the morning was more rushed, he’d plant a kiss to your forehead every time your busy footsteps passed each other. And he never forgot to tell you how much he loved you before disappearing out the door.

The evenings when the two of you were reunited was more chill, but no less love-filled. Whether you decided to watch a movie or read side by side, or complete work due the next few days, you were never far apart. And you’d catch him staring, watching you like you hadn’t been his girl for almost a whole year.

God, it always gave you butterflies.

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l0vemin · 2 years

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between the lines | lee minho

𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐘 𝐊𝐈𝐃𝐒 𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐇 𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐋 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒!𝐀𝐔

✑ Late fines, shared lockers, and a missing love letter:

In which a frantic search for an overdue library book leads to you finding other things that are...long overdue.

✑ PAIRING: student librarian!minho x bookworm!reader

✑ GENRE: retro!high school au, slow burn, slice-of-life romance, slight enemies-to-lovers shenanigans

✑ WORD COUNT: 9.7k

✖︎ TAGS/WARNINGS: fem!reader, mild language, bullying themes, skz are all around the same age. mc is insecure and a bit of a valentine's day grinch. minho is whipped but too hardheaded to admit it. also, an embarrassing amount of classic literature/pablo neruda references.

Ah, Valentine’s Day.

Call it the most romantic day of the year if you will, but in the treacherous hallways of Levanter High, it meant a minefield of hormonal couples, crushed chocolate boxes, and supermarket rose bouquets. Clutching your backpack with a grimace, you narrowly dodged a pigtailed cheerleader as she leapt into her jock boyfriend’s waiting arms. Turning into another hallway, you plugged your ears to block out a senior boy’s cold rejection of a freshman’s nervous love confession.

You finally caught sight of your locker and breathed a sigh of relief. Levanter High’s lockers were split in half lengthwise—one top row, and one bottom row. You dropped to a crouch to wrench yours open—you’d lost your lock a couple of weeks ago—trying to block out the early morning commotion as you rummaged for your English books.

“Hey, watch ou—”

The locker above yours opened with a screech, and you looked up just in time to see a pink avalanche of cards and chocolates raining down on your head in a painful, deafening crash. The student who had called out the warning was frozen with a comical look of shock on her face. You swore the entire hallway fell silent, blood rushing to your cheeks as you slowly raised your gaze at the person who had opened the locker.

Lee Hana—head cheerleader of Levanter’s pep squad, and in your humble opinion, the spawn of Satan herself.

“Ohmigosh,” she exclaimed, raising one hand to her mouth in mock horror, “I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you there.”

The crowd around you was beginning to snicker and point, and you felt your face growing redder by the minute. “What are you doing here?” You asked tersely, motioning towards the locker above yours. “That’s not even your locker.”

Hana smiled and held up a small, glittery package. Oh. You didn’t have to look closer to know that the envelope was a love letter, elaborately tied to a box of expensive chocolates—the kind your parents would probably have to work overtime to afford. “My Valentine—for your locker buddy,” Hana replied matter-of-factly, then added, “Not that you would understand, hm? Since you’ve never received one yourself, and all.”

A smattering of laughs erupted from the crowd that was building around you. Biting back a retort, you looked down at all the other Valentine’s trinkets that had spilled around you. Of course—you should have gotten used to it by now. After all, your locker was right underneath the one that belonged to the student librarian, school heartthrob, and the absolute bane of your existence, Lee—

“Minho!” Hana exclaimed, and you looked up to see him shuffling through the crowd, his eyes briefly falling on yours. You immediately turned away as the pretty cheerleader skipped up to him, and shoved your books into your bag. Slamming your locker shut—twice, because Levanter’s damned lockers always jammed before shutting properly—you snatched up as many of Minho’s fallen Valentine’s Day trinkets as you could before shoving them back into the now-emptied top locker. The metal door was still swinging wide open. You’d overheard Minho complaining to the boy who always did the announcements—Han Jihyun? Han Jisung?—about how he kept losing his own lock. Both of you seemed to have a habit of misplacing things (not that you liked to admit to that similarity).

Out of the corner of your eye, Minho was still watching you over Hana’s shoulder, his lips tilted in a half-smile. Your gut twisted unpleasantly. Four years and counting—that was how long you’d ended up with a locker right under Minho’s.

“You’re so lucky!” Lia—your best friend—had gushed, while you had scoffed in utter disbelief.

“Oh, sure. Just my rotten luck.”

“Come on, y/n. Are you still hung up about that love letter from freshman year?”

Yes, you had thought sourly. “No way,” you had snapped, and Lia had giggled, unconvinced.

It wasn’t like you’d always had a personal vendetta against Minho. In fact, in ninth grade, you’d been head over heels for him, just like the rest of the student body—to the point where you’d even slipped a small love letter into his locker on Valentine’s Day, too. It had been one of those gaudy 99-cent corner-store cards, and you'd saved up your pocket money just to buy a matching pack of candy hearts. Then you’d spent the day with butterflies in your stomach, anxiously waiting nearby his locker to see his reaction.

But when he hadn’t shown up, you'd shrugged and begun heading home—and that was when you had caught sight of Minho, throwing all the love letters he’d received straight into the Dumpsters in the back parking lot.

Talk about a reality check.

As if that hadn't been traumatizing enough, you’d been forced to face him nearly every morning for the following three years. To make matters worse, being Minho’s involuntary locker mate also meant that all the girls—and guys, for that matter—saw you as little more than a stepping stone to him, always asking you to relay party invitations or trying to curry favour with you to get to him.

“We’re not close,” you’d insist to his persistent admirers every time, but it didn’t help. Minho, on the other hand, you thought bitterly, seemed to think he was too good for anyone—he didn’t even respond much to Hana’s advances, and she was drop-dead gorgeous. There was no way he’d even look twice at you—you’d been firsthand witness to that. You finally gave up trying to clean up the fallen Valentines, and stood up with a sigh. Throwing him a death glare, you pushed past the crowd just as the bell rang and students began scurrying away.

What did it matter if Lee Hana was trying to get with Minho? If anything, they were a match made in heaven. Or hell. With a decided huff, you plopped yourself down at your desk just as your English teacher began class.

