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neocityarchive · 4 years

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blind love | l.m.k.

— in which mark lee is so much more than just your best friend but you were too blind to realize it.

word count: 7.2k | warnings: light swearing | blind love - lola young |

a/n: i didnt mean for it to be this long but i hope you enjoy!!!

“Just friends,” Mark said, his voice still steady even in the growing tension of the moment. “That’s all you said we are, right?”

Your head dropped down to look at your hands, not knowing what to say. The overbearing guilt of rejecting his sudden confession was crushing your chest that it became painful to breathe.

“I’m sorry, Mark,” was all you could say. You forced yourself to meet his gaze through your already glassy eyes, wanting to let him know the sincerity of your words.

He smiled kindly, shaking his head. There was sadness in his eyes. And in all the years you two have known each other, you could tell how hard he was trying to hide it. “It’s okay. That’s all we’ll be.”

You bumped your head repeatedly against your study table in an attempt to rid yourself of the memory that’s constantly been playing in your head.

It was a Sunday which meant there were no classes, which meant the university was closed, which meant that you couldn’t even make an excuse to see your best friend Mark who somehow, after almost three years of friendship, suddenly decided that it was a good idea to tell you he loves you more than a friend should love a friend.

You couldn’t say it happened out of nowhere. He’s been saying he has something important to tell you for almost two weeks before the incident but every time you confront him about it, he always makes up some lame excuse to dodge. It took a lot of self-hate for yourself and a nice amount of his protective instinct to finally make him spit it out.

He came to your apartment that night, finding you barefaced, wearing a pair of sweats and one of his hoodies that you stole some time ago. From that he already knew you weren’t okay. You like wearing his stuff to seek some sort of comfort. Somehow, the smell of his clothes helps calm you down.

You were supposed to help him finish a report but you couldn’t concentrate after getting a below satisfactory grade on a major exam. College has done nothing but give you a shitload of insecurities lately and this just pushed you off the edge. The only thing that has been keeping you sane was the knowledge that you had someone who you can run to at the end of the day. Someone who is willing to listen to your rants and would do almost anything to cheer you up.

That day, however, none of Mark’s usual encouragement worked on you. He was getting frustrated hearing you downplay yourself because of a single exam. You started going on about how stupid you felt, how staying up all night to study did nothing but make you ugly. Mark countered every insult you threw at yourself, throwing in a few jokes here and there, all of which you ignored. But when you went on about how all of this made you unworthy of anything, how no one could possibly love you in this state, he just couldn’t take it anymore.

“I love you,” he snapped, cutting you off from your long self-deprecating speech.

“You’re my best friend. You’re supposed to say that,” you whined, clearly missing the point.

Mark, on the other hand, was barely holding it all inside. He ran his hands through his hair and sighed. “No, idiot. I love you. Stop saying no one could love you, because I do. And not just because you’re my best friend.”

It wasn’t until you noticed his hands were quivering that you realized what he really meant. Looking back on it, you couldn’t help but hate yourself. You were sure it took a lot of his courage (and frustration) to come clean to you like that, and you couldn’t even take him seriously at first.

“Mark, no,” you remember telling him.

“I do. I hate that I do, but I do.” He looked away. “I love you and I know you’re feeling burdened right now, but you don’t have to say it back.”

A part of you broke that day. You hated rejecting people after having gone through several rejections yourself. It’s the worst feeling. You always wished there was a way you could always return people’s feelings just so no one would get hurt, but the universe just doesn’t work that way.

You muttered about a hundred sorries to which Mark replied a hundred ‘it’s okay’s. Maybe it was meant to make you feel better, but it just felt like your heart was getting ripped off your chest.

Mark didn’t stay long after that. You didn’t even get to help him with his report. He said sorry for suddenly dropping the L-word and you said sorry for not being able to say it back. He smiled sadly and it took your everything not to cry. He asked if he could hug you and you didn’t even answer. You just went straight into his arms, burying your head in his chest like you’ve done so many times before, breathing heavily to keep yourself from breaking down. And when the two of you pulled away, he insisted on being alone for a while. You said okay followed by another sorry.

