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dkfile · 1 year

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forgiveness (i would redo it all if i could)

❛ sure, the joy you exhibit is at his expense, but he can’t bring himself to care. jaemin would walk on burning hot coal if you asked him to. ❜

word count | 7.0k (7,009) genre | fluff with slight angst, humour, pining, idiots 2 lovers lol ━ fratboy!jaemin

the five times jaemin begs for forgiveness apologizes — and the one time you get a taste of your own medicine.

★ warnings | vomiting, humiliation (? not really but), alcohol consumption, and characters jumping to conclusions ★ author’s note | i wrote this instead of studying and it initially started as a drabble but the moment i finished the first part i realized i would just have to keep going. so i did. hope u enjoy this monster ❤️‍🩹

one.

The air reeks of hard liquor. You feel it stick to your skin the moment you step inside the frat house, trailing behind Lia as she zigzags her way through the crowd and into the kitchen. She’s a creature of habit, always following a routine, so it doesn’t surprise you when her first order of business is getting the both of you a drink.

Still, the vodka does nothing to contain your nerves. Bitterly, you eye Lia from the corner of your eye as she makes chit-chat with some friends from her Psychology class; she promised this party would put you out of your misery, but you have been here for all of three minutes and your misery has yet to be put out.

You had hoped — prayed — the trashy EDM and stench of sweat mixed with booze would have a quick effect on your aching heart, that it would snap you out of the wallowing you’ve been doing for the past two days, that it would make you forget about the 25 text messages and 10 missed calls you’ve left unanswered.

But, alas, here you are.

Lia makes quick movements out of the kitchen after spotting another friend of hers, gripping your wrists as if you’re a felon and her hands are the cuffs, and this frat, with its roaring partygoers and sticky floors, was your own personal prison. She casts a brief look over her shoulder, notices your expression has yet to change from the scowl you sported the moment you stepped outside, and eyes you with apologetic pity but does not loosen her grip on your limbs.

“Lia!”

She stops, quickly hides you behind her. You’re about to bite out a response before your face falls at the sound of the greeting that falls from Lia’s lips.

“Hi, Donghyuck.”

“Lia! How have you been?”

“Mm, great,” she replies, curt, but Donghyuck waves off her behaviour. He either doesn’t care about it or is too inebriated to do so — your guess is the former.

“How’d you do on that Psych test? Question three had me fucked up.”

“Kind of like how you are right now?”

Over Lia’s shoulder, you catch a glimpse of Donghyuck’s eye roll. “Ha ha, very funny,” he says before bringing a can of beer to his face. He gives it a shake, signifying that there’s still liquid in it. “I’m still on my first can.”

“That’s nice, Hyuck,” Lia sighs. “But I have to go, I’ll talk to you later? Chaewon needs me.”

“Oh, Chaewon! I haven’t seen her in forever. Where is she?”

Donghyuck begins to scan the room as Lia says, “Over by—” his eyes land on you peeking over Lia’s shoulder, “—the beer pong table.”

The excitement on his face falters, he blinks thrice, and as if snapped out of his reverie, his grin turns smug. Lia’s voice dies down as Donghyuck glances over to where a group of frat boys, rowdy and energetic (are they fighting for the title of life of the fucking party?) while he muses, “Haven’t seen you in a bit, Y/N.”

“I saw you last Friday,” you clear your throat when you hear the hoarse scratch in your voice. “Besides, I’ve been busy.”

Sarcastically, Donghyuck says, “Oh, I’m sure.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing in particular,” he smiles, looking at you for a brief moment before returning his attention to his frat brothers. He makes eye contact with a boy, fading pink hair appearing orange under the lights, heavy eyelids opening fully at the sight of you. “It’s just weird, isn’t it, that I haven’t seen you since Friday?”

“Not… really?” you furrow your eyebrows. “We don’t have any classes together.”

He gives you a look. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

At the sound of quick footsteps, Lia glances to her side. At the sight of the very reason you’ve been holed up in your room the entire weekend, she tugs your wrists.

“We should go,” she says.

“Wha— why—?”

“Y/N!”

You jump far enough to release Lia’s hold on you. Donghyuck’s laugh is silenced by a stomp on his foot; the expletives he grunts at Lia goes through one of your ears and out the other — as people’s words often do when Na Jaemin enters your vicinity and punctures your comfortable little bubble.

He’s a sight for sore eyes — so, so beautiful, with his shirt half-tucked into his baggy jeans and a bajillion rings adorning his fingers. He gives you a smile laced with careful excitement, as if you are something to be cautious about, a ticking time bomb.