“We’re starting the poetry unit today! Remember, you’ll be writing a love poem of your own for the final project—so I suggest you all get started on reading!” You teacher had winked and clapped her hands excitedly while a collective groan had swept through your class. A few couples had nudged each other meaningfully, already promising to write their poems about each other, and you’d thrown up a little in your mouth.

Romance was a bit of a touchy subject for you— now, you didn’t hate the notion of love, per se, you’d just always been somewhat...wary of it. After watching your friends fall in and out of disastrous relationships and fleeting feelings from the sidelines too many times to count, your own defense mechanisms had skyrocketed, and now you found yourself trying not to roll your eyes at every piece of romantic writing you read. Still, this inexperience only made you more determined to get a head start on the topic— and so, once the last bell had rung, you made a beeline for the school library. You would tackle love the only way you knew how to—by hitting the books. Pushing open the door, you overheard Hana and her friends muttering in disappointment and immediately recoiled.

“You said he’d be in here!”

“Well, I thought I saw him! Let’s wait for a bit.”

You peeked over the librarian’s desk, and sure enough, it was vacant— save for a tray of half-shelved books and stamping cards. Maybe Minho left early today, you thought, shrugging. That’s a relief. Then you shook your head quickly. What’s it to me whether he’s here or not? You tried to ignore Hana’s disdainful glance at you, heading straight towards your favourite nook at the back of the library instead: a cozy alcove tucked behind the last row of shelves. With a deep sigh, you pulled out the first book of poetry your teacher had assigned—Shakespeare’s Complete Sonnets—and sank into the bean bag chair.

‘Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate:

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May…’

A couple lines in, and the Englishman’s words were already making your head spin. You grimaced, massaging your temples. ‘A summer’s day?’ Seriously? You could swear you’d seen something less cheesy on a dollar store card. After a couple of pages, you could already feel your treacherous eyelids beginning to droop, fighting to stay awake as you tried to make sense of Shakespeare’s verses. But thy eternal summer...shall not fade...nor lose...possession…

“The library’s closing.”

You jolted awake, hands fumbling blindly before you could even force your eyes open. The library came into focus first—the lights had been dimmed, the flickering EXIT sign from the empty hallway casting a warm glow through the panelled window across the room. A dull headache still throbbed in your temples.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, rubbing your eyes groggily. You had to practically peel your cheek away from the Shakespeare book, fingers gingerly feeling the dent the cover had left in your cheek. “I-I’m so sorry, I must have—lost track of time studying.”

A familiar chuckle sent your heart plummeting to your stomach. “I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

When your eyes finally adjusted, your expression automatically soured into a glare.

“Now that’s more like it.” Smirking, Minho crossed his arms, leaning back on a bookshelf. He glanced down at the book in your lap—the book that you clearly hadn’t been studying. “Didn’t know you were one for Shakespeare.”

“I—” You threw your hands up in exasperation. “I’m not. His writing gives me a headache. It’s like it’s all in another language or something.”

Minho raised an eyebrow. “Old English. Why are you reading it, then?”

“We’re doing poetry in class—and our final project is to write an actual love poem, based on the poets we’ll study. Shakespeare was just first on the reading list, so…” you felt yourself trailing off, flustered. Why were you even bothering to explain this to Minho, who probably couldn’t care less? “Nevermind.”

You felt his piercing gaze on you as you shoved your books into your bag, glancing outside at the nearly emptied parking lot. If you squinted, you could spot a couple—Seo Changbin, judging by the male’s iconic leather jacket, and his lover—making out under the bleachers. You shook your head incredulously. Valentine’s Day. Love poems. Hormonal couples galore. It was like the universe was playing a long, cruel joke on you: Ha-ha, look who’s spending Valentine’s Day studying in the library alone.

Well, alone except for a student librarian with whom you had a mortifying history. Not much better. Eager to leave, you got to your feet, only to see Minho flipping through a smaller book he’d pulled off the shelf next to him. “If you want some real inspiration,” he began slowly, pushing up his glasses, “I’d suggest you start closer to our time period.”

You looked down at the book he was holding up, brow furrowing as you read the title out loud. “Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair. Pablo Neruda.”

“The best Chilean poet of the 20th century,” he nodded. “‘I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you simply, without problems or pride: I love you in this way, because I do not know any other way of loving but this.’”

It took you a second to realise Minho was quoting a poem, and you were suddenly grateful that the dimly lit library hid the flush of red that had betrayed your cheeks. Clearing your throat, you mumbled, “That actually sounds...kind of pretty.”

He didn’t look up, but you thought you saw the corners of his mouth shoot up ever so slightly. Maybe the shadows were playing tricks on you? Flipping through the book, Minho fished out a pad of sticky notes from his back pocket and marked a few pages. “Here. ‘The Song of Despair’...‘Tonight I Can Write’...‘Here I Love You.’ Those are good.” Clamping the book shut, he held it out towards you.

You almost thanked him, but the words faltered on your tongue as you took it from him suspiciously. “What’s with the sudden helpful attitude?”

He shrugged. “It’s my job.” You raised an incredulous eyebrow, and he smirked. “Consider it my apology for this morning, then.”

That left you at a real loss for words, and for the first time, you struggled to find a retort. “That’s...considerate of you, apologising on behalf of your girlfriend and all.”

“Hana’s not my girlfriend.”

You breathed a small laugh. “Soon-to-be, then. Don’t break her heart.”

Minho scoffed, bringing the book to the front desk and scrawling your name on the sign-out card. He stamped the dates, then held it out at you before glancing out the window. Dusk had fallen, the empty football field lit only by rows of flickering lampposts. “You can get home safe?”

“Screw off, Lee Minho.” You eyed him warily, shoving the book into your bag before practically running to the double doors. The strange atmosphere that had suddenly built up in the library felt terrifyingly foreign to you, and your first instinct was to be rid of it as soon as possible. In the hallway, you spotted a janitor dumping a bin into a trash bag. A familiar avalanche of pink envelopes and gifts caught your eye, and you felt a wave of humiliation. Just the memory of Minho throwing yours out—after reading it and having a good laugh, no doubt—made you want to ram your head into the lockers all over again. You’ve got no chance with him, y/n, you thought blearily. Right when you’d thought you’d finally come to terms with Minho’s brutal (albeit unintentional) rejection, here he was again: crashing back into your life like some...cat-eyed, pointy-nosed meteor.

