mirouie

[mirouie]

in the abundance of love ; k. woonhak

pairing. woonhak x reader genre. angst , hurt/comfort , a pinch of fluff synopsis. in a night thick with heat and harsh words, you and woonhak break and mend, discovering that love isn’t perfect—it’s the fierce, messy fight and the quiet choice to stay anyway word count. 2145 words  warnings. none ? woonhak and reader argue but it’s nothing toxic . . . just miscommunication ^^;; playlist. to love by suki waterhouse , all we ever do is talk by del water gap notes. requested by anon ! my first ever official request !! hope you enjoy ~ ( again , sorry it took so long T^T ) not proofread

The summer air pressed against your skin like something personal—clingy, thick, impossible to escape. It seeped into everything: your clothes, your sheets, your lungs. June had arrived with a vengeance, and the night held no relief. The ceiling fan spun lazily above you, stirring the heat just enough to make you aware of it. It was like trying to breathe through a damp cloth, like the air itself had weight.

The bedroom felt too still—haunted by the kind of absence that lingers in things. His half of the bed was untouched, sheets smoothed out like a deliberate choice, like he didn’t want to wrinkle what he wasn’t sure he’d return to. You stared at that space far too long.

The pillow you used to curl into carried only the faintest trace of his scent now, faded like a photograph left out in the sun. You flipped your own pillow again, and again, hoping the cool side would finally exist. It didn’t.

A single glass of water sat untouched on the nightstand, already warm to the touch. The room was dim, lit only by the soft spill of the streetlight outside, casting pale orange bars across the floorboards. Somewhere outside, a cicada cried out, its hum distant but constant, like a reminder that time hadn’t stopped just because things between you had.

And still, the silence was the loudest thing of all.

It pressed in around you, as suffocating as the heat. No shifting weight beside you. No familiar sigh. No brush of knuckles beneath the sheets. The emptiness in the room didn’t shout—it whispered. It clung. It asked questions you weren’t ready to answer.

You turned onto your side, then your back, then your stomach, each movement fueled by the kind of restless ache that had nothing to do with the weather and everything to do with the way Woonhak hadn’t come to bed.

And for all the discomfort—the sweat, the heat, the stickiness of the air—nothing burned more than that.

You exhaled slowly, like the night might ease up if you did.

But the heat wasn’t just in the room. It sat in your chest too, heavy and dull, the kind that lingered after a fight—the kind that made sleep feel like a distant privilege.

Woonhak’s name hadn’t been spoken aloud, but it hung there anyway, unshakable. You could still hear the echo of your voices clashing earlier, the way everything sharpens when pride takes the reins. It wasn’t even the words that hurt the most. It was everything unsaid, swallowed between sighs and half-turned shoulders. You knew he cared. You knew you did too. But somehow, the caring always got lost in translation.

You turned your head toward the empty side of the bed, the space beside you a quiet ache.

The hum of the fan did little. The air conditioner had sputtered its last breath two nights ago, and now the room sat in stillness—thick, unmoving. A soft sheen of sweat clung to your skin. It all felt like too much.

You got up.

Padding barefoot into the kitchen, you weren’t looking for anything in particular—maybe water, maybe peace. But what you found instead was the soft amber glow of the living room lamp and the quiet shape of Woonhak sitting hunched over on the couch, his elbows resting on his knees, hands tangled in his hair.

He looked like he hadn’t moved in hours.

You didn’t say anything at first. Just stood there, watching the slow rise and fall of his shoulders. There was something tender in the way the light caught the tired slope of his posture. He looked less like someone waiting and more like someone worn down by the waiting.

You crossed the room and sank quietly into the cushion beside him. The shift was small, but it was enough—his body tensed, then slowly unraveled. 

He didn’t look up when you sat down beside him. The soft glow of the lamp haloed him, but his features stayed shadowed—like even the light didn’t want to intrude.

“I didn’t think you’d come out,” he said eventually, voice low, hoarse.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“Yeah.” He laughed, but it sounded like all breath and no joy. “We’ve gotten good at that, huh?”

You didn’t answer right away. You looked down at your hands, twisting your fingers in your lap. The heat clung to your skin, but it was nothing compared to the weight sitting in your chest.

“We used to talk,” you said, your voice a little too fragile for how quiet the room was. “Even when things got hard. Now it’s like… every word turns into a minefield.”

That made him lift his head, finally. “So that’s what you think this is? A war?”

“I don’t know what it is anymore,” you admitted. “I say one thing and you hear something completely different. And suddenly, I’m the villain for trying to explain how I feel.”

Woonhak’s brows drew together, his jaw tensing. “You make it sound so simple. Like I’m the one twisting your words on purpose.”

“I never said that—”

“No, but you imply it. Every time we fight, you act like I’m the one who doesn’t care enough. Like I’m just standing here watching us fall apart.”

“Because sometimes it feels that way!” you snapped, voice breaking. “I’m trying, Woonhak. I’m trying so hard to be honest with you, but you shut me out. You joke, or deflect, or walk away, and I’m left screaming into a room you’re no longer in.”

He stood up, suddenly, pushing a hand through his hair as if the motion could keep him from unraveling. “Because when I stay, it only gets worse! You say things and I don’t know how to respond without making it worse!”

“Then maybe listen instead of defending yourself all the time!” you shot back, standing too now, the heat of the argument finally overtaking the suffocating warmth of the night. “Not every feeling I share is an accusation! Sometimes it’s just a cry for help—”

“I do listen!” he shouted, voice cracking. “I memorize the way you go quiet when you’re hurting. I notice every little change in your tone, your eyes, your silences. But when I try to fix it, it’s never enough! It’s like I’m always one step behind, like I’m failing no matter how hard I try.”

You stared at him, breathing hard. Something in your throat wobbled. “That’s not what I want, Woonhak. I’m not asking for perfect. I just want you to stay with me in it. Not fix it. Feel it. With me.”

“I don’t know how,” he said, the words cracking open as they left his mouth. “I don’t know how to sit with something and not try to fix it. I see you breaking and I panic. I hate seeing you hurt and knowing that I’m part of the reason.”

Your voice trembled. “But that’s the point. We’re supposed to hold it together. Each other. Not pretend everything’s okay until we explode.”

He looked away, blinking hard. “Every time we fight like this, I wonder when it’ll be the last time. When you’ll finally decide I’m not worth the chaos.”

“And every time I tell you how I feel, I wonder if it’ll be the thing that drives you further from me.”

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy—it was sharp. Cut-glass quiet.

Then Woonhak stepped forward, slowly, like approaching a wounded thing. His voice was quieter now, raw.

“I act like I’m angry, but really? I’m just scared. I don’t know how to love you without making a mess of it. I don’t know how to stop being afraid of losing you.”

Tears welled up behind your eyes, and you didn’t try to stop them. “You don’t have to love me perfectly. You just have to love me honestly.”

“I do,” he said, voice breaking. “So much it terrifies me.”

You didn’t say anything at first. You just reached for him, your hands shaking slightly. And when he folded into your arms—when he let himself fall into you like gravity had been pulling him there all along—you held him like you meant it.

“I don’t need you to have all the answers,” you whispered into his hair. “I just need you to stop leaving the room before we find them together.”

He nodded against your shoulder, arms tightening around your waist like he couldn’t bear to let go again.

And in that breathless, overheated night, with pride and anger left behind on the living room floor, you found your way back to the love you’d both been trying—so clumsily, so desperately—to protect

Eventually, the quiet wrapped itself around you both like a threadbare blanket—fragile but binding. Neither of you moved right away. You just sat there, his fingers laced with yours, your foreheads pressed together, breathing in sync for the first time in what felt like days.

But the weight of exhaustion tugged gently at your limbs. Not just the tiredness that came from a sleepless night, but the ache that settles in after holding onto too much for too long.

“Come back to bed with me,” you whispered.

Woonhak nodded wordlessly, brushing his thumb once more over the back of your hand before rising. He didn’t let go. He never did—not really.

The walk to the bedroom was slow, the house still sticky with heat, the floor cool under your feet. The bed greeted you with the same crumpled sheets and too-warm air, but something felt different now. Softer. Lighter.

Woonhak climbed in first, lifting the edge of the duvet so you could slide beneath it. You followed without hesitation, letting the covers drape over the two of you like a truce. He pulled you close immediately, one arm curling around your waist, the other threading beneath your neck until you were fully wrapped in him—limbs tangling, chests pressed, heartbeats syncing like some quiet promise.

His embrace was warm. Too warm, by every definition that would normally have you tossing the blankets off with a groan.

But right now?

Right now, you didn’t mind it at all.

His warmth wasn’t stifling—it was steady. Familiar. The kind that anchored you. The kind that said you’re safe here, stay as long as you want.

You buried your face into the crook of his neck, breathing him in—the scent of his skin, a hint of detergent, something comforting and his. His thumb stroked lazy circles against your back. No words were needed anymore. You had already said the hard things.

Now, you could just be.

Woonhak let out a soft sigh against your hair. “Still too hot?” he murmured sleepily.

You shook your head, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “Not like this.”

He pressed a barely-there kiss to your temple, the motion slow, reverent. “Good.”

And with your body curled into his, limbs tangled beneath the worn duvet, his arms folded around you like a promise, the heat of the room softened. It didn’t vanish—June still pressed at the windows, thick and unrelenting—but it no longer mattered. Not here, not like this. Not with Woonhak’s breath brushing the top of your head in quiet rhythm, not with the slow, steady thump of his heartbeat anchoring you to something real.

His fingers traced gentle lines along your spine, barely there, like he was trying to memorize the shape of you all over again. One of his legs hooked around yours, drawing you closer until there wasn’t an inch of space left to give. You felt safe like this—wrapped up in someone who, even when you fought, always came back to hold you like you were something sacred.

You buried your face against his chest, inhaling the soft, lived-in scent of him—clean skin, faint detergent, a trace of sweat and something unmistakably him. You hated the heat. You always had.

The way it clung to everything. The way it made sleep feel like a chore. But in his arms, the warmth didn’t suffocate. It settled into you, deep and quiet, like sunlight through closed eyelids.

His thumb brushed slow circles over your hip. No words. Just presence. Just love, quiet and unspoken, expressed in the way he held you like you were the only thing that could steady his heart.

Your eyelids grew heavier with each breath, your body finally giving in—not because the air had cooled or the discomfort had lifted, but because being held like this made it easier to let go. To stop thinking. To rest.

And when sleep came, it came like mercy. It found you not in the absence of heat, but in the abundance of love.

Because even on the stickiest, sweatiest night of the year, Woonhak’s embrace was still your favorite kind of warmth. The kind that didn’t just wrap around your body—but reached in, quiet and steady, and held your heart too.

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[mirouie]

ARE YOU GONNA MARRY, KISS OR KILL ME? ˚₊‧꒰ა ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

۶ৎ ALTERNATIVE : boynextdoor as high school tropes

۶ৎ PAIRING : boynextdoor x f!reader ۶ৎ GENRE(S) : highschool au, fluff, comfort, mutual pining, grumpy x sunshine in Taesan's~ ۶ৎ WARNING(S) : academic burnout in Sungho's, mentions of overworking in Sungho's and Jaehyun's, mild illness in Taesan's ۶ৎ WORD COUNT : 1.0k - 1.3k words / member

۶ৎ A/N : got inspo after seeing a certain tweet on X,,, and I just miss Boynextdoor... (っ- ‸ - ς)

SUNGHO ⋆⑅˚₊

˖➴ PAIRING : class president!sungho x burnout academic!reader

Park Sungho has always had that quiet kind of magnetism, the kind that comes from genuinely caring. You’ve watched him from across classrooms and crowded hallways for months now. The way he remembers people’s names without effort, asks about their sick grandparents like it matters (because it does to him), and somehow makes even the most reserved students feel heard during class discussions. 

He's untouchable in the way that good people often are, golden and warm like late afternoon sunlight streaming through classroom windows, which is why you can't quite believe he's sitting across from you in your carefully chosen corner of the library, two cups of coffee steaming between you.

"You know the library closes in an hour, right?" His voice is soft and hesitant, as if he's unsure of his welcome here in your sanctuary of solitude.

You glance up from your chemistry notes, blinking away the blur of exhaustion that's become your constant companion. The numbers and formulas swim on the page like they're underwater. "I know what time it is."

"When's the last time you went home before 8 PM?" 

The question settles between you with uncomfortable weight. You honestly can't remember. Home has become nothing more than a place to collapse for a few hours before the cycle begins again, classes, college prep courses, extracurriculars that look good on applications but drain your soul. The pursuit of perfection that everyone expects from you, that you've learned to expect from yourself.

Sungho pushes one of the coffees towards you, his fingers brushing the table near yours. "Vanilla latte. Extra shot, no whip. I noticed you always get that one from the machine by the gym."

The fact that he's noticed, that he's paid attention to something so mundane about you, sends an unexpected flutter through your chest. Park Sungho notices everything about everyone, it's what makes him such a natural leader, so beloved by teachers and students alike. But you never thought his careful attention would extend to you, the girl who sits in the back and keeps her head down.

"Don't you have student council stuff to do?" you ask, wrapping your hands around the warm cup. The vanilla scent is comforting, familiar. "Important presidential duties?"

A soft laugh escapes him, and you're struck by how different he seems here in the quiet library light. Less polished, more human. "Meeting ended an hour ago. We were planning the winter formal, if you must know." He pauses, opening his own textbooks with deliberate slowness. "Besides, I'm worried about you."

The admission hangs in the air between you, honest and vulnerable in a way that makes your heart skip. "I'm fine."

"You fell asleep in calculus yesterday." His voice is gentle, no judgment in it. "Mrs. Kim had to wake you up three times. And you haven't been eating lunch, I've seen you in the library instead, every day this week."

Heat creeps up your neck, embarrassment blooming across your cheeks. You thought no one had seen, thought you'd been invisible in your struggle. "I was just—"

"Exhausted," Sungho finishes. "You're burning yourself out, and I can't just sit back and watch anymore."

The crack in your carefully constructed facade widens at his words. You've been running on caffeine and stubbornness for weeks, pushing yourself harder and harder because that's what's expected. Because perfect grades and perfect applications to perfect colleges are supposed to guarantee a perfect future. Because everyone thinks you have it all figured out.

"I have to keep up," you whisper, and your voice sounds small even to your own ears. "Everyone thinks I'm this perfect student, but I'm barely hanging on. If I slow down, if I let myself slip even a little..."

"The world won't end," Sungho says quietly. "Your worth isn't determined by your GPA."

You look up at him then, and find his dark eyes fixed on you with an intensity that makes your breath catch. There's an evident concern shown on his face, and it makes your heart race despite your exhaustion.

"You don't have to be perfect for everyone else," he continues, leaning forward slightly. "And you definitely don't have to be perfect for me."

The words hit deep in your chest, some buried part of you that's been aching to hear them. When did his opinion start mattering so much? When did Park Sungho become more than just the golden boy class president you admired from afar?

"How about this," he says, opening his physics textbook with careful precision. "We study together. I'll make sure you actually take breaks, eat something that isn't from a vending machine, and get out of here at a reasonable time. Consider it my presidential duty to look after my constituents."

There's a teasing note in his voice that makes you smile despite everything. "You don't have to babysit me."

"I'm not babysitting you." Pink colours his cheeks, and he looks younger suddenly, less like the composed leader everyone knows and more like a boy with a crush. "I like spending time with you. Even if it's just sitting here doing homework. Especially if it's sitting here doing homework."

Your heart beats faster in your chest, a flutter of possibility that you've been too tired to acknowledge until now. Park Sungho, who could be anywhere, with anyone, who probably has dozens of people vying for his attention, wants to sit in the quiet library with you, wants to drink coffee, share conversations and study together, with you. 

"Okay," you say quietly, and the word feels like stepping off a cliff. "But I'm buying the coffee next time."

His smile is radiant, transforming his entire face. "Deal. Though I should warn you, I take my coffee very seriously. Two sugars, splash of cream, and it has to be from the good machine in the student lounge."

"Noted, Mr. President."

"Just Sungho," he says, he glances at you, then away, as if trying to build the courage in silence. "When it's just us, just call me Sungho."

As he starts explaining a physics concept you've been struggling with, his voice patient and encouraging, you find yourself studying more than just the diagrams he's sketching. The way his brow furrows when he concentrates, how he bites his lip when he's thinking, the gentle way his hand moves across the paper. 

"You're not paying attention," he says suddenly, catching you staring.

"Sorry, I—"

"Don't apologize." His smile is soft, almost fond. "I was starting to think you saw right through me."

"Through you?"

"I've been looking for an excuse to talk to you for months," he admits, his honesty catching you off guard. "Every time I'd work up the courage, you'd disappear before I could say anything. The library was the only place I knew I'd find you."

The confession settles over you like a warm blanket, chasing away some of the cold exhaustion that's been your constant companion. "You've been looking for me?"

"Every day." He reaches across the table, his fingers barely brushing yours. "I know you think you have to keep going, but you’re allowed to fall apart too. Let me be there when you do."

For a second, you forget how to breathe.

No one’s ever said that to you. You don't say anything right away. You’re afraid if you do, your voice might crack open too much, so you just nod, acknowledging his words. 

"Same time tomorrow?" Sungho asks as you finally pack up your books, the library growing quiet around you.

"Tomorrow," you agree. For the first time in weeks, you're looking forward to something that isn't an exam or an assignment.

You're looking forward to him.

RIWOO ⋆⑅˚₊

˖➴ PAIRING : quiet artist!riwoo x theater kid!reader

Lee Sanghyeok is poetry in motion, even when he thinks no one is watching.

You discover this quite by accident on a Thursday evening when you're rushing back to the theater for your forgotten script. The performing arts wing should be empty by now, all the after-school activities long finished, but as you pass the dance studio, music bleeds through the heavy doors, and you catch a glimpse of movement that steals your breath.

He dances like he's having a conversation with the music itself, every gesture deliberate yet effortless. His hair falls across his forehead as he moves, and there's an ethereal quality to the way he flows from one position to the next, as if gravity affects him differently than the rest of the world. You've seen him around school, of course, the quiet boy who sits in the back of art class, who walks the halls with his head down and his sketchbook clutched close to his chest. But this is like seeing a secret part of his soul.

You shouldn't be watching. But you can't seem to make yourself move, can't tear your eyes away from the graceful arch of his spine, the precise angles of his arms cutting through the air. He's beautiful in the way that demands him to be witnessed, even in solitude.

The music ends, and he comes to a stop in the centre of the room, chest rising and falling with quiet breaths. That's when he sees you through the window, and you watch his eyes widen in what looks like panic.

You should run, perhaps pretend this never happened, let him keep his secret sanctuary. Instead, you find yourself pushing open the studio door, stepping into his world uninvited.

"I'm sorry," you say quickly, holding up your hands in surrender. "I was just—my script—I didn't mean to spy, I just—"

"It's okay." His voice is softer than you expected, barely above a whisper. He reaches for a towel draped over the barre, not quite meeting your eyes. "I thought everyone had gone home."

"That was..." You struggle for words that won't sound empty or inadequate. "You're incredible."

Pink blooms across his cheeks, and he ducks his head in that shy way you've noticed in class. "It's nothing special. Just how I unwind."

"Nothing special?" You can't keep the disbelief out of your voice. "Sanghyeok, that was—it was like watching art come alive."

He glances up at you, vulnerability flickering in his dark eyes. "You know my name."

The question catches you off guard. "Of course I know your name. We've had classes together since sophomore year."

"You never..." He trails off, shaking his head. "Most people don't really see me."

There's heartbreak in the way he says it, as if invisibility is just another part of his daily routine. You want to tell him that he's wrong, that people are just too intimidated by his quiet intensity to approach. That half the girls in your grade have whispered about his mysterious appeal, wondered what it would be like to be noticed by Lee Sanghyeok.

"Well, I've always seen you," you say instead, and the words come out more earnest than you intended. 

He musters up the courage to look at you in the eyes, and you feel the air between you shift. The studio suddenly feels smaller, more intimate, filled with possibilities you hadn't considered before this moment.

"What were you working on?" you ask, partly to break the tension and partly because you genuinely want to know. "The dance—is it for a specific performance?"

"Just... expressing what I couldn't put into words." He gestures vaguely at the mirror. "Movement says what words can't."

You understand that feeling more than he knows. It's why you act, why you lose yourself in characters and scripts and the magic of becoming someone else for a few hours. "I get that. That's what theater is for me, finding ways to say the things that are too big for regular conversation."

Recognition sparks in his eyes, a shared understanding passing between you. "You're in the drama program."

"Guilty. Though I'm probably not very good at it." You laugh, suddenly self-conscious. "I saw you at our last production. You were there opening night, sitting in the back row."

"You noticed me in the audience?"

"I notice you everywhere," you admit, and immediately want to take it back. However, Sanghyeok doesn't look uncomfortable, if anything, he seems surprised, pleased even.

"I wanted to tell you afterwards that you were amazing," he says quietly. "But I didn't know how to approach you. You always seem so confident on stage, so sure of yourself."

"That's just acting," you tell him with a rueful smile. "Real me is significantly less put-together."

"I doubt that." He takes a step closer, close enough that you can see the fine sheen of sweat on his skin, smell the faint scent of his cologne mixed with exertion. "You want to try dancing?"

"Try what?"

"Dancing. With me." He extends a hand, palm up, waiting. "If you want. You don't have to—"

"Yes." The word comes out before you can second-guess yourself. "I mean, I'm not very good—"

"Neither was I when I started." His smile is small but genuine as you place your hand in his. "Just follow my lead."

He starts the music again. His hand settles on your waist, warm even through your sweater, and you try not to think about how perfectly you seem to fit together.

"Just feel the music," he murmurs, close enough that his breath tickles your ear. "Don't think about the steps. Just move."

It should be awkward, you've never been much of a dancer, more comfortable with scripted movements and blocked staging. But there's a quality to the way he guides you that makes it feel natural. When you stumble, he steadies you with gentle hands. When you get self-conscious, he distracts you with observations about rhythm and flow that make you forget to be nervous.

"See?" he says as the song winds down, and you realize you've been moving together without conscious thought, following the music and each other in equal measure. "You're a natural."

You're standing closer than you started, his hands still on your waist and yours having found their way to his shoulders. The studio is quiet except for your slightly uneven breathing, and you can see yourself reflected in his dark eyes.

"This is nice," you whisper, not wanting to break whatever spell has settled over you both.

"Yeah," he agrees, voice barely audible. "Really nice."

"Could we..." You bite your lip, suddenly nervous. "Could we do this again? I mean, if you don't mind sharing your space. I know this is your sanctuary—"

"I'd like that." He smiles, the kind that transforms his entire face, makes him look less mysterious and more like a boy your age who's just been asked on a date. 

As you finally step apart, gathering your forgotten script and preparing to leave him to his private world, you can't help but feel like the foundation of your reality has shifted. Like you've been let into a secret world that few people ever get to see.

"I'll see you tomorrow?" Sanghyeok asks as you reach the door, and there's hope in his voice that makes your heart skip.

"Tomorrow," you confirm, and you're already counting the hours until you can watch him dance again, until you can be part of his quiet magic once more.

Lee Sanghyeok has shown you a new way of expressing what words cannot capture, and you think you're falling for both the art and the artist.

JAEHYUN ⋆⑅˚₊

˖➴ PAIRING : energetic senior!jaehyun x chaotic junior!reader

The first time Myung Jaehyun and you interacted, you were arguing with a folding table.

Not just struggling with it, actively engaged in what appeared to be a heated philosophical debate about its structural integrity while half the student council watched in fascination. You'd arrived twenty minutes late to the festival planning meeting, knocked over three chairs in your haste to find a seat, and now stood toe-to-toe with an inanimate object like it had personally offended your entire bloodline.

"I think you're supposed to lift the latch first," Jaehyun offered as he approached. His voice carried that familiar teasing lilt that made teachers simultaneously want to throttle him and nominate him for student of the year.

You whirled around, cheeks flushed with embarrassment and indignation. "I know how tables work, thank you very much."

"Do you, though?" He tilted his head, studying you with barely concealed amusement. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you're losing."

The committee head, a stern-faced senior who treated festival planning like military strategy, cleared her throat pointedly. "As I was saying before the interruption, we need volunteers for setup crew. Since our newest member seems so... enthusiastic about furniture arrangement, she can assist Jaehyun with decorations."