And suddenly, you’re transported back to Friday night, sitting in a restaurant in the fanciest getup you’ve stolen from one of your friends. Everything buzzes around you. You swear your senses have been heightened — you catch every pitiful glance, hear every sympathetic whisper, smell the desperation radiating off your chest.

Despite all of this, despite all your prayers for any sign of fortune, your phone screen stays black. Void of any texts or calls or even Instagram notifications.

The waiter, ever patient and remorseful, takes slow steps to your table. You take this as your sign to leave.

You ignore the first apology Jaemin sends eight hours later, and all the following others.

Over the noise, he shouts, “Can we talk?”

Your hands find Lia’s. “We need to go.”

Jaemin’s hands find yours. “Y/N.” He lets a drop of pathetic desperation taint his voice. “Please?”

“We have nothing to talk about,” you say.

“I’ll take five minutes.”

You don’t know what it is that gets you to give in. Maybe there’s a small part of you that wants to believe him. There’s a sliver of hope you cling to — like a child begging his parents for a new trinket while he stands in the toy section of a store — and it’s the reason for your downfall. It’s why you even said yes to him in the first place, sitting in the atrium of one of the science buildings as you both waited for the rainfall to stop.

Before you two had split ways, Jaemin had promised, “You won’t regret it.”

And yet…

Still, despite these broken agreements, you nod, allow him to take you to the porch despite Lia’s wariness and every voice in your head shouting at you not to.

He slides the glass door closed, muffling the noisiness of the party in the process. You shiver at the sudden gust of wind.

“Do you want a jacket?”

“No, I’m okay.”

“Really? Mine’s only on the couch, it’s no trouble—”

“Jaemin, I’m fine,” you bite.

The venom is enough to get him to back off.

The silence that falls between the two of you only lasts a few moments. The alcohol has made Jaemin jittery and impatient, but he’s soft in the way he says, “I’m sorry.”

You huff, placing your cup of fruit punch on the porch. “What for?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Well... isn’t it obvious?”

You tilt your head, leaning over the railing as Jaemin centres his hip against it. He faces you, drenched in remorse, and you face away, engulfed in humiliation.

“I guess it is. But I want to hear you say it.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there on Friday,” he murmurs. In the corner of your eye, you see him inch closer, and your skin begins to tingle at the sensation — but then, with words sharpened with knives, he adds, “I’m sorry for standing you up.”

Shame washes over you like a pail of cold water on a hot summer’s day. This is what you wanted, you remind yourself, for him to admit it. But that doesn’t stop it from hurting any less.

“Okay.”

“Y/N,” he almost pleads. His hands twitch at his sides, begging to touch your shoulder, your face, your hands, anything. The vodka doesn’t mix well with his regret and he thinks he might vomit if he doesn’t find something to anchor himself back to Earth. The railing isn’t enough — he needs you.

But he has enough self-control to back off. He hurt you, he shouldn’t be allowed to touch you.

“You know, you flirted with me for four months,” you begin, voice wavering. “And I thought you were excited for the date. I mean, you looked excited.”

“I was.”

“Well, not enough to show up.”

“Y/N, come on—” he takes a step towards you, grips the railing a little harder. His stomach growls at him to stop moving. “Just let me explain. I just need a couple minutes, that’s all. And then you can decide whether you still want anything to do with me.”

You glare at him, though it’s not sharp enough to sting. “I’d rather not waste my time.”

“I’ll be quick. I promise.”

You stare, and while you do so, he uses the free time to try and decipher your expression. Futile.

“I think we should be having this conversation while you’re sober.”

“What are you talking about? I’m completely fine!”

A glance inside. Your eyes lock with Lia’s. “Sure. But you’re slurring your words, Jaem.”

Jaem. A nickname. That’s a good sign, right?

“I can make it through a conversation,” he promises. “Really. Just trust me.”

“Well, I don’t want to talk right now,” you tell him. “It’s— it’s just better for me if we do this when you’re in your right mind, okay? So can it wait?”

And then all fight leaves his body. He supposes he can wait another day for your forgiveness. 24 more hours can’t hurt.

“Okay,” he agrees softly.

You manage a smile and give him a nod before gesturing you’re going back inside. He murmurs that he’ll see you in a bit, despite the fact that he knows you and Lia will be making your way back to the dorms the moment the glass door slides open.

As you begin to walk away, Jaemin notices that you’ve left your cup on the railing. He grabs it, “Wait—” he says, lurching forward.

Oh. He definitely shouldn’t have done that.

A loud gasp falls from your lips. Jaemin stands to his full height, eyes wide with shock as he wipes the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand.

You won’t look at him. You’re looking at your shoes and scrunching your nose at the rancid stench that begins to fill the night air.

Well. At least Jaemin’s stomach is feeling better.

two.