“Oh, y/n! One more thing.”

You’d already had one foot out the front door when Minho called your name again, making you jerk your head back in surprise. Minho had his bag slung over one shoulder, a pile of books in his arms as he waved to get your attention. His smile looked almost...genuine in the warm shadows, his round glasses softening his usually sharp gaze. Despite yourself, you felt your heart skip a beat.

Then Minho made a wiping motion over his face and grinned. “You’ve got drool on your chin.”

Your face reddened, and you slammed the library door shut, earning a glare from the janitor down the hall. Smacking the heel of your palm against your forehead repeatedly, you stormed out of the school muttering curses under your breath. Typical Lee Minho.

To your surprise, you practically devoured the poems in less than a week, taken aback at how much you genuinely enjoyed them. It was the first time you didn’t find yourself cringing at romance—and sure enough, in a couple days’ time, you found yourself reluctantly standing back in front of the double doors of the school library once again.

Carefully, you craned your head to peep into the panelled window, scanning the room for Minho. As per usual, a gaggle of girls were huddled on the other side, blocking your view.

“Looking for someone?”

Flinching, you nearly tripped on Hana’s long legs as she came up beside you. Before you could respond, she fixed you with a withering look. “You’ve got some explaining to do, Little Miss Perfect.”

“I—sorry?”

The cheerleader rolled her eyes, sneering. “Don’t act all innocent with me, you sneaky b—”

Sighing, you pushed open the doors before she could finish. Hana followed you into the library, still sputtering angrily. Her hand snatched your arm, French manicure digging painfully into your cardigan.

“The Valentines,” she hissed, and it finally clicked.

She’s talking about the love letters, you realized. The ones Minho throws out every year.

Gut twisting, you looked up to see all the other girls crossing their arms and looking back at you expectantly. “None of you...got a response?” You asked incredulously, already knowing the answer. This happened every year: Expectant admirers showered Minho’s locker with gifts, Minho wouldn’t even glance at them— and then, for some reason, you were left to take the blame. A twinge of annoyance shot through your chest.

“You stole them from his locker, didn’t you?” Hana continued accusingly, pupils shaking. “You sneaky, jealous bitch— of course you did.”

He threw them all out, you wanted to scream back at her, but the words wouldn’t budge from your tongue. Somehow, saying them out loud felt like tearing off the stitches of an old wound; a painful reminder of your personal humiliating memory. And—though you hated to admit it—a small part of you still didn’t have the heart to throw Minho under the bus just yet, even after all that he’d done.

Feeling defeated, you sighed and turned towards her. “Why would I want to do that?”

Hana scoffed, tossing her chocolate curls over one shoulder. “Oh, please. We all know you’ve had a massive one-sided crush on him since ninth grade.”

A rush of heat flooded your cheeks, the other girls’ snickers at your reaction drowning out any of your protests. “That’s not—”

“Not true? Then—is it mutual?” Hana sneered mockingly. “Don’t make me laugh. He wouldn’t be caught dead with the likes of y—”

“Can I help you with anything?”

The small crowd fell silent as Minho appeared from one of the aisles, eyebrows raised slightly in his usual nonchalant manner. A chill of panic rushed down your spine, palms growing clammy with cold sweat. H-how much did he overhear? In your peripheral, Hana was practically batting her eyelashes at him, but Minho’s mild eyes were focused on yours expectantly.

“I—uh. Well,” you stammered eloquently, your entire body suddenly paralyzed. Hana’s cherry red lips were twisted in a smug smirk, clearly waiting for you to embarrass yourself. “The book,” you blurted, immediately rummaging for the poetry book in your bag and holding it out to him.

Minho took it from you, fingertips grazing yours slightly. They were surprisingly warm. “How’d you find it?”

“R-really good, actually.” Then, you hesitantly added, “I...like the way Neruda uses imagery—he’s precise without being plain, and artful without deviating too much into purple prose. I think I liked Tonight I Can Write the most— y’know, ‘Tonight I can write the saddest lines...’” You swallowed, then instantly began regretting having ever spoken. Great job, y/n, now you sound like a full-blown nerd.

But Minho nodded, his eyes gleaming. “‘I loved her, and sometimes, she loved me, too.’”

“That’s the second verse,” you muttered automatically, and his lips twitched.

“It’s one of my favourite lines.”

The other girls had begun to awkwardly shuffle out of the library, their absence easing your racing heart. With just a few mildly spoken words, you noted, Minho had managed to make you feel as though you had blocked out the rest of the world. Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted Hana glaring daggers at you, and the small smile dropped from your face.

“Do you need something?” Minho asked her blankly, his gaze trailing down to Hana’s hand, which was still painfully latched onto your arm. With a roll of her eyes, she spun on her heel and stormed out of the library.

As soon as she was gone, you breathed an audible sigh of relief. Minho was peeling the sticky notes off from the poetry book you’d returned, eyes still watching you intently. Giving him the side-eye, you deadpanned, “She’s pretty, you know. Maybe you should go talk to her sometime.”

There was a small smile on Minho’s lips. “Does she like Chilean poetry?”

You could only give a short—slightly too shaky for your liking—laugh in response, ruffling your own hair as you tried to calm your frazzled nerves. Don’t forget, y/n. One, that he’s out of your league. Two, how this was all his fault to begin with.

“Is that all you came here for?” Minho’s voice broke into your thoughts again, making you jump. There was a glint of amusement in his eyes. He finds this—me—amusing.

“Well…” you looked down at your feet, then grudgingly nodded at the poetry book you’d just returned. “Do you...have any other recommendations?”

