#im absolutely DEVASTATED with how perfectly you capture the nostalgia with the sections with jeongin

[ashtxrie]

i read this at school and this guy asked me “what are you studying for now” (context: it’s finals week) like how am i supposed to answer this i’m reading fanfics off tumblr ???!!!! 💔 i was devastated in 4K leave me alone 💔

"collision" a twoshot by @cosmicalily. view masterlist and outline here | 5.3k words

side A: 'i told you, we're like stars in the sky' - yang jeongin x fem!reader, han jisung x fem!reader (not poly)

author's note: lowkey edging all of you with this ending...please remember that this is a work of fiction, and my depictions are not a representation of them as real people. enjoy x warnings: implied sex (no actual smut, you nasties), kind of betrayal? the whole thing is basically a right person, wrong time trope

There was beauty in the simplicity of childhood love; you just loved or hated whatever and whoever was there. The intangible didn’t matter, the future or past or the consequences or benefits. It was present and physical. You could see it and feel it without a doubt, and there wasn’t ever a need for doubts, anyways.

Yang Jeongin always had a penchant for shoving very large pieces of food in his mouth, risking oxygen, jaw functioning, and his dignity, just to eat something before his younger brother could get his hands on it. He loved playing with small kids and babies, even if at the time, he was little more than a small kid himself. He liked to talk, but not too much, and was the oldest in his year, but the youngest out of his friends. He liked your trampoline. You liked his dog.

Jeongin had never really been friends with someone his own age before, not until he met you. He had his friends in the year above, the ones he considered older brothers. He had his little brother’s friends, the ones who begged him to play with them whenever they were over. Jeongin had lots of friends, but this summer, he felt left behind. 

Until he met you. Or rather, you met him.

His older friends had gone to a summer camp, one that he wasn’t old enough to attend, and his younger brother and his friends were doing a holiday soccer program for young children. Jeongin was bored and lonely and curious of the huge moving trucks that had been coming by daily, particularly of the trampoline strapped onto the back of one of them. He wanted to know who had finally inhabited the two-story house next door, the one with the empty backyard that he’d stared into for years. The backyard that was now set up with a trampoline, on which a girl lay out like a starfish, alone, staring into the bright blue sky.

So Jeongin had put on his baseball cap, found his pack of UNO and made his way down the sidewalk, ringing the doorbell. 

After that first day he’d invited himself over, you’d spent almost every day of summer break with him. You took his dog for walks (although their golden retriever, Cookie, was very strong, and more often than not, the dog was walking you), played on your trampoline and on his back porch. You had never felt so close to someone in your life. It seemed everyone loved Yang Jeongin, but you felt like you loved him the most. You told him this one day, with the kind of unfaltered kid confidence that disappears during teenagehood. He didn’t laugh or joke or tease you, the way he normally did when you made remarks like that. He nodded sincerely, and assured you that you were his best friend, or in his words, his “favourite girl”. You replied that he was most definitely your favourite boy. You treasured each other's words; a reminder that, at least in this lifetime, in this town, you would never be alone. From then on, you weren’t addressed by your name in your birthday and Christmas cards anymore. You were his favourite girl and he was your favourite boy. Your families, who had become quite close after your friendship had blossomed, thought it was adorable, and you often heard jokes about how the two of you would get married someday. You wrinkled your nose at this; marriage seemed so distant, a practice that couldn’t express the kind of connection you and Jeongin had. 

Of course it wasn’t all favourite girls and boys and bubble wars in the backyard. There were petty fights, some so bad that you weren’t sure if you’d ever be friends again afterwards. He could be clumsy and careless, and you could be sensitive and uptight. Once, you received a huge lego set as your twelfth birthday present and immediately invited him over. However, the fight over whether to follow the instructions and actually build the palace that was intended (your idea) or build a plane in the shape of a fox (his idea) lead to pieces being snatched, stolen, hidden and eventually lost, and lots of tears and shouting. He said you were being boring, you said he was being annoying. Then, in a moment of frustration, you dropped the bomb.

“You’re not my favourite boy anymore, Yang Jeongin,” you shouted, then your hand flew to your mouth, realising just what you’d said.