You didn’t know “being alone for a while” meant ignoring you for god knows how long. You see him at uni but he wouldn’t even meet your eye. Even when you share the same class, he would choose to sit as far from you as possible. Once, he entered a cafe you were in and upon seeing you inside, he immediately turned around and walked away.

He’s ignoring you and he isn’t even being subtle about it. Mark Lee could never be subtle about anything, not even his feelings. You really were just too blind to realize anything.

Even other people saw how he felt. People used to come up to you all the time and ask about your “boyfriend” Mark. Sure, you would blush, shy that people thought you’re in a relationship with your best friend. When you explain that you weren’t actually dating, you would get the same shocked reaction every time. One of your friends even said you acted more like a couple than most people in a relationship do. You always thought it was just because you and Mark were such good friends.

“Friends don’t hold hands in public,” you remember Renjun saying.

“We don’t hold hands. He just grabs me and drags me to places,” you said defensively.

“And they don’t hug each other and stare at each other’s eyes while talking about pizza,” Jaemin scoffed.

You just rolled your eyes at them. It never crossed your mind that maybe they were right. You and Mark have never acted like how friends should. Maybe it’s the reason why you’re in this mess after all.

You sighed to yourself. You miss him. You can’t even pretend that you don’t. He’s become such a huge part of your everyday life that you couldn’t just ignore the sudden empty space he left when he said he wanted to be alone. You know he needed time to be by himself. But a part of you keeps holding on to his promise that even after his confession, you two would still be friends. And friends text each other, right? So all your attempts at communication depended on just that.

Thursday, 5:31 PM

You: wanna go watch a movie? i’ll buy the tickets.

Mark: cant. i have an exam tomorrow. sorry :/ maybe next time?

You: oh. okay. goodluck on your exam :)

Friday, 2:21 AM

You: [photo] this is possibly the cutest cat photo i’ve seen in awhile

Mark: that’s cute but dogs are still cuter

You: … okay?

Mark: go to sleep, y/n

Friday, 12:03 PM

You: i know you dont have class rn. have lunch w me?

Mark: oh i already ate with jaemin. sorry!!

You: it’s okayyyy :>> i’ll see u later? it’s friday night sooo we can hang out.

Mark: idk the boys already asked me to go out tonight

You: oh okay have fun!

Saturday, 6:54 PM

You: maaaark

Mark: y/nnn

You: [types] i miss you kajdhfhdksjdh [deletes]

You: nothing haha wanna grab some coffee?

Saturday, 7:01 PM

You: nvm haha have a nice nighhhttt

Sunday, 10:21 PM

You: hey can we talk

Mark: ???

You: please?

Mark: ye what about?

You: you said we’d still be friends

Mark: lol aren’t we?

You: this isn’t how friends talk to each other. i miss having an actual conversation with you.

You: we dont even see each other anymore.

Mark: i literally reply more to u than i do to jaem wdym haha

You: wow fine okay

Mark: ?????

You: i guess i deserve that haha

Mark: im tired y/n. night.

You: :( nighttt

You checked your messages for the nth time, reading everything as if something was gonna miraculously change with the cold conversation thread. Your fingers have been hovering over the keypad, typing and deleting ‘i miss you’ and ‘talk to me’ for about a hundred times already.

You don’t get why you can’t just say it. What’s so wrong with telling your best friend you miss him? Why is it so hard to press send? Why are you suddenly so afraid of how he would reply or if he would even reply at all?

It was only 10:30 in the evening. You know for sure Mark is only lying about going to sleep. He never sleeps this early unless he really is tired. He does nothing on Sundays so he can’t possibly be tired. Sundays are usually just the two of you hanging out in his apartment or yours, just to watch movies or study together. So what did he do today?

“Stop thinking about him,” you grumbled to yourself. “It’s just Mark. He’s a big boy, he can handle himself.”

But that’s not the point, a voice inside your head said. Just tell him you miss him.

You typed it again, ‘I miss you,’ but deleted it as soon as it was finished. Again.

You’ve spent everyday with Mark that it suddenly hurts to think he’s enjoying the time you usually spend together alone. It’s crazy how you can’t stop thinking about how his day went or if he’s okay or whether he’s eaten or not. You know how stubborn he can be. Sometimes, he’d get so engulfed in whatever he’s doing that he would accidentally skip meals unless you remind him otherwise.