Your mouth fell open in protest, but Jaehyun was already grinning, that infuriatingly smug expression that made your pulse quicken for reasons you refused to examine too closely.

"Looks like you're stuck with me, rookie."

The days into what you'd mentally dubbed "Festival Prep Hell," you'd learned several crucial facts about Myung Jaehyun :

First, he had an uncanny ability to appear whenever you were about to do anything remotely dangerous, stupid, or both. Second, his definition of "helping" involved a lot of commentary and very little actual assistance. Third, he had appointed himself your personal supervisor despite you never asking for, wanting, or needing one.

"You realize you're holding those scissors wrong," he observed from his perch on the art room windowsill, watching you cut paper streamers with the intensity of a nature documentarian studying an exotic species.

"I realize you're supposed to be helping instead of providing color commentary," you shot back, snipping another length of crepe paper with unnecessary force.

"I am helping. I'm preventing you from injuring yourself or others." He hopped down, sauntering over to peer at your work. "Besides, someone needs to make sure you eat. Speaking of which—"

He produced a triangle kimbap from his backpack, setting it on the desk beside your elbow with practiced ease. You'd stopped questioning where he acquired these snacks or why he'd decided feeding you was his responsibility. The alternative was admitting that his quiet attentiveness made your chest feel warm and fluttery, which was absolutely not happening.

"I'm not hungry," you lied, stomach choosing that exact moment to growl audibly.

"Uh-huh." Jaehyun's eyes crinkled with suppressed laughter. "And I'm not devastatingly handsome."

"Correct on both counts."

"Ouch." He pressed a hand to his heart in mock wounded. "You wound me, rookie. Here I am, generously sharing my food with an ungrateful underclassman—"

"Generously?" You finally looked up from your streamers, eyebrow raised. "You literally stole that from Sungho's lunch."

"Borrowed. There's a difference."

"The difference being that stealing implies you plan to return it?"

"Exactly." His grin widened. "See? You're learning."

Despite yourself, you found your lips twitching upward. This was the problem with Jaehyun, just when you'd worked up a proper head of indignation, he'd do or say something that made you want to laugh instead. It was infuriating and endearing in equal measure.

"Eat," he said, his voice gentler now. "You've been working for three hours straight."

"I'm fine."

"You're dead on your feet." Before you could protest, his hand was on your forehead, checking for fever with the casual intimacy of someone who'd been doing it for years instead of days. "When's the last time you slept? Not whatever you call that thing you do where you close your eyes for twenty minutes between assignments."

Heat crept up your neck at the contact, at the unexpected tenderness in his voice. "I sleep plenty."

"Rookie." The nickname sounded different this time, more affectionate than teasing. "You know you don't have to prove anything to anyone, right?"

Your hands stilled on the scissors. "I don't know what you mean."

"Sure you don't." He settled into the chair beside you, close enough that you could smell his cologne. "You've been running yourself ragged trying to show the committee you belong here. News flash : you already do."

"I'm a freshman who can't even set up a table correctly."

"You're a freshman who told the head of the planning committee that her colour scheme looked like a unicorn had a violent encounter with a rainbow." His shoulders shook with suppressed laughter. "Do you have any idea how long I've wanted to say that?"

You ducked your head, fighting a smile. "It did look like that, though."

"It absolutely did. And you had the guts to say it." His finger hooked under your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. "That's not something to be ashamed of, rookie. That's something to be proud of."

The art room fell quiet except for the distant sounds of other students in the hallway. Jaehyun's thumb brushed across your cheek, when had he gotten so close?—and you forgot how to breathe properly.

"Besides," he continued, voice dropping to a murmur, "I happen to like chaos. Keeps things interesting."

"I'm not chaotic," you whispered. "I'm just... enthusiastic."

"Is that what we're calling it?" His eyes were warm, crinkled at the corners with genuine fondness. "In that case, I'm enthusiastic about you being enthusiastic."

Before you could process what he meant by that, he was pulling back, ruffling your hair with practiced ease. "Good job today, rookie. But next time, eat the kimbap when I give it to you, yeah?"

You watched him gather his things, movements unhurried and confident. At the door, he paused, glancing back with that familiar grin.

"Oh, and for the record? Tomorrow we're bribing the janitor to let us use the good ladder for hanging decorations. I've got hot packs and chocolate milk."

"You can't just bribe people to make your life easier!"

"Watch me."

He was gone before you could formulate a proper response, leaving you alone with your paper streamers and the lingering scent of his cologne. You touched your cheek where his thumb had been, heart hammering against your ribs.

Myung Jaehyun was going to be the death of you.

TAESAN ⋆⑅˚₊

˖➴ PAIRING : grumpy musician!taesan x sunshine class rep!reader

Every morning began the same : the classroom door sliding open at precisely 7:45am, followed by your sunshine-bright voice cutting through pre-class murmurs.

"Good morning, everyone! Good morning, Tae-Tae!"

And every morning, Dongmin, known to most as Taesan, would respond with the same carefully calibrated grunt, eyes never lifting from the composition in his worn music notebook.

Today was no different. You placed your bag down before making a deliberate detour to his back corner desk, where he sat with headphones covering one ear.

"Here's the chemistry handout you missed yesterday," you announced, placing the paper atop his notebook. "And the college application deadline got moved up, it's on the second page."

His response was a barely perceptible nod, fingers continuing to sketch musical notations.

Most students would have retreated. But three years as class representative had taught you to recognize the difference between genuine hostility and practiced indifference. With Dongmin, the distance was carefully constructed.

"There's a faculty meeting fourth period, so we're having study hall," you continued. "Perfect timing for that history essay due Friday. Which you haven't started yet, have you?"

His pencil paused. "How do you know what I have or haven't started?"

You smiled triumphantly. "You always touch your left ear when you're behind on assignments."

His hand jerked away from his ear where his fingers had been tugging at his earring. The betrayal of his unconscious gesture sparked annoyance across his features.

"Don't you have morning announcements to obsess over?"

"All prepared! I even included your band's show this weekend."

Surprise quickly disguised as indifference flickered on his face. "You didn't have to do that."

"I wanted to. That's what friends do."

Before he could protest the label, you spun away, leaving him staring after you with bewildered frustration.

The cafeteria buzzed with lunchtime chaos when you spotted Dongmin at his usual corner table, guitar case beside him, music sheets spread as both creative outlet and social barrier.

You set your tray down across from him without asking permission.

"Not hungry again?" you asked, noticing his empty table.

He shrugged. "Forgot."

You sighed before producing a second lunch box from your bag. "Good thing I remembered for you."

His eyes narrowed. "You packed me lunch?"

"Just rice and kimchi. And those octopus sausages that were on sale." You pushed the container toward him. "Consider it payment for helping with the festival sound check."

"That was weeks ago."

"I'm very thorough with my debts."

He stared at the lunch box with frozen incomprehension before reluctantly pulling it towards himself.

"The vitamin C packet is in the side," you added. "You've been coughing since Tuesday."

"I don't need—"

"Just take it, Tae-Tae. Being grumpy is your personality, being sick is just inconvenient."

A passing classmate nearly stumbled at your audacity. Everyone knew Dongmin allowed only close friends to use his stage name Taesan. The diminutive "Tae-Tae" should have earned immediate banishment.

Yet somehow, you remained unexiled.

He unwrapped the chopsticks, mumbling what might have been "thank you."

When the bell rang, he had finished everything, even the vitamin drink.

"You didn't have to wait," he said, noticing you'd barely touched your own food while chatting.

You shrugged. "I like talking to you."

"Why?" The question escaped before he could contain it.

You tilted your head with unusual seriousness. "Because I think you're nice. Even if you pretend you're not."

The words hit him like an unexpected chord change. Emotions rippled through his features, confusion, denial, then fleeting tenderness that disappeared before you could place it.

He turned away abruptly. "You're delusional."

"Probably," you agreed cheerfully. "See you in math!"

As you walked away, you missed his fingers tracing the empty container's edge, or how his eyes followed you with an expression his bandmates would have recognized as panic.

Days later, you arrived at school with a slight fever and significantly less energy. Your morning greeting lacked volume, and you forgot the fire drill reminder.

During literature, you rested your head on your arms, closing eyes against too-bright fluorescent lights. When the lunch bell rang, you remained seated.

"You're sick."

You looked up to find Dongmin beside you, his perpetual frown deepened with suspicious concern.

"Just tired," you insisted.

"Your face is red. And you didn't harass me about the math assignment."

"You didn't turn in the—" You stopped, recognizing the trap. "You did turn it in."

His mouth twitched. "You're slipping, Class Rep."

He placed a bottle on your desk, cold green tea, your favourite brand.

"Drink this instead of that sugary coffee."

You stared at the bottle, then at him, uncharacteristically speechless.

"It's just tea," he muttered. "Don't make it weird."

"Did you... buy this for me?"

"You gave me vitamin C." He said it like the connection was obvious.

A smile spread across your face despite fatigue. "Tae-Tae, that's so sweet."

"Stop calling me that," he grumbled with notably less irritation.

"Never."

He sighed, resigned. "You should go home if you're sick."

"Can't. Student council meeting after school."

He observed you before reaching a decision. "Give me your phone."

Too tired to argue, you unlocked and handed it over. He typed quickly before returning it. On screen, you saw he'd added his contact information.

"Text me after your meeting. I'll walk you home."

Your eyebrows rose. "Really?"

"You'll probably pass out on the subway otherwise," he said defensively. "And then I'd have to listen to everyone talk about how the perfect class rep collapsed. It would be annoying."

"Can't have you annoyed," you agreed solemnly, though your smile betrayed understanding.

True to his word, Dongmin waited outside the student council room. When you emerged looking exhausted, he wordlessly took your backpack.

On the crowded train, he positioned himself beside you, one arm braced overhead, body angled to shield you from pressing commuters.

"This is my home," you said, stopping before your apartment building.

He returned your backpack. For a moment, he seemed on the verge of saying something, hands shoved in pockets.

"Thank you for walking me home."

"It's nothing," he responded, then reconsidered. "You should rest tomorrow. The class can survive one day without your excessive enthusiasm."

You smiled weakly. "Is that your grumpy way of saying you'd miss me?"

He scoffed but didn't deny it. "Just take care of yourself for once instead of everyone else."

You missed the next day, fever worsening. Your phone filled with messages from classmates, and among them, a single text from Dongmin : Did you eat?

You replied : Soup. You?

His response came quickly : Yes.

Then : The classroom is too quiet.

The admission warmed you more than your fever.

When you returned, you found a small package on your desk : throat lozenges, vitamin C, and a handwritten note with music recommendations labelled "Songs for Recovery."

You glanced at Dongmin, who sat pretending to read, ears betrayingly pink. When your eyes met, he quickly looked away, but not before you caught his relieved expression.

"Good morning, Tae-Tae," you called, voice still hoarse.

His response, though quiet, was distinctly more than his usual grunt :

"Morning."

As much as he'd hate to admit it, he'd been waiting for his sunshine to return.

LEEHAN ⋆⑅˚₊

˖➴ PAIRING : popular pretty boy!leehan x shy science nerd!reader

Kim Donghyun is the kind of beautiful that makes people stop mid-sentence when he walks into a room. All sharp jawlines and soft eyes, with an effortless grace that makes even the most mundane activities look like they belong in a magazine spread. So when Ms Chen announces that he's your lab partner for the semester-long marine biology project, you nearly choke on your own saliva. 

"Looks like we're stuck with each other," he says, sliding into the seat next to you with that easy smile that's probably launched a thousand crushes. Up close, he's even more devastating, long lashes, perfect skin, the kind of natural beauty that should be illegal in high school settings.

You manage a squeaky "yeah" in response, already mentally preparing for a semester of doing all the work while he coasts by on his looks and charm. It's not fair to assume, but you've been burned by pretty partners before.

"So, marine ecosystems," Donghyun continues, pulling out a notebook that's surprisingly well-organized. "I was thinking we could focus on coral reef symbiosis? The relationship between clownfish and sea anemones is fascinating from both a biological and chemical perspective."

You blink at him, certain you've misheard. "You... want to study clownfish?"

"Well, the broader ecosystem, but yeah. Did you know that clownfish aren't actually immune to anemone stings? They build up immunity gradually by carefully exposing themselves to the mucus." His eyes light up as he talks, and there's genuine excitement in his voice that catches you completely off guard. "It's this incredible example of mutualistic symbiosis that most people think is just cute fish living in pretty flowers."

"You know about marine biology?"

He laughs, and the sound is warm and genuine. "I know I don't look like the type, but I've been obsessed with aquatic ecosystems since I was ten. I have three saltwater tanks at home and volunteer at the aquarium downtown on weekends."

This revelation is so far from what you expected that you actually stare at him for a moment. Kim Donghyun, who you've seen being voted for homecoming court and having lunch surrounded by the most popular kids in school, spends his free time cleaning fish tanks?

"That's... actually really cool," you admit, and his smile grows wider.

"Right? Most people think it's weird. My friends are always trying to drag me to parties when I'd rather be home watching my corydoras or reading about new conservation efforts." He leans forward conspiratorially. "Don't tell anyone, but I have names for all my fish. My runny nose tetra is called Professor Bubbles because he's very serious and intellectual-looking."

The giggle that escapes you is involuntary, and Donghyun's expression brightens like he's just won a prize.

"See, I knew you'd get it. You're always reading those marine conservation articles before class starts. I've been wanting to ask you about that paper on coral bleaching you were annotating last week."

"You noticed that?"

"I notice a lot of things, like how you light up during the ecology units, or how you always have the best questions during lab discussions. I was actually excited when Ms Chen paired us up."

Your brain struggles to process this information. Kim Donghyun, noticed you? Was excited to work with you? "But you could have anyone as a partner. People were literally volunteering to switch—"

"Why would I want to work with people who see this as an easy A when I could work with someone who actually cares about the subject?" He starts sketching out ideas for your project, his handwriting neat and precise. "Besides, I have a confession. I may know about marine life, but I'm terrible at the statistical analysis part. I was hoping you could help me with that side of things."

"You want my help?"

"Partnership means playing to each other's strengths, right?" He grins, and there's genuine warmth in it that makes your chest flutter. "I'll handle the biological research and species identification, you handle the data analysis and statistical modeling. Together we'll probably ace this thing."

Over the next few weeks, you discover that Donghyun is nothing like what you expected. He shows up to every study session with homemade flashcards and detailed notes, gets genuinely excited about discussing nitrogen cycles and pH levels, and has an encyclopedic knowledge of fish behaviour that rivals your textbooks.

He's also surprisingly goofy, making terrible fish puns that shouldn't be funny but somehow are, doing silly voices when he reads scientific papers aloud, and getting distracted by every aquarium they pass when you visit the marine centre for research.

"Oh my god, look at that parrotfish," he whispers during one of your field research trips, pressing close to the glass with the wonder of a five year old. "Look at those colours! And the way it's reorganizing the substrate—they're such meticulous little architects."

You find yourself watching him more than the fish, charmed by his unguarded enthusiasm. This is so different from the cool, collected version of himself he presents at school, and you realize you might be seeing the Kim Donghyun who cares more about marine conservation than maintaining his image.

"You're really passionate about this," you observe as he takes detailed notes on fish behavior patterns.

"My dream is to study marine biology in college, maybe work in conservation someday." He looks almost embarrassed by the admission. "I know it's not what people expect from me."

"Why do you care what people expect?"

The question seems to catch him off guard. He's quiet for a moment, watching a school of tropical fish swim in perfect synchronization. "I guess I've gotten used to being what people want me to be. The pretty face, the popular guy, the one who makes everything look effortless." He glances at you sideways. "But it's exhausting pretending you don't care about things just because it's not cool to be passionate."

"For what it's worth, I think passion is attractive. The way you talk about marine ecosystems... it's like watching you come alive."

Pink creeps across his cheeks, and he ducks his head with a shy smile that's entirely different from his usual confident grin. "Really?"

"Really. I've learned more from you in three weeks than I did in the entire first semester."

"Same here. You make the statistical analysis actually make sense instead of just being numbers on a page." He bumps your shoulder gently. "Plus, you're the only person who doesn't tune out when I start rambling about symbiotic relationships."

"I like your rambling."

"I like that you like it," he says quietly.

Two months into your partnership, you're not sure when exactly Donghyun stopped being your intimidatingly beautiful lab partner and became simply the boy who brings you coffee during long research sessions, who texts you pictures of his fish with increasingly ridiculous captions, who stays after class to debate conservation policies with the same intensity other guys bring to sports.

"We should celebrate," he says after you receive your project grades, an A+ with a note from Ms Chen praising your thorough research and innovative analysis.

"Celebrate how?"

"The aquarium is having a night dive program this weekend. Would you want to go? As partners in academic crime?" His smile is hopeful, nervous in a way that's endearingly human. "I promise I'll try to control my excitement about seeing nocturnal feeding behaviours."

"I'd love to," you say, and the way his face lights up makes you realize that you've fallen for Donghyun, not the popular pretty boy everyone else sees, but the passionate, goofy, genuine person he trusts you enough to be.

"Perfect. It's a date." He pauses, seeming to realize what he's said. "I mean, if you want it to be. A date, that is. It could just be a friendly educational outing between lab partners who happen to—"

"Donghyun."

"Yeah?"

"I'd love for it to be a date."

WOONHAK ⋆⑅˚₊

˖➴ PAIRING : protective basketball athlete!woonhak x transfer student!reader

Whispers stirred through homeroom like a breeze before a storm, and Ms Park’s usual monotone took on a rare edge of anticipation as she cleared her throat and said, “Class, please welcome our new transfer student.”

You stood beside her desk, clutching your schedule with white knuckles, eyes fixed on a mysterious scuff mark on the linoleum floor. The classroom felt cavernous, thirty pairs of eyes burning into you like searchlights.

"Would you like to introduce yourself?" Ms Park prompted gently.

You mumbled your name, hometown, and a forgettable fact about yourself before sliding into the only empty desk available. 

That's when you felt a gaze so persistent it practically warmed your skin. You glanced up to find a boy with tousled dark hair and a smile that could power a small city staring directly at you. His uniform tie hung slightly crooked, but everything else about him radiated perfection.

He waved. At 8:17am in the morning. Who does that?

You offered a tentative half-smile before returning your attention to unpacking your notebook. But the intensity of his attention lingered like perfume.

When class ended, he materialized beside your desk with supernatural speed.

"I'm Woonhak," he announced, as if introducing a celebrity. "Kim Woonhak. I'm the class representative and captain of the basketball team." His enthusiasm bordered on excessive for this ungodly hour of morning. "You picked a great day to transfer, the cafeteria's serving tteokbokki today."

You blinked at him. "That's... useful information."

"I can show you around if you want. The school's layout makes zero sense."

“I think I can manage," you replied, but with less ice than intended.

Woonhak's smile never faltered. "Cool, cool. Offer stands. See you at lunch?"

Before you could respond that you hadn't agreed to any lunch plans, he'd bounced away to high-five someone across the room.

Your plan had been to eat alone, to blend into the scenery until you found your footing. But when you entered the cafeteria, Woonhak spotted you instantly as if he'd been watching the door, and waved with such vigor you worried he might dislocate something.

"Saved you a seat!" he called out, drawing attention from nearby tables.

You considered pretending not to hear him, but that would require explaining yourself tomorrow, which seemed more exhausting than just surrendering to his relentless friendliness.

"You didn't have to do that," you said, sliding onto the bench opposite him.

"I know." He pushed a small carton of banana milk towards you. "They always run out, so I grabbed an extra."

You stared at the carton, unsure how to process this random act of kindness. "Thanks."

Lunch with Woonhak meant meeting his entire social circle, which appeared to encompass half the student body. He introduced you to everyone who passed, pronouncing your name with such pride you'd think he'd invented it himself.

"How do you know so many people?" you asked when the parade of introductions finally paused.

He shrugged, mouth full of rice. After swallowing, he said, "I've lived in this neighbourhood my whole life. It's impossible not to know everyone eventually."

His popularity seemed effortless, yet he chose to spend lunch with the new girl. "You don't have to babysit me, you know."

His eyebrows shot up. "Babysit? Is that what you think this is?"

"I don't know what this is."

His expression softened. "This is me making a friend. Unless you'd rather be left alone? I can respect boundaries, my mom says I come on too strong sometimes."

The naked honesty in his voice disarmed you. "No, it's...fine. I'm just not used to people being so..."

"Charming? Devastatingly handsome?"

You rolled your eyes, but couldn't suppress a smile. "I was going to say 'persistent.'"

His laughter rang clear and genuine. "Fair enough."

Days blurred into weeks. Woonhak's morning greetings became as reliable as sunrise. He started walking you to classes even when they weren't on his route, claiming he "needed the exercise" despite his obviously athletic physique.

"Everyone's staring at us," you whispered as you entered the gymnasium where Woonhak's basketball team was practicing. You'd agreed, against better judgment, to watch. 

"They're just not used to seeing me with such an intimidating person," he whispered back.

"Intimidating? Me?"

"Absolutely. You've got that mysterious transfer student aura. Very exclusive."

You snorted. "You're ridiculous."

"Part of my charm."

You settled on the bleachers while Woonhak jogged to join his teammates. Watching him transform from goofy hallway companion to focused athlete was fascinating. His movements became precise, calculated, as if he'd shed a layer of himself when stepping onto the court.

After practice, you waited by the gym doors, scrolling through your phone. You didn't notice the approach of three players until their shadows fell across your screen.

"You're the new girl, right?" The tallest one asked. His hair was still damp from the showers, his uniform shirt unbuttoned at the collar.

You nodded.

"I'm Minje. Team vice-captain." His smile carried confidence that bordered on arrogance. "We're heading to get bubble tea. Wanna join?"

Before you could answer, Woonhak appeared beside you, gym bag slung over his shoulder. His usual smile seemed different, tight around the edges.

"She can't," he said, voice unusually firm. "We have plans."

Minje's eyebrows rose. "Do you? Or are you just saying that?"

"We're working on her literature assignment," Woonhak replied smoothly, though this was news to you.

"I didn't know you two were so... close," Minje said, looking between you with renewed interest.

"We're not—" you began.

"Running late," Woonhak interrupted, gently tugging your sleeve. "See you guys tomorrow."

Once outside, you pulled your arm free. "What was that about? We don't have plans."

His cheeks flushed pink. "Sorry. Those guys are my friends, but they can be... I just thought you might not want to..."

Understanding dawned. "Are you jealous?"

"What? No! I'm just..." He ran a hand through his hair, mussing it further. "Protective."

"I don't need protection, Woonhak."

"I know that." His voice softened. "Trust me, I know how capable you are. But Minje collects phone numbers like Pokémon cards.”

"We could get bubble tea," you suggested. "If you want."

His face brightened immediately. "Really?"

"Don't make a big deal about it."

"I would never," he said, already bouncing slightly on his toes. "Except it is kind of a big deal because this is the first time you've initiated plans with me, which means you officially consider me a friend now, which is a significant milestone in our—"

"I'm rethinking this already."

He laughed, falling into step beside you. "No take-backs."

@coriihanniee 💌

˖➴ reblogs are appreciated! ty for reading! <3

taglist: @lvlyhiyyih @supi-wupi @tinyelfperson @8makes1atom @s0shroe @imhereonlytoreadxoxo @mydeepestsecrects @brownetry @pumpkg @heeheesang @jungwonbropls @prodkwh @reibelhearts @beomev @taetnyangieee

[mirouie]

AAAAHHHH i'm in love!! new comfort fic 🥺💕

this is soo good and soo comfy, i love this sm ☹️☹️ you always write leehan so well!! he's soft and warm i need him in my life swears

summer haze

an ode to summer and the feeling of home in a person.

MAINS. Leehan & female reader

TROPES. long distance relationship, summer break, mostly fluff with some longing

WARNINGS. Leehan is referred to as Donghyun, skinship

WORDS. 1.4k

NOTES. requested by @mirouie, hope you like it! ♡

The road shimmers with summer haze Even the honking feels like heat

Sometimes you look at Donghyun and can’t believe he’s real.

You spot him first in the busy center of the train station. It’s not hard as he stands out not only with his height but with that angel face he has. He’s looking at the arrival board right in front of your platform and it gives you the perfect opportunity to stare without him knowing. His hair has gotten longer since the last time you met, now the cinnamon brown locks frame his face like proper curtain bangs and they hang over the wire frame glasses he has on instead of the thick frame ones he usually wears during your video calls. His oversized plaid shirt slips off one shoulder, revealing the cute mole on the base of his neck and he turns to fix it with a casual shrug. When he lifts his head again, his gaze meets yours as if sensing your attention on him and time seems to cease.