You’d seen Jeongin cry before. When he’d fallen off his top bunk trying to do a trick, the time he sprained his ankle on your trampoline. But you’d never seen him cry like this. He was silent, his cheeks flushing pink, eyes watering. He walked out of your room, down the stairs and left. You wanted to follow him, to apologise, say you didn’t mean it. You were also very petty, and wanted to hold a grudge, to prove a point.

But Yang Jeongin was sweet, the sweetest boy you knew. You broke his heart for the first time that day, yet he was the one to slip a letter through your windowsill a few days later. A letter you still kept today, folded tightly into squares in your wallet.

I’m sorry I messed up your lego, I know it was annoying of me. I miss you and want to make friends. Cookie misses you too. Do you want to come for a walk with us today? 

You’re still my favourite girl, even if you don’t like me anymore, I will still like you, I promise.

(But I hope I am still your favourite boy, were you just angry and maybe didn’t mean it?)

You were twelve, reading a hastily written letter from the boy next door who once shoved a whole orange into his mouth, who got dragged into a lake by his overexcited dog, who invited himself over to play on your trampoline, who tried to build a plane in the shape of a fox.

Yes, you’d known you loved Yang Jeongin before that, but as you reread the letter, then ran over to his house and hugged him, sobbing into his shoulder and promising that he was your favourite boy and that you didn’t mean it, you felt something in your chest twinge.

He got under your skin often. It irritated you.

But now, it felt like he was crawling in, making a home there.

He was still there, even though your high school summers had ended, and you were in the bed of someone else, someone who you’d been so deeply intimate with, someone who made your heart and body ascend when you were with them.

You’d told Han Jisung that you’d loved him eight months ago. Only him.

This had been your fourth summer without Yang Jeongin, for he had moved in eleventh grade with his family. His younger brother had gotten into a soccer academy five hours away, and so they had left to move to the city. You remembered that last week with him as clearly as day; as if it was all happening in front of you again.

The two of you had been laying on his bed, crinkled linen and pillows strewn on the floor, sheets pulling loose from the mattress. The window had been open, and a warm breeze had blown through the curtains. His bedroom was hot, despite the fan being on full blast, and you felt as if you were going to melt into a puddle. Boxes surrounded the bed, labelled hastily in Sharpie. Some in your handwriting, some in his. Every surface was emptied and wiped clean, his walls bare. Yang Jeongin was leaving.

Jeongin had laid beside you, your leg on top of his. His bare torso was warm against your shoulder and had a glowy sheen to it, and you suddenly felt very aware of your body in its pale blue underwear and loose white t-shirt. You definitely hadn’t been this aware of yourself two hours  ago. You didn’t know how or why you’d let yourself go, not like this, not this fast. Not now, when it was all too late.

Jeongin rolled over to look at you. He opened his mouth to say something.

“Don’t say it,” you whispered, staring at him. “It’ll make it all more real.”

Jeongin took a deep breath and nodded.

You stayed where you were, bodies entangled, the heat of a summer afternoon and the glow of the midday sun filling the room.

And, like some fucking miracle, the person who moved in next door was another boy. Your age. Sparkling brown eyes, heart-shaped smile, joking and mischievous.

Just like that, Han Jisung crash landed into your life. The gap of loneliness was filled before it properly formed. But maybe, that had been a curse. Because now, as you pressed your cheek closer into Jisung’s neck, your heart ached, and your skin itched.

You’d never forget.  

It had been eight months since you had told Han Jisung you loved him. The boy who had moved next door the week after Jeongin had left, the boy who you’d met that evening at one of one of Changbin’s parties, your very first, and in his tipsy state had taken you into the depths of the backyard, fingers entwined with a kind of immediate affection that almost knocked you over. Expecting him to kiss you, you’d quickly finished your cider and taken a deep breath in anticipation. Instead, Jisung pulled your body tight against his, his grip firm yet his action so gentle, and simply held you in an embrace.

You couldn’t remember exactly how long you’d rested against him; your vision had been slightly blurred, and your head had been hurting a little. It could have been a mere two minutes or an hour. You didn’t mind, though. A beautiful boy was holding you, not wanting anything more from you than simply your presence. Your heart had warmed, your eyes had closed. 