“Fuck this,” you muttered to yourself. You figured you won’t ever be left at peace if you don’t do anything about whatever you’re feeling, so you decided to text Jaemin.

Sunday, 10:52 PM

You: jaeeem hi :)

Jaemin: y/n!!!!! hello :>

You: sorry for bothering you but have you talked to mark lately?

Jaemin: im talking to him rn haha why? you want me to ask him something?

You: not really hahaha how is he?

Jaemin: haha why not ask him yourself

You: he doesnt wanna talk to me lol pls just answer

Jaemin: he’s stubborn as always. he wont listen to me.

You: why, what’s he doing?

Jaemin: idk but it’s definitely not talking to you ksjdjkd

You: … very funny

Jaemin: sorry lmaooo he’s running on an hour or two of sleep everyday

You: jaemin!! why won’t you scold him?

Jaemin: we do! he just doesn’t listen. u know he only listens to you.

Jaemin: idk why you guys still arent together lmao bunch of idiots tbh

You: we’re just friends

Jaemin: rlly? oh btw mark hyung is looking for his save the bees shirt. did u see it anywhere?

You: yeah he left it here like two weeks ago when he slept over

Jaemin: LMAOOO DOESNT SOUND LIKE FRIENDS TO ME CHIEF

You: i fckingskjfhfn hate you

Jaemin: HJSJSHHDJD ok but seriously tho mark hyung is fine. just give him time, he’ll come around.

Jaemin: he misses you but u didnt hear it from me

Jaemin: ok bye he’s getting suspicious now lol

You: idk how you’re both an angel and the devil at the same time

You: anw thanks jaem. dont tell him i asked about him lol byeee

You sighed, putting your phone down in surrender. Your mind was more of a mess now than it was before you talked to Jaemin. You hate that he makes sense especially about the weird, more-than-friendly dynamics of your relationship with Mark. But more importantly, your head was beginning to be overfilled with worry.

Mark runs on barely two hours of sleep everyday. No wonder he always looks so out of it whenever you see him in the hallway. You wanted to call him, to tell him that he should sleep already, to remind him that he shouldn’t overwork himself, that doing just enough is okay. But you know he doesn’t want to talk to you. The cold replies and the ‘????’ were more than enough to tell you that.

Still, you figured it was worth a try sending him a little reminder. So you grabbed your phone once again and typed a message, revealing a little more of your emotions than you intended to. And before you could even think twice about it, you hit send.

Sunday, 11:04 PM

You: hey i know you’re still not asleep. dont worry, you dont have to reply to me. i just wanna tell you that you should take care of yourself. i know you. you’re stubborn and sometimes you won’t sleep or eat unless someone reminds you to so,, this is me reminding you haha. stop overworking yourself mark, please? you cant be sick cause i cant take care of you since you wont talk to me… lol jk. but seriously, get more rest (and talk to me,, hahah jk again unless u wanna ;)) please go to sleep now. goodnight. see you around i guess.

You stopped texting Mark after that. You wondered if he would find the initiative to talk to you first if you didn’t start the conversation. Now, two days have passed and your sleep reminder remains to be the last message on your conversation thread. You couldn’t say it didn’t hurt. You were hoping for at least a small thanks but didn’t get anything at all.

You were starting to get more and more frustrated as the days went by. It’s so unfair that you are slowly losing your best friend because of this. It’s unfair that you can’t even be mad at him because you just broke his heart. You wished there was any way you could have changed what happened, but the past remains to be written.

That afternoon, you passed by one of the cafes you and Mark always go to. You went inside, suddenly craving their special banana muffin which he introduced to you some months ago. The owner recognized you right away as you came up to the cashier.

“You’re not with your boyfriend today?” she asked.

You felt your heart skip a beat and not in a good way. It hurt. You figured there was no use in explaining since she probably won’t believe that Mark is not your boyfriend so you just smiled sadly and answered, “No.”

The lady somehow talked you into buying two muffins so you can bring one to your “boyfriend.” After handing her your payment, you realized maybe that wasn’t such a bad idea. Mark always brings you stuff whenever you’re mad or upset. He knows exactly what you’re craving for even before you knew you were craving for it. Why not try if it works on him?