Minho’s face broke into a shit-eating grin, and you bit back a groan. before your pride got the better of you and you changed your mind, he was already heading towards the back of the library, sliding books out as you struggled to keep with his pace. “First of all, Dickinson. Hit-or-miss, but you never know. Then there’s Sylvia Plath, some Emily Brontë…”

Before you knew it, you’d been whisked into a world of verse and metaphor, flying between numerous time periods and continents as you and Minho perused the shelves. Just like the time when you had accidentally fallen asleep in the library, the library seemed to grow cozier, quieter, more peaceful during moments like these, as if the entire world was holding still as you lost yourself in pages upon pages of books. Soon, you found yourself heading to the library nearly every day after school. Despite yourself, you found yourself looking forward to that sunset hour, the fleeting period where most students had left, and the entire library would glow warm as though it were blushing under the swathes of golden light. And in these same fleeting moments, you found your gaze lingering more and more on Minho—the way he would push his silver glasses on, furrowing his brow in concentration whenever he searched for a book, or run his long fingers over their worn spines whenever he was lost in thought—

“Like what you see?” With a flinch, you realised Minho had begun walking back towards you, a crooked smirk on his lips as he set a new pile of books down at the desk you were sat at.

“No!” You snapped, too quickly. “Just—spaced out for a bit. Too concentrated on the project.”

The smirk hadn’t budged from Minho’s face, and you resisted the urge to throw a copy of Emily Dickinson’s Selected Poems at his long, pointy nose. “Mm. You seem to be coming here a lot more often.”

“That’s because the due date is coming up.”

“No. I mean, you seem to be talking to me a lot more.”

You rolled your eyes, snatching a book from the top of his pile as you muttered, “Screw you, Lee Minho.”

His eyebrows shot up in wicked mischief. “You’re more than welcome to try.”

With a cry of exasperation—and surprise at having been heard—you hoisted your book bag onto the table, building a makeshift wall between the two of you.

You didn’t catch the way Minho’s laughter slowly faded as he rested his head on one hand thoughtfully, quietly watching you read. Your lips were pursed in concentration as you muttered your notes under your breath. Cute, he couldn’t help thinking.

Minho had always been good at memorizing things, but he couldn’t remember exactly when you’d begun disliking him so much. You had always intrigued him—what with the way your locker always seemed to be overflowing with books, or how you used to lend him your copy when he forgot his, back in ninth grade. That Valentine’s Day, four years ago, your name had been the only one he’d hoped to find as he rifled through the cards he’d received. But he’d come up empty, and so he’d thrown them all out. And for some reason, you’d been cold to him ever since.

Minho had assumed that you were probably annoyed with all the letters that would fall out of his locker and onto you, and so every year he tried his best to get rid of the Valentines as soon as possible. Nevertheless, you only seemed to be getting more and more annoyed with him.

And now here you were, right in front of him, four years later, and he still couldn’t bring himself to ask you why. Confrontation had never been his strong suit—his words always seemed to come out too blunt, too cold, too soon, and so he’d always avoided bringing it up with you again. Minho sighed, raking a hand through his hair. Written words—that is, books—had always been so much easier than people.

He did, however, remember when he’d started falling for you.

Tenth grade, literature studies. He’d begun arguing against your thesis during one of your presentations, and the two of you had ended up bickering the entire class—pulling out quotes from nearly every chapter of Pride and Prejudice before the class president had to intervene, and your teacher had sent you both to detention.

You had glared at him once, and he’d fallen head over heels.

These violent delights have violent ends, he’d mused in his head back then—Romeo and Juliet—and with the murderous stare Minho sometimes caught you fixing him with, he was willing to bet that you were wishing a violent end on him, too.

He couldn’t pen a love letter to save his life, either— and so, he resorted to pettily glaring at any admirer that approached your locker like Gandalf—you shall not pass—until they backed off. Minho didn’t think you would appreciate him revealing that, either. The more he thought about it, the more ridiculous his actions seemed—and like a poorly written plot twist, you had ended up stumbling back into his life again. Never in his life, however, did Minho think that Pablo Neruda would become his wingman. Glancing down at his portrait on the back cover of the book, Minho could almost imagine the Chilean poet pointing his pen threateningly: “Don’t screw this up.”

“Hey, Minho?” He snapped out of his thoughts to see you waving your hand at him from the other side of your book bag. “You were right. I don’t get any of Dickinson’s poems.”

Your words took a moment to register, Minho caught off-guard by the soft golden hour light illuminating your pretty features. You waved your hand in his face again, and he blinked, breath caught in his throat. Almost tripping over his tongue, he finally quipped, “How on earth are you passing AP English?”

You glowered and smacked his shoulder, the near-silent library ringing with Minho’s laughter once again.

With a week left to the deadline, you were planted at your desk in your room, the wastebasket littered with crumpled up half-sheets of notebook paper. To your dismay, none of the words seemed to be coming out the way you wanted them to. Gnawing the back of your pencil in frustration, you dumped the contents of your book bag onto the desk, and spotted your latest library book—100 Love Sonnets, by Pablo Neruda. Inexplicably, out of all the poets Minho had introduced to you, you always found yourself coming back to him.

Flipping through the well-thumbed pages, your fingers stopped at one titled Sonnet XVII. “I love you without knowing how,” your eyes scanned the verse curiously, “or when, or from where. I love you simply…”

It was the poem Minho had quoted that evening in the library, you realized, heart skipping a beat. “...without problems or pride / I love you in this way, because I do not know any other way of loving / but this, in which there is no I or you / so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand / so intimate that when I fall asleep, your eyes close.”

With a sigh, you buried your head in your arms, lying face-down onto the desk. Maybe the reason why you instinctively disliked reading love poems so much was because of the sheer sincerity of them all. You envied their ability to put feelings into words—with unabashed, unapologetic ardour, and be celebrated for it, to boot. Eyes scanning the verses again, your mind wandered to the way Minho’s eyes had lit up as he’d explained the lines to you, his brow furrowed in focus.

At Levanter High, you had grown used to being pushed around and out of the spotlight. It was either the popular girls and their backhanded compliments, or the boys who spoke to you condescendingly just to a) get you to do their homework, or b) get in your pants. But Minho had always taken you seriously, albeit while driving you half-insane with his infuriating remarks. And as much as you hated to admit it, that same fiery look in his eyes whenever he got worked up—so different from his usual reserved facade in front of the teachers and swooning students—had always made your heart skip a beat. In tenth grade—back when he seemed to pick a fight with you nearly every English class until Bang Chan had to hold the two of you back from killing each other—you’d thought you’d successfully quashed your feelings for the mild-voiced, hazel-eyed librarian. Yet every time he spoke, he left you feeling vulnerable, disarmed, and you were back—though you refused to admit it—to square one.