The rush of the station and the children’s yelling fade into distance and all you can see is the boy in front of you. His doe eyes widen in recognition and his lips part as if to say something but eventually he just smiles. Softly like it’s a secret then wider when you start crossing the remaining distance between you. It's only a few meters, much less than what you had to grow accustomed to during the semester but suddenly even this feels too far. So when you reach Donghyun, you let go of your suitcase and practically crash into his chest.

He lets out a breathless laugh as you practically punch all the air out of his lungs but he envelops you in his arms all the same. You grab at the sides of his plaid shirt like it’s a lifeline and nuzzle into the crook of his neck, taking in the familiar smell of ocean and citrusy cedarwood and beneath it all something so, so him. Donghyun’s hug is warm and welcoming and everything you’ve missed.

“Come on, noona’s waiting at the parking lot,” he nudges you gently after what could have been seconds or even a small eternity.

His deep voice resonates through your entire body and you want to etch the sound of it into your memory so well you never forget. You have a sudden urge to whine for just five more minutes but you don’t want to make his sister wait, so eventually you pull away and let him take hold of your suitcase while you interlock your fingers with his free hand.

Donghyun asks about the train ride on the short walk to the car and only lets go of your hand when his sister pulls you into a tight hug. He loads the luggage into the trunk and ushers you inside. Once in the backseat he offers his hand again, palms up, free for taking and you try to hide your smile by burying your face in his arm. Your hands slot together like puzzle pieces.

Pressed close to his side, resting your chin on his shoulder, listening to old kpop from the radio and staring out the rolled down window as the car passes by the orange skyline, the humid wind of the seaside hits you with a feeling like no other.

You’re finally home.

As the rain falls more and more The sound of shattered waves

You’re fairly certain that Donghyun will be the death of you.

You’re soaked from head to toe and shiver at every breeze coming your way. You can barely see from your wet hair sticking to your face and there’s a spot between your ribs that hurts but you keep laughing, you just can’t stop. Donghyun is chasing you down on the beach in the middle of a downpour because he wants to show you a crab. He says it’s cute and harmless but you refuse to believe that something with more than four legs can be anything but evil.

The sand is wet under your feet and the sea is licking at your ankle with every wave. Your lung capacity must be shitty because you can’t breathe properly with how much you laugh. Hoping for a short break, you look over your shoulder to see how much behind Donghyun is but the sudden movement makes you lose balance. You’re fully ready to land on your butt once gravity wins, so you squeeze your eyes shut but before you know, there’s an arm around your waist and Donghyun peering down at you from under his equally wet and messy fringe. You can see the worry in his eyes and the way his amused smile turns into something more fragile.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers as he helps you back onto your feet but doesn’t let you go. You wish he never would.

You reach up and tuck a dark strand of hair behind his ear, fingers hovering over his cheeks as the pit-a-pat of the rain gets louder around you.

You have no idea where his crab friend went or how long he has been running after you with the simple purpose of just catching you but you’re not complaining.

There in his arms you’re safe and sound and even in the pouring rain, you never felt warmer.

Signboards filling the office streets A starry night with no sign of sleep

Sometimes you wish Donghyun could be your best kept secret.

On days like this you want to be selfish like that.

The sun set hours ago and so far from downtown the only faint light comes from the stars above. The cicadas are noisy around you but the city sounds are far away. You can almost hear your own heartbeat and the echo of your breathing.

You’re sitting on the soft picnic blanket laid out in a valley in the outskirts of your hometown and Donghyun has his head on your lap. You can only take out his silhouette, the slope of his nose and his lips jutting out in the darkness but his closeness is something you revel in. Your right hand is in his hair, fingers playing with the soft locks and occasionally his earrings. The moment feels fragile and special, you want to bottle it up and keep it forever.

It’s sometime later when Donghyun stirs and his hair tickles your bare thighs as he turns his head. He taps on his phone’s screen to check on the time and the sudden brightness makes you squint but not before you see that he has changed his lock screen to a silly selfie you took on the beach last time.

It’s twenty minutes past midnight and Donghyun looks unearthly even when sleepy and in the unflattering blue-tinted light of the phone. His long eyelashes cast shadows onto his cheeks and with the way they sparkle, you swear he must have the entire universe in his eyes.

You’re too busy staring at him to notice the stars falling and the sky caving in around you.

“Look,” Donghyun pulls you out of your reverie with a single word, pointing at the phenomenon you originally came for. Still, it’s not easy to tear your eyes away from him no matter how pretty the meteor shower is.

You close your eyes and make a wish on a hurtling rock.

Don’t leave me, summer Give me memories worth breaking for

You have always wondered why Donghyun is letting you repeatedly break both of your hearts.

The train departs in a few minutes but you’re still on the platform with him, unable to let go. You're the one who’s leaving, so why can’t you move?

Donghyun brushes a lock of hair out of your face gently and his thumb keeps carressing the skin at your temple. He smiles softly like angel wings flutter and his eyes are so full of love that you feel overwhelmed. Even though you told yourself you wouldn’t cry, you can feel tears pricking your eyes.

“I love you,” you blurt out and it comes out as a whisper.

It’s a confession you make and a promise Donghyun seals with a kiss. It’s barely anything, just a graze of lips like a butterfly touch but you feel it deep in your bones.

Donghyun shines brighter than the sun and his eyes sparkle with the radiance of stars. He holds you close and handles your heart with tender hands. He smells like sea, salt and everything that’s summer. He feels like home.

Maybe that’s exactly the reason why. Maybe some things are actually worth getting your heart broken for as long as they mend and make it anew.

END NOTES. this drabble is written as part of my if i say i love you drabble request event. hope you enjoyed, there will be more coming!

title and lyrics are taken from step by step as it is the main inspiration for this story

header picture is from the smart japanese magazine photoshoot

for the first scene i used these pictures as reference

according the the minju's pink cabinet episode, Leehan uses dior sauvage fragnance hence the specific scent descriptions

also because light pollution makes it hard to see stars in big korean cities like seoul and busan, i looked up whether perseids can even be seen without having to go very far and according to the articles i found they should be

☆ BOYNEXTDOOR masterlist

💌 askbox

© 2025 dat-town

[mirouie]

AAAA OMG!!! i genuinely tweaked out for a few minutes when i saw you tagged me on the fic, thank you sm!! 😭😭 i completely forgot i requested lolz

+ lowk i did manifest brunettehan HASGSGDH i'm so happy he went back to brown!! he's as beautiful as ever

++ i'll be reblogging my thoughts on the fic when i finish reading!! tysm for writing my request, i'm sure it's already a 10/10, aaand, i can't wait for the apocalypse one!!! the spoiler image 😵‍💫😵‍💫 i'm sooo sat, tysm!! <33

hello! i'd like to request for your iisily series! i'd like leehan with either 'summer haze' or 'my lips, your lips, apocalypse', and specifically with brunette leehan in mind if that's okay! >< i love your writing, i can't wait to binge read the series! much love <3

hi~

did you manifest the brunette leehan comeback?? the moment i saw that he went back to brown, i knew i had to write with him, so here it is: summer haze!

thank you for requesting and for loving my stories, i hope this will be up to your liking as well! <3

p.s. keep your eyes open for the apocalypse one as well, i already have a concept (spoiler) for that, so i will tag you in the post when i get around to write that too! ^^

[mirouie]

i’m speechless....

i need a minute because HELLO?? this is the most beautiful fic i've ever read, author you are actually a genius because how do you think of something like this and breathe absolute life and beauty into it??

my heart is aching in the best way genuinely this is so good 😭💗

(i firmly believe all jungwon fic writers are talented to the heavens because every single jungwon fic i read is a literal MASTERPIECE)

BELOW THE SKIN

Pairing: Jungwon x afab!reader

Synopsis: They say moles are where your lover kissed you in a past life. If that’s true, Jungwon’s been searching for your skin for centuries. WARNING: SUGGESTIVE + INTIMATE (no smut)

Word count: 2.2k +

Author's Note: I've always thought about this myth - lmk what you guys think.

Enhypen Bookshelf [[]

You’ve had the same constellation of moles your whole life.

They dotted your skin like stories someone wrote in a language you never learned to read. There was one nestled at your collarbone that people mistook for a fleck of chocolate. One right at your wrist that friends would sometimes trace absently. Your hands were speckled with tiny dark spots, enough that you sometimes hid them under sleeves during childhood photos.

Your neck had another. Your shoulder blade, too. A large, almost heart-shaped one sat at the curve of your waist—barely visible unless your shirt lifted just right. And then there were the others.

The ones you didn’t notice at first. On the inside of your thigh. Below your navel. At the bend of your knee. Beneath the slope of your breast.

None of them symmetrical. None of them in places people talk about in beauty blogs or skin-care reels. But your grandmother used to say they were marks left behind by the lips of someone who loved you in a past life.

“That boy must’ve adored you,” she’d said once, tracing one just below your collarbone. “He kissed you like he was afraid to forget.”

You had laughed at the time. You were twelve. You thought it sounded romantic—but silly.

You grew up and left the idea behind.

Until him.

Jungwon isn’t the kind of boy who flirts. He doesn’t toss compliments like confetti or brush fingers against yours just to make you flinch. He watches people quietly. Speaks with purpose. Carries a kind of stillness that makes noise feel like an interruption.

You meet him in a class you almost didn’t take. He sits beside you on the first day and doesn’t say much—just a small, polite smile. But every time you turn your head, he’s already looking at you.

You’d be unnerved if it didn’t feel… familiar.

Weeks pass. Assignments are shared. Inside jokes exchanged. One rainy afternoon, he pulls a loose thread from your sweater sleeve and tucks it into his pocket.

And then one night, you fall asleep on his couch after watching a late film, and you wake up with your hand in his.

Palm up. Fingers slack.

His thumb moves softly over a tiny mole near the base of your thumb. Like he’s memorising it.

You pretend to still be asleep.

“I have too many,” you joke one day, holding out your arm to show him. “Moles, I mean. My friends used to count them like stars.”

He doesn't laugh. He takes your hand in both of his.

Jungwon notices them like they mean everything.

He’s quiet. Gentle. The kind of person who doesn’t just look—he sees. You meet him through a class project, but he talks to you like he already knows your laugh, your hesitations, your tells.

And your moles.

The first time he holds your hand, he brushes his thumb over the tiny one near your thumb joint and murmurs, “Still here.”

You frown. “Still where?”

He doesn’t explain. Just smiles.

“This one,” he murmurs, brushing your wrist. “This one was always my favorite.”

You blink.

“You’ve never seen it before.”

You stare at him.

He doesn't elaborate.

Later, your roommate says Jungwon’s the type of boy who probably remembers his dreams in colour.

You think he remembers more than that.

You dream of him before you ever fall asleep in his arms.

In those dreams, he’s not always him. Sometimes, he wears different clothes. His hair is longer, his voice deeper. You wear gowns. Sometimes armor. Sometimes you wear nothing at all—just silk sheets and a name you barely remember.

But the moles are always there.

The one behind your knee. The one on your neck. The one beneath your breast, especially.

And always—always—he kisses them like they’re precious.

Like he’s afraid they’ll fade if he doesn’t.

One night, as his mouth moves against your collarbone, you feel his hand slide gently over your waist. It pauses over the large mole there, fingers spreading as if to cover it. He kisses just beside it, breath warm.

“I found this one in every lifetime,” he whispers.

You shiver.

Tangled in sheets and silence, you ask him directly:

“Do you believe in past lives?”

He nods, eyes open and honest. “Yes.”

“Do you think we were… something? Before?”

He smiles. “I don’t think.”

He pauses.

“I remember.”

It spills out slowly, like water leaking through cracks in the wall. In the quiet hours, in the pauses between kisses, he starts to tell you pieces.

“In one life,” he says, “I was a scholar, and you were the daughter of a nobleman. We passed each other once at a temple, and I only caught your eyes. But I knew.”

He kisses your collarbone then.

“In another, you were a musician. I waited every week just to hear your voice.”

His mouth finds your shoulder blade.

“Once, I found you after a war. You had forgotten your name, but you smiled at me, and I didn’t need to know anything else.”

You shiver.

“Were we always together?”

He shakes his head.

“Sometimes I was too late. Sometimes you loved someone else. Sometimes… you died before we found each other.”

You lean back against the pillows, letting the silence settle. Then you ask the question that’s been burning in your throat:

“And this time?”

He looks at you.

And he says it like a promise.

“This time, I’m going to love you long enough to make it count.”

After that, you start noticing the pattern. The way he kisses every mark. Not just the visible ones. Not just the convenient ones.

Once, when you’re lying beside him after a long day, half-naked and exhausted.

Then, without warning, he presses his mouth lower—beneath your breast—to that mark you’ve always avoided. The one you forgot to be embarrassed about.

You flinch.

He pauses. Looks up.

“No one’s touched that before,” you admit.

“I know,” he says. His hand spreads across your ribs, steadying you. “You never lived long enough.”

Your breath stops.

You stiffen.

But he doesn’t look up.

He just breathes against your skin like he’s thanking it.

And then he says, almost too quiet to hear: “I lost you holding you like this.”

Your eyes sting.

And something inside you remembers—a flash, a fever, your chest aching, his voice calling you back when your body already knew how to let go.

Your first time together is slow.

You’re half-nervous, half aching, and he treats you like porcelain wrapped in something ancient.

It’s the first time someone sees all of them—really sees you, laid bare, constellation and all. His touch isn’t just careful; it’s reverent.

His lips ghost over your shoulder blade, where a dark spot lives like punctuation.

“This one was on your back when you ran through a river,” he murmurs. “You wore white. I remember seeing it through the fabric.”

You bite your lip. “You're making things up.”

He smiles softly. “I’m not. You had the same laugh then.”

His lips brush the skin again—slower this time, with more meaning than you know how to hold.

You start counting them again after that.

One on your neck. One on your collarbone. Too many on your hands to name. One on your wrist, right where he always kisses you when you’re nervous. One on your shoulder blade that he traces when you’re curled against him. One just below your belly button that he smiles at before pressing his mouth there. The large one on your waist he rests his hand over like it’s a place he belongs. The one behind your knee that makes you giggle when his fingers find it. And the one—the first one, the final one, the one that feels like a return—beneath your breast, where his kisses always linger the longest.

After that, you start to really see yourself too.

In the mirror. In his gaze. In your dreams.

The one mole at the curve of your inner thigh. The one behind your knee. The one low on your back that tickles when his fingertips trace over it.

Sometimes, when he’s between your legs, his lips will pause over each spot like checkpoints—like he’s returning to every place he missed you.

Once, he kisses the one just below your navel and whispers something you don’t catch.

You ask him what he said.

“That’s where I felt your- our first child kick.”

Your eyes widen.

He adds, “In the third life. Y-you died the same year.”

You start noticing his moles too.

There’s a small one on his jawline you always glance at when he’s speaking.

“I like this one,” you murmur, brushing your lips against it during a lazy morning.

“It’s new,” he says, smiling. “I didn’t have it in our first lives. But you kissed me here once, and it showed up in the next.”

You stare at him, awed. “What, like I… created it?”

“Maybe.” His eyes soften. “Love leaves marks.”

You find more.

One near his hip that you kiss when he’s half-asleep. One behind his shoulder you trace with your fingertip when he’s lying face-down on the bed. One under his ribs that only shows when he stretches, which he lets you explore when you press your lips to his skin in quiet wonder.

You whisper once, “Why don’t I remember you?”

He kisses the back of your knee, where a mole hides in the bend.

“You always forget,” he murmurs. “You’re not supposed to carry the pain.”

“But you do.”

He nods. “I’d rather remember and find you again than forget and lose you forever.”

Your roommate asks if you’re obsessed with each other.

You don’t answer. Because it’s more than that.

It’s recognition.

It’s waking up with your head on his chest and realising your fingers always drift to his jawline mole without thinking.

It’s him pulling your hand to his mouth and kissing each tiny mark like he’s saying hello in a language only you understand.

It’s one night—late, breathless—when he has you pinned beneath him, and he leans down to kiss the mole just below your breast, again and again, slower each time.

“I lost you like this,” he whispers, voice cracking.

You wrap your arms around him. “You found me again.”

It’s scary how much you believe him now.

Scary how much sense it makes.

Like your body remembered before your mind did.

Like the ache in your chest wasn’t yours—it was his.

Eventually, you tell him the truth.

“I hated my moles,” you admit. “I felt like they made me look messy.”

He laughs gently, tilting your chin up. “You’re not messy. You’re written. You’re a love letter someone, I, finished in another lifetime and mailed to this one.”

One summer night, you lie in a patch of moonlight, completely bare, nothing between you but breath.

He kisses each mole slowly, thoroughly, until you’re trembling—not just from arousal, but from the intimacy of being seen like this.

When he reaches your inner thigh, he lingers.

“I never got to touch you here,” he whispers. “Not until now.”

You arch into his mouth, and he takes his time, his hands steadying you, anchoring you to this life, this love, this version of being together.

Afterward, you hold him just as gently.

You trace the mole at his jawline with your lips, whispering, “You’re mine too, you know.”

“I always was,” he says.

Some nights, when you’re half-asleep and tangled in sheets, you ask him about your past selves.

“Which one was your favourite?”

“This one,” he answers instantly.

“No,” you murmur. “I mean… before.”

He hesitates.

“You once danced barefoot in a garden. I watched you through a screen door and thought—if I could just hold you once, that would be enough.”

He kisses the mole on your shoulder blade, where you’re curled against him.

“Was it?”

“Never,” he says.

You tell your grandmother once, just before she passes:

“You were right, you know. About the moles.”

She smiles, eyes twinkling.

“I only told you what my mother told me.”

“Did she ever find her lover again?”

“She did,” she whispers, already fading.

And then: “Just once. But it was enough.”

You count them all once, together.

You name them.

He remembers their echoes.

He kisses the one below your navel and calls it “home.” The one on your inner thigh becomes “devotion.” Your wrist, “first sight.” Your shoulder blade, “loss.” Your waist, “belonging.” The one beneath your breast—“the promise.”

And his?

You call his jawline “anchor.” His rib “yearning.” His hip “gravity.” His shoulder “return.”

Years pass.

He still traces them.

When you fight, he kisses your hands.

When you cry, he finds the one on your collarbone and presses his forehead there.

When he asks you to move in, he kisses your wrist.

When you say yes, he finds the one at your waist.

And when he holds you that night—like he’s holding every version of you that ever lived—his mouth finds the one beneath your breast again.

Slow.

Tender.

Certain.

And you finally ask, breathless, “Why there?”

He doesn’t hesitate.

“That’s where I kissed you last.”

That night you fall asleep with his lips pressed just above your heart.

And you think, If we live again…

But you don’t finish the sentence.

Because now—now—is enough.

Now, your body remembers.

And his hands answer every question your skin ever carried.

© taetebebe 2025

[mirouie]

WOWOWOWOW this fic is scrumptious!!!

perfectly sweet adoring fluff aside, i love love love the 02z dynamics it's so hilarious 😭😭

+ i live for nervous rambly sunghoon!! he's adorable 🥹❤️

˖*°࿐ •*⁀➷ 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐢𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧!

➜ summary: you just moved into a new building, right across from three loud guys. two said sorry and the third couldn’t care less.

pairing: pshx f!reader,wc: 14k words , genre: enemies to lovers ish, neighbor!au, fluff, romcom w: rude jokes, cussing, kissing

The elevator doors swung open, and soon you stepped out into the third floor hallway. You looked like you were moving in, which in your defense…you were. The oversized hoodie slipping off one shoulder, arms hugging a stack of takeout containers and a cactus you had that had pricked you far too many times, but that didn’t matter. You were finally on your own.

Unit 3B. That was you now. 

Your keys jingled in your palm as you found the door, nudged it open with one knee, and stepped into the apartment you’d stared at for months on rental listings. It wasn’t huge, but it had a little kitchen with enough space for your mum’s rice cooker, and a balcony that caught the sun in the morning. You spun around in the centre of the room, grinning, almost knocking the cactus you had just placed on the counter in the process.

And by nightfall, the place felt like yours. Your fairy lights were strung up across your living room. Your fridge held exactly a bottle of soda, some tuna you had eaten an hour ago and a bag of unwashed grapes. You lit a vanilla candle, the one your best friend, Jungwon, made you promise to use so you'd remember him… even while being so far apart.  But Jungwon hated travelling, so in his mind, you'd basically moved to another continent. 

Jungwon dramatically declared, “You’re practically moving to another country.”

“Jungwon, I’m literally a two-hour train ride away.”

“That’s basically Europe.”

You rolled your eyes at the memory, smiling to yourself.

Still, you were glad you’d made the decision to move. Three years ahead of you… of being on your own, of learning to be independent, part-time jobs, and what you hoped…a future incoming relationship. It should be easy. It should be peaceful. It should be—

“DUDE!!!”

A scream ripped through your wall.

It came from the wall to your right, a thin wall nudged between you and your neighbours. You could hear celebrations. A voice shouted, “THAT WAS INSANE!” followed by a loud thump like someone had jumped off the sofa.

You tried ignoring it at first, burying yourself under the blanket like it could block out noise. But 20 minutes in, another screamed “HE’S OFFSIDE, YOU DUMB—” loud enough to rattle the walls, you snapped.

You threw on your hoodie, jammed your feet into slippers, and marched out the front door like you were storming a battlefield. The hallway was dim and quiet, except for the muffled party behind door 3C. You knocked, hard, but polite.

The door creaked open mid-laughter, revealing three guys mid-snack, mid-game.

“Hi,” you said, tight smile. “Sorry to bother you, but… would you mind keeping it down a little? I’ve got a test tomorrow and it’s kinda hard to focus with all the screaming.”

The one with fluffy hair, cute little eyes, nodded immediately. “Shit. Sorry, sorry. Totally our bad.”

Another one, long lashes and a goofy smile, actually winced. “Didn’t realise it was that loud. We’ll keep it down, promise.”

“Are you new here?” the first one asked.

You nodded. “I just moved in today, actually.”

“Oh shit. Mrs Kim moved out?”

“Damn, we’re not getting her kimchi anymore, that’s for sure.”

“We gotta eat those store-bought ones that taste like ass.”

The second boy looked at you again, more focused this time. “Oh right! I’m Jake! It’s great to meet you! I’m sorry it happened under… unfortunate circumstances. But we’ll be quieter!”

“I’m Jay, by the way,” the first one added with a small grin, pushing his hair back.

You nodded, smiling slightly. At least they were nice about it. Well, two out of three, anyway.

You glanced past both of them, eyes landing on the third boy slouched on the couch, still holding the controller, gaze fixed on the paused screen like you weren’t even there. His jaw clenched once. No name. No hello. Just a subtle, annoyed glance in your direction before he looked away again.

Cool. So he hates you. That’s cool with you.

The third guy didn’t say anything. Just glanced at you once, then turned back toward the TV.

“Uh, thanks,” you said, lips tight, already backing away.

You returned to your apartment and for a blessed thirty minutes, it was quiet.

Then someone scored a goal and the wall shook again.

You blinked slowly at your ceiling, arms folded under your head like the weight of your patience was finally starting to crush your ribs. Okay. So that’s how it was going to be. You frowned.

And that was literally… how war started.

The next morning, fuelled by petty vengeance and two hours of sleep, you grabbed your pastel pink sticky notes and wrote:

“Dear 3C, I’ve played FIFA before. It is not that damn fun for you to be out here screaming. Please tone it down. Regards, the zombie in 3B.”

You slapped it on their door. Nothing changed.

And the next day:

“Dear 3C, I can’t sleep. Kindly shut up <3 With love, the girl one more sleepless night away from writing to the landlord. 3B.”

You half expected them to ignore it. Instead, you found your note missing by mid-afternoon. Gone. 

For a moment, you felt powerful. Maybe they’d actually listened.

Then 8:43 p.m. hit and someone in 3C scored a goal so loud you swore the bass from their TV made your candle flicker.

Alright. So it was personal now.

You stormed over to their door again, hands on your hips.. It wasn’t that late. You weren’t unreasonable. You believed in joy. In freedom. But right now? Rage was the only thing pumping through your system.