Flowers are fucking expensive.

Jaemin realizes this as soon as he leaves the flower shop Renjun works at (according to Renjun, Jaemin fucked up so bad he doesn’t even deserve a discount) but decides not to dwell on the dent in his bank account as he begins the trek to your dorm. He keeps an eye on the cloudy sky, murmuring pleas under his breath for it to not rain — the last thing he needs is for the bouquet he spent good money on to get soaked.

When he enters your building, his exhaustion replaced with nerves, he almost doesn’t notice the lively figure walking out of the elevator.

The way Liu Yangyang steps foot into the lobby, radiating all things bright and holy, is blinding. Jaemin resists the urge to flinch when Yangyang gives him a wide smile.

“Hey, Jaemin!” he greets, barely concealing his confusion at Jaemin’s suit and the big bouquet of flowers. “Do you have a date? At 10am on a Saturday?”

“Oh! No,” says Jaemin. “I’m apologizing.”

“Ah. I didn’t know you were dating someone.”

“Oh, I’m not!” Jaemin corrects, plastering an embarrassed smile. “But, uh, I fucked up, so… it’s the least I could do. And, well, I wanted to do this, so—”

“Still. A bouquet this big is expensive,” Yangyang quirks an eyebrow, plucking the card out of the large array of flowers. His eyes scan the paper. And then again. And again. Jaemin wonders if Renjun’s pulled a prank on him and wrote something ghastly on it.

When Yangyang finally looks up, glancing from the card to the elevator, Jaemin asks, “What? What’s wrong? What does the card say? Fuck, did Renjun do something? I’m gonna kill—”

“No, the card’s fine,” Yangyang snorts, placing it back where he found it. “It’s just... you’re the guy, huh?”

“Sorry?”

“The one that stood Y/N up? The one that they were complaining about when I dropped by this morning?”

There is so much to unpack here. However, Jaemin can only manage a flabbergasted, “Wait, what?”

Yangyang laughs, gives Jaemin a pat on the back, then bids him a goodbye. He’s left the building before Jaemin can even think of a follow-up question, leaving him standing alone in the lobby, dress shirt haphazardly tucked into his pants, hair swept up from the wind, and his right hand limply gripping the flowers — the perfect picture of disaster.

It takes him a while to finally move, and when he does, a new unpleasant feeling sinks in his chest.

But then you open the door, and momentarily, the feeling disappears.

“Hi,” he says with a gentle smile. With two hands, he presents you with the bouquet, which you carefully take, eyes sparkling in awe.

You absentmindedly step to the side to let him in while your fingers carefully brush the flowers. “Jaemin, you didn’t have to do this.”

“I wanted to.”

“But you didn’t have to.”

“Well, I did,” he argues with no malice. He slips off his shoes and follows you to your desk, watching as you place the flowers in a vase, “so you’re gonna have to deal with it.”

He sees you roll your eyes. Still, you say, “Thank you.”

He beams. “You’re welcome.”

You lean against the back of your chair, folding your arms over your chest. Jaemin tries not to let your sudden indifference affect him. “Are you feeling better?”

“Yeah. Sorry I threw up all over you last night,” he winces.

You wave him off. “It’s fine. Those shoes were worn out, anyway. I was looking for a reason to throw them out.”

“I’m sorry for Friday too.”

Jaemin notices you cave yourself in. Your gaze has hardened and the tension has made you stiff. Something much more painful than guilt sinks its claws into his beating heart.

He thinks, even if he were bleeding apologies, that it still wouldn’t be enough to deserve your forgiveness.

“It’s okay,” you shrug. “We’re fine now.”

“Okay… But are you sure?”

You blink.

Jaemin continues, “I really want to make it up to you.”

You move to lay against the headboard of your bed, playing with the controls of your alarm clock to avoid eye contact. “And you have.”

“I have?”

You take one long look at him, raise an eyebrow at the state of his outfit, before commenting — with your amusement thinly veiled behind the lingering hurt, “Oh, definitely.”

Everything in Jaemin malfunctions at the sound of your voice. The familiar mellow glee shakes him to his core. He leans against your desk chair, refusing to break eye contact despite your determination to not look at him for longer than five seconds.

He kicks the foot of your bed. Not hard enough to scare you, but enough to glance at him in annoyance. “I’m being serious,” he says. “I’ll humiliate myself if I have to. Do you want me to beg for forgiveness in front of everybody? I’ll do it. I can do it by the fountain at the centre of campus, or maybe the cafeteria. Or maybe at the next party—!”

“Jaemin.”

“I can do it at the coffee shop. Not the one near here, but the artsy one. I'm guaranteed to get a lot of judgemental stares there.”