“‘I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul,’” you whispered, fingers tracing the words on the paper. Feeling a sudden surge—of confidence, or simply exasperation, you weren’t sure—you seized the pen and began scribbling on a new piece of paper. For years, you’d been afraid to face your feelings, terrified of the humiliation if Hana—or anyone at school—found out. But if getting them all out in one cheesy, hot mess of a love letter could give you some closure, you thought tensely, you were more than happy to oblige. You would write it all out under the guise of a love poem, and then it would never have to see the light of day again.

Words began coming to your head like a floodgate had been thrown wide open, and you began scrawling onto the page. “‘I love you as the plant that never blooms, but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers,’” you quoted thoughtfully as you drafted your own poem. In a way, it felt cathartic—you could get all your feelings out, pass it off as an assignment, and never think about the forbidden fruit again. For all you knew, it was a win-win situation. The pen kept wobbling, ink spilling out haphazardly and skipping, but you relaxed slightly. Maybe this assignment wasn’t too bad, after all.

Head filled to the brim with poetry, you set the pen down and dozed off.

“You’re not coming to the football game?” Lia flashed puppy eyes at you, and you smacked her hand playfully, swiping a french fry from her plate.

“Lia, since when have I ever gone to one?” The two of you had dropped by the Sunshine Coffee Shoppe for a quick pick-me-up during lunch hour, but one smile from the cute waiter—Yang Jeongin, if you remembered his name correctly—had dazzled Lia into ordering an extra burger combo, complete with a plate of fries. “Sports and crowds—not my thing. And I have an English project due the next day.”

She pouted. “Oh, come on! Knowing you, you’ve probably already finished it by now.”

You grinned, thinking back to your love poem and fighting the urge to cringe. You’d read it the morning after, and it had taken every fibre in your being to hold yourself back from ripping it to shreds. Piercing, catlike eyes, you’d written in one line. Silver spectacles. Long fingers on dusty pages. Shuddering, you’d stuffed it into the Neruda book before banishing them both to your locker and going about your day. Love poems are supposed to be cheesy, y/n, suck it up. It’ll only be this one time. Besides, it wasn’t like anyone other than your teacher would ever read it.

When you dropped by the library after school, you spotted Hana’s familiar figure by one of the cubicles. As she tossed her hair over her shoulder with a laugh muted by the plexiglass windows, you saw that she was talking to a grinning Minho.

“Are you sure you’re not coming to the game on Thursday?” Hana was whining as you pushed open the doors to the library. She patted his arms playfully. “You could be on the football team if you wanted to, you know! Why don’t you try?”

He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m not that quick on my feet.”

“Well, tell you what. They’re having a party at Hyunjin’s place right after—his parents are out of town. If you don’t feel like coming to the game, at least join us at the afterparty to loosen up a little—have a little fun.” She blew him a kiss and stood, throwing her purse over her shoulder and spotting you. You instinctively froze, bracing yourself for whatever slew of insults she had for you today, but all Hana did was beam and wave at you.

As she passed you by the door, she threw you a knowing wink. “Have fun on your little study date!”

Her words made your ears grow hot again, but to your surprise, there was no trace of venom in her voice — only a lighthearted teasing, as if she had been your friend all along. Hana really did look sweet when she smiled genuinely, and you could see why she had so many people easily wrapped around her finger. Maybe people do change. Or she’s just in a good mood. Before you could shrug and turn away, you sensed Minho’s presence behind you and yelped.

He held his hands up in mock surrender, and you could swear he was suppressing a laugh. “Here to work on your project again?”

Hana’s strange exchange with you on her way out had left your mind reeling, and you scrambled to form coherent sentences. “No, I, um—I actually finished it last night. I just…” Thought I’d just drop by to say hi. But your pride turned the words to mush before they had even formed, and you ended up trailing off awkwardly.

“Really?” There was a flash of disappointment in his face, then Minho’s gaze landed on the book-borrowing register on the front desk. “Right—your book is due today. Did you want to return it?”

Your eyes widened, silently cursing at your own forgetfulness. “Um—yes,” you lied, pretending to search in your bag before giving an awkward laugh. “Yep. I think it’s in my locker—let me go get it.”

After jogging to the other side of the school, you flung open the bottom locker, making another mental note to replace your missing lock. Still catching your breath, your hand sifted through the notes and textbooks before coming up empty. Where is it? You could swear you remembered putting it there, unless—

Breath catching in your throat, you shut the locker with a mortified bang. The English classroom. You practically sprinted down the hallways, earning another dirty look from the janitor as you raced past. Bang Chan looked up in alarm when you nearly crashed into the English classroom door. The entire room was empty, save for the class president, who looked like he was helping to file the teacher’s papers.

“Where’s the fire?” He asked jokingly as your eyes frantically raked the room.

“Have you—seen a book, by any chance? 100 Love Sonnets. Pablo Neruda.”

Chan frowned. “We shelve all the books after class, and if it’s one we don’t recognize, we keep it until the students come back in the morning.” He shrugged. “I don’t remember seeing anything.”

Your heart sank, and you saw the corners of Chan’s mouth lift bemusedly.

“What’s the hurry, anyway? I thought you hated love po—”

With a groan of frustration, you left the baffled class president staring after you as you turned on your heel and back into the hallway. Your mind was racing, panic making your ears buzz. The love letter’s in there. Where the hell did I put it? You sprinted to the Sunshine Coffee Shoppe next, but only got an apologetic shrug from Jeongin even after you’d scoured every nook and cranny of the diner. The sun was already beginning to set as you trudged, defeated, back to the school. Spotting the library’s dim windows in the distance, you wrestled with your options — if it weren’t for that cursed love letter, you could’ve probably just told Minho you’d misplaced it. But now the book—along with everything you’d never dared to tell anyone, crammed onto a sheet of notebook paper—could be anywhere, and there was no way in hell you were going to stop looking until you found it. Heart heavy with dread, you did a full 180 and began walking home.

It was no use. You’d practically pulled an all-nighter tearing your room apart searching for the book— and then, the better part of the following day running around town. But no matter where you looked—the record shop, Blockbuster’s, or even the laundromat—you came up empty.