You shuffled down the hall with your bunny slippers slapping against the floor, hair in a claw clip that was giving up. You looked deranged. And for the first time, you were fine with that. You banged on their door.

The door cracked open a second later, revealing Jake blinking like a deer in headlights. His hair was messy. He looked mildly afraid.

“Were… we being loud again?”

You stared at him, deadpan. “Ya think?”

Jake rubbed the back of his neck. “Okay, okay. I’m so sorry. It’s Sunghoon. He keeps saying it’s not that loud and we were mid-tournament and—”

“Tell Sunghoon that his ego’s not the only thing echoing through these walls,” you snapped, arms crossed. “Some of us are trying to study.”

Behind Jake, you heard a familiar scoff followed by a smug voice yelling, “God, she’s so annoying. We were literally whispering.”

You leaned to the side, locking eyes with the third boy slouched on the couch, controller in hand, feet on the coffee table like the world owed him something. He didn’t even pause the game this time.

You didn’t know what it was about his stupidly symmetrical face but your blood boiled.

“Tell this Sunghoon guy…his whispering sounds like a screeching cat,” you said flatly, before spinning on your heel and marching back toward your door when you heard his aggravating voice.

“Tell her she’s overreacting over a couple of friends simply trying to have fun,” Sunghoon fired back from the couch, not even raising his voice. 

You turned your head just enough to glare over your shoulder. “Well, tell him, his shirt doesn’t match his fucking pants.”

Jake looked helpless, standing between you both like a middle child caught in a divorce.

And then, with that same bored tone, Sunghoon called out again, “Well, tell her… those slippers are the best thing she’s worn all week.”

You stopped.

Jake sucked in a breath.

You slowly turned, eyes narrowing. “Tell him he wouldn’t know good fashion if it came with a user manual and punched him in his freaking face.”

Sunghoon finally glanced away from the TV, meeting your eyes for the first time that night. His lips curved into the most irritating half-smile you’d ever seen.

“Tell her–”

Jake stepped in between again, hands raised. “Okay! Okay. We’re gonna turn the volume down. Like, way down. Like you can’t even hear us tiptoe. Right, Sunghoon?”

Sunghoon leaned back against the couch and shrugged. “Whatever. I’m not the one annoying my neighbors at 9pm on a Friday night. Get some friends.” 

You slammed your door shut.

War was back on.

-

The next morning, your plan was simple. A little petty, sure, but necessary.

You stood outside their door in your pyjamas, holding a fresh pack of neon yellow Post-its since your previous ones were used up by the ongoing Post-It war.The hallway was empty. Your bunny slippers made no sound as you padded up to 3C and stuck the first one of the week dead-centre on the door.

“Dear 3C, just a gentle reminder that FIFA will not feed you, clothe you, or give you money. Kindly shut up. PLEASE. Warmest regards, 3B.”

You smiled to yourself and floated back to your apartment.

That night? For the first time…? Silence. Beautiful, blissful silence. You actually managed to revise two chapters and fall asleep before midnight. You woke up in the morning feeling like a changed woman.

But then you opened your front door.

There, taped neatly to your door, was a blue sticky note with surprisingly neat handwriting.

“Dear 3B, you sound like you narrate your life out loud. – 3C.”

Your jaw dropped.

“Narrate your life out loud?” you muttered. “That’s literally called thinking.”

You marched back into your apartment, flung open your stationery drawer.

“Dear 3C, apologies if my internal monologue disrupted your daily FIFA championship. I only talk to myself because your volume settings make it impossible to hear my own thoughts. With all due respect (and ear damage), 3B."

That afternoon, Jay knocked on your door. You hesitated, then opened it a crack. He was holding a bag of convenience store pancakes in one hand.

“Peace offering,” he said. “Also, I think your notes are hilarious. Jake’s been collecting them. I think he’s making a scrapbook.”

You blinked. “Is this a joke or something?”

Jay shrugged, leaning casually against the doorframe. “No! Honestly, it’s kinda refreshing.”

Jake popped his head in from behind, grinning. “Also, your handwriting’s really neat.”

You opened the door a little wider, cautious then shrugged. “You want some… uh… spaghetti? I made it this morning.”

“Spaghetti?” Jay tilted his head.

You nodded. “Yeah. I usually experiment with food. I’m…uh…in culinary school.”

Jake’s eyes widened. “Wait, so you’re like… a chef?”

“Trying to be.,” you said with a shrug, suddenly a little self-conscious.

They exchanged a quick look before barging in like you'd personally handed them invites at the door.

“That’s so cool,” Jake said, practically bouncing as he flopped onto your beanbag. “I burnt instant noodles last week. Twice.”

Jay wandered deeper into your living room, his gaze landing on the dusty old guitar leaning against your bookshelf. “Dude, check it out! She plays the guitar.”

You rubbed the back of your neck, awkward. “It’s just for fun. I’m not that good.”

“I’m sure you’re great,” Jake said, already chewing through a mouthful of spaghetti he’d somehow found, and served himself in a bowl you didn’t remember offering.

You blinked at him. “Did you just—?”

“Plate was right there,” he said through a mouthful. “I took it as a sign.”

Jay nodded solemnly. “She feeds us and plays guitar. She’s better than Mrs. Kim already.”

You sighed and closed the door behind them. “I’m starting to think Mrs. Kim left because of the three of you.”

In between bites, Jake nodded without hesitation. “I think so too.”

“We can be loud,” Jay added, helping himself to another serving.

“Have you thought of… not being loud?”

“We do,” Jay said. “But then we get loud again.”

You rolled your eyes. “Guys, some of us have school and—”

“We have school too,” Jake chimed in, mouth full.

“Okay… some of us care about sleep.”

Jay perked up. “That’s why we got you this.”

He dug into his hoodie pocket and pulled out a tiny box, dropping it into your hands.

You squinted at it. “What’s this?”

“They’re sleep buds,” he said proudly. “They go in your ears and play white noise and, like… ocean sounds or something. Blocks everything out. Even us.”

You stared at the box, then at them.

“Instead of compromising, you got me gear?”

Jake grinned. “Yeah. We like you. We want you to be able to sleep… through us.”

Jay gave you a thumbs-up. “It’s called adaptation.”

You looked down at the sleep buds in your hands and then back up at the two of them absolutely inhaling your spaghetti like they hadn’t eaten in weeks.

You didn’t know whether to kick them out or thank them.

So you just sighed, defeated. “You guys are the weirdest neighbours I’ve ever had.”

Jake beamed. “Aww. You’re the weirdest too.”

And somehow… the next day… they were back.

You opened the door mid-knock, confused, only to find Jay grinning at you.

“What’s for lunch today, boss?” he asked, already halfway through the doorway.

You blinked. “How’d you know I made something?”

“We could smell it,” Jake said, stepping in right behind him, holding up a comically large spoon. “Smells so good. Brought my big spoon today. Came prepared.”

“Uh… I made chowder?”

Jake’s eyes lit up. “Oh my god, I love chowder.”

Jay had already plopped onto the floor cushion, flipping through your Spotify like he owned your iPad. “What kind? Clam? Corn? Pumpkin? Wait… do people put pumpkin in chowder?”

You stared at them, ladle in hand.

“Corn,” you muttered, shuffling back into the kitchen.

Then the day after that… they came again. At this point, it felt less like a surprise and more like a recurring appointment.

“No fucking way. Kimchi stew? This shit is so good!. Jay, you need to try the beef. It’s so soft. How— how’d you get it so soft? Is this like one of those expensive beef? Wakoo?”

“It’s Wagyu, Jake.” You corrected.

“Wagyu~” He sang.

Jay, already mid-bite, nodded with a full mouth. “Can I havefth thefth reshepee?”

You wiped your hands on a dish towel, leaning against the counter with one brow raised. “Do you guys ever eat in your own apartment?”

Jake didn’t miss a beat. “Not when you cook like this.”

Jay pointed his chopsticks at you like he was making a closing argument in court. “This is technically your fault. You fed us once. That’s basically a binding contract. We’re best friends now. Aren’t we, Jake?”

Jake nodded, mouth full. “Mhmff. Whatever he said.”

You sighed, setting your elbow on the table and dropping your chin into your hand. “If you’re gonna keep doing this, at least wash the dishes after.”

Jake saluted you with his spoon like you were the captain of a very tiny, soup-based army. “Yes, chef.”

You looked at the two of them, one already on his third helping, the other stealing more beef straight from the pot, and shook your head.

This wasn’t how your independent, put-together, college life was supposed to go. You were meant to be focused. The mysterious girl on the third floor who only ever came out for groceries and exams.

But maybe… with the two of them barging in uninvited, eating like they hadn’t seen food in years, and treating your living room like it was theirs…

Maybe you wouldn’t feel so lonely after all.

-

It was 9 p.m. Strangely quiet.

Usually, by now, there’d be at least one goal celebration shaking the walls or someone shouting about a missed penalty. But tonight? Nothing. You didn’t let it bother you. You took it as a win.

The balcony door slid open with a soft scrape. You stepped out into the cool night, cradling your little scissors and spray bottle like sacred tools. Your succulents were arranged in a neat line. A few leaves had started to curl. You knelt down, snipping the dead ends carefully.

You should’ve felt peaceful.

But tonight, something tugged at your chest. 

You missed Jungwon. You missed your mom’s mismatched cutlery and the way your dad always forgot he’d already asked about your grades. Maybe even your pet fish, the one that never did much except float around looking confused.

Jay and Jake were friendly, sure. But they weren’t yours. They weren’t part of your before. They didn’t know the town you came from or the versions of you that existed before now.

And even though you thought you’d settled in... even though you were coping...you were lonely.

Without meaning to, you started speaking out loud — just like you always did.

“It’s fine. You’ll do better tomorrow. Tomorrow you won’t feel as lonely,” you said softly as you misted the leaves. “You’ll be stronger. You’re gonna get used to this. You can do it.”

But the lie caught in your throat.

Because you were crying already.

You wiped your cheek with the sleeve of your hoodie, frustrated, betrayed by your own body. You reached for your phone without thinking and hit the contact you swore you wouldn’t keep calling every time you got overwhelmed.

Jungwon answered on the first ring.

“What’s up?” he asked, casual as ever.

“Won…” you breathed out.

There was a pause. Then: “Are you crying?”

“No?”

“I can hear you sniffling, you shit.”

“It’s just—” your voice cracked. “It’s hard. I’m alone all the time. I’ve got no friends. I’ve got no one to talk to. I’m alone, Won.”

“I know,” he said gently. “I know…”

There was a pause. You could hear him shifting in bed, his voice soft and serious now. “But think about it this way, okay? You’re barely in your first month. You’re gonna get used to it. You’re gonna find people. You’re gonna build something here. It just takes time.”

You bit your lip. “You’ll visit if you can, right?”

“I’ll visit,” he promised. “Even if it takes two bloody hours.”

“But you hate traveling.”

“For you, I’d suffer.”

You sniffled. “You’re just saying that so I’ll hang up.”

“You’re right because I’m exhausted from basketball. But also… I love you.”

“Fine,” you mumbled. “I love you too.”

“Chin up. You’re talented and you deserve to be there. You can do this. We’re all counting on you.”

“I know.” You exhaled slowly. “Goodnight, Wonnie.”

“Night.”

You ended the call and sat in silence for a moment, letting the cool night air settle on your skin. The tears had stopped. Your hands still smelled like mint and basil and the faint sweetness of the spray bottle. You stared at your succulents, wondering if they ever got lonely too.

Unbeknownst to you, just a few feet away, out on the connected balcony, hidden by the divider, someone had heard everything.

He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. He’d stepped out earlier, just needing air, needing quiet, needing to be somewhere still for once. And then he’d heard your voice. The words that were not meant for anyone else.

And for the first time, Sunghoon didn’t roll his eyes or make a sarcastic comment.

He just stood there in the dark, one hand gripping the railing, heart a little heavier than before.

He understood more than you thought.

And somewhere between your tears and Jungwon’s voice, he changed his mind about you.

-

The next few days, there was absolute silence. Maybe the food had finally worked some psychological warfare on Jay and Jake. Maybe it was their way of returning the favour. Either way, you weren’t about to question it.

You were grateful, to say the least.

Because for the past week, you’d been moping around your apartment. Living alone and striking out as an “independent bachelorette” sounded empowering in theory, but in practice? Maybe you weren’t one of those girlies after all…y’know the ones on Instagram who made solitude look like a season of self-discovery instead of a series of breakdowns.

It was Saturday. You’d spent the entire morning in bed watching a Netflix documentary about some guy swindling people on Tinder, surrounded by crumpled tissue and scented candle smoke that had long turned suffocating. You were still in yesterday’s hoodie, blanket tangled around your legs.

Three knocks echoed at the door.

You lifted your head from the pillow with a groan, barely alive. The sound came again.

Dragging yourself across the living room, you cracked the door open just a sliver, just wide enough to peek through but not enough to reveal the disaster that was your face, your hair, or your pride.

“Uh.” The voice was hesitant. Familiar.

You squinted.

Sunghoon.

You blinked. “What are you doing here?” you asked, your voice hoarse from crying and a full night of narrating your own spiral.

“There was a mix-up with the mail,” he said, holding up a small stack of envelopes.

“Oh.” You extended your arm awkwardly through the tiny gap in the door and grabbed the letters. “Thanks.”

There was a pause, “I can see your puffy eyes through the gap.”

You scoffed, immediately pulling the door closer. “You just have to be a smartass about everything, don’t you?”

He shrugged, completely unbothered, hands in the pockets of his hoodie. Still standing there. 

“…Are Jake and Jay home?” you asked, trying to sound casual.

His expression twitched, almost amused. “Why? Trying to steal my best friends again or—”

“No,” you deadpanned. “I was just wondering. It’s been… quiet this whole week.”

“They went home to visit their families.”

Oh. Right. Come to think of it, maybe that explained why everything felt extra heavy lately. It was the time of year people usually went home. People surrounded themselves with comfort and familiarity. And here you were, stuck in the city because the train ticket home was just slightly out of budget.

“You didn’t go?” you asked softly.

“Can’t,” he shrugged.

“Oh.”

There was a beat of silence. Then he tilted his head.

“Well,” Sunghoon said slowly, “if you ever need someone to emotionally rejuvenate you by pointing out your hair looks like a rat’s nest, you know where to find me.”

The words came with the usual venom but the message behind them landed differently.

You stared at him through the gap in the door. You couldn’t tell if he was trying to be funny, or… sincere, in his own weird, backhanded way. It was strange. You’d only had  three full conversations with the guy. And every single one ended in a WWE tournament.

You narrowed your eyes slightly. “Are you… being nice to me?”

He clicked his tongue. “Don’t ruin it.”

And with that, he turned and walked back.

-

You finally got up.

There was no movie-worthy breakthrough moment. Just the dull ache in your head from crying too much and the feeling that if you shed one more tear, your eyeballs might actually eject themselves from their sockets. So you moved. You stripped your bed, tossed the mountain of tissues into a trash bag, sprayed half a bottle of disinfectant in the air, and opened every window.

Your apartment looked like it had survived an apocalypse, which, to be fair, was accurate. But you scrubbed it back to life.

By the time you were in the kitchen, your eyes were still a little swollen, but you’d pressed them with cool spoons and a sad little compress until you could see straight again. Kind of.

You pulled out ingredients from your fridge one by one, lining them up like you were preparing for war. Slicing, boiling, julienning, stir-frying. The sound of the pan crackling beneath the glass noodles filled the silence of your apartment. It smelled exactly like it did when your mom used to make it.

You plated it in a wide, shallow bowl. It was delicious. Of course it was. You took pride in it. You always had. Jungwon used to tease you, calling your hands “blessed by Gordon Ramsay” like everything you touched turned into comfort food. You’d swat his arm, trying not to smile as he reached for second helpings before you’d even sat down.

You missed him. You missed your family. You missed not having to eat alone on a day like this.

Your eyes drifted to the door.

Would it be stupid? To bring food to Sunghoon? You’d never really done anything kind for him. Most of your interactions were lined with sarcasm and insults. And yet… that one line of his kept replaying in your head, “If you ever need someone to emotionally rejuvenate you by pointing out your hair looks like a rat’s nest, you know where to find me.”

So maybe…maybe he meant it. Or maybe you were just desperate for company and your noodles were starting to get cold.

Before you could talk yourself out of it, you packed the noodles into a clean container, wrapped a rubber band around it, and found yourself standing in front of 3C. Your feet had walked you here without permission. Your hand hovered in the air, ready to knock, but now… you hesitated. You weren’t here to complain. You weren’t here to yell. And that made it harder.

And just before your knuckles could land on the door, it swung open.

Sunghoon stood in front of you, coat already on, scarf looped lazily around his neck. There was a little shine to his hair like he’d styled it, and he looked surprised, mildly confused to find you on his doorstep without any anger evident in your eyes.

“What?” he said, voice dry.

You blinked, staring at him. You’d never really looked at him properly before. Not when he was this put-together. The gel in his hair, the sharp line of his jaw, the way his scarf sat slightly off-center like he’d thrown it on in a rush. You knew he was attractive. You weren’t blind. But seeing him now?

Sunghoon was actually… pretty handsome.

“I—uh—” you stammered.

His eyes narrowed slightly. “Spit it out.”

“I—uh—I made some… stir-fried glass noodles,” you said, stumbling over every syllable. “And I know how much it sucks being alone on a day like this, so I thought… maybe it’d bring you some kind of familiarity. From home, or something.”

You didn’t let yourself overthink it. You shoved the container into his hands, heart pounding.

“Bye,” you mumbled, before immediately turning around and marching back to your apartment like you’d just robbed a bank. The door clicked shut behind you.

You pressed your back to it, eyes wide.

Shit.

Was Sunghoon actually hot?

-

Sunghoon stood in the hallway, unmoving. The container in his hands was warm and he stared down at it for a couple of seconds longer than he probably should’ve.

Jake and Jay had been raving about your cooking for weeks. At first, he thought they were exaggerating. How good could someone’s food be that it made two of the loudest people he knew voluntarily whisper through a FIFA match?

But he’d seen it with his own eyes, Jake silently fist-pumping the air, mouthing “LET’S FUCKING GO” after a goal, and Jay barely reacting as he scored. They even created a rule: first one to speak puts a dollar in the Silence Jar. A literal jar. With money.

Sunghoon didn’t get it.

And he didn’t particularly care to. Not then.

But now, standing in the hallway in his coat and scarf, staring at the gift you shoved into his hands with flushed cheeks, something felt different.

He had been on his way out, actually. There was a bar nearby, nothing special, just a dim-lit spot with quiet music and decent food where no one bothered him. He usually went there whenever Jay and Jake went back home, like they did this time every year. It wasn’t that he didn’t have family—he did. It just wasn’t… warm. They were always busy. Always somewhere else, even when they were in the same room.

He peeled off his scarf, feet dragging a little as he headed back into the apartment, the door clicking shut behind him. He set the container on the kitchen counter, grabbed a pair of chopsticks from the drawer, and opened the lid.

Steam wafted up instantly, sesame oil, soy sauce, garlic, something subtly sweet he couldn’t name. The noodles glistened. They looked homemade. No, they felt homemade.

He picked up a strand and gave it a tentative taste.

His eyes widened before he could even help it.

It was good. Like stupid good. Like how the hell is this girl not running her own restaurant kind of good. Better than anything he would’ve paid for at that bar tonight.

He stood there in silence, chopsticks hovering mid-air, thinking back.

He wasn’t proud of how he’d treated you. Three encounters, three arguments. He remembered each one too clearly. The snark in his voice. The way your expression hardened. The notes on the door. 

But it wasn’t really about you.

He hated being called out. Hated being the problem. Maybe it was ego, or maybe it was the way he’d always felt like he had to be put-together or to say the least…controlled. Your presence threw him off. You were loud in a way that was sincere. You didn’t filter your emotions. You wore your annoyance on your sleeve and your feelings on your face.

It irritated him. It also… made him feel something.

And then there was that night on the balcony.

He hadn’t meant to listen. But when he heard your voice cracking through the divider, talking to someone…maybe it was your boyfriend? Your best friend? Whoever it was about how lonely you were, it hit him harder than it should’ve.

Because he got it.

He felt it too.

Being alone in a crowd. Having people around but never really with you. That weight in your chest that didn’t come from sadness exactly…just the absence of warmth.

Sunghoon felt it more often than he cared to admit. He loved Jake and Jay, loved them to pieces. They were the kind of people who filled a room with noise and an energy he couldn’t really place and who made him laugh even when he didn’t want to.

He wanted something more. Something real.

Someone who just… saw him.

He sat at his kitchen counter, staring at the container of glass noodles still warm with steam curling from the lid. He wasn’t usually impulsive. He didn’t do gestures. But maybe tonight called for something a little uncharacteristic.

He stood and reached up, opening the top cupboard where Jake and Jay kept what they called their “emergency date plates.”. The kind of plates you used to impress someone. They only ever brought them out when trying to convince girls they were not, in fact, living in a borderline condemned apartment flat.

He grabbed two.

And then, before he could second guess it, he walked out into the hallway and knocked. 

Your door creaked open a few seconds later.

You blinked at him, confused. “What?”

It almost felt like deja vu. Except now, he was you…awkward at the door.

And then it hit him.

He looked at you…like, really looked at you, and for the first time, he realised he’d never actually seen you before. 

You were wearing a soft pink sleeveless dress, the fabric loose and falling just above your knees, cinched slightly at the waist. Your hair was tied into a side braid, fringe swept slightly to the side, with a few delicate strands left loose to frame your face. You looked like you belonged in a pastel painting.

Shit.

Were you actually—pretty?

Nope. Nope. Stop that. Sunghoon blinked hard, trying to erase the thought.

Damn it.

You probably had a boyfriend. Someone smart and warm and emotionally available who FaceTimed you every night and wrote you good morning texts. Someone who missed you from back home.

And besides…someone who could cook like you? You could probably bag Jake and Jay at the same time in under a minute if you wanted. Not that you would. But still.

He cleared his throat.

“I, uh…” He held up the plates slightly. “I thought maybe… you could join me?”

He wasn’t good at this. But his voice was steady.

“Only if you want to,” he added, quickly. “I just figured. Y’know. Glass noodles taste better on… plates that aren’t plastic.”

His eyes met yours.

He was trying.

And this time, it was your turn to blink in disbelief.

-

Sunghoon had returned with the container of glass noodles, now a little colder, a little stickier, but still giving off the faint aroma of sesame oil and soy sauce. You’d reheated it and plated it up, slightly embarrassed that the presentation wasn’t what it had been fresh off the stove, but he didn’t seem to care. Or maybe he did, but you couldn’t tell, because for the first five minutes, you didn’t look at each other.

The clink of chopsticks, the occasional scrape of ceramic, and your ceiling fan. It was awkward. You wondered why he even came. Why he asked in the first place, if he was just going to eat in silence.

“So,” you said.

“So,” he said.

You paused.

“You first.”

“No, you—”

“Okay, I’ll go first,” he said, cutting himself off. He cleared his throat and set his chopsticks down. “I—uh—I just wanted to say thanks. For the meal.”

You blinked. “Okay.” You nodded slowly. “You’re… shockingly formal when you’re not pissed.”

“I—” Sunghoon let out a breath and leaned back a little in the chair. “I was never pissed.”

“Mhm,” you hummed, nodding, eyes narrowed. “Sure.”

“I was annoyed, sure. Who likes being called out?”

“I wasn’t trying to call you out,” you said, tilting your head. “But put yourself in my shoes. I have to wake up at stupid o’clock to learn how to make a soufflé or whatever, and meanwhile, I’m treated to surround sound yelling and the occasional ceiling vibration.”

He gave a small shrug. “Well, we haven’t done it in a while.”

“And I’m grateful,” you replied, lips twitching. “Truly.”

“We got a silence jar and everything,” he muttered, almost like he didn’t want to admit it.

Your eyebrows shot up. “A silence jar?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Jay implemented it. He said if we keep it up, we’ll have enough for extra toppings on our next pizza night.”

You burst into laughter, the sound surprising even yourself. It came out light and real, and you covered your mouth halfway through. “That’s… honestly? A decent plan.”

“It can be,” he said with a grin starting to pull at the corner of his mouth. “Until everyone starts trying to play FIFA like it’s an ASMR video.”

“You guys actually whisper?” you asked, incredulous.

“Well, yeah. You told us to.”

“I didn’t think you would listen,” you said, pointing your chopsticks at him.