After that night, you’d find yourself ending up at more and more of Changbin’s parties, during which Jisung would always find you, always take you away, always leave you longing for more. You’d go to each other’s houses, in the mornings, afternoons and evenings, spending hours together, simply doing. He would write songs and play his guitar, and you’d bring your art portfolio and sketch and paint. He’d run a hand through your hair as you worked, his hand wet with the coldness of his can of soda. When your hands got tired, you’d rest your head against his thigh and close your eyes, listening to him talk, write or play. 

When he kissed you for the first time, out on the trampoline at the back of your lawn, you’d seen literal stars. It had been a cloudy night, and even the moon had been difficult to distinguish, but you felt your whole world melt in Jisung’s presence. He kissed you gently, slowly, like he was savouring a spoonful of the sweetest honey. He kissed you, not like it was a chore, but like it was something he’d been longing for. You wanted to stay with him until you physically couldn’t, until your breath ran out and your lungs collapsed and your heart stopped beating. He felt like a dream, like a hallucination you’d made up. He didn’t feel tangible.

Throughout that summer, kisses at parties and in backyards turned into long drives to the beach, to nights spent in suspicious hotels in the sticky heat, limbs entwined and chests rising and falling sharply. He would pay for each and every one of your expeditions; his allowance was generous and, after all, it was his car, even if he was four months too young to drive it. 

This particular evening, you’d found yourselves in a motel by the coast. Your hair was damp and tousled, the scent of saltwater and sweat strong on your skin. Cheeks flushed, lips bruised and swollen. You could still taste his cola on your tongue, feel the faint fizz through your throat. He was lying on his back, chest bare and warm, your face pressed into the crook of his neck, leg thrust over his. The fan in the room was long broken and the window only opened a fraction, but the two of you lay together, sweat dripping, eyes closed. Jisung was like an addiction; you felt like you needed him every minute of the day, every second. He said he felt the same about you, and was always quick to sneak through your back door.

“I don’t want to exist around anyone else,” Jisung had murmured into your hair. “You’re the only one for me, Star. I’ll marry you one day, you know that, right?”

He had a habit of making these passionate promises, of making your world seem so rosy. Of giving you hopes and dreams of a future where he would love you forever and ever.

In his head, you two were bound. Names written in the stars, bodies entwined in a sea of saltwater.

In reality, you were in an unrenovated motel, hours away from both of your friends and family. Both of you said exactly what you needed to hear in order to heal, or at least, pretend that you were healing. 

You had been dating Han Jisung for eight months, but not once had he actually called you his girlfriend, nor had you called him your boyfriend. He had called you his love, his lover, his angel, his Star. All beautiful words, but none that confirmed your feelings for each other. You knew he wanted you, for he told you this every single day, but why only in the dark, in the back of his car, in motels with ugly floral sheets and broken blinds? Why couldn’t you love each other openly, fully?

You knew why. 

You were both liars.

Love with Jisung felt like every celestial object in the sky was colliding. Like the stars were all being reborn, like the clouds had never, ever clouded your vision in the first place. It felt magical and fantastical and like an intangible, out of body experience. It felt like something you had to hunt for, like something you would only ever experience once in a lifetime.

“Mm,” you replied, resting your face closer against his warm skin. You’d worry about the things your friends had warned you about later. He was here, close and real. Even if everything he said was a lie, the moment you were in was real. He was real.

You felt his hand run through your hair, breath suddenly halted. He was waiting for a proper response.

“Mm,” you repeated again, nuzzling closer. You felt his chest rise and fall again, his breathing steady. Soon, you heard a gentle snuffle, and he was asleep, bare skin warm, soft lips slightly open.

Gently, you wriggled out of his embrace. God, wasn’t he beautiful? Dark brown hair wavy from the sea breeze, the skin under his eye that you’d always kiss ever so gently. You reached out and touched his finger lightly, as if reminding yourself that he existed, that he was before you. It never felt real with him. The love you shared was real, the passion, but his presence? You were only there for each other when you were alone together. Fully there.