It’s like it’s disappeared entirely, you thought as the lunch ladies piled your tray with a few sad-looking burritos. The cafeteria was buzzing with teenagers jittery with caffeine and sugar, and you had to duck as a boy chucked an apple at another across the room. You passed the cheerleaders’ table, trying to avoid eye contact, but their giggly conversation carried over the chaotic commotion.

“Did you see how cute Hyunjin looked today on the field?”

“Are you sure he doesn’t have a girlfriend? Maybe Hana can talk to him for us—if he doesn’t fall for her first.” The blonde cheerleader that had spoken nudged the older girl insistently.

“Me?” There was a smile in Hana’s voice. You could feel her eyes on you as she mused, “Oh, I don’t know, Hyunjin’s not my type. I much prefer boys with—how should I put it—catlike eyes, silver spectacles, and long fingers perfect for turning dusty pages…” She clasped her hands together in mock adoration, and her friends erupted in giggles.

“What the hell was that? Sounds like a cheesy love poem.”

You had frozen stiff as soon as she had uttered the words, stunned eyes finding Hana’s only a couple feet away. She gave you a winning smile—the same one you’d deemed friendly just a couple days ago—and winked.

“Give me my book back.”

You pulled her aside after the last bell had rung, voice shaking. Hana only tilted her head innocently, eyes round as a puppy’s. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Before you could spit a biting retort back at her, the taller cheerleader tapped her chin thoughtfully with one bejewelled nail. “But I might think harder if...I got a little something in return.”

You grit your teeth. “What do you want?”

“Make your librarian boy come to Hwang Hyunjin’s party as my date,” Hana beamed, “and tell the office you want to change your locker.”

“You’re crazy,” you blurted, and her face immediately darkened. Dropping her voice, she leaned in closer, until her voice was right beside your ear.

“Oh, I can be even crazier. What would happen if I made copies of this little letter on Monday, hm? Or published it in the school paper for everyone to read? I’m sure Han Jisung would love that—”

Your eyes trailed down to the slip of paper she’d pulled out of her purse, the sight of your own familiar handwriting making panic surge through your veins like ice. Snatching it from her hand, you quickly began tearing it apart before noticing the calm smirk on Hana’s face.

“Photocopy, silly,” she giggled in a sing-song voice as you peered more closely at the shredded pieces, hands shaking. “Oh, all right, don’t cry. If you want the original so badly…” she leaned in again, cruel smile on her lips. “Then you might want to look in the library.”

Eyes widening, you immediately pushed her away and bolted for the stairs. “Don’t forget the deal! Thursday night,” Hana called after you, and you broke into a run.

Most of the classrooms were already empty, their dark windows reflecting your own face back at you as you hurtled past them. Your heart pounded in your chest as the library finally came into view at the end of the hallway, but you nearly came to a screeching halt when you saw that the lights had been turned off. Had Minho gone home early? Chewing your lip anxiously, you peered past the plexiglass. Aisles empty, books all shelved neatly, chairs stacked. The library was quiet as a tomb. Desperately, you tried the knob—and to your surprise, the door creaked open. Maybe he forgot to lock it. You had nothing to lose. Holding your breath, you slipped in.

Even the faint click of the door closing again sounded deafening. You rifled through the front desk first, dropping to a crouch as you inspected the carts and borrowing-bin. To your dismay, they were all empty—they must have all been re-shelved already. Heart sinking, you began tip-toeing through the shelves, fingers trembling as they ran over the laminated Dewey Decimal labels. Please, please, please…

You reached the poetry section at the back of the library, eyes squinting to try and read the spines of the books under shrouds of shadows. Poets— Nash. Naidu. Nemerov…

“Neruda,” you gasped, eyes falling on the book you had practically gone through hell searching for. 100 Love Sonnets. Almost sobbing in sheer relief, you reached out to grab it—just as another hand shot out from beside you. Your yelp of surprise broke the still, dim quiet, and you didn’t have to look up to know who the warm, pale fingers belonged to.

“Care to explain what you’re doing here?”

Spectacles glinting under the twilight, one hand in his pocket, nonchalant as ever, was the boy that had gotten you into this mess. Lee Minho.

As you stared back at him, mouth slightly agape, you felt as though your entire world was balancing precariously over a yawning abyss— as if one wrong move would send everything you’d spent the last two months—no, the last four years—repatching. You swallowed hard. His hand had landed a split-second later than yours, holding both you and the book in place, and you tried to ignore the feeling of his warm fingers on your chilled skin. Forcefully, you yanked the book from the shelves and out of his grasp. “The—book. I-I realised I still needed it for the project. It’s due this Friday, you know.”

He raised his eyebrows, unconvinced. “Today’s only Wednesday. Why not come back tomorrow morning?”

Shit. “I, um, promised Lia I’d go with her to the game tomorrow,” you fibbed, flipping through the book quickly, ready to grab any stray piece of paper that flew out. Nothing. “So I—need to finish the assignment today. Could you renew it for me?” Trying to plaster on an unbothered smile, you flipped through the book again. Still nothing. Had Hana lied to you?

In your peripheral, you saw Minho slowly shift his weight, crossing his arms as he mused, “Well, I’m not too sure about that. We’re getting...careful about letting students borrow books for too long. People tend to leave some...strange things in them.”

Your eyes snapped up, fingers freezing on the fluttering pages. “What—then did you—see anything? S-strange, I mean.”

A flicker of amusement passed through Minho’s eyes, and then it was gone. He cleared his throat, humming thoughtfully. “Why? Do you have something in mind?”

The strange intensity of his gaze seemed to corner you into the shadows, and you swore your heart was pounding so hard it seemed to echo through the room. “Nothing,” you stammered, throwing your hands up in exasperation, “I mean, I just—accidentally left—” Kill me now. You shook your head rapidly. “N-nevermind. I’m heading home.”

“Y/N—”

“Oh, one more thing.” You turned, remembering Hana’s sly words to you back in the stairwell. “You’re invited to Hwang Hyunjin’s party, after the game on Thursday.” Then, hoping you sounded more convincing than you felt, “Hana’s really counting on you to be her date.”