Sunghoon shrugged again, his eyes dropping to the plate in front of him. “Well… they changed my mind, so.”

He didn’t say what he was really thinking.

That it wasn’t Jake or Jay who changed his mind. It was that night. The way your voice had carried through the gap in the balcony, fragile and cracking. The way you’d said I’m alone, Won like it was something that had been sitting inside you for too long, waiting to spill. He’d realised then maybe he wasn’t just an annoying neighbour to you. Maybe he was part of the problem. Maybe he’d been making things harder for someone who was already trying to hold it all together.

“So…” he said quietly, eyes on his plate, “why are you alone during the holidays anyway?”

“Couldn’t afford a train ticket,” you said eventually. “I mean—I could have, technically. But that’d mean I wouldn’t have enough money left to buy ingredients for my assignments the next few weeks.”

Sunghoon winced. “Oof. That’s rough. Must suck.”

You gave a little shrug. “Yeah. It’s fine though.”

He knew it wasn’t.

There was a pause. He glanced sideways at you.

“If you ever… feel like you need someone to talk to,” he started, voice casual, “you could just knock. I have FIFA.”

You snorted. “Oh, like I’d willingly join that mess.”

“It’s actually really fun.”

“How fun can flinging a ball across a screen with your thumbs be?”

“It is!” he defended, turning fully toward you.

You raised a brow. “I tried once with my friend and it was so boring.”

“That’s ‘cause you weren’t playing it right,” he insisted, already standing up. “Come on. I’ll show you.”

“I’m not playing FIFA with you.”

“Come onnn,” he whined, grabbing your wrist and tugging you lightly toward his door.

“God, this is gonna be so stupid,” you muttered, dragging your feet even as you followed him out.

Inside his apartment, the lights were warm, the couch sunken in like it had been through a war. You sat reluctantly, tucking your knees up as he handed you the controller.

“Alright,” he said, sliding in beside you. “This is you—Team Two. All you have to do is use the left joystick to move, the right one to look around. This button to pass, this one to shoot.”

You blinked. “So many buttons.”

“It’s easy! Just follow what I say.”

“Okay… so now I just—?” You pressed a button and immediately kicked the ball out of bounds.

“No, no—move left. Left.”

“I am moving left!”

He glanced over. Your tongue was sticking out slightly in concentration, eyes squinted, brows furrowed. He chuckled before he could stop himself, quickly looking away.

Then you screamed, “I DID IT! DID I DO IT?!”

He turned back just in time to see you score.

Sunghoon yelled, jumping up. “Yeah! That was it!”

You stared at the screen, jaw dropping. “Holy shit. I’m amazing.”

He looked at you again, this time longer. Your eyes were glowing, still locked on the TV. Your fingers tapped at the buttons like you already got it down. You bit your lip when you were focused, tongue sticking out just slightly when you were thinking.

And you were cute. So fucking cute.

The match picked up pace. Suddenly it was 2–2, and both of you were leaning in like your lives depended on it. You were yelling at the controller. He was shouting advice. At one point, your knees knocked, but neither of you noticed. The room was loud, just your voices and the music from the game and the way your laughter filled every corner of his flat.

Then it happened.

You scored. 

You screamed, controller tossed onto the couch, and before Sunghoon could register what was happening, your arms were around his neck, squeezing him tight as you jumped slightly in place.

“I WON! DID YOU SEE THAT?!”

He froze. Your cheek brushed his jaw, your warmth right up against him. His hands hovered midair like he didn’t know whether to hold you back or not.

And then you let go, plopped back onto the couch, and grabbed the controller again like nothing had happened.

Sunghoon didn’t move.

For the first time in what felt like forever, his heartbeat stuttered. Sped up like it had been woken from a long, indifferent sleep.

He sat there, silent, staring at you as you shouted at your pixelated team.

And all he could think was well that…he hadn’t planned on crushing on the new girl based on one single positive interaction.

God, he was so screwed.

-

The next few days passed in a blur of almost-conversations.

You and Sunghoon didn’t talk much. Not like that night. Just a few polite waves across the hallway, a quiet “hey” if you caught the elevator at the same time. Respectful nods. The occasional awkward glance if your eyes met for too long.

And then Jake and Jay came back.

And of course, Jake being Jake, invited himself into your apartment before you could even say no.

“I missed your cooking while I was gone,” he sighed dramatically, sinking into the dining chair like he’d returned from war.

“Well, today’s your lucky day,” you said, flipping through your assignment folder and squinting at the week’s task. “Because for today’s assignment, I’m supposed to…” you paused. “Make a really mean chicken pot pie.”

Jake’s eyes lit up. He clapped his hands, nearly tipping his chair over. “CHICKEN POT PIE?!”

Before you could even blink, he leapt up, yanked your door open, and sprinted into the hallway.

“JAY! IT’S CHICKEN POT PIE!” he yelled like it was a fire drill.

From across the hall, Jay’s voice rang out. “WHAT?! NO WAY!”

And then—another voice joined them.

A quieter one.

“Chicken pot pie?”

You didn’t even have time to react before you were suddenly hosting three grown men in your kitchen, all leaning over your counter.

“Guys,” you said, elbow-deep in flour. “I can’t focus if you’re all staring at me like that.”

“We’re just excited,” Jake grinned, chin in his hands.

“Well don’t be. I’ve never made this before. It might taste like ass.”

“Your hands are basically blessed by Gordon Ramsay,” Jay declared, grabbing a slice of carrot from the cutting board. “It’s impossible for it to taste like ass.”

You laughed, the sound soft and unexpected even to yourself. “Jungwon used to tell me that all the time.”

“Oh he did?” Jay echoed, voice teasing.

Sunghoon stood a few steps back from the others, arms crossed loosely, leaning against your fridge. He hadn’t said much since stepping into your place, but now he watched the three of you.

The way you smiled when Jay made a joke. The way Jake knew where you kept your mixing bowls. The way your eyes sparkled, just slightly, when you laughed about something from home. The way they got it. The way they knew you.

And the way he didn’t.

Sunghoon couldn’t explain it but it made his stomach twist. Tight and strange and uncomfortable.

And then he heard it again.

Jungwon.

Who the hell was Jungwon?

His name sounded too casual. Too affectionate. The kind of name you didn’t just drop without meaning.

Sunghoon didn’t say anything. He just looked down at your countertop, at the flour dusting your hands and the delicate way your fingers shaped the crust, and all he could think was—

Why the fuck did he care so much?

You moved around your kitchen with the kind of ease that made it impossible not to watch. Sunghoon’s eyes were locked on you, the way your hair swayed behind your back as you leaned forward to stir something in the pot, the way your sleeves were pushed up. 

His heart pounded harder than it should’ve. He tried to brush it off. Maybe he was just hungry. Maybe it was just the smell of garlic and butter making him lightheaded. That had to be it, right?

Except no.

He hadn’t planned on feeling like this today. Not when he woke up. Not when he brushed his teeth and went on his phone and told himself he’d stay in his apartment. He hadn’t even planned on coming over. And that night the two of you shared noodles? He’d chalked it up to vulnerability. Nighttime feelings. Nothing serious.

But now it was noon. He was awake. Sober. And you were still somehow making his chest tighten just by existing within ten feet of him.

God. He hated having a crush.

He didn’t even realise how lost he looked until Jake spoke up from the side, breaking the spell.

“So, is Jungwon finally coming?”

This guy again.

Sunghoon’s head whipped toward Jake so fast it might’ve snapped his neck.

You perked up at the mention, a smile blooming across your face without even trying. “Yeah! He’s coming in two weeks! I actually told him about you guys. He’s kinda excited to meet you.”

That smile. It wasn’t fake. It wasn’t forced. You looked like someone who meant it. Someone who missed this guy. Someone who talked to him often.

Sunghoon clenched his jaw and looked away, grabbing a water bottle off your counter just to do something with his hands. He twisted the cap a little too hard.

He didn’t know who the hell Jungwon was.

But he already didn’t like him.

“He’s coming over?” Jay asked, his mouth still half-full of pie filling.

“Yeah,” you said casually, brushing a stray hair behind your ear as you peeked into the oven. “He’s staying at my place for the week he’s here.”

Staying at your place?

Sunghoon blinked.

He looked around your apartment, eyes scanning every corner like they were going to magically reveal a hidden guest room. But there wasn’t one. You lived in a studio. Everything was in one space. Your bed, your desk, your kitchen, your couch. Except… there wasn’t even a real couch. Just a throw-covered loveseat that barely seated two.

No air mattress in sight. No hidden folding cot. No suspicious lumpy bags that might hold a spare futon.

Just one bed.

His chest tightened.

Where the hell was Jungwon gonna sleep? With you?

He picked at the label on his water bottle, teeth grinding quietly as he stared down at the floor, like it held answers. It didn’t.

He wasn’t even involved with you. This shouldn’t matter. It shouldn’t bother him.

But it did. In the most uncomfortable, teeth-clenching, mind-racing kind of way.

-

You stood in front of the three boys, arms crossed, heart racing slightly under your apron. The chicken pot pie sat on the table…golden brown crust, just the right amount of bubbling over on the sides, the smell of thyme and butter and garlic filling your apartment.

Jake, Jay, and Sunghoon each took a spoonful at the same time like they’d rehearsed it. You watched them, nervous, scanning their faces.

One by one, their expressions lit up. Jake’s eyes widened, Jay let out a satisfied groan. Well… except Sunghoon. Of course.

He stayed still. Always unreadable. But you caught it. The tiny pause, the way his brows lifted just a fraction. He liked it. He just didn’t show it like the others.

“So—” Jake started.

“Good,” Jay finished, already reaching for more.

Your eyes flicked to Sunghoon. Somehow, his opinion was the one you were waiting on. The one you needed.

“So?” you asked, staring at him.

He blinked. “What?”

“How is it?”

“It’s good,” he said, nodding once, tone flat as ever.

Your smile dropped. You frowned. “Doesn’t seem like it.”

“What? I just said it’s good.”

“No, you said ‘good’ and then frowned and put your spoon down. Usually it’s ‘It’s good,’ then a second bite. Right, boys?”

Jake nodded enthusiastically, chicken still in his mouth. “She’s right.”

“Totally right,” Jay added, already helping himself to more.

Sunghoon rolled his eyes, leaning back slightly. “You’re all being dramatic.”

You scoffed, insulted. “I guess you don’t want seconds then. Tch.”

You clicked your tongue and turned on your heel, storming off toward the kitchen, grumbling under your breath. Your apron fluttered behind you as you moved, and you didn’t look back.

Sunghoon watched your little pout, the way your shoulders stiffened, how you exaggerated every step. He didn’t know why, but he liked your reaction. No, he loved it. He found it ridiculously cute. Too cute, actually. That slight wrinkle in your forehead. The way your voice got higher when you were mad. The tiny stomp in your step.

The moment your back turned, his lips twitched upward. 

When lunch ended and the three of them stood by your front door, Jake and Jay turned to hug you dramatically.

“Never move out,” Jake said into your shoulder.

You rolled your eyes. “You’re just saying that because you get free food.”

“And precisely why we don’t want you to move out,” Jay replied, squeezing you once more before the two of them shuffled out, bickering as they made their way into their apartment across the hall.

Sunghoon lingered. Just behind you.

You turned, raising a brow. “Aren’t you leaving?”

He nodded. “Yeah.” He stepped back slowly, hands in his pockets, gaze flicking to the floor before settling back on you. Then he paused. Like he wasn’t sure if he should say what he was about to say.

“The chicken pot pie was good. I think…” he exhaled, voice quieter, “I think it was one of the best things I’ve ever had.”

You blinked, caught off guard.

“It reminded me of home,” he added, eyes still on you now, a little softer than usual. “Not in the way where it’s about the taste or anything… it’s just… you cook like home. If that makes any sense.”

You hadn’t expected that.

Your cheeks flushed immediately. You turned away before he could see it, pretending to fiddle with a dish on the counter, fingers uselessly adjusting an already-clean plate.

“Thank you,” you murmured, voice low, almost shy.

He lingered for a second longer like he wanted to say more. Then he gave a quiet nod and walked out the door.

-

It was raining.

It was only 4 p.m., but the sky had turned an eerie charcoal grey, clouds rolling thick above the city. Thunder cracked so loud you felt it in your chest, and the wind howled between the buildings, slamming against your windows.

You hated this.

You hated how much you still feared storms even at your age. How useless independence felt when you were stuffing tissues in your ears and jamming earmuffs over your head like you were five again. You turned on every single light in your apartment, lamps, fairy lights, even your microwave light and cocooned yourself under your thickest blanket, barely breathing, eyes wide.

Then the whole building shuddered.

The lights flickered.

And then everything went dark.

You screamed.

Your apartment disappeared into a blanket of pitch black, shadows curling up the walls like ink. Your heart pounded. You scrambled up from the couch, tearing off your earmuffs and patting the walls with shaky hands, trying to find a light switch like that would fix anything.

“Shit,” you whispered, voice trembling. “Shit shit shit.”

You fumbled for your phone. A message popped up from your landlord.

“The building is experiencing a temporary blackout due to the storm. Electricity should resume in an hour. Thank you for your patience.”

An hour? Alone? In this? In the dark? Absolutely fucking not.

You jumped at another violent crack of thunder and instantly rushed out into the hallway. Your blanket trailed behind you like a cape. You beelined for the only door you knew.

You knocked. The door swung open almost immediately.

“No time to explain but I’m shitting bricks here,” you said all at once.

It wasn’t Jake or Jay.

It was Sunghoon.

His brows raised. “The thunderstorm?”

You nodded frantically. “Are Jake or Jay here?”

“They’re asleep.” He glanced behind him, then back at you. “But I could… stay with you. If you want. Until it passes.”

You hesitated.

Then thunder cracked again, louder this time, right above your building.

You flinched. “Okay,” you breathed, defeated.

The two of you sat cross-legged on your couch, sharing a single candle as your only source of light. It flickered between you, casting long, warm shadows on the walls.

“Seems like you’re scared of the thunder,” he said gently.

“Well,” you sighed, voice tight. “I’ve been scared of it since I was younger. It just… gets to me.”

He nodded. “It’s okay.”

You noticed it then…the subtle tremble in his shoulders. He was shivering. From the cold, probably. Your heater wasn’t working without electricity, and the apartment was steadily turning into a fridge. You were wrapped up like a burrito, but he’d come in without anything but a hoodie.

Feeling guilty, you shifted toward him and lifted one side of your blanket.

“Uh…” he looked at you like he wasn’t sure if he was being pranked.

“Relax. I can see you shivering like a dog,” you muttered.

“Oh.” He blinked, then grabbed the other end of the blanket and scooted in beside you.

Now under the same blanket, his body heat pressed faintly against yours. You sat side by side, knees pulled to your chests.

And then, in a whisper, he said, “You know…”

You looked over at him, startled by the sudden softness in his voice.

“I know I’m not as close to you as Jay and Jake are,” he said, eyes trained on the candle, “but… you don’t always have to find them for help.”

You blinked. “Huh?”

“I’m saying…” he sighed, eyes flicking up toward you, and then away again. “Never mind.”

“No, what? Just spit it out.”

He exhaled through his nose like it physically hurt to get the words out. “I’m just saying… you could ask me for help too.”

You stared at him, your eyes adjusting to the candlelight flickering between you.

“Oh,” you said softly.

There was a beat of silence. You weren’t really sure what to do with that. But you didn’t want to leave it hanging either.

“I’ll be sure to think of you the next time,” you mumbled, barely louder than the rain still pelting the windows outside.

You felt him nod beside you.

You turned your head slowly, resting your cheek against your knees, eyes drifting toward him. His face was tilted down, lashes long and dark as they blinked now and then, just slow enough for you to notice. His jaw had softened a little. He looked calm, in a way you weren’t used to seeing him.

“Would you rather have a million dollars,” you said suddenly, “or have no problems in the world?”

He blinked, confused for a second, then turned his head toward you. His chin was on his knees now too, and with the two of you curled up in the same blanket, inches apart, it felt almost like whispering under covers at a sleepover.

“What kind of question is that?”

“A good one,” you replied, lips twitching. “So answer it.”

He scoffed a little under his breath. “Uh… maybe no problems in the world?”

“Smart answer. Why?”

He paused, “I think people ruin themselves trying to solve problems that shouldn’t be theirs. If I had no problems, maybe I wouldn’t waste time worrying about all the stuff that doesn’t matter.”

You blinked at him. That was… not the answer you were expecting. It was a good one. Way too good, actually.

“Right,” you said softly, giving him a small nod.

He looked at you for a second longer before his eyes flicked down. “Your turn. Would you rather go back in time or go into the future?”

You puffed your cheeks out, thinking. “Hmm… that’s a toughie.”

Then your eyes widened, the way they always did when you had a lightbulb moment. “Go back in time!”

“Why’s that?”

“So maybe I’d really weigh the pros and cons of moving to a city where I know no one,” you said with a grin, but it faded slightly at the end.

Sunghoon stayed quiet. 

“You must really feel alone,” he said.

You blinked, startled. “What?”

“I hear you talking about it sometimes. On your balcony. When you think no one’s listening. You talk about how moving here feels like a mistake.”

You looked away, embarrassed. “It’s not a mistake. I just… miss everything back home.”

“I get it,” he said after a second. “I was like you. Back when I was home, I wanted to leave so badly. Thought being somewhere else would fix everything. But now that I’m here… yeah, I have Jay and Jake, and they’re great, but sometimes I come back to the apartment and everything’s fine and normal and still—I just feel… empty. And I don’t even know why.”

You didn’t say anything for a long time.

You just watched him. His face had turned thoughtful, distant. His eyes unfocused, drifting somewhere past the flickering candle, past your walls, like he was staring right through the quiet that lived in his chest.

You mumbled, “Well, yeah. But… I also don’t regret it. Not one bit.”

“Really?”

You nodded. “Yeah. I mean—I’m here doing what I love. Not many people get to do that. And I made friends with three incredibly annoying people in this building.”

He turned toward you again, eyes narrowing playfully. “So we’re friends now?”

Your cheeks heated up instantly. You glanced away, pretending to roll your eyes. “Are we not?”

He let out a low chuckle, the kind that rumbled softly at the back of his throat. “I’m glad you think we are.”

“So,” you said, tilting your head, “does this mean you’ll finally be nice to me now? Or is that too much character development for one night?”

Sunghoon smirked, eyes flicking to you with a teasing glint. “You want nice? From me?”

“Yeah. Like a full sentence without sarcasm. I feel like that’s a reward I’ve earned by now.”

“You earned a participation medal at best.”

You laughed, nudging him with your knee. “Unbelievable.”

He was already looking at you again—closer this time.

“Hold on,” he said softly, “you have an eyelash on your cheek.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

Before you could move, he leaned in.

His face hovered inches from yours as his thumb brushed gently against your cheek, his touch soft but sure. The pads of his fingers were warm. His eyes, now impossibly close, scanned your face with a kind of quiet focus you hadn’t felt from him before. You swallowed.

Neither of you moved.

Your gaze locked, and the space between you slowly disappeared…inch by inch, breath by breath. It wasn’t planned. It just… happened.

Then suddenly, his lips were on yours.

Then it deepened. His other hand pushed the blanket off his head, dropping behind your neck to pull you in, and your hands found their way to his thighs, then to the curve of his jaw. His lips parted just enough, and your pulse jumped as he moved against you.

His hands slid to your waist. He lifted you slightly and shifted you into his lap in one smooth motion. You were now straddling him, knees on either side of his thighs, and he didn’t stop kissing you, not even for a second.

The kiss grew stronger. He tilted his head, hand moving to your chin to pull you even closer, his mouth parting yours with a low inhale as his tongue brushed against yours.

Your hands moved back down, gripping at the soft cotton of his hoodie, when—

Click.

The lights flickered on.

You both froze.

Your faces were still inches apart. 

You slowly pulled back, still on his lap. He blinked, eyes searching yours like he wasn’t sure what just happened. Like part of him wanted to keep going, and the other part… couldn’t believe you just kissed him like that.

You stared at each other, the silence heavy now.

His hands were still resting lightly on your waist. Yours were still fisted in the fabric of his hoodie. Both of you breathless. 

“I need to go back home,” Sunghoon said suddenly, voice low but rushed. His eyes darted everywhere except at you.

You blinked. “Right. Of course!” you said quickly, nodding way too fast. “Yeah. No—totally.”

He shifted awkwardly underneath you, face flushing as he cleared his throat and muttered, “Probably… need a pillow or something.”

It took you a second.

Then you saw the way he was subtly covering his lap with the edge of the blanket.

“Oh.” Your voice came out small. You quickly scrambled off his lap, cheeks burning so hot they could’ve powered your apartment during the blackout.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, already halfway to your door.

And then, Sunghoon stormed out of your apartment.

-

It had been a couple of days since you last properly spoke to Sunghoon. Not for lack of trying. You had…more than once. But each time, he’d give you a quick nod, maybe a polite smile if you were lucky, before promptly power-walking away.

Maybe he just wasn’t feeling what you were feeling. Maybe that kiss was a fluke, something in the heat of the moment. Maybe your little new crush was painfully one-sided.

But you pushed it aside. You had bigger things to focus on.

Jungwon was coming today.

You’d spent the entire morning rearranging your apartment, cleaning it from top to bottom, fluffing cushions and spraying perfume not just on yourself but into the air like it could somehow mask how nervous you were. You even did your hair the way he liked it, soft curls and a side part.

And then, there he was.

The door swung open and your best friend stood in the hallway, suitcase in hand and a grin already on his face.

“WON!” you squealed, running up to him and leaping into his arms.

“Hello, idiot,” he said, his voice fond as he hugged you back, lifting you off the ground with ease.

The shout must’ve startled the boys in 3C, because right on cue, the door across the hall creaked open and out came Jake and Jay, both peeking out.

They spotted you clinging to Jungwon like a koala.

You beamed. “Guys! It’s him!”

“The famous Jungwon,” Jay said, nodding in approval as he stepped out.

“And you must be Jake and Jay,” Jungwon said smoothly, setting you down.

Then came the third.

Sunghoon.

He didn’t move from the doorway. Just stood there, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

Jungwon turned to him, a friendly smile still on his lips, chuckling. “You must be Sunghoon, then.”

Sunghoon’s gaze narrowed slightly. “What’s so funny?”

Jungwon blinked, caught off guard. “Nothing,” he said, clearing his throat. “She just… told me you were like this.”

“Like what?” Sunghoon asked sharply, the scoff nearly audible in his tone.

Jungwon scratched the back of his neck. “Nothing. She just said you were cool,” he said with a shrug, throwing you a teasing look.

Sunghoon rolled his eyes.

You stood there, suddenly awkward, unsure what the hell had crawled up Sunghoon’s ass. The hostility was as thick as the tension in the air and you hadn’t done anything. Not really.

At least you didn’t think you had.

Just stood there, arms crossed, a stiff expression on his face while Jake and Jay welcomed Jungwon like he was already part of the group. Jungwon, ever the social butterfly, fit in easily, throwing a few jokes around, complimenting the apartment despite its questionable decor, and even teasing Jake about the ugly dinosaur pyjamas he was wearing in broad daylight.

But Sunghoon?

He was frowning the entire time.

You couldn’t figure it out. His jaw was tight, his responses were clipped, and every time Jungwon so much as glanced your way, you saw Sunghoon’s eye twitch.

You walked back to your apartment with Jungwon beside you, chatting excitedly about dinner plans and all the places he wanted to visit during his stay. But when you turned back, just for a second, you caught Sunghoon still watching. Still standing in the hallway.

His arms were still crossed.

And he didn’t look away.

-

Sunghoon stood there, arms folded across his chest like they were the only things keeping him together. He stared ahead blankly, jaw tight, doing everything in his power not to glare a hole through the wall. He wasn’t sure what he was feeling.

Sure, he knew he had a crush on you. He’d known since the chicken pot pie, probably. Or maybe since you wrapped that blanket around his shoulders. Or maybe long before that. But what he didn’t know was who the fuck Jungwon was, and why he was walking into your apartment.

“Dude,” Jake muttered, throwing him a sideways look. “You could’ve at least smiled.”

“I did,” Sunghoon growled, not bothering to hide his scowl.

Jay snorted. “That was barely a smile. You looked like you were in the middle of passing a kidney stone.”

“Why do I even have to be nice?” Sunghoon snapped. “I don’t know him.”