You pulled the sheet over his chest and silently slipped out of the front door.

Yang Jeongin moved to Cherry Bay when he was nineteen. 

After moving to the city with his family, leaving behind the small universe he’d curated from the beginning of his childhood, of which you were at the centre, he had begun to spiral. His parents had enrolled him in a fancy, all-boys school. He had struggled with his feelings; feelings of anxiety around being by himself, around being with people, feelings of frustration when boys his age teased his now quiet nature and low grades, feelings of helplessness for his own future. He began going to the school gym at lunchtimes, not to play, but to sit and think. When he’d left, Jeongin’s phone had broken, and he’d never managed to regain contact with you. He’d heard from his friends that you had someone else now, anyways. He didn’t want to intrude and ruin things, or, even worse, have already been forgotten.

It was in the gym that he met Lee Felix and Kim Seungmin. 

Felix had moved from Australia two years ago, and Seungmin, despite having never moved from anywhere, had never quite managed to fit in at the school. The two boys had found comfort in each other, and soon, in Jeongin as well. Seungmin told stories of his life at primary school, how he’d always had friends there, and how nobody here understood him. Everybody took him too seriously, thought he was cold and unkind, not understanding the love that hid underneath his dry humour. Felix had joined midway through the year, and despite his sweet, outgoing personality, had been ignored and left out.

They began hanging out at each other’s houses, going swimming in the summer at Seungmin’s older sister, Rosie’s place in Cherry Bay. Rosie was twenty-three and lived in a cottage by the beach, one she had inherited from a great aunt. She he had a girlfriend, Margot, who was an artist like her. Margot worked primarily with ceramics, whilst Rosie preferred gouache. Quite often, the pair would work together on projects, Rosie painting Margot’s various pots and sculptures, and quite often, Rosie and Margot would go on exotic vacations to Vietnam or Corfu or Albania. This was when Seungmin was allowed to invite his friends up, as long as they swore to feed her cat, Nellie, and keep her plants watered.

That had been Jeongin’s first summer without you. His friends weren’t a distraction from the loneliness he felt, a bandage to cover it up, but rather people who were also wounded. People who needed healing and support and laughter and trust.

“Margot and Rosie are going to move,” Seungmin revealed one summer evening, hair tousled from the sea breeze. They sat out on the pier, toes dipping in the warm water, cold bottles of beer laid out across the wood planks. 

“To where?” Felix asked, sitting up and leaning against a wooden pole. “Overseas? Or to a different house?”

“France, I think, where Margot’s family lives,” Seungmin replied. “It’s not a permanent arrangement, but neither of them think they’ll come back. Rosie’s visited Margot’s family there before and she said the whole country just felt like magic, she’d never been so creative in her life.”

Jeongin smiled. “That’s sweet. So, is she selling the house?”

“And what about Nellie?” Felix added.

“That’s the thing,” Seungmin said, taking a sip of his beer. “She doesn’t want to sell it, especially since she knows it’ll just get knocked down and turned into some ugly modern beachside McMansion, a place that’ll probably just be used for vacations and shut up during the other seasons. But she also knows she can’t just leave the house. So she had a chat with me, and said if I wanted it, I could have the place. And Nellie.”

“And you said, . . ?” Felix waited, eyes bright.

“Fuck yes,” Seungmin replied, bursting into laughter. “How could I say no? Living here for free in a house by the beach? It’s a dream. But there’s a small issue; I have these two best friends that live hours away in the city, and there’s two empty spare bedrooms.”

“Oh my god,” Jeongin gasped. “Are you saying what I think you are?”

“If what you’re thinking is that I’m asking you guys to move with me, then yes,” Seungmin confirmed, smiling wide. His cheeks were flushed and eyes glistening, maybe from the alcohol, but he looked so happy. Genuinely happy.

Felix jumped up and screamed in excitement, throwing himself onto Jeongin. Seungmin jumped up and pulled the boys in his arms, then flung the three of them into the saltwater. They emerged, panting and out of breath, laughing hard. Tears rolled down Jeongin’s cheeks, salt on his lips, and they swam up to the shallows, sitting where the water was waist-deep and still retained the heat from the afternoon sun. 