“Jaemin,” you interrupt. You’re staring at him now, the alarm clock long forgotten. “You don’t need to do any of that. I mean, would it be funny? Yeah, definitely. But I want an explanation more than anything. That’s what you promised me last night, anyway — if you remember.”

Jaemin tries his best not to wince. He’d love to tell you the truth, really, but when he had relayed what happened to Renjun, he was met with a slap on the back of his head and different variations of “This is really embarrassing for you, man.” Last night, he was more than happy to explain the reason for his absence on Friday, but that was because there was alcohol in his system.

Could Jaemin humiliate himself in front of strangers and his friends? Sure, no problem. But you were a completely different story.

Every move he’s made, every decision he’s followed through, has been to impress you. He doesn’t know what he would do if he ever blew that up.

“Oh. Okay, well, you see…” Jaemin begins sheepishly, scratching the nape of his neck. “That’s a funny story.”

You frown. “If you don’t want to, that’s fine, Jaemin, but I don’t really wanna waste my time listening to excuses.” You turn to your side, taking interest in the alarm clock again as you grumble under your breath, “I’ve done enough of that already.”

The speed at which desperation consumes him is worrying. One minute he’s standing near your desk, the next he’s crouching to enter your field of vision. He’s next to your bedside table now, eyebrows furrowed and about two minutes away from begging.

“Okay, okay, no, you’re right,” he gulps. “Okay. It’s really embarrassing, though. It wasn’t my best moment.”

You don’t answer, instead giving him a look that urges him to continue.

“It’s dumb, alright, so don’t laugh,” he inhales. “A few hours before our date I went to the gym with Hyuck—” (Donghyuck had convinced him doing so would make him look so much better for the date) “—and I was exhausted. So, when we got back I… I fell asleep.”

“...What?”

“I took a nap,” he grumbles, more upset at himself than at your disbelief. “I was so tired and I didn’t want to go out with you if I was out of it, so I went to bed, and I thought I set an alarm for myself, but… I guess I didn’t. Next thing you know, I’m waking up at 1am, completely out of it, until Renjun barges into my room asking me how everything went.”

You stare blankly. “You… you fell asleep.”

He grimaces. He prepares himself for the brunt of your rage. It’s what he thinks he deserves — missing something he’s been wanting for months, looking forward to for days, all because he took a nap? He swears on heaven and Earth that he’s more mad at himself than you are at him.

But then you laugh.

It starts off as an incredulous snort before you start laughing in his face. And once he’s gotten over his initial shock at your reaction, Jaemin cracks a smile. Mostly because this is the first time he’s seen you happy since last week. He underestimated how much he missed all of this — sure, the joy you exhibit is at his expense, but he can’t bring himself to care. Jaemin would walk on burning hot coal if you asked him to.

Raindrops begin to land on your window as the sky becomes darker. Jaemin should be dreading the moment he has to step outside and walk back to the frat.

(But…)

“You’re not lying?” you guffaw. “You’re completely serious?”

“Unfortunately,” Jaemin deadpans.

You burst into another fit of giggles.

(He thinks the sight of your smile just made his entire week.)

(He says so to Donghyuck when he gets home and is asked why he’s soaking wet and giddy. To which Donghyuck replies with a roll of his eyes and, “Jaemin, you are so fucking whipped.”)

three.

There are many things Donghyuck has seen Jaemin do in the name of love.

But this? This is definitely going at the top of the list of the worst things he’s ever done.

The act itself is mild. If Donghyuck was told about this then he wouldn’t even consider putting this in the top 10. But he isn’t the recipient of a storytime. Instead, he’s with Jaemin, standing with him at a supermarket thirty minutes after closing in his Kuromi pajamas.

Tonight, Jaemin isn’t only embarrassing himself, but he’s dragging Donghyuck along with him.

“Please,” Jaemin begs the tired employee on the other side of the locked doors. “I just need one thing.”

The employee locks eyes with Donghyuck. Donghyuck wants to crawl into a hole and die.

The catalyst of this impromptu trip to the grocery store is you. More specifically, what you posted on your close friends story. You had been baking but realized you don’t have any more baking soda, so Jaemin took it upon himself to drive to the store and get some for you.

You didn’t even ask him to.

“Don’t we have baking soda at home?” Donghyuck hisses under his breath, grabbing Jaemin’s elbow while the 16-year-old employee explains for the nth time, “No, sir, I can’t unlock this door. Like, I literally can’t. I don’t have the code.”

“No,” Jaemin snatches his elbow back. Donghyuck wonders how they both look, standing in their matching Melody and Kuromi pajamas in the middle of the night. “Jeno and Mark used all of it up, remember? For some bake sale.”