“Because your crush’s boyfriend just came into town,” Jake replied, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Sunghoon's head snapped to him so fast you’d think he got whiplash. “Boyfriend?”

Jay raised a brow. “Not denying the crush though.”

Sunghoon ignored him. “Let me ask you again. Boyfriend?”

Jake shrugged. “I mean… yeah, I guess?”

“What the fuck do you mean you guess?” Sunghoon hissed, dragging a hand down his face. “He can’t be her boyfriend.”

“But he is,” Jay said with a shrug and an infuriatingly smug smile.

“No, he’s not. He can’t be. Because she and I…” he paused, realising too late what was about to fall out of his mouth. “…kissed. Three nights ago.”

Jake’s mouth dropped open. Jay blinked.

“I’m sorry, what?” Jake finally blurted.

“Nothing,” Sunghoon muttered quickly, suddenly desperate to eat his words.

“You can’t say nothing when you just said everything!” Jake shouted, grabbing Sunghoon’s shoulders and shaking him.

“Tell us right now!” Jay begged dramatically, gripping his own hair.

Sunghoon rolled his eyes, flustered. “I—we—kissed. That’s it.”

Jay blinked. “You know we were kidding about the boyfriend thing, right?”

Jake grinned. “Jungwon’s just her best friend.”

“We just wanted to see if you’d admit you liked her,” Jay added, eyes sparkling with way too much joy. “Which you did.”

“No, I didn’t,” Sunghoon argued weakly. “I just said we kissed.”

“Okay, Mr Visceral Reaction every time we mention Jungwon,” Jake teased.

Jay smirked. “Say it. Say you like her.”

Sunghoon groaned, eyes shut tight as if the ceiling could swallow him whole. Then, finally—quietly, begrudgingly—

“Okay. So what if I like her?”

Jay and Jake immediately turned to each other with identical gasps, smacking each other’s arms excitedly.

“Oh my god, he admitted it,” Jay whispered dramatically.

Jake clutched his chest. “It’s happening.”

“You guys are disgusting,” Sunghoon groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “And if you keep acting like this, I’m never telling you anything again.”

“Okay, okay.” Jake raised both hands, trying to suppress a grin. “We’ll behave.”

“BUT I’M SO EXCITED,” Jay squealed.

Jake smacked him on the shoulder. “Starting now.”

Jay nodded solemnly, rubbing his arm. “Sorry. That one slipped.”

Sunghoon sighed and leaned against the counter, arms crossed again. “I started liking her last month… when you guys went back home for the week. She cooked me stir-fried noodles, and we ate together. Played FIFA. I don’t know. I just… developed a crush on her.”

“That’s so cute,” Jay and Jake said in unison, stars in their eyes.

“Seriously, can the two of you act normal for like three minutes?”

Jake shrugged, still smiling. “I just didn’t expect you to have a girlfriend before me.”

Jay patted his shoulder. “You’ll get there, buddy.”

Jake tilted his head. “You think?”

“Yeah, you have nice eyes. Great personality.”

Jake beamed. “That’s so kind.”

“Can we please get back to my problem for like a minute?” Sunghoon cut in, glaring at both of them.

“Oh. Right.”

Jay cleared his throat and finally looked serious. “Look. We like her. She’s hilarious, and she makes good fucking food. And let’s be real, you’ve never liked anyone. We’ve been trying to get you to double date with us for years and you just stare at your phone all the time. But with her? You’re like... a guy with actual feelings.”

“But now I’m losing to Jung… whatever his name is.” Sunghoon sighed.

“Jungwon,” Jake said. “And no, you’re not.”

“How do you know she doesn’t like him?” Sunghoon muttered, staring down at the floor.

“Because,” Jay said, “if she did, she wouldn’t have kissed you.”

“Unless she’s indecisive or confused or something. I don’t know.” Sunghoon exhaled hard, running a hand through his hair. “Maybe I was just… a moment. And he’s her person.”

Jake shook his head. “I’m telling you—just talk to her.”

“Yeah,” Jay added. “Before you spiral even harder and start writing love songs about her. But if you do, I haved like a couple of guitars you could borrow.”

Sunghoon rolled his eyes. But somewhere, deep down… a part of him hoped they were right.

-

You were pacing back and forth on your cheap IKEA rug, while Jungwon was laid out dramatically on your bed, arms folded behind his head, thoroughly enjoying the show.

“I’m telling you, he’s avoiding me,” you snapped, pointing an accusatory finger at no one in particular. “We kissed—KISSED, Jungwon—and now he won’t even look at me! I wave, he nods. I say hi, he nods. I breathe in his direction, he—guess what—nods!”

Jungwon hummed, annoyingly calm. “Maybe he’s nervous. Or maybe he wants you to go to him.”

“I do go to him! And then he speed-walks away like I’m the plague!” You groaned, pressing your fingers to your temples. “I’m gonna lose it.”

“Maybe…” he tapped his chin thoughtfully, “you’re just a shit kisser.”

You whipped around and chucked a throw pillow directly at his smug face.

“Asshole.”

He caught it with a grin, clutching it to his chest dramatically. “I’m just saying. Maybe you scared him off.”

“You’re lucky I haven’t strangled you with this blanket,” you muttered, grabbing another pillow just in case.

Jungwon sat up, brushing imaginary dust off his shirt. “You know, sometimes I forget we grew up together because you’re so unpredictable now.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He snorted. “You used to be fearless. Remember that Heeseung guy you had a crush on in middle school?”

You blinked. “What about him?”

“You were six, and you walked up to him at recess, said ‘I like your lunchbox,’ then kissed his cheek and ran off.”

“Ah,” you said flatly, “the good old days. That girl’s dead now.”

“She’s not dead,” Jungwon argued, grabbing your wrists and tugging you to sit beside him on the bed. “She’s just… overthinking everything. Look, if Sunghoon doesn’t like you—whatever. But if he does? You’re missing out just because you’re too chicken to tell him.”

You glared. “I hate it when you make sense.”

“I know.” He grinned. “It’s my worst trait.”

“I just—” you exhaled, flopping back beside him. “What if it ruins everything? We literally just got closer. What if I say something and it all goes to shit?”

“Okay, counter-offer.” He sat up straighter. “You tell him, or I will. I will walk down the hallway, knock on his door, and go ‘Hi, my best friend has feelings for you, she also has performance anxiety but can cook a great bowl of chicken noodle soup.’”

“You wouldn’t,” you hissed, swatting at his arm.

“Then do it yourself!” he laughed, dodging your attacks. “Before I start printing flyers and pasting them in the apartment lobby.”

God. Why did he always have to be right?

“Fine.”

Your hand was already on the doorknob, breath caught in your throat, just about to leave when the door across from yours had swung open at the exact same time.

And there he was.

Sunghoon.

You both froze, hands still gripping the doorknobs, blinking.

You cleared your throat first. “Sunghoon.”

He blinked like he hadn’t already been staring. “What?”

You squinted. “Is that the only word you know how to say when I call your name?”

He paused. “Sorry.”

You opened your mouth to say something else but were rudely interrupted by muffled snorts from behind Sunghoon. Jay and Jake’s heads popped out from their doorway like nosy meerkats.

“Hoon,” Jay said in a loud, exaggerated voice, “we need more eggs.”

“Desperately,” Jake added, nodding like this was a national emergency. “Go to the store.”

Then Jungwon peeked out from behind you with an equally suspicious grin. “Oh, and while you’re there, can you grab some ice cream too?”

You and Sunghoon looked at each other.

“What is happening right now,” you said flatly.

Before either of you could respond, four hands shoved the both of you toward the elevator. You stumbled in, the doors sliding shut just as Jay yelled out, “Don’t come back without snacks!”

The elevator stopped at your floor.

Your shoulders brushed as you stood side by side, awkwardly watching the floor numbers light up.

Then, finally, you broke it. “About that day—”

Sunghoon shook his head quickly. “Don’t worry about it. I won’t tell Jungwon.”

You blinked. “What do you mean you won’t tell Jungwon?”

He looked away. “Well, aren’t you like… crushing on him? I wouldn’t want what we did to, you know… ruin your chances or something.”

Your entire face scrunched up. “Won and I? What? Ew. God, no. We’re friends. We grew up together. Thinking about him that way would be like incest or something.”

And just like that, Sunghoon felt like he’d been hit by a shooting star and given a second chance at life. His heart did a full backflip. You were single. You were available. 

He couldn’t help it. He smiled.

“Why do you suddenly look so happy?” you asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

“I’m not.”

“You’re literally smiling.”

“I’m not.”

“We’ve hung out a couple of times and if I’m being honest, I’ve never seen you smile this—”

“Cut it out.” He tried to brush it off, biting back the grin. “I’m just glad.”

“Glad about?”

“Glad that I didn’t ruin your chances,” he said nonchalantly, looking up like he hadn’t just panicked thirty seconds ago.

“Mhm.” You narrowed your eyes at him, the golden-orange glow of the sunset casting warmth across his cheekbones. He was handsome. Frustratingly so. “Well… because I actually like this other guy.”

Sunghoon’s smile faltered.

“I haven’t known him that long,” you continued casually, “but he seems cool. I don’t really know much about him yet.”

“That’s… nice.” Sunghoon turned away quickly, jaw tight. He was definitely grimacing. Please don’t let her see that I’m grimacing, he begged internally.

“Yeah, he’s really tall. Really handsome, too.”

“That’s just…” he exhaled. “Great.”

“He doesn’t seem super friendly but he has a big heart. Even if he tries really hard not to show it.”

“Seems like a swell fuckin’ guy,” he muttered bitterly.

“It’s a pity though,” you sighed dramatically, still watching him. “I wish I could get to know him better.”

“Well… anyone’s lucky to get to know you.” He tried to smile. It didn’t reach his eyes. “I know I am.”

You tilted your head. “Not to mention… he lives really close to me.”

Sunghoon’s eyes darted to you. “He does?”

“Mhm.” You nodded, heartbeat accelerating.

“Like how close?”

You took a slow step toward him. “Like… just across the hall close.”

“Oh.” He blinked. “That close.”

Silence settled in the small elevator. You both just stood there, not looking at each other, tension hanging in the air like humidity.

Then, out of nowhere—

“I’m just saying,” Sunghoon said, dead serious, “but Jake sleeps with the lights on and Jay doesn’t wash his hair as often as you think he does.”

You blinked. “Huh?”

“I sleep normal,” he added quickly. “I wash my hair. I do proper haircare—shampoo, conditioner, mask, mist. I could do your routine too. For you. If you want.”

You stared.

“I can’t cook, but I’ll try. I can figure skate. I can spin twice in the air. Jay and Jake? Not even one spin. Jay can play guitar, Jake can sing but I can spin, okay? Without getting dizzy too.”

“Sunghoon.”

“And those idiots never clean up after eating your food. Jay doesn’t use coasters. Jake never makes his bed.”

“SUNGHOON!”

He looked at you, breathless. “What?”

You stepped forward. Slowly. Then, you mumbled, “It’s you.”

He blinked. “What?”

“I like you.”

And for once, Park Sunghoon had absolutely nothing to say.

“Okay,” he said. “Cool. Okay. I—wow. Okay.”

You raised a brow. “That’s it?”

He nodded dumbly. “No. Yes. I don’t know. I just—holy shit. You like me.”

You smirked, the smile slowly stretching across your face. “Yes. I like you.”

The elevator dinged. Neither of you moved.

He looked at you again, still dazed. “Hold on, I kinda need a minute.”

You both stepped out into the empty lobby. The sun outside had just dipped below the skyline, casting a pinkish-orange glow through the glass doors. The streetlights flickered on. But you waited.

“It’s been a minute,” you said.

“I know,” he exhaled, hand raking through his hair. “But you like me back, so I kinda need, like… a long minute.”

“Back?” You grinned, the corners of your mouth lifting all the way to your eyes. “So you like me too?”

He nodded slowly. “Yeah. I thought it was obvious from the, uh… word vomit.”

“Well yeah,” you shrugged. “But I didn’t want to assume. Didn’t wanna be narcissistic.”

“I think even if you were,” he muttered, “I’d still think you were pretty cute.”

You blinked. “Did you just—”

“Gross, I know,” he said quickly, face flushing. “I just said that out loud, didn’t I?”

You laughed. “Yeah. But you kinda can’t take it back now.”

“Fine,” he said, pretending to groan. “You’re cute. Ugh. I said it again.”

-

A MONTH LATER

Jay and Jake found it fundamentally unfair. They were the ones who got close to you first. They were the ones who complimented you, made you laugh, showed up when you needed help. They loved you first or at least, that’s what they told themselves. But here you were, doors locked for the first time in three months, cooking a full-course meal for Sunghoon to celebrate your one-month anniversary.

“You’re not allowed to come,” Sunghoon told them flatly before slamming the door shut.

“But—!” they shouted in unison, already mourning the steak they wouldn’t get to taste.

Word on the hallway was that you were cooking the perfect medium-rare T-bone steak, paired with your signature brown sauce and a vegetable medley so crunchy and flavourful. Meanwhile, Jay and Jake sat hunched on the couch, scrolling through a food delivery app.

“Isn’t it funny,” Jake said, arms folded, “how we were the ones who befriended her first, and now we’re stuck with Burger King?”

“Life’s unfair, bud.”

Back in your apartment, things were a little more romantic. You’d decorated with fairy lights and candles, the room dimly lit. You were still being frugal, splitting every cost you could. But you’d managed to steal two T-bone steaks from the diner you part-timed at.

Sunghoon showed up in a black and white tuxedo, looking like he’d taken the prom theme you had placed as a joke a little too seriously.

“You look absolutely gorgeous,” he said, leaning down to press a kiss to your cheek.

“And you look absolutely handsome,” you grinned.

He walked over to the table and took in the spread. “Okay, what do we have?”

“I made the steaks, obviously, and then there’s the vegetable medley… and your favourite—mashed potatoes,” you giggled.

Sunghoon exhaled, shaking his head with a disbelieving smile. “How did I get so lucky?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know either.”

He laughed. “The guys are pissed, by the way. You made me all this, and they’re over there with cold fries.”

“What?” you said, surprised. “I made them something too! Don’t worry.”

“You did?” he raised a brow.

“I had a feeling they’d be hungry if you were over here.”

“Babe, you didn’t have to do that. They’re grown men.”

“Yeah, but technically my assignment this week was pasta and I have too many leftovers.”

“They’re spoiled by you.”

“And so are you.”

“True, but I’m your boyfriend. They’re just two annoying shitheads constantly trying to butt in.”

“I’ll be quick. I’ll just drop the dish off and come back.”

“No,” he said, standing. “I’ll do it. You stay here.”

He kissed your forehead, grabbing the lasagna you’d tucked into the fridge. “You’re too sweet, you know that?”

“He walked across the hall and opened the door to Unit 3C.

Inside, Jay was mid-rant. “I just don’t get it. Sunghoon isn’t even that hot.”

“I mean, he is,” Jake added, “but she deserves better, you know?”

Sunghoon cleared his throat. “I can hear you two idiots.”

They both froze, turning around sheepishly. “We were just joking. We love you, man.”

He held up the dish. “And to think I came here bearing gifts from my girlfriend.”

Jake’s eyes widened. “Wait—is that lasagna?”

“She felt bad we were eating good without you, so she made you dinner.”

“Oh my god,” Jay gasped. “Sunghoon, I don’t mean to be pushy, but please marry her.”

“I can’t,” Sunghoon muttered. “Not when you two are constantly inserting yourselves into my relationship.”

“Okay, okay, we’ll back off. Just—can we have the lasagna?”

“And can you tell her we love her?”

“I am not telling my girlfriend you love her,” Sunghoon snapped. “I’ve barely worked up the nerve to tell her that myself.”

“Wait,” Jake said suddenly, “you haven’t told her you love her yet?”

“It’s only been a month.”

“So… you don’t love her?”

“I do,” Sunghoon replied, almost too quickly. “I just don’t want to come on too strong if she’s not ready.”

Jay and Jake shared a glance before shrugging.

“What?” Sunghoon asked, frowning. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Jake cleared his throat. “It’s just… she already said it.”

Sunghoon looked up. “What?”

“Yeah,” Jake replied casually. “You texted her about picking up those heat packs for her cramps, and she went all soft and whispered, ‘God, I love him so much.’ Her words. Not mine.”

Sunghoon stood frozen in the doorway, the dish in his hands suddenly weightless.

You loved him.

“So… you’re saying I should tell her?” he asked, voice quiet, almost unsure.

Jay and Jake both nodded enthusiastically. “Definitely. Especially if it makes her our sister-in-law,” Jay added, grinning.

Sunghoon rolled his eyes. “God, the two of you can be so annoying.”

“But you still love us,” Jay shrugged. “So what’s the point of complaining?”

He hated that Jay was right.

Back in your apartment, Sunghoon sat across from you, completely transfixed. You were dressed in a soft pink satin dress that shimmered every time you moved. It hugged your shoulders delicately, the neckline simple, elegant. Your hair was curled softly, pinned loosely on one side with a vintage clip, and your lips were glossed just enough to make him stare longer than he should’ve.

And God, you looked so beautiful.

He tried to pay attention. He really did. But his heart was too loud, his thoughts too full. How was he supposed to say it?

Sunghoon had never told anyone he loved them before. Not seriously. Maybe to his mom years ago, right before he left for the city. But this? This felt entirely new.

Because sitting in front of him was someone who made every quiet part of his life feel loud again. You filled in the spaces he didn’t even know were missing. You made his apartment feel less cold, his world a little less grey. And the way he loved you—God, it wasn’t something small. It wasn’t a flicker or a passing crush. It was all-consuming and terrifying and the best damn thing he’d ever felt.

He loved you like it was muscle memory. Like even if he forgot everything else, his hands would still reach for yours and only yours.

“Hoonie,” you interrupted gently, frowning. “You’re not listening.”

He blinked back into focus. “Sorry,” he murmured, smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I was just thinking about something.”

“What?” you looked up at him, ur big eyes shining. 

Sunghoon unknowingly smiled, his eyes dripping with honey, god he loved you. He wanted to say that. So badly.

“I…I just–uh–feel…that,” His voice trailed off. “You look really beautiful tonight. I mean, you always do. But especially tonight.” He hesitated, the words stuck behind his teeth.

You smiled. “Thank you. You look very handsome too.”

-

Later that night, the two of you were in Sunghoon’s apartment along with Jay and Jake for the usual game night. 

You were sitting cross-legged on the floor, your prom-night dress bunched awkwardly around your knees, mascara slightly smudged from earlier laughter, hair pinned half-up. Sunghoon sat slouched in the beanbag beside you, tie loosened, sleeves rolled up, brow furrowed in concentration. Jake was lying on his stomach, legs swinging in the air, and Jay had somehow made himself horizontal on the couch.

You and Jake were a team. Sunghoon and Jay were not handling that well.

“Revive me!” Sunghoon yelled.

Jay shouted back, “I’m busy trying not to die, dumbass!”

Button mashing intensified. Trash talk flew across the room.

“VICTORY!” Jake screamed, leaping up like a madman.

You followed suit, springing to your feet and clambering up onto the coffee table in your dress. “GET WRECKED, LOSERS!” you yelled, pointing dramatically at Sunghoon. “THAT’S RIGHT, LOSERS!”

Jake joined you on the table, doing a badly timed robot dance. The two of you jumped in sync, yelling in triumph, while Jay groaned into a throw pillow and Sunghoon watched with a hand covering his mouth, half to hide his smile, half to suppress a laugh.

“You’re all bark, no bite!” you called, face flushed, hair falling loose. “Your character died fourteen times, Hoonie.”

“I let you win!” he shot back, grinning as he sat up straighter. “I was being a gentleman.”

“Sure,” you scoffed, sticking your tongue out at him. “Real chivalrous of you, sir died-14-fucking-times.”

He chuckled under his breath, eyes lingering on you for a second longer than usual. Then, without a word, he stood and walked out of the room.

You blinked. That was...odd. 

You gave Jake a gentle shove off the table and followed Sunghoon into the hallway. He was pacing outside, one hand in his hair, the other fiddling with the watch on his wrist.

“Hoon?” you asked, stepping out and gently closing the door behind you.

He jumped slightly, turning toward you. “You scared me.”

“You okay? You just left so sudden…”

“I—uh—yeah. I was just trying to figure out how to say something.”

You tilted your head, arms crossing over your chest. “Say what?”

“Nothing,” he mumbled with a shrug.

Your expression softened. “Are you mad at me?” You sighed. Maybe your little victory dance had been a bit much. “Hoonie?”

“No, baby, I could never be mad at you,” he said quickly, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead.

“Then what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I just…”

You stepped closer, teasing lightly, “Do you want me to redo my victory dance? I could. You just have to beatbox, and I’ll take it from there.”

That made him laugh.

“Come on,” you grinned, starting to move your body in the most ridiculous way. “I’m pretty sure I should’ve been a dancer instead of a chef.”

He laughed again, this time louder and then, before he could stop himself, the words slipped out.

“Oh my god, I love you.”

You blinked. Your smile faded. Your brain, for one impossible second, completely short-circuited.

“Did you just say you love me?” you asked, heart hammering.

His eyes widened in sheer panic. “No?”

“I heard it.”

“You misheard.”

“Oh my god,” you gasped, practically vibrating. “You love me. You love me!”

“Fine!” he burst out, throwing his hands up like he was under arrest. “I do! I love you, okay?”

You smiled, “You do?”

“Of course! I love the way you talk too fast when you’re excited. I love how you make my idiot friends feel like they matter. I love that you make me feel whole. That when I’m with you, I don’t feel hollow anymore. You… you make me feel like I’m not empty.”

You grinned so wide it hurt. “That’s because you’re not.”

“I used to be,” he said helplessly, gesturing vaguely like he was mourning his past self. “I was mysterious. Brooding. Sexy, even. And now? Now I smile at cat videos you send me on TikTok. Look what you’ve done to me. This is all your fault.”

You scoffed, “My fault?”

“Yes! Who else could it be?” he said, breathless, like the truth had been waiting at the edge of his tongue for too long. “You walk into my life with that stupidly perfect smile, that laugh that makes everything feel lighter, those eyes that somehow hold the whole damn sky and now I’ve got feelings. Big ones.”

He took a shaky breath, pausing for a minute.

“I used to think I was fine on my own. But now? I get out of bed just because I know I might see you. I hear your knock and my whole day lights up. For the first time, I feel like I know what living really means. It’s you. Loving you. That’s it.”

You leaned in and kissed him right in the middle of his rant.

He blinked, dazed.

“You sure talk a lot for someone who usually says nothing,” you murmured, forehead resting against his.

“I do it when I’m nervous,” Sunghoon whispered, and then kissed you again.

“I find it cute,” you mumbled between kisses.

Sunghoon grinned into the next kiss, backing you up step by step toward your apartment door, his hands finding your waist. “God,” kiss “I love you,” another kiss “so much.”

You let out a breathless laugh. “You’re very handsy for someone who claimed to be brooding and mysteriou.”

“I told you,” he whispered, lips brushing your jaw as he reached behind you, fumbling for the door handle, “you ruined me.”

Your back hit the door with a thud. He fumbled with the knob like he was drunk on you, eventually pushing it open and guiding you inside.

He kicked the door shut with the back of his foot.

You were still laughing into his kiss. He walked you backward until your knees hit the bed and you dropped onto it with a squeak.

He climbed over you, hands on either side of your waist, face flushed, heart in his throat.

“I fucking love you,” he said again, like it wasn’t real until he repeated it.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, eyes sparkling. “I love you too.”

[mirouie]

clingy bonedo :((

WARMㅤ ◞ ㅤ前 ✿ ❜ㅤㅤ── 𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗂'𝗆 𝖼𝗈𝗈𝗅 𝗈𝗇 𝗆𝗒 𝗈𝗐𝗇, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗂𝗍'𝗌 𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗆𝖾𝗋 𝗂𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖺𝗋𝗆𝗌 ｡

GUIÓN, 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝖼𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗒 !

 𝒇 ! 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋ㅤ  𖥔  ㅤ1700 ㅤ ❛ 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿 𝖾𝗌𝗍. 𝗋𝖾𝗅𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉ㅤㅤ ─── 𝖼𝖾𝗇𝗌𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉ㅤㅤ 🥐ㅤ ㅤ𝖣𝖮𝖲𝖲𝗂𝖤𝖱

◜ᴗ◝ ✿ㅤ:ㅤ𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗆𝖾 𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗐𝗈𝗈𝗇𝗁𝖺𝗄 𝗈𝗇 𝗆𝗒 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖽

(재현) 𝖬𝖸𝖴𝖭𝖦 𝖩𝖠𝖤𝖧𝖸𝖴𝖭

jaehyun is lying on your bed like he’s got no bones, limbs sprawled out messily, one foot hanging off the edge, hoodie sleeves bunched up around his elbows. his head is tilted just slightly, eyes following your every move like he’s watching a movie he never wants to end.

you’re not even doing anything remotely interesting—just folding laundry, fixing your hair in the mirror, humming under your breath. but to jaehyun, it’s like the whole world slowed down just to spotlight you.

“stop staring,” you murmur, without looking at him.

“can you blame me?” he says, soft and lazy, and you roll your eyes. he just smiles.

a few seconds pass. then, quietly, he reaches out a hand—fingers curling around your wrist like an invitation.

you let him pull.

you fall forward with a laugh, catching yourself just before you land fully on him, but jaehyun’s already wrapping himself around you like a vine. arms around your waist, legs hooking around yours, face buried in the crook of your neck.

“you looked too pretty,” he murmurs, voice low. “couldn’t help it.”

you let out a breathy laugh, arms bracing yourself on either side of his shoulders. “you’re so clingy.”

“mhm,” he hums. “you say that like it’s new.”

you don’t try to fight it, just melt into his arms, your nose brushing his temple as you whisper, “you’re not gonna let go, are you?”

he shakes his head, nose bumping against your neck. “never.”

after a few minutes, you try to wiggle out of his arms—but he just tightens his hold, trapping you between his legs. you groan, but immediately give in.

“you’re really annoying,” you say, but there’s no real bite to your words.

he presses a kiss to your shoulder. “you love it.”

you do.

you really, really do.

(성호) 𝖯𝖠𝖱𝖪 𝖲𝖴𝖭𝖦𝖧𝖮

you’re mid-conversation with a friend when you suddenly feel it—an arm sliding around your waist, the weight of a chin resting on your shoulder.

you turn your head, blinking—sungho? he’s not usually like this, especially not around other people. but here he is now, pressed up against you like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“you okay?” you ask softly.

he doesn’t answer. just hums and tightens his hold on you, shooting your friend a perfectly polite smile. but there’s something smug in his eyes too—like he’s making a point.

you’re starting to piece it together when your friend finally leaves after muttering an awkward excuse. sungho lets out a quiet sigh against your neck.

“you jealous?” you tease, turning in his arms.

“maybe a little,” he says, not even trying to deny it. “i don’t know… i just saw him looking at you like he wanted your number.”

you don’t tease him for it. instead, you smile, warmth blooming in your chest as you lean into him a little more, fingers brushing where his rest on your waist.

“you could’ve just said you missed me.”

“would’ve been less effective,” he murmurs, his nose brushing your cheek as he presses a few lingering kisses along your jaw.

you don’t push him away, and he shows no intention of letting go anytime soon, paying no mind to the people around you. and for the rest of the day, he stays close—his arm brushing against yours, fingers laced through yours—like he’s not quite done being mad cute.

(리우) 𝖫𝖤𝖤 𝖱𝖨��𝖮𝖮

you wake up to the scent of early morning—cool air, faint sunlight peeking through the curtains—and the feeling of something warm and heavy draped around your waist.

your first instinct is to stretch, but you can’t. you’re being held in place.

when you blink your eyes open, the sight that greets you is enough to make your heart ache in the gentlest way: riwoo, still deep asleep, face tucked into your shoulder, nose brushing your collarbone, arms locked securely around your body like you’re the only thing anchoring him to this world.

his hair’s a little messy, hoodie slightly rumpled, lips parted just barely as he breathes softly against your skin. he looks peaceful. too peaceful.

you shift ever so slightly, trying not to wake him—but even that tiny movement makes his brow twitch in protest. you pause. then try again, gently peeling the blanket back.

bad idea.

he lets out the tiniest, grumpiest noise—something between a sigh and a whine—and immediately tightens his arms around you, pulling you flush against his chest.

“riwoo,” you whisper, voice barely above a breath. “i need to get up.”

“five more minutes,” he mumbles, voice rough and muffled against your shoulder. “s’cold out there. stay warm with me.”

you huff a quiet laugh. “you’re such a baby.”

“am not,” he grumbles, still clearly half-asleep. “i just… like this.”

he says it so simply, like he’s explaining why the sky is blue. like being wrapped around you like a human blanket is the most natural thing in the world.

you glance down at him, only to find his eyes cracking open—just barely. sleep still clouds them, but the way he looks at you makes your chest tighten.

“ten minutes,” he murmurs, already nuzzling into you again. “maybe forever. just… don’t leave yet.”

you don’t answer. you just slip your arm around him in return, pressing your face into his hair and closing your eyes again.

(태산) 𝖧𝖠𝖭 𝖳𝖠𝖤𝖲𝖠𝖭

it starts when you cancel plans with taesan. just a quick text: “sorry, can’t make it today. something came up.”

you meant to follow it up, but time slips by, and you forget. you don’t notice his silence until hours later, when you’re walking up to your house and see taesan sitting on your porch—head hung low, hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands. his head lifts the moment he hears you call out his name.

“hey,” he says, but his voice is quieter than usual, a little hesitant.

“taesan? what are you doing here?”

he shrugs. “wanted to see you. you didn’t answer.”

you blink. “oh—i… i forgot. i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to worry you—”

he doesn’t say anything. just takes a step forward and wraps his arms around your waist, like it’s the only way to make sure you’re not mad at him. you try to laugh it off, not used to his clinginess, but he doesn’t budge. instead, he tucks his cold nose against your neck, like he’s trying to soak in all your warmth.

“i missed you today,” he mumbles, his breath tickling your collarbone.

you pull him inside, and he doesn’t let go—not even for a second. not when you’re unlocking the door, not while you’re kicking off your shoes. you end up half-walking to the couch with him still glued to your side, arms looped tight around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder.

he melts into you entirely when you sit down, arms still locked around your middle, pulling you closer like he’s trying to make up for all the time he didn’t get to hold you today.

eventually, he murmurs, “don’t cancel on me again without telling me why.”

you press a kiss to his cheek. “i won’t.”

but you probably will, if it means you get him all cuddly like this.

(이한) 𝖪𝖨𝖬 𝖫𝖤𝖤𝖧𝖠𝖭

you’ve seen leehan tired before—after all-nighters, post-practice, sometimes when he forgets to sleep properly before a trip.

but today’s different.

he shows up at your house in the evening, hoodie zipped up, dark circles under his eyes, and a shy smile that doesn’t quite reach yet.

“hey,” he says, voice scratchy. “can i stay for a bit?”

you nod immediately, pulling him inside before he can explain or make excuses. he’s running a low fever—you realize it the second he leans into you, eyes closed, skin too warm.

you start fussing—getting him water, meds, a warm blanket, dimming the lights—and he just watches you from the bed, lips parted slightly, like he doesn’t know what to say.

“you should’ve told me,” you scold softly, kneeling beside the bed and running your fingers gently through his hair. “you didn’t have to come all the way here.”

his fingers brush against yours. “i know… i just didn’t want to bother you.”

later, when he’s tucked under your blanket, warm and drowsy, you think he’s fallen asleep.

but then you feel him shift, reaching for your arm. he tugs gently, eyes barely open.

you hesitate—only for a second. but when you slip under the blanket beside him, leehan immediately curls into you, arms winding around your waist, nose tucked into your shoulder.

“you didn’t have to take care of me,” he murmurs, “but you did.”

“you’d do the same for me,” you whisper, brushing your fingers through his hair.

“i would,” he agrees, already half-asleep, voice fading. “but i still think i’m the lucky one.”

(운학) 𝖪𝖨𝖬 𝖶𝖮𝖮𝖭𝖧𝖠𝖪

it’s late, way too late. you’re standing at the door of woonhak’s room, backpack slung over your shoulder, jacket already zipped. the room is dim, lit only by the warm glow of his desk lamp. and he’s standing there, pouting.

“you’re really leaving?”

you laugh. “yes, woonhak. it’s late.”

“but i just got you to myself,” he says, walking toward you slowly. he stops right in front of you and lets his head fall onto your shoulder, arms sliding around your waist. “we barely got to do anything.”

“you dragged me into three different board games.”

“yeah, but i wanted to cuddle.”

you roll your eyes affectionately. “you can’t make me lose five rounds of uno and then ask for cuddles.”

“yes i can,” he whispers, arms tightening around your waist like a little kid. “just stay five more minutes. please?”

“woonhak…”

he looks up at you, lip jutting out slightly. “if you leave now, i’ll miss you the whole night.”

that’s the thing about woonhak—when he wants you close, he really wants you close. he’s a flirty, playful loudmouth with everyone else, but with you? he softens. and you give into his wants every single time.

he presses his forehead against yours, like it’s the only way to make time slow down.

“please…?” he pleads, one more time.

you sigh, defeated, and drop your bag to the floor.

his whole face lights up.

“i love you,” he beams, pulling you straight into his arms and wrapping himself around you like a koala, dragging you to his bed. “just until you really have to go,” he murmurs, face buried in your shoulder—and you can feel him smiling against your skin.

you won’t leave for another hour.

ㅤ𝗇𝖾𝗍𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄𝗌 ◞ @kstrucknet @k-films @sgz-net

[mirouie]

my son 🤏

운학

[mirouie]

i love all of the random things myungjae says but my favorite ones lately are the "kiyeowo kiyeowo kyuu kyuu~~" and "buhit buhit SAARRRRRRRR TAETNYANGI"

[mirouie]

kim ihan i miss you please post a selfie with your pretty brown hair

[mirouie]

the pictures for visual aid oh im 😭😭🥺🥺❤️❤���

this is the cutest thing ever i love it

boynextdoor photo booths

... - ,, what your photobooth pics with boynextdoor would look like <3

idea from @luvjii, check out their post about riize!

﹒⊹ sungho

sungho is so obsessed with you its not even funny

you just understand each other, and he gets so soft around you

so when you bring up the idea of taking photobooth photos, he's more than ecstatic to take them with you

when you get there, and he notices how excited you look to be taking photos, he just gets feels all warm and fuzzy

you try to do some pretty tame poses, planting a kiss on his cheek to which he squints his eyes, embarrassed on the outside but ready to explode on the inside

eventually he'd let his adoration for you take over and he'd wrap his arms around your body pulling you flush against him, face buried in the crook of your neck

you'd scold him for his face not being in the photo, but he wouldn't care, he'd just continue to grab your cheeks, squishing them together, gushing about how much he loves you

you'd giggle as he plants a chaste kiss on your cheek, holding you in place because he knows you get antsy

and eventually you'd give in and ignore the idea of the picture perfect photos you'd imagined

you'd grab his face, pulling him in for a gentle kiss, purposefully positioning your hand to cover where your lips meet as the camera clicked for a final time

the employees would all watch you two emerge from the booth, looks of amusement plastered on their faces at the bright red lipstick prints littering sungho's dazed face

he'd keep the photos in the back of his phone case to always remind him of you🐈

﹒⊹ riwoo

this cutie would be sooo nervous to get into the booth

you'd been nagging him about it for a while, and being the loving boyfriend he is, he's always said yes

unfortunately you two just never had the time; that is until you conveniently end up in the mall meaning you HAD to take the photos

he'd be kind of shy to get in the booth

would let you take the lead

he'd start rambling about what poses to do, admitting he'd looked some up online, fumbling for his phone to show you

you just find him so adorable and tell him not to worry about it, you'd prefer if they were just natural

so you'd reach for him, hands smushing his face close to yours and he'd just accept it with a shy smile on his face

when you lean into plant a kiss on his cheek he'd be genuinely surprised, making the photo even cuter

eventually he loosens up and wraps his arms around you, determined to have the photos turn out as cute as possible

afterward, he'd apologize for being so reserved and you'd just plant a kiss on his lips insisting you loved it

that night he sticks the photos on the fridge of his apartment so he'd always have a reason to smile in the morning 🦦

﹒⊹ jaehyun

oh this would be jaehyun's time to SHINE

contrary to the other members, it was jaehyun's idea to take these photos

he'd been wanting something of you to put in his wallet for ages, and he thought photobooth pics would be so perfect

so you're not shocked when you two end up at the mall during a date

he'd pull you into the booth, not even giving you the time to deliberate on what poses you'd do

they would start off lighthearted, with silly little poses he'd seen online

he knows you're a little less bold than he is so he'd ease into the more intimate poses

he'd grab your cheek, looking at you with those loving puppy eyes

at one point he lowkey goes feral and bites your head, and of course, matching his energy you'd do the same

and for the finale he'd pull you into a soft, gentle kiss making you completely forget you were supposed to be taking photos in the first place

when you two go out to pay, he's already showing the photos off to the employees at the store, gushing about how lucky he is to have an amazing gf 🐶

﹒⊹ taesan

this hard headed fool wouldn't want to take the pics at first

he'd constantly tell you no when you ask to go to the mall and take pics, but one day you randomly end up at the mall together after a date

hmmmm totally not planned...

he'd let you drag him toward the booth, a frown on the outside but butterflies on the inside

he's never gotten over how nervous you make him, he just refuses to show it

he'd be uncooperative at first, simply taking regular couple photos, resting his head against yours, an awkward smile on his face

then of course due to your nagging he'd give in and loosen up a bit, a more natural smile on his face

he'd even let you two put on the cute little hats the mall offered, hoisting you up on his back so you're both in the frame

seeing how happy you are to take the pics he'd lowkey get cuteness aggression and start smushing your cheeks together, a genuine smile on his face

for the final photo you're busy deciding what to do when he grabs your face and pulls you in for a kiss, his hand sliding around your waist to pull you closer

and when you leave the booth to retrieve the printed strips, still in utter shock, he has that stupid smirk on his face cause he's proud of himself for flustering you

he'd do anything for his baby 🐈‍⬛

﹒⊹ leehan

this cute patootie would be so excited to take pics with you

leehan lovesss having mementos of your dates, or little pics/trinkets that remind him of you so this would be perfect

you'd both be so ready to take the pics, having already created a shared pinterest board with photos you'd like to recreate

but of course, you end up freestyling it getting too in the moment together (that's always better anyways)

he'd throw a cowboy hat on you, stuffing one on his head too, his arms holding you tight

he'd also managed to sneak in some starfish stickers, plastering one on both of your noses

he'd just be super touchy with you, hugging you and squeezing your cheeks together because you give him such cuteness aggression

at one point he's just staring at you, admiring how genuinely happy you look about spending time with him, even though its as simple as taking photo booth pics

he'd lowkey get emotional and pull you into a passionate kiss, completely disregarding the camera that clicks, snapping the final photo of the two of you

he literally won't let you go, planting kisses all over your face while he showers you with praise

but you'd be okay with it because he's impossible not to love :(

he'd also immediately post the photos on instagram and set the pic as his lock screen 🦁

﹒⊹ woonhak

oh our non affectionate woonhak

it's not that woonhak doesn't like when you touch him, he just gets kind of nervous, the good kind of nervous

so when you introduce taking photobooth pics, he feels the same kind of nerves he did when he first asked you out

you'd pull him into the photobooth, tugging the sleeve of his hoodie so he'd shuffle closer to you

his face is beet red when you sling your arm over his shoulder, shifting him down to your height

you'd smush the side of your cheek against his, smiling

you know how he gets about physical touch so you wouldn't go overboard

but woonhak notices, he notices and it only makes him want to push his boundaries because of how patient you are with him

so he slings his arm around your shoulder, gripping your chin as he shoots the camera a silly face

then, bold as ever, he'd plant a chaste kiss against your cheek when you're not looking, the photo capturing your off guard expression

and you? you'd be so excited that your boyfriend was comfortable enough to kiss you on the cheek

you'd never let him live it down, often teasing him about it. he'd pretend to get mad, but the grin on his face would always say otherwise

you'd always be his baby, no matter what <3 🧸

a/n: ik this trend is old, but i saw one about riize and just couldn't resist doing one for our boys :3 enjoy, and check out more of my works below :p

m.list

[mirouie]

chat....

he did this for me!!! i can't believe brunettehan is back, he's soooo gorgeous 🥹🥹🥹

[mirouie]

damn...........

now usually i don't care much about kpop artists' bodies but bro leehan 😩😩😩😩😩😩😩 i’m shaking in my boots

LEEHAN: 'No Limit' ver scans by focatboy

[mirouie]

SHUT UPPPPP THIS IS SO CUTE 😭😭���😭😭

when words fail

taesan x fem!reader (self insert lowk)

summary: a new job at the convenience store introduces you to a love you never thought you would find :3

wc : 4.9k

friday nights are usually your designated nights. you enjoy spending time cuddled up in your bedroom, duvet draped over your body while you watch your favorite kpop band perform on your laptop screen.

despite being unable to see them live, the feeling is electric—unreal, even. but those nights of solace are no longer, and all because you decided to get a job. it isn’t easy finding a place suitable to your taste, but you manage to find one at the convenience store on the corner of your street, a place you frequent.

of course you don’t choose to get a job out of the blue, there’s an underlying reason. that being your desire to see your favorite band in concert. though watching through the screen is enjoyable, the feeling of seeing them live is unmatched.

listening to their heavenly vocals, seeing their elaborate and skilled dance moves along with their angelically crafted faces in person? you’d be a fool to turn down a chance at experiencing that.

that’s why you’re standing in the doorway of the convenience store, application in hand as the owner, an older man with graying hair, leads you inside the store. “come, come!” he ushers you in warmly, a gentle smile on his face.

“i’m sure you got the email about getting the job already.”

you nod, following closely behind as he leads you to the register. the register that changes the course of your experience at your new job, and all because of one boy.

he’s gorgeous. extremely tall and sharp featured with high cheekbones and the cutest pouty lips. his face holds no expression, but his eyes, his eyes speak to you more than you believe he ever could.

“ah, this is taesan!” your manager introduces excitedly, ushering the boy to come out from the counter. he complies, steadily making his way out until he’s in front of you.

“taesan, this is yn. she’s the new employee i was telling you about.”

you bow, to which he reciprocates, before offering your hand out for a handshake. he glances down, slightly surprised, before taking your hand in his own. his hand is soft, but you can feel the slight callouses—a testament of hard work.

“nice to meet you.” he says, voice silky smooth and full of honey. this job is only supposed to be a means of getting money, but your introduction to taesan makes you second guess your intentions.

would it be all that bad to find romance if you were still making money? 

“i’m hoping you can start soon. i know it’s short notice, but can you come in tomorrow?”

“definitely,” you reassure him, offering a small smile. your manager thanks you, before leading you around the backroom where the employees stay. all the while, you find it hard to keep your eyes off of taesan.

he’s just so captivating.

you’re in for a lot of trouble.

–

the next day, you begrudgingly roll out of bed an hour earlier than usual. yes, having money is exciting, but your beauty sleep will always be more important. nonetheless, you make it to the store in just the knick of time, quickly greeting a bored looking taesan who lazily nods in acknowledgment.

“morning,” you mumble, bowing quickly, before disappearing into the back room. taesan’s eyes follow your figure, a slight quirk of the corner of his lips making an appearance at your disheveled semblance.

“rough morning?” he asks when you finally emerge from the room, hands hurriedly tying the straps of your apron behind your back. you nod, brushing your hair out of your face before joining him at the register.

he just chuckles, and holds his hand out. you tilt your head in confusion.

“huh?”

“phone.” he says simply, brows raising expectantly.

you pout, muttering under your breath as you dig in your pocket to hand him your phone. then he laughs, a genuine laugh, and it makes you look up at him, and the sight makes your breath hitch.

he’s even cuter when he smiles.

“i’m just messing with you. i’m supposed to be training you today though. are you ready?” he leans against the counter, eyes never leaving your face.

you nod, speechless, to which he claps his hands together.

“alright, first up i’ll teach you about the register.”

training goes relatively smoothly, as smooth as it can go, with a few blips here and there. he teaches you the ins and outs of using the register, including all of the shortcuts he’s managed to create since working there.

he also goes over how to take inventory (something so tedious it quickly becomes your least favorite task), and of course what he likes to call “standard” customer service skills. though to you, the skills are a lot more than just the bare minimum.

taesan is impossible to ignore. he’s extremely kind to the customers, speaking lightheartedly to them as if it’s second nature. it’s obvious to you that he’s grown a reputation around the store, judging by how receptive customers both young and old are to him.

it’s kind of endearing to watch.

“you’re good at that,” you comment once rush hour ends. he shrugs, picking a piece of lint from off of his apron. “it gets easier when you get used to it.” you nod, continuing to wipe down the counter.

the sun has already begun to set by now, the moon illuminating brightly, casting dark shadows along the sidewalk. you look through the window, huffing at the sight. today goes by quicker than you expect.

if every work day is like today, you wouldn’t mind having a job at all. especially with eye candy like taesan.

“ah, almost forgot,” he says suddenly, weaving past you and toward the shelves. you watch him, confused, when he motions for you to follow him. “forgot what?”

“another shortcut.” he says matter-of-factly, leading you to the 3 layered carts filled with crates of what you assume to be merchandise.

“i was going to teach you tomorrow, but doing it like this makes it so much easier.”

“doing what like what?” you ask, bewildered.

“stocking, duh?” he says as he crouches down to lift a box of merchandise from the cart. you nod in understanding, grabbing a box of your own. but what you don’t realize is that convenience store snacks can be so heavy, and you nearly topple over at the mere weight of the box.

“what’s in this, bricks?” he chuckles at your expense, plopping the box he holds down to assist you with yours. you thank him, heading over to the aisle that corresponds with the box.

“it’s pretty self-explanatory, just make sure you arrange them neatly or the owner gets mad. doing it the night before makes your job so much easier.” he explains, crossing his arms, his body leaning against the shelf.

“i’ll help you today, but most days we split up the work.”

you nod, shooting him a thumbs up, turning to get to work. stocking is pretty easy, and it quickly becomes your favorite task. taesan is right about everything being relatively simple— all you have to do is find the correct spot and organize it in a neat way, something you enjoy doing anyway.

in fact, you enjoy it so much you secretly wish you could rearrange all the shelves, but you don’t get paid enough for that. everything goes smoothly until it’s time for you to reach the dreaded top shelf.

you click your tongue, turning to see if there’s a stool nearby, but there isn’t. so being the ever independent girl you are, you figure out a way to reach the top shelf—for the most part.

brilliantly, tossing the bowls of ramen on the shelf seems to be working perfectly. they even manage to align themselves correctly, something you chalk up to divine intervention. but as you near the front of the row of ramen, it gets more difficult.

you huff, shifting on your tippy toes, hands stretching as far as they can to slide the final bowl of buldak on the shelf, but you’re just short of it.

then, warmth.

the feeling of something—someone—coming up behind you makes your body grow slack, your weight shifting back to your heels as taesan’s hand grabs the cup from your hand, effortlessly sliding it into place.

you feel your breath catch in your throat, cheeks warming at the feeling of his body so close to yours, but the feeling only lasts a second. he dusts his hands off, placing them on his hips with a sigh.

“next time, ask for help.” he says simply, as if he hasn’t almost just given you a heart attack. you feel like a freak for reading into it, but how could you not? your oddly attractive new coworker just comes up behind you and helps you reach the top shelf.

it’s like something straight out of a drama. “whatever.” you stumble over your words, hiding your face as you quickly walk over to the backroom. taesan watches you, a perplexed look on his face, before shrugging.

–

for the next few weeks, you consistently go to work, and things run smoothly. customers start to warm up to you, the tasks become muscle memory, and the job isn’t too tiring, so you still have enough time to have a social life outside of it.

needless to say, getting this job is a blessing.

as for taesan, he’s still his usual polite self, but he’s sort of closed off, you notice. at first it kind of bothers you, but you chalk it up to him being an introvert. plus, it’s better this way.

who knows how fast you would fold if a friendship bloomed between the two of you.

but after a while of smooth sailing, taesan starts growing increasingly agitated at the unspoken awkwardness that seems to loom between the two of you. yeah, you’re friendly—sometimes even having small conversations here and there—but there’s still this odd feeling of tension. heavy, yet unserious at the same time.

it’s driving him insane.

so he does what any other logical person would do: he decides to confront you about it.

the first time taesan tries to bring it up, it doesn’t go too well. in truth, it just makes things even more awkward than they were.