Cherry Bay was far from home, but there was something about the place, something about the moment that made it feel like a part of him. It wasn’t the boys he was with or the cottage, although both of those things he was incredibly grateful for.

There was a lingering feeling, a presence.

And as you stepped outside the motel room and looked out at the pier, you saw three boys sitting in the shallows of the water, laughing and joking. You knew that laugh.

“Baby? Why’d you leave,” Jisung whined sleepily, his arms sliding around your waist from behind you. His bare torso was warm against your back and he kissed your neck softly. You gave him a quick kiss on the cheek to placate him, and squinted out at the beach one last time. You weren’t wrong. He was putting on his shirt now, the same one you’d been wearing while you helped him pack.

“Star?”

“No reason, pretty boy. Just needed some air. Let’s go back inside, yeah?”

And as Jisung spent long minutes pressing kisses down your neck and chest, mumbling promises that you knew neither of you could keep, your mind was somewhere else. You knew there had been a reason your gut had twisted into a tight knot when Jisung had pulled up at this motel. You knew there had been something drawing you closer when you’d picked Cherry Bay on the map out of all of the beachside towns.

When you finally drifted asleep, sweaty bodies entangled, it was not Jisung you dreamed of. 

Rosie and Margot left a week after Seungmin shared the news. They packed minimally, just a suitcase each of clothing, a stack of Rosie’s sketchbooks, two sculptures Margot had made and toiletries. “We won’t need much,” Rosie had explained. “We’ll be living with Margot’s family. Besides, it makes it easier for you guys, it means you don’t have to go out and buy a bunch of the awkward things everyone forgets when they move in.”

“Are you asking me to thank you for leaving us with all of your crap?” Seungmin teased, and Rosie rolled her eyes and shoved him lightly. His gaze softened, though, and he suddenly pulled her in for a tight hug. “I’ll miss you. Stay safe, yeah, and contact me.” he turned to Margot. “You too.”

Margot’s eyes shone. “You sound like her big sister, Minnie,” she laughed playfully. “I’ll make sure she doesn’t forget to call you, and if she does, I promise I will.”

“Good,” Seungmin replied, closing the trunk of the car and stepping back.

“Look after yourselves,” Rosie called out as they drove down the road. “Don’t take things so seriously. Let loose, all of you.”

“What does she mean by that?” Felix raised an eyebrow, and Seungmin sighed and shook his head.

“Interpret it any way you’d like,” he mumbled, then his eyes brightened as he flung open the door to the cottage. “I can’t believe we have this to ourselves now. It’s like a dream.”

Jeongin smiled, eyes crinkling. “We’re so lucky. You’re so lucky that you have a sister like her, Min.”

“I am,” he said proudly, taking in the salty air and warm breeze. “Now, do we want to actually organise our stuff today, or do we want to get drunk on the pier?”

Felix tapped his chin, pretending to think, then burst out laughing. “Let’s leave everything. There’s a bottle shop down the road, you guys coming?”

You’d convinced Jisung to spend the rest of the month with you in Cherry Bay. He’d been confused at first, asking why you wouldn’t rather driving further along the coast, stopping at different motels and beaches along the way. You didn’t have a great answer; just told him that something about the place made you feel at home. And he’d smiled at that, and the two of you shared a bottle of peach soju on the beach that night, eating clementines and making out in the water, then trudging back to the motel, sandy and wet, making out for even longer on the bed, sheets damp, bodies sticky, hearts full.

Jisung got hungover pretty easily, and would often stay in bed for most of the morning. You, on the other hand, were an early riser, and enjoyed the quiet and solidarity you had in the early hours of the day. Dressed in your navy gingham bikini, the one you’d had since long before you’d met Jisung, you would swim in a silent ocean, the sky still dark, sun unrisen, everybody else asleep. You would swim out to the flags and back, then rest, seated in the shallows, the water warming as the sun began to peek out from the horizon.