“I think they were raising money for the frat, Jaemin.”

“Oh, fuck the frat.”

Donghyuck snorts. “Dude.”

“What?”

Donghyuck throws his arms up in defence before tugging Jaemin towards the parking lot. He waves apologetically to the employee, who only shakes her head in response, and ignores Jaemin’s whining and thrashing as they make their way to his car.

“Okay,” Donghyuck says firmly, crossing his arms. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Nothing.”

Donghyuck raises an eyebrow. “Uh-huh, sure. It’s not like you’ve been moody for the past few days or anything.”

Jaemin throws him an irritated look. Then he runs a hand over his face and through his hair. “Sorry.”

Donghyuck waves a hand of dismissal. “Just tell me what’s wrong.”

“I fucked up big time,” Jaemin sighs. “With Y/N.”

“Again?”

“What? No! Do you have no faith in me?” At Donghyuck’s silence, Jaemin kicks his shoe. “No, it’s just… I don’t know. I have no idea what it’s gonna take for them to give me another chance.”

“Didn’t they forgive you already?”

“Yeah, but… you know.”

He doesn’t. You and Donghyuck are more so acquaintances than friends, but even if that wasn’t the case, he thinks nobody in this world could ever know you as well as Jaemin does.

Plus, he’s pretty sure Jaemin’s just making excuses not to put himself out there again.

So, Donghyuck asks, “Have you asked them out again?”

“Well…”

“You can’t be serious.”

“You don’t understand!” Jaemin groans. “I’m scared!”

Donghyuck rolls his eyes and starts typing a number into his phone. Jaemin is too busy listing off reasons on why you’d reject him to notice, and only stops his rambling when a groggy voice echoes off the speakerphone.

“Hello?”

Jaemin blinks, confused. “Y/N?”

“Jaemin?” you say, suddenly awake. Donghyuck places his phone in Jaemin’s hands and enters the car to give you two some privacy. “Why are you calling me from Hyuck’s phone?”

“Oh, I…” Jaemin starts, “My phone’s dead.”

“Oh,” you say. Jaemin presses the phone to his ear and closes his eyes as he leans against the hood of the car. “Why’d you call?”

“I, uh…” Jaemin murmurs, “I wanted to apologize.”

“For what?”

If he was being honest, Jaemin’s surprised you forgave him so quickly. He thought he would have to grovel a little more, suffer for a few more days, before you finally flashed him a smile and a murmur of “It’s okay.” He asked you about this last night, his curiosity peaking past midnight with the only source of light in his bedroom being the blue light from his phone.

From: Y/N

I mean, it’s not like you’ve ever lied to me?

Unless you did. If you did, you are so done for, Jaem.

To: Y/N

I didn’t! I swear to God I didn’t

From: Y/N

Yeah, I figured

I’m messing with you lol

I trust you

Maybe this means he has a chance. He considers shooting his shot right then and there, but then he glances at the sky, figures now is not the right time. You deserve so much more than a hesitant question whispered into his best friend’s phone, the stars hidden behind a large blanket of clouds.

“I… I couldn’t get you the baking soda.”

A pause. “Oh?”

“Yeah. The store’s closed.”

“Oh,” you whisper with a little more understanding. Softly, you reply, “That’s okay, Jaem.”

four.

For the past few days, Jaemin’s hands have been finding you.

It’s in gentle touches. He pats your shoulder before bidding goodbye, picks off a piece of lint in your hair before flicking it away, brushes your skin with his every time he gives you a gift. Every touch is accompanied with a smile — lambent albeit unsure — and every smile is accompanied with a soft call of your name.

The next time he touches you is when he hands you a bag. It isn’t heavy, but when you peek inside, you frown.

“What is this?” you ask.

He flashes you his signature grin. “What does it look like? They’re shoes.”

His retort is met with silence. Jaemin is left to listen to the bustling of the hallway as you stare at the relatively new sneakers he’s handed you. His grin wavers, ever so slightly, though it really shouldn’t matter because it goes unnoticed.

“I can see that,” you mutter. “But why?”

“Consider it an apology. It’s the least I could do after I… you know…”

“Threw up on me?”

Jaemin huffs. “Yeah.”

You clear your throat, pushing the shoes into his chest. “I don’t think I should take this.”

“What? Why not?”

You shrug, resting the handles of the grey plastic bag on his fingertips before walking around him to head to the exit. He’s quick to follow, barely dodging lingering professors and boisterous students that obscure his path. You don’t bother to slow down, eyeing the time on your wrist with a frown. Fuck, you were supposed to be at the mall five minutes ago.

You glance over your shoulder to see if Jaemin’s still lagging behind you. “It’s nice and all, but I don’t think you ruining my sneakers meant you had to buy me new ones as an apology.”