“yn?” he calls for you one day while you’re busy restocking the shelves.

you pause, dusting off your apron and walking toward him.

“yeah?”

“is everything… okay between us?” and the way he says it—hesitant and soft—makes it so hard for you not to believe there’s a double meaning behind his words. makes it hard to believe he doesn’t mean something else by it. but as delusional as you are about your favorite band, you know the difference between fantasy and reality.

and this is reality. taesan doesn’t mean anything by it. “of course, why?” you chuckle to ease the awkwardness. he just scratches the back of his head, nodding before motioning for you to go back to work.

after that, you make sure to keep extra distance from him. whenever he’s talking to a customer, you hide on the opposite side of the store so he can’t pull you into the conversation.

during breaks, you insist on eating after him just so you won’t be alone with him in the breakroom.

but taesan isn’t stupid. he notices, and it bothers him. but he doesn’t know if he’s reading too much into it. maybe you have a reason, or maybe it really is just all in his head.

he won’t know for sure unless he tests it—so he does.

“yn, i need your help with the register!”

you quickly jog up to him, slipping behind the counter to assist.

“what’s up?”

he hums, tapping a few random buttons, hoping you won’t notice his blatant acting. “i keep getting stuck on this screen when i try to exit.”

you look up at him, confused, tapping a few buttons before the register returns to its original screen. “how do you not know this? you’ve been working here longer than me,” you tease, turning to head back to your task.

“wait,” he suddenly says, reaching a hand out to stop you. you glance down at his hovering hand before he quickly retracts it, motioning for you to come back.

“there’s this thing too,” he says, inching closer to where you stand in front of the register. and you, being you, notice this, and begin to scoot further and further away from him.

“what thing?” you accidentally stutter, forehead creasing in embarrassment. you hadn’t meant to show your nervousness, it just happens.

“this.” he taps a random button on the screen, attempting to lean in closer to you again. this time, you take a full step back, nervously giggling at your sudden closeness.

this time, there’s no mistaking it. you deliberately take a step away from him when he moves close to you, and he wants to know why. so he moves again. then you move again—away from him.

the two of you play this little dance until he has you backed against the wall, your hands raised in surrender. it doesn’t help that he refuses to break eye contact the entire time.

“what are you doing?” you ask, your voice coming out as a squeak.

he doesn’t say anything. his eyes continue to bore into your face, engraving every feature of yours into his memory.

then, finally: “why do you act so awkward around me?”

you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding when he steps back, arms crossing. you shrug, trying to wave him off, trying to pretend han taesan didn’t just have you cornered against the wall.

that you hadn’t just seen his gorgeously carved face up close—too close.

“i don’t. it’s just my personality.”

but taesan doesn’t buy it. instead, he scoffs, muttering something under his breath, still refusing to let it go.

“well if we’re going to be coworkers we need to be comfortable with each other. let’s spend our lunch break together.” he insists, leaving no room for refusal.

you sputter, blinking in confusion while he nudges you from behind the counter. “now get back to stocking.”

—

when lunchtime rolls around, your nerves are on ten. taesan closes the store, flipping the open sign to closed, leaving you absolutely no options for escape.

you know it’s ridiculous to be this nervous about sharing lunch with him, but it’s impossible not to be—especially when he looks like that, when he looks at you like that. like you’re the only person in the world.

you touch your finger to your lips, tracing them—a nervous habit you’ve picked up. taesan finally enters the backroom, two bowls of steaming ramen in hand as he sets one down in front of you.

“alright, let’s get to know each other.”

you snort at the way he says it, like it’s a mission that has to be completed. that earns you a slight smile from him, and in that moment, you wish you were a comedian just so you could see that radiant smile every day.

“ask me any question, i don’t bite,” he adds, picking up his chopsticks. you nod in thought, swirling the noodles in your bowl before mustering up the courage to speak.

“when did you start working here?”

“i started a year or two ago, in my first year of university,” he answers, taking a big bite of his ramen. you take one of your own, humming in understanding.

“university? how old are you, and what are you studying?”

“i’m twenty, and i’m studying music production.” you don’t miss the way his eyes seem to twinkle at the topic of music—it’s kind of cute.

“enough about me. what about you?”

you cover your mouth as you chew, freezing at the sudden question.

“me? what do you want to know?”

“everything you asked me.”

you hum, setting your bowl down. “i’m eighteen, i’m in my first year of university, and i’m studying math.”

he gasps, making a dramatic face of disgust. “math? who does that to themselves?”

you smile, rolling your eyes. “intelligent people.”

the two of you keep eating and chatting, and the more time you spend with him, the more you realize how much you enjoy just being around him. maybe avoiding him hadn’t been such a good idea after all.

“oh, i’ve been meaning to ask,” he says suddenly, just as the conversation begins to wind down. “is there any particular reason you got a job?”

you pause, a ghost of a smile tugging at your lips. you’ve got two options: lie and say it’s for tuition, or be honest. judging by the way he’s looking at you, option one sounds appealing—but for some reason, you can’t bring yourself to lie.

“don’t laugh at me…” you start, hanging your head in shame.

he laughs before you even get the words out. “i won’t, i won’t.”

you exhale, shutting your eyes. “i’m saving up to fund my obsession with this boy band,” you finally admit.

taesan puffs his cheeks, a terrible attempt at holding in his laugh, but it bursts out all at once. “you only got a job for kpop?” he sputters between laughs, hunched over in his chair.

“that’s some serious dedication,” he teases, once he’s caught his breath and sips his water.

“see, this is why i didn’t want to tell you,” you whine, fiddling with the cap of your water bottle. he shrugs, clearly not serious.

“i’m just teasing you. what group is it?”

“it’s this band called boynextdoor,” you say, already pulling out your phone to show him a song. he hums, feigning interest. if he’s being honest, the idea of a kpop group you’re obsessed with doesn’t exactly excite him, but if pretending to care makes you happy—he’ll do it in a heartbeat.

he hums along as you scroll through photos of them littered across your pinterest board, explaining the lore of the group. “they sound alright,” he comments, trying to sound casual.

“alright? they’re more than alright! let me show you their newest album!”

–

for the next few weeks, you and taesan grow closer—a lot closer than you intended or imagined. spending lunch breaks together becomes part of your daily routine, and if you’re honest, you look forward to them every single day.

taesan also gets much more comfortable around you, which means the teasing starts. relentless teasing. he constantly pokes fun at how your cheeks puff up when you eat, how your voice goes an octave higher when talking to older customers, or how you have this oddly specific system for organizing shelves.

of course, you cherish this new bond between the two of you. but the more time you spend together, the more your crush grows. at first, it was just physical attraction—but now, after actually getting to know him, it’s worse. or better. depending on how you look at it.

he’s sweet. he’s thoughtful. and he’s stupidly talented. falling for him was inevitable, and honestly, you can’t even blame yourself. but you’re not going to act on it. that would just make things weird, so instead—you set boundaries.

invisible boundaries that taesan seems determined to ignore.

he’s surprisingly touchy. always resting his hand on your shoulder, hovering near your waist when he brushes past, placing his palm lightly on your lower back if you’re in his way.

he also makes weird comments sometimes—calls you cute, slips in random compliments like it’s nothing. it’s confusing. he’s confusing. and impossible to gauge. still, you brush off the moments, chalking them up to his personality. until today.

today was supposed to be a normal day. rush hour ended early, which meant the store was quiet. quiet enough for you to pull out your phone and fangirl over your favorite group, who just so happened to be performing live tonight. the timing was awful—their set landed during the last hour of your shift—but with no customers, you had more than enough time to indulge.

taesan’s off sweeping the floor, music blaring through his earbuds, completely unaware as you prop your phone up against the register and clap your hands like a kid on christmas. the live starts, and you’re already grinning at the comment section flooding in.

“yn, i finished—” he pauses, catching the pure joy on your face. he’s never seen you look this animated before. it’s… kinda cute.

“what are you doing?” he asks, eyes flicking to your phone.

“my favorite group performs tonight!” you practically squeal, looking up at him with genuine excitement.

he hums, sets the broom aside, and walks over, arms crossed as he leans in slightly to see your screen.

“that’s what’s got you this worked up?” he teases. normally, your heart would flutter at how close he’s standing, but you’re too focused on the angels on your screen to care.

taesan glances sideways at you, a weird twinge of irritation rising in his chest. he doesn’t get what’s so great about these guys. hell, you haven’t even looked at him since they came on.

then, it happens.

you squeal—loudly—as one of the members lifts his shirt to flash his abs. taesan squints at the screen, scoffing.

“did you see that? he just showed us his abs! oh my gosh, they’re glorious! if i could see that in person…” you gush, completely in your own world, rambling about how unreal it’d be to see them live.

taesan rolls his eyes. “they’re not that cool. anybody can have abs.”

“tch, not just anybody. look at you, for example.” you shoot back without missing a beat, eyes still locked on the performance.

he frowns—actually frowns—at how easily you dismiss him. he knows you’re joking, but something about your total lack of attention gets under his skin.

“oh yeah? you want to bet?” he says suddenly, leaning in even closer.

you wave him off, still replaying your favorite part of the performance. “yeah right—”

“how am i supposed to show you if you won’t even look at me?”

you scoff, finally turning to give him a piece of your mind—but stop cold when you see what’s in front of you.

taesan’s hands are gripping the hem of his shirt, lifting it just enough to reveal a sliver of his abs.

“what are you doing?! stop!” you squeak, immediately turning away, flustered out of your mind.

he laughs—really laughs—smoothing down his shirt like he didn’t just flash you.

“i’m taking fifteen,” you mumble, cheeks burning as you practically sprint to the backroom. you fan your face, glaring at the sound of his laughter echoing from the front.

you cannot believe he just did that.

but taesan? oh, he’s smug. leaning against the counter with a smile tugging at his lips, proud of himself for successfully pulling your attention off your beloved boy band—and back onto him.

–

later that night, your face is buried in your pillow, a poor attempt at self-suffocation. no matter how hard you try to erase the image from your mind, that moment with taesan plays over and over like a broken record.

he makes it so hard not to like him.

you scream into your pillow, fists pounding the mattress, when a notification sounds from your phone. confused, you reach over, mouth falling open at taesan’s name flashing on your screen.

taesan: what’s so great about boynextdoor anyway? anyone could do what they do you: are you seriously still on that? taesan: yes, you were going crazy over them you: yeah, bc they’re amazing. they can sing, dance, rap plus their beauty is hard to find taesan: not really you: yes really taesan: who’s cuter me or them? you: stop asking weird questions

(read 11:09 pm)

you sigh, dropping your phone back onto your pillow. the more you think about it, the more delusional you feel about the chance taesan might actually like you back.

come to think of it, he’s been acting weirder than usual lately—complimenting you more, always finding reasons to be close, even now asking questions about what you think of him.

of course you think taesan is cuter, but you’d never tell him that. that would just make everything awkward.

then, another notification.

this time, it’s a voice message from him. your breath catches as your finger hovers over the play button.

you press play—and immediately regret it.

it’s taesan singing, his voice steady and smooth, filled with emotion. of course, he chose a song from your favorite group.

and just as the message ends, you hear his voice—low, sleepy—

“goodnight yn.”

–

work is unbearable. things between you two are awkward, and it’s mostly your fault. you absolutely refuse to make eye contact with him, and when you can, you avoid him. taesan looks slightly confused by the sudden change in your attitude.

the two of you had made so much progress — only for it to unravel in exactly one day. he isn’t going to let that slide.

“yn,” he hums, as you pretend to be busy wiping down the counter.

“yn,” he says again, more urgently this time. you exhale and finally tear your eyes away from the counter to look at him.

“yes, taesan?”

“why are you being weird again?”

you wish you could slap him for asking such a stupid question, but you’ve learned by now that taesan is just naturally oblivious. any girl in your position would avoid him after the stunt he pulled yesterday.

it’s hard to believe he’s even asking.

taesan tilts his head, genuine confusion written across his face as he waits for an answer.

“are you serious?” you scoff lightly, turning back to resume wiping.

taesan huffs, annoyed, and inches closer. you freeze, hand still pressed against the damp cloth.

“is it because of yesterday?” his voice is teasing as he leans in again, and in that moment you briefly consider whether physical violence would be so bad. you step back, holding your hand out to create distance between you.

“you’re being weird…” you mutter, eyes darting everywhere but his.

taesan’s brows knit in frustration. he’s starting to feel bad — you look so uncomfortable, and that wasn’t his intention at all. he thought the feeling was mutual.

“i’m sorry if i made you uncomfortable,” he says quietly, kicking at dust on the floor. you blink, looking up at him in surprise.

“no, no, i’m not uncomfortable, it’s just…” you trail off, searching for the words.

taesan gives you a moment, then grows impatient. he tilts his head again, leaning closer so you can see his face. your breath catches as you fight the urge to meet his eyes, but it’s no use.

“just…?” he murmurs, voice barely above a whisper.

that’s your breaking point.

taesan keeps doing things — the skinship, the voice messages, the random compliments. it’s driving you insane. not the actions themselves, but the fact that he does it so mindlessly.

taesan doesn’t actually like you. he’s just being himself, and that’s what bothers you. you thought it’d be okay at first — accepting his teasing — but it’s become unbearable. your feelings for him are unbearable.

you have to put an end to it.

but before you can speak, your tears say it for you. they pool in your eyes, and you blink furiously, trying to hold them back.

“oh, wait, yn, are you okay?” he suddenly steps back, concern written all over his face. you shake your head, sniffling as you wipe the tears from your cheeks.

“i’m fine, i just… just stop teasing me before i think you’re serious.” your voice cracks, your bottom lip trembling as you finally say the words you’ve been avoiding.

taesan’s eyes widen in shock as he watches you cry, unsure what to do. he isn’t good at moments like this — and making you cry was never his intention. what did you mean, you thought he wasn’t serious? he was serious.

“wait, i’m sorry if i’ve been confusing you but i am serious,” he stumbles over his words, eyes closing in frustration as he tries to find the right way to say it. but you don’t hear any of it — your shoulders only shake harder, tears spilling over.

you don’t even know why you’re crying. you’re not usually emotional, but now the waterworks won’t stop no matter what he says.

“it’s fine. i think i just need a minute.”

you sniffle again, turning toward the breakroom. but just then, taesan moves — finally finding the courage to act. to prove he’s serious about you, that he always has been.

his arms wrap around you from behind, pulling you into his chest. your eyes widen as your arms instinctively circle his wrists. he rests his neck in the crook of yours, breath warm and tickling your collarbone.

“i am serious about you, yn. i just tease you because i like you so much.” his voice is low and gentle, the scent of his cologne warm and comforting as he hugs you tighter.

then he pulls back, turning you gently to face him. his hands stay on your shoulders as he says:

“i like you, yn.”

his hands find their way to your cheeks, cupping them as he pulls you in for a brief peck on the corner of your lips. somehow, that small gesture was more intimate — more romantic — than a kiss on the lips could have ever been.

your tears fall again as you bury your face in his shirt, fist limply punching his shoulder.

“i like you too, stupid,” you say between sniffles.

taesan smiles, rubbing soothing circles on your back.

“i know you do.”

you punch him again, earning a small laugh.

“don’t be so confusing next time.”

taesan just smiles, pressing his lips against the crown of your head.

“i promise.”

-

m.list

[mirouie]

there's something so tragic-looking (positive) and melancholic about brunette leehan which is why i always imagine him whenever i read something angsty or hurt/comfort

[mirouie]

wdym he has naturally curly hair?? 🥹🥹 he's the cutest ever

in their recent live, jaehyun & leehan talked about how they both have naturally curly hair but have no idea how to take care of it, and leehan asked onedoors how to care for curly hair. as someone with curly hair myself that made me think about how cute it would be to wash leehans hair and do some hair care for him <3

kim leehan x reader [fluff, gender neutral!reader, kinda curly haired!reader but the mention is very minimal]

a/n: this is so cute😭😭 also as someone who has only recently discovered/starting care of their curly hair i love it !!

19:29 - “ah leave me alone!”

“donghyun,” you sighed, “you need to start doing this otherwise your hair is always gonna look like shit.”

leehan sighed dramatically as you laughed, rolling your eyes. your boyfriend was sat on the floor, drinking coke out of a bowl with a long swirly straw as he watched the tv: his favourite youtube channel, a guy who took care of exotic fish.

you were sat behind him on the sofa, carding your fingers through his hair.

“please can you just go and wash it for me, baby,” you cooed, wrapping your arms around his neck and leaning over his head so you could see his face, and he could see you. leehan sighed, you could see he was sulking as he often did.

“you need to shower anyway. go and do it quickly then i’ll sit behind you and do everything. we do this once a week for a while, and your curls will be beautiful. i promise.”

“they’re already too ruined,” he cried, though he was already stood up, walking to the bathroom.

you smiled, following after him and sitting on the closed lid of the toilet, continuing to talk to him as he showered. it was a small, domestic act the two of you often did (though more often than not it was leehan sitting while you showered).

“thank you, baby,” you cooed as he wrapped a towel around his waist, stepping out the shower. you sat on the side of the sink, watching as he applied some creams to his face.

“i need to shave,” he muttered, looking at his face side to side in the mirror. you placed a hand on his cheek and he looked to you, putting on a dopey smile.

“you’re so handsome,” you smiled, leaning in and kissing his lips. a genuine smile graced leehan’s features as he kissed you back, his hand going to your waist.

“go and get dressed,” you instructed, tapping his chest as you pulled away, “i’ll be waiting on the sofa.”

leehan just whined before nodding his head, continuing to do so as he walked out the bathroom and to your bedroom, where his overnight clothes were packed for the weekend at your place. when he returned to the living room, you were sat on the sofa and a bag of jellies had appeared on the coffee table.

“just sit here,” you sat, patting at the side of the sofa between your legs, “i’ll do all the work, i promise.”

your boyfriend still had a towel draped over his hair, which you removed as he sat down, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head. you got to work on his hair, glancing up at the tv every now and then.

you adjusted his head’s position with two hands. “what’s that one, baby? that purple one, she’s pretty.”

“that’s a betta,” he answered, arms curled up so his hands were resting on your thighs as you started to brush out his hair while it was still wet. after there were no tangles left, you applied some curl cream into your hands and started scrunching his mid-length, tri-coloured hair. “they’re super beautiful, right? but also very territorial, so if we wanted to raise some they’d have to live in their own tank.”

“oh, that’s annoying,” you hummed, absentmindedly scrunching and scrunching, “i like seeing the different types of fish get on.”

leehan hummed in agreement, leaning down to drink some coke. you started curling individual pieces round your fingers next, holding them in position so they’d stay. leehan stayed fixated on the tv.

“it’s like seeing a big dog with a small dog,” he said, suddenly breaking the silence. you hummed in question, and he expanded, “it’s nice to see them get along. cause technically they’re all the same, but they look so different.”

you chuckled, nodding, “yeah, no, exactly.”

it fell silent again, except for the odd rustling of the jelly packet, until leehan spoke.

“what are you doing?”

“i’m curling it round my finger, baby,” you said, softly, “cause sometimes there are some random strands that aren’t very curly, so to make it more even, you have to manually curl them. plus for others it just makes it more defined.”

leehan hummed, nodding at your explanation, “what’s the product?”

“i put a curl cream on, this one,” you said, showing him the pot, “and then after i’m gonna put this gel on.” he took the products, reading the labels. “then after that, we’re gonna diffuse your hair and put some oil on. mine doesn’t take very well to diffusing and oil, but you have very frizzy hair, so it might work? i don’t know, but we’ll try it today.” you took the gel, squeezing some onto your hands before scrunching, and scrunching some more.

“also you have to do this,” you said, bringing it forward more so he could see the motion, “this is the most important.” he nodded diligently.

you finally stopped, wiping the product off your hands with the towel, before picking up the hairdryer you’d plugged in beside you. leehan screwed up his face, wincing as the loud sound began just beside his ear. he leaned forward to drink some more coke as you started massaging the diffuser all around his head.

when it was mostly dry, you put the hairdryer down, leehan leaning back and resting his head on your lap as you began to scrunch at his hair again.

“come on, get up. just one last step,” you said, leaning down and pressing a kiss to his forehead.

leehan sighed as he got up, deciding to change his position to sit beside you on the sofa. he sat cross-legged, facing your body as you reached to put some oil just on the ends, helping the chronic poofy frizziness of your boyfriend’s hair.

“okay, done,” you smiled, as he got out his phone to look at the finished result. it looked very similar to when the stylists curled his hair for performances and schedules, but this time he could run his hand through it and it felt healthy, not full of product or crunchy.

he smiled, putting his phone down and staring at you. you’d already sat back against the sofa after chucking all the products on the coffee table, sipping your drink while watching the man feed the fish. leehan continued staring.

you hummed, opening your arm for him to fall into, which he did, cuddling up to your side.

“thank you for taking care of me,” he whispered, turning so he was laying on his back, staring up at you. “no one’s ever done this for me before.”

you looked down at him and smiled, “it’s my job, baby. to take care of you.”

“i think it’s my job to take care of you, actually,” he said, pulling your arm around his body.

“yeah, whatever,” you teased, leaning down and kissing his shoulder, “we look after each other, hmm? my curly boy.”

[mirouie]

.｡.:*☆ sunflower stars - sungho.

⋆｡°✩ pairing sungho x gn!reader wc 0.592k tw one description of a potential injury (nothing happens) genre much fluff!!, established relationship author's note we're so back :D have a small soft sungho while more fics are in the works! enjoy and happy reading <3

⋆˙⟡ synopsis the midst of a field of flowers, sungho, and you.

⋆⭒˚.⋆ reblogs + feedback very much appreciated! ^^

you laugh, and it feels like home.

sungho watches you walk through the open field, letting your hand run through the waist-high grasses. he has half a mind to tell you to stop, the grass is sharp and you'll cut yourself - but when you turn to face the setting sun, he catches sight of the smile on your face.

let it be, he tells himself. you're happy. that's all that matters.

he glances up at the sky, violet and gold swirling together above you. he wishes he could capture the sight in front of him, show it to you as he sees it, so you could see how the skies matched your smile. bright and beautiful.

"sungho!"

he shivers, the sound of your voice sending chills down his spine. the field is vast, scattered flowers popping up from the ground in small bunches, and you're far - a tiny hand waving to him with a huge smile on your face. he smiles back, stepping forward into the grass and making his way towards you.

as he approaches you, you kneel on the ground, disappearing into the grass. it almost feels comical, watching you pop up a few moments later with a small red flower in your fingers. he comes to a stop just in front of you, and you reach for his hand. "look", you whisper, tugging him closer and tucking the flower into the front pocket of his dress shirt. "doesn't it match your shirt?"

sungho looks down at the small red flower and his dark crimson shirt. "it's the exact same shade."

you smile, and sungho leans forward to kiss your cheek. "you like it?"

"like it? i love it, sungie. how did you even manage to find this place? it's huge. there's no one out here." you look past him at the wide expanse of green dotted with colorful bunches of flowers, the swaying grasses mirrored in your crystal eyes. 

smiling, he turns you around and slips his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder. "entirely by chance, to be honest. but when i saw this… i knew you’d love it," he whispers into your ear. you shiver against him, and something flutters deep in his chest.

"well, you guessed right. is this even seoul anymore?"

"no, it's not."

you hum, resting your hands on his. "no wonder."

you stand in silence for a moment, swaying in time with the grass and the wind and the clouds. the skies have turned purple, he thinks. just the lightest shade of lilac.

"y/n?"

you lean back, glancing over at him. "yeah?"

he fiddles with the jeweled band on your left ring finger, tilting his head ever so slightly to rest on yours. "i love you."

you laugh softly, turning around in his hold to hug him properly. "why so suddenly?"

sungho shrugs, looking up at the purple sky and the pink clouds. only a sliver of the sun remains, and faint stars have begun to pop out in the darkening sky. "just because."

you exhale, hugging him tighter. "they look like flowers."

"what does?"

"everything. lilac skies, cherry blossom clouds, sunflower stars."

sungho pulls back, a smile tugging at his cheeks. "of course you see flowers everywhere, silly."

you laugh, resting your forehead against his. the world is silent for a moment, one single moment that feels like a lifetime.

no matter. he'd spend all his lifetimes in this world with you if he could.

"sungho?"

he hums, looking into your eyes. "yeah?"

"i love you too."

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