This morning, when you’d returned from your swim, Jisung was still out cold. He looked adorable when he slept; cheeks puffy, mouth slightly parted, hair tousled. He seemed innocent and genuine, the boy you remembered falling in love with from the start. The boy who you’d promised you’d love forever. The two of you had already gotten through most of the fruit you’d bought together at the grocery store, and there was a single can of cola in the minifridge. You left this for him, placing it and a peach on his bedside table. You found one of his t-shirts and pulled it on top of your bathers, grabbing your purse and slipping out the door, leaving a kiss on his lips as you left.

The local grocery store was small but well-stocked, and you’d grown familiar with it over the past week you had spent here. It was a five minute walk from your motel, further inland, painted a charming butter yellow and run by an equally charming woman named Angie. Adjacent to it was a liquor store, run by Angie’s husband. Often, you caught them smiling at each other through the glass door that connected the stores.

“Good morning, sweet girl,” Angie beamed at you, eyes shifting into crescent moons. “There’s fresh fruit out on the floor for you. The peaches are amazing this time of year.”

“Thanks, Angie,” you smiled back, picking up a handful of peaches and a plastic carrier of cherries. You walked down the side of the store and grabbed a crusty loaf of bread and butter, then set your items down in front of her. Behind you, the doorbell jingled, and two boys entered, eyes bright and cheeks flushed.

“Seungmin, my darling, here for more clementines?” she asked, not looking up. She handed you your change with a wink and then walked around the counter, giving the tall boy a big hug. “Young Rosie’s told me that she and Margot are leaving the house to you; in good hands, I’m sure of it.”

“I’ll do my best, Angie,” he laughed. “And what did you say about clementines?”

Your face shifted into an automatic smile at the sweet scene. 

“They’re right here. Did you want some too, lovie?” Angie asked, grabbing you a bundle before you could reply. 

“You’re too kind,” you chuckled, and Seungmin looked at you curiously. The door adjoining the two stores opened, and another boy walked through, thrusting two six packs of beer at the freckled boy standing beside Seungmin. Your eyes widened, and you felt your body freeze. He looked up at you, smiling shyly. The doorbell jingled again, and suddenly his eyes shifted and he looked at the ground. You turned behind you.

“C’mon, baby, let’s go swim,” Jisung pulled you close, arms warm around your waist, eyes bright and smile wide. Your body tensed a little.

“Yeah, okay,” you replied, thanking Angie before being swept into Jisung’s arms. As you looked over his shoulder from your embrace, you saw Jeongin’s face fall. “Wait, no, Ji, can we just go back to the motel?”

“Sure,” he shrugged. “Why?”

“Missed you,” you whispered, and his face softened. He set you down, cupping your warm cheeks and kissed you softly. Like he loved you. You kissed him back, deeper, like you loved him. You ran through the door of the motel, locking it behind you, and acted like you loved each other for hours. You both lied to each other, pretended, used actions instead of words, because words were real and he was not.

You had not missed Han Jisung, but my god, you had missed Yang Jeongin. 

That night ended the same way every night ended with Jisung. Him passed out on the sheets, his body wrapped around yours. Skin sweaty, chests heaving, the room too hot yet both of your bodies cold. And when his breathing slowed, and he began to softly snore, you pulled yourself away, kissing him on the lips before heading out the door and down the pier. You sat down at the end, a bottle of cider beside you, but you didn’t attempt to open it. 

It had been four summers without Yang Jeongin. You didn’t understand why even though you hated the feeling of isolation he had left you with, a feeling that whilst Jisung filled in the moment, had left you aching all this time, you would still force yourself to stay in solitude, to remember all the things you wanted to forget, to recall everything you never said to him, and now, weren’t able to.

He had his own life. He might even have his own girlfriend. You had Jisung. He should have been enough for you.

You remembered the summer before he had left, when the two of you had snuck into the school pool in the evening. That had been the first time you’d been drunk, the first time you’d broken in somewhere. Although it was wrong, it had felt right, and you yearned for that feeling again. Not the thrill, but the consistency and comfort that he gave you, back when he’d promised he would never leave you.

You heard footsteps approaching, and felt the presence of someone shuffling to sit beside you.

“You’re a liar,” he said, but his expression was soft. Adoring, even. 

“So are you,” you replied, and he pulled you close into his chest.

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