Minho chuckled. “You know I go to parties as often as you do.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no malice in his words, only that same, airy indifference Minho always carried himself with. “Please? Hana—I mean, it would make her really happy if you went.”

“Would you be happy?”

The strange question caught you off guard, making you look up again. Minho was no longer smiling. His hand was still resting lightly over the missing space the book had left on the shelf, and his expression looked strangely lost under the twilit sky.

“Would it make you happy if I went?” He repeated, and you felt your mouth go dry.

Make your librarian boy come to Hwang Hyunjin’s party, and I won’t publish your little love letter for everyone to see on Monday. You nodded firmly, laughing in an attempt to ease the strange atmosphere that had settled over the two of you once again. “Y-yeah. Ecstatic.”

You turned on your heel, breath leaving your lips in a shaky sigh. If the poem wasn’t in the book, where on earth could it be? Option one: It had fallen out somewhere along the way, and hadn’t fallen into anyone’s hands. The best case scenario. Option two: Hana had been playing with you again, and she had had the original all along. Option three…

“By the way, Hana told me not to give this to you.”

You whirled around in surprise, and your eyes landed on a horribly familiar piece of notebook paper dangling from Minho’s fingers. Option three, damn it all. Mortified, you snatched it from his hand, crumpling it into your fist as he laughed lightly.

“It’s a very good poem.”

“Shut up, Lee Minho,” you wailed, wishing the ground would just swallow you up and bury you six feet under for all of eternity. “It’s a cheesy, cliché wreck.”

He hummed in amusement. “What were you writing about?”

Paralyzed, your eyes flickered towards the window before sputtering, “The—sunset. Figurative approach, you know? Emily Dickinson-inspired—”

“Mm. Then what was that quote about—” He tilted his head in thought, fingers snapping. “Catlike eyes, silver spectacles, and long—” He stopped when you plugged your ears instinctively, eyes glowering at him in disbelief. If looks could kill, Minho was sure he’d now have died more times than the characters in a Shakespearean tragedy. “—was that about the sunset, too?”

“Of course,” you snapped, your voice a tad too pitchy for your liking. Damn Lee Minho and his knack for memorizing things. “Haven’t you ever heard of extended metaphors? Rest assured, Lee Minho—I will never, ever, ever—have feelings for you.” You crumpled the sheet of poetry into a ball as you spoke with a note of finality, jamming it into your back pocket for good riddance.

Minho looked unfazed, the light curve of a knowing smile playing on his lips. After a moment, he took a step towards you, making you stumble back in alarm. “‘You can cut all the flowers,” he mused, glancing down at the crumpled love letter, “‘but you cannot stop spring from coming.’”

“Wh-wha—”

“Neruda quote. Tell me if I’m making you uncomfortable, and I’ll stop,” he murmured, eyes growing serious for a moment before his lips twitched with mirth, “but something tells me I deserve to hear more about that sunset from your poem.”

Gulping, you felt hot tears brimming in your eyes, and suddenly wished you were anywhere but here. This confrontation had been your worst nightmare, what you had always wanted to avoid. Your pride’ll be the end of you, y/n, you remembered Lia remarking when you’d sworn up and down that your feelings for Lee Minho were a thing of the past. And it was true—your pride had always gotten the better of you. You were a hypocrite, and a terrible one at that—always telling yourself you had gotten over that stupid, ninth-grade heartbreak, before unravelling into a nervous mess whenever Minho so much as threw a glance at you. And now, you could feel everything you’d feebly repressed for the last four years caving in. Crashing down on you like an avalanche of cheap supermarket chocolates.

“It was about you. You, alright?” You hissed, voice coming out more wounded, rather than venomous like you’d intended. “There. Are you happy now?” You were glad the shadows hid the humiliated tears beginning to roll down your cheeks, and wiped at your eyes furiously. Damn it all. So much for not crying.

“Then why didn’t you—”

“Say anything?” You breathed a short laugh. “Because I didn’t want to see you just throw it out again, okay?”

The silence that met your words was deafening, and when you finally mustered the courage to lift your gaze you saw that Minho’s look of disbelief mirrored your own.

“'Again?'”

Damn Lee Minho and his two-faced ass. Had he already forgotten? “In ninth grade. I left you a—stupid love letter in your locker, with all your other Valentines. Then I s-saw you throwing them all out, behind the school.”

“But I read every name on the cards,” Minho insisted, running a hand through his tousled hair. I left you—a stupid love letter in your locker. Your words sent his head spinning, and he felt his flustered cheeks heat up as he mumbled, “I’ve never—seen yours on any of them.”

Now it was your turn to blink in confusion. Minho’s brow furrowed in vague recollection. “But I did see Hana pulling an envelope out from my locker that day. She said that—she’d heard someone had been sending chain mail on Valentine’s Day, so she was helping the principal clean them up from people’s lockers.”

Hana? Your mind flashed to the missing locks, and the cheerleader that always seemed to be hanging around your locker, and suddenly everything dawned on you. “What did the envelope look like?”

“A corner store card. With—”

“Candy hearts. Right.” You muttered, watching Minho nod slowly. Your anger faltered slightly, feeling a slight shame wash over you, but you weren’t willing to give up just yet. “That still doesn’t explain why you dump out all the gifts you get every year.”

He sighed. “Look. Why would I keep love letters from people I don’t like? That’s just...narcissistic. And I don’t...like chocolate, either,” he added as an afterthought, and you couldn’t help exhaling a short laugh at his ridiculously blunt sentence. Another silence fell between the two of you, the angry tension in the air replaced with an almost childish awkwardness.

“I really did like the poem,” Minho spoke tentatively after what felt like an eternity, and you buried your head in your hands.

“Shut up, Lee Minho, oh my g—”

“And I wouldn’t have thrown it out.” The soft edge to his voice made you stop, peeking out of your fingers to look at him questioningly.

“Why not?” You asked, swallowing hard. “You said keeping letters from someone you don’t like would be narcissistic.”

He was barely a foot away, and the sheer proximity of his face from yours made your stomach flop—with irritation or butterflies, you weren’t sure you wanted to find out. Nonetheless, a tiny voice at the back of your head told you that you were heading towards the latter.

“You know, for someone who reads so many books, you sure are dense,” Minho murmured, shaking his head.