“I disagree. Besides, I didn’t even buy them! I stole them—!” You halt, causing Jaemin to crash into you. The both of you stagger, struggling to regain your composure. He coughs, muttering an apology before adding, “—from Renjun’s closet.”

“What the hell!” you exclaim. “Why didn’t you say that sooner! I thought you were a felon.”

Jaemin gasps incredulously, ignoring the odd gazes thrown in his direction. “How dare you. You know I don’t have the mental capacity to plan a successful heist. Too tiring,” he tilts his head, “You gotta admit, though, I’d look very good on a wanted poster.”

Silence. You continue walking to the student parking lot.

Another gasp, and then— “Hey, wait, don’t just walk away. Are you disagreeing with me?” An overdramatic whine falls from Jaemin’s lips. You are no match for your own mirth. It doesn’t waver, no matter how much you try to fight the smile that threatens to split your face apart. “Are you calling me ugly?”

“Way to jump to conclusions,” you quip.

His hand clasps around yours, stopping your movements. “You’re not denying it!”

A laugh, caged too long in your chest, escapes. It dances in the air, free. “You’re definitely not ugly, Jaemin. The very opposite, actually,” you pause, “But no matter how much you pout and whine, I will not be taking these shoes.”

“But I stole them just for you!”

(A passerby mutters a “What?” to her friend).

“Yes, it’s very Robin Hood of you to do this for me,” you agree, briefly placing two hands on his cheeks and ignoring the way his skin begins to warm. “But what if Renjun finds out? You know he scares me!”

“Pfft. Renjun would never hurt you.”

Your hands fall from his face and back to your sides. He immediately craves your touch again, even though he’s certain it’ll burn his skin. “I’m not taking these. But thank you,” you give him a smile, a much tamer one this time, but it makes his heart stutter all the same. “Really, Jaemin. I appreciate it.”

I appreciate you, you almost say. From the way Jaemin’s eyes flicker to your lips, you wonder if he knows you almost did.

“I—”

“Y/N! You slowpoke! Hurry up!”

Jaemin snaps his head to the direction of the voice. His lips part at the sight of Yangyang trudging across the quad, hands tucked into his pockets. Despite Yangyang’s impatient words, he’s grinning.

What’s worse, Jaemin thinks, is that you are, too.

You give Jaemin one last look before waving. Before you leave, you promise something. He isn’t quite sure what — maybe you’ll text him tonight, see him tomorrow, email him the answers to the Chemistry practice tests later. Nothing you say can sway Jaemin’s focus from Yangyang’s arm, resting on your shoulder as he drags you towards his car.

A hand reaches into Jaemin’s chest, squeezes his heart.

He tries not to think too much of it.

five.

There are three things needed to spark a wildfire. Oxygen, fuel, and ignition.

Jaemin finds himself in an unfamiliar apartment on Saturday night, glued to Renjun’s side, as his friend drifts across the space like a butterfly soaring through the sky. Tonight is supposed to be carefree, a distraction from looming final exams, but Jaemin can’t help but feel a heavy weight in his pockets. His texts, sent 12 hours ago, are yet to be met with a response, and he’s getting fidgety. So much so that it’s hindering his chance of a good time.

Renjun tries his best to ignore him but all attempts end up futile. Once an acquaintance excuses himself to go to the restroom, Renjun nudges Jaemin and hisses (although he does it in a way that comes off as benign), “Can you stop acting like you’ve got ants crawling up your ass? Y/N will get back to you soon enough. Maybe they’re busy.”

Jaemin sighs, clenches his fist, then nods. “Yeah. Right. Sorry.”

Renjun looks at him sympathetically. “It’s okay. Just don’t stress.”

He manages to distract himself for a couple more minutes, engaging in conversations despite his dying social battery, and plasters a smile that he hopes Renjun deems decent enough.

This get-together is far different from any of the parties the frat has thrown, but its unfamiliarity tames the waves of worry clouding Jaemin’s brain, if only for a moment.

Everything in him comes alive, though, when the door swings open and a call of your name hangs in the air.

He’s plunged into a pool of relief at the sight of you. It’s almost as if the air has been knocked out of his lungs.

Maybe tonight won’t be so bad after all.

Oxygen.

He lazily mutters an excuse to Renjun and another acquaintance before walking towards the door. This conversation is the least of his worries especially when you’re standing in the doorway, radiant as ever.

When you spot him, he swears your eyes light up.

“Hey!” you greet, “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, Renjun dragged me here,” Jaemin tries his best to appear nonchalant, though the only person he appears to be fooling is himself, “he said I needed a change of scenery.”

“Well, I’m glad he did.”

Something akin to hope settles in the pit of his stomach. “You are?”

You hum. “Yeah. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love these get-togethers, but you make things a little more memorable.”

He grins. He can’t help it. “Just a little?”

“Alright,” you snort. “Don’t push it.”

A buzz. You take your phone out and, at the sight of the notification, your mood dampens — only slightly, but Jaemin notices nonetheless.

“Oh, by the way, did you get my texts?”

“Huh?” you glance up. “Oh. Maybe? Sorry, I’ve been so out of it. You would not believe the day I’ve had.”

“Ah. And here I thought you were ignoring me,” he says it in a way that’s insouciant, but you don’t miss the tension slowly easing out of his shoulders.

“I would never.”

“I mean, you did a few weeks ago.”

You hit his arm playfully. “Okay, well, you deserved that.” You tuck your phone back into your pocket. “I’m really sorry, though. I didn’t mean to screen you. What’d you send, anyway?”

“Nothing important,” he says. Really, it had just been a couple tweets he thought you would find funny. “How was your day?”

Before you can respond, someone enters, heaving. Yangyang, dressed head to toe in black, huffs out a breath as he slips off his dress shoes. He walks over to you, almost slipping when his socked feet meet tile, but he manages to save himself as he hands you a wallet.

Something feels off.

Fuel.

“Holy fuck,” Yangyang exhales tiredly. “You would not believe the kind of shit I had to go through to get that back. You owe me big time— oh! Hey, Jaemin!”

“Hi,” Jaemin replies, eyes flickering between you and Yangyang. It’s at that moment he clocks that the two of you are matching, both in flushed cheeks and attire. Suddenly, Jaemin feels underdressed in his grey hoodie and light-washed jeans. “Uh, you guys look nice.”

“Oh, thanks!” says Yangyang. Then he scans the other people in the apartment. “Wait, what the hell? I thought Lia said to dress formally!”

He gives neither you nor Jaemin time to reply. He’s already off, mingling with others as he hunts Lia down, presumably to question her about the dress code, leaving you and Jaemin in the dust.

You don’t say anything in Yangyang’s absence, so Jaemin decides he’ll bite.

“Why did he have your wallet?”

Your mood has changed. You scratch your neck nervously and give him a smile he can’t quite decipher. This one is different than the usual ones you give him. Is it— tinted with shame?

“Oh,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest. Slowly but surely, the tension that was once in Jaemin’s body enters yours. “Funny story.”

Jaemin tries his best to sound lighthearted. “From the way you look it doesn’t seem like a funny story.”

“Got me there,” you chuckle, devoid of hilarity. “It’s— well, I was on a date—”

Oh. That’s why you never responded to him.

Yangyang, always impeccable with his timing, appears in Jaemin’s line of sight again. He isn’t quite sure what Yangyang says — something about the dress code, he assumes. But what he is sure of is Yangyang’s hand around your wrist, dragging you deep into the crevices of the apartment, away from Jaemin.

It all makes sense now. Yangyang dropping by your apartment, Yangyang’s arm over your shoulder, Yangyang arriving the same time as you at a gathering Jaemin didn’t even want to be at.

Any and all hope flies out the window, dissolving in the acidity of his heartbreak.

He pulls out his phone, texts you again, only this one is more formal than the rest.

To: Y/N

Had to go. Sorry we couldn’t talk more. I’ll see you.

He waits a couple minutes but never receives a reply.

Ignition.

Everything in him begins to burn.

one.

It rains on Sunday.

Jaemin finds himself sitting just under the lip of the roof, watching as rainfall creates puddles in the miniature pits in the backyard. The humidity allows for sweat to adhere his clothes to his skin; it’s an unpleasant feeling, one he’s too lazy to fix by getting up and going back inside, so he’s grateful for the sudden breeze that causes him to shiver.

A jacket is suddenly draped over his shoulders. A figure takes a seat beside him.

“What are you doing out here?”

Your presence only adds to the warmth he’s already feeling.

“Oh, you know…” Jaemin murmurs as you make yourself comfortable on the porch, “wallowing.”

“Ah,” you hum. “As one does.”

“As one does,” he repeats.

You let a few raindrops land on your shoes before you ask, “Am I allowed to ask why?”

He kicks a pebble under his feet. “I don’t know. I just feel weird, I guess? I can’t explain it.”

Lie. He knows exactly why he feels under the weather, and from the way your eyes don’t leave his face, you know he’s lying, too.

“Do you feel better than you did yesterday?”

“Hm?”

“Renjun let me in,” you explain, “I asked him what happened to you last night and he said you just weren’t feeling it, so…”

He nods slowly. “Oh! Uh — yeah. Yeah.”