“Wh—”

“I throw out all my Valentines every year because I never see your name on them, alright?” His expression was as careless as ever—that cool, calm facade he wore like a suit of armour—but you didn’t miss the slight tremor in his voice, the flicker of apprehension in his eyes. Lee Minho, you realized with a jolt, was nervous. “I...only ever wanted to receive one from you.”

Your eyes widened, hands lowering from your face in shock. The book tumbled from under your arm to the ground. “But—Hana always told me about how much you hated me.”

“Hmm.” He dropped down to pick it up before fixing his piercing eyes on yours. “Funny. She’s been telling me the same about you. How you’re a two-faced, back-stabbing...such-and-such,” he smiled at the indignant look on your face before his face grew serious. “You’ve always let people walk all over you, and you never retaliate. It’s both admirable and frustrating to watch.”

“I’m not good at confrontation,” you mumbled, still shifting your weight from one leg to the other nervously. “Every time I think I’ve finally got the guts to try and say something back, I...I get all terrified that the words’ll jumble up and I-I’ll start to cry like an idiot again—”

“You’re not an idiot,” he interrupted sternly, “You’re probably more clever—and genuine—than everyone in our grade combined. Your thesis was brilliant.”

You snorted incredulously. “Then why did you keep attacking it every class?”

“It was the only time I could get you to talk to me.”

“Weirdo,” you muttered, but you couldn’t find it in you to make the word sound insulting anymore. Minho chuckled, hand grazing yours as he handed the book back to you. You didn’t move your hand away, and neither did he.

“It is weird. I must be out of my mind. Whenever you look at me, it’s like the whole world stops, and suddenly every cheesy line of poetry I’ve ever read just seems to make sense.”

Your heart was pounding so hard you were more than certain Minho could hear it. The way he was looking at you was nearly overwhelming, stomach fluttering with a feeling so strange and foreign it terrified you. Never in your wildest dreams had you thought that you would be here, in this delicate, unreal moment, and you felt all your insecurities threatening to swallow you up again. Out of everyone in the school, he likes you? A voice snickered at the back of your mind. Don’t kid yourself.

Shrinking away, you mumbled, “Y-you—don’t have to say stuff like that, you know. I mean, i-if you feel bad because of the letter and everything, you don’t have to pretend you lik—”

There was a flash of an exasperated smile on Minho’s lips. Before you could finish, his hand reached to pull your chin towards him again, and suddenly his mouth was pressed flush to yours. You froze, lips parting in surprise, but the kiss was light—barely even a brush of soft skin, and bringing with it the faint scent of vanilla and old books. Minho pulled away almost as quickly as he’d pulled you in, stammering, “I-I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

That seemed to send what was left of your hesitation crumbling into dust. You grabbed the collar of his dress shirt to pull him back in, and the library fell silent again.

Minho kissed the way he talked—soft but firm, and always leaving you struggling to catch your breath. Each touch had the growing intensity of something long overdue, starting out careful—as though you were treading over the newly shattered, four-year-old misunderstandings of one another—before your hands instinctively tangled in his hair and Minho pulled you in impossibly closer. You could feel his heartbeat pressed against yours, the crumpled poem and Neruda’s sonnets long forgotten on the carpeted ground.

The click of the library door opening sent the two of you flying apart, Minho hitting his head on the shelf with a comical thud. The kiss left you dazed and out of breath, and Minho’s face was flushed as both of you whipped around to see a livid Hana at the front of the library. Mouth opening and closing in silent fury, she shot you a death glare before storming out the door, leaving both you and Minho blinking after her.

Several moments passed, the whiplash of the unexpected interruption having sent both of your heads reeling. Then, the two of you broke into stunned laughter, slowly sliding down to the carpet as you doubled over in giggles.

When you finally stopped laughing at the ridiculousness of it all, Minho’s gaze was fixed fondly on your face. You poked his cheek. “You’re blushing, asshole.”

He didn’t respond, eyes falling to your lips again, and you felt your own face flush. “W-what?”

Minho grinned. “And you have drool on your chin again.”

“Hey, Minho! Minho, you won’t believe this!”

That enthusiastic voice belonged to none other than Han Jisung—voice of Levanter High’s morning announcements, and notorious school gossip. He hurtled down the bustling hall towards you and Minho, hunching over with his hands on his knees to catch his breath.

“Shit, ‘sung—did you kill somebody?”

The dark-haired boy shook his head rapidly. “Did you see the school newspaper?”

Your mouth went dry, Hana’s lingering threats still ringing clear in your ears. Jisung continued excitedly, “Two people submitted anonymous love poems over the weekend—at the same time! Can you believe it? I’m supposed to cover it on the announcements in a bit!”

Two? You peered at Minho, who hadn’t looked at you, and glimpsed a knowing glint in his eyes. “W-who submitted them?”

“Well, Lee Hana was handing out copies of the first one to everyone first thing this morning. But when I showed her the other one, she refused to tell me who the first belonged to.” He pouted.

Minho looked like he was trying hard not to laugh. “Do you have a copy of the paper, ‘sung?”

The dark-haired boy grinned. “Yeah, ‘course! You guys can have mine. See ya!”

As Jisung disappeared into the crowd of students, you turned back to Minho. He had been in the middle of putting a new lock on your locker, and was now setting the combination on his own. “They’re matching,” he’d pointed out when you’d gone into town together to buy them, and you’d groaned.

“Gro-oss.” The old, PDA-hating you would have probably thrown them away on the spot, but now the sight made you smile like a dork. If you can’t beat em, join ‘em.

You looked down to read the papers Jisung had deposited into your hands. Sure enough, on the left column, you spotted a photocopy of your own love letter. But on the right, there was a completely new one—and you had a sneaking suspicion you knew who the anonymous writer was.

“You know, Minho,” you deadpanned, “I don’t think either of us are cut out to be poets.”

“I stayed up all night writing that love letter, you know!” Minho exclaimed indignantly, and you just shook your head laughing. “But you’re right. I could feel Neruda turning in his grave.”

“You’re going to be the end of me, Lee Minho.”

His face broke into a mischievous grin at that, pinning you playfully to the lockers and stealing another kiss as you yelped in surprise.

“Can it be a happy ending?”

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