He clears his throat awkwardly. In the corner of his eye, he sees you raise an eyebrow and turn your head towards the backyard, watching as the rain becomes more aggressive, rapidly pattering against any surface it finds, staining the trees and the ground and the wood of the porch.

Inside, he can hear soft murmurs between his frat brothers. There is the occasional laugh and loud outburst, and it tugs on his heartstrings. It’s much happier inside than it is out here — here, Jaemin’s sulking and brokenhearted and you’re next to him, hiding under the blanket of his heartache.

“How’s Yangyang?” he questions before he can stop himself.

You try your best to hide your surprise. “Uh, he’s fine? I haven’t spoken to him at all today.”

“And your date?”

Your eyes light up. Game over, Jaemin thinks as you turn your body to face him, excitement making the rain falter. “Oh, yeah, I was gonna tell you about it last night!” Jaemin sucks in a breath, “It was awful.”

He blinks. “Huh?”

“Yeah, remind me to never listen to Yangyang ever again,” you snicker with a shake of your head. “He’d been bothering me for months about how I’m, apparently, chronically single. And he thought the only way to fix that was to set me up with a stranger from his Microbio class.”

Jaemin’s moved to look at you dead in the eye now, lips parted and eyebrows furrowed as he tries to process all the information you’ve just spewed out. “Wait, I’m sorry, what?”

You misinterpret his confusion for incredulity. “Right! But I went along with it, which I really shouldn’t have — I’m so sorry, I should’ve told you about it before I went, but it completely slipped my mind. I guess karma got me back, though, ‘cause the guy was terrible — he was so boring, Jaem. So I went to the bathroom to text Yangyang to pick me up, but I was stupid enough to leave my bag at the table. The guy stole my fucking wallet, so I had to—”

“Wait,” Jaemin interrupts, jaw slack. “So you weren’t on a date with Yangyang?”

You scrunch your nose up in disgust. “No. What?”

Jaemin doesn’t reply.

“Jaemin—”

“Never mind.”

You stare at him as he repositions himself to face the backyard again. The both of you hear more clamor in the kitchen, but it’s all drowned out by the laugh that escapes your mouth.

He lasts about ten seconds avoiding your eye contact — at the sound of your amusement, Jaemin whips his head to look at you.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize, covering your mouth with a hand. “I’m so sorry. That’s not — okay, well, it’s a little funny.”

“Alright, I get it,” Jaemin grumbles, though he softens when you lean on his shoulder for support.

“Why the hell would you think that?”

Jaemin shrugs the shoulder you’re not leaning against. “You two were always together, and then you guys showed up at the party at the same time wearing matching outfits, so my mind was like—”

“‘Yangyang and Y/N are dating. Only explanation,’” you finish for him with a snort. “That was just a coincidence. Yangyang and I are friends, Jaemin. I thought you, of all people, would assume that.”

He nudges you. “What’s that mean?”

You nudge him back. “I mean, I thought it was already established that I like you.”

At his silence, you click your tongue.

“I wouldn’t have said yes to a date with you if I didn’t like you, Jaemin.”

“Yeah, but…” he huffs, eyeing the clouds as the raindrops become infrequent and the sky turns a little brighter. “I thought you would’ve given up on me.”

You place a hand over your heart, frowning. “Wow. You think that low of me?”

“No, absolutely not—!”

You squeeze his shoulder with a gentle smile. “Jaemin, I was joking.”

Jaemin sighs in relief, leaning into your touch. “I’m gonna make up for that date, you know.”

Resting your chin on his shoulder, you assure him, “You already have.”

“No, not with flowers and stolen shoes — with dinner,” he pauses, turning his face to meet your eyes. As the sky grows lighter, the red on his cheeks becomes more evident, “if you’ll let me.”

“Will you actually show up this time?” you ask, teasing.

He laughs with a roll of his eyes. “I’ll be there before you even show up.”

When you leave the frat house that night, swollen lips and sweat prickling at your skin, you bump into Lia on her way to class. She asks suspiciously why you’re grinning like a madman — there is no reason for anybody to be smiling this much when it’s this humid outside.

At the mention of Jaemin’s name, Lia softens in understanding. She pats your cheek the same way a mother would nurture her child before saying, “I swear that boy is gonna be the death of you.”

You shrug. You can’t bring yourself to care.

#na jaemin #jaemin #nct #nct dream #na jaemin x reader #jaemin x reader #nct x reader #nct dream x reader #na jaemin scenarios #nct scenarios #nct dream scenarios #jaemin angst #jaemin fluff #nct dream angst #nct dream fluff #jaemin imagines #nct imagines #nct dream imagines #fic: forgiveness (i would redo it all if i could)

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