As soon as you headed out the cafe, you whipped your phone out to text Jaemin, asking if he knew where Mark was. It’s Tuesday, his most free day of the week so he could be anywhere. Jaemin replied not after five minutes.

Jaemin: not sure but he mentioned something about the library??

You: okay thank you!

From that, you knew exactly where Mark is. There was a small patio-like spot beside the library that he likes going to. Not a lot of people utilize the place since the tables and chairs are almost always filled with dried fallen leaves from the surrounding trees but Mark likes the thought of being close to nature.

That day though, there were more people around the area than usual. It was lunchtime so most people were out of the classrooms. Still, it wasn’t hard spotting Mark. It has never been much of a challenge finding him in a crowd of people. You saw him as soon as he came into view, sitting by the table on the corner under one of the ginkgo trees. He had his laptop open and a box of food beside it. His eyebrows furrowed in concentration one moment and then he was laughing the next.

You were about to make your way towards him but immediately stopped in your tracks when you realized he wasn’t alone.

You didn’t know who the girl was. You’ve seen her a lot of times in class and in the hallway. You even have a vague memory of Mark talking to her one time. But you never really bothered to learn her name. She had that soft, innocent look that goes so well with her shy smile. She had her hair tucked in her ears to show just enough of her pretty face. She was beautiful. Unconventionally but undeniably. But none of that mattered.

When she said something with a smirk and Mark let out his trademark laugh, nose scrunching, hand repeatedly hitting the table, shoulders shaking and all, it felt like something punched you in the stomach. He uttered something in reply and now both of them are clutching their sides for laughing too hard.

He looks happy, you thought, I should be, too.

But you aren’t. You continued watching their exchange, him showing her something on his laptop and both of them laughing once again. Your chest felt heavy, like something was sitting on it and now it hurts to breathe. You didn’t realize you’ve been clutching the plastic bag containing the muffin too hard until you felt the sting of nails digging on your palms. You knew you should look away but you couldn’t. You wanted to run towards him. You wanted to tell the girl to scooch over so you can sit beside Mark and give him his muffin.

This is pathetic. I should be happy for him, you said to yourself. But why am I not?

You wanted to be angry, to scream and say that it should be you he’s laughing like that with. To say that it’s you he should be spending his time with. You wanted to ask if he still feels the way he said he does about you. And if he does, then why this? But you remained glued to the ground.

You hated how you were being selfish. You rejected him, remember? So why do you expect him to follow your tails like an intoxicated mad dog? Why can’t you be happy at the possibility that he found someone that feels the same way he does? Why does it… hurt? It’s not supposed to. If you really are friends, then him being happy with someone after your rejection should make you happy as well. If you really are friends, then you shouldn’t be standing here looking stupid, watching them from afar, wishing he’s with you instead.

“What are you looking at?”

You jumped at the sudden disruption, almost dropping your muffins. “What the hell, Jaemin?!” you whined, finally looking away from Mark.

“Mark hyung and Mina?” he snorted.

So that’s her name. “No,” you lied, forcing yourself to take a step away, then another, then another.

“Are you jealous?” Jaemin teased. “Have you finally realized you’re also whipped for our hyung?”

“No,” you grumbled.

“Then why are you almost crying?”

You blinked. You didn’t even realize the tears pooling in your eyes. Why are you being like this? “Shut up. I’m not.”

Jaemin only shrugged. “Fine. Torture yourself, then.” He smirked. “By the way, Jeno and I are inviting people to our place this Friday after exams. Just some drinks and maybe karaoke, I don’t know. We all deserve a break from hell. Wanna come?”

You didn’t reply. Your mind was too preoccupied with other things.

“Mark hyung is coming,” he said. “Maybe Mina too.”

“I don’t wanna go,” you said immediately, suddenly coming up with a decision.

The boy laughed. “You are jealous! God, I love it when you prove yourself wrong. You shouldn’t be though. You already know he likes you.”

“I’m not jealous! Stop it,” you whined, really wanting to cry this time. Everything is so frustrating and Jaemin is not being of any help. You wanted to go home and just wrap yourself in your blanket and maybe one of Mark’s hoodies.

“Then come to our place this Friday. It’s gonna be fun.” He grinned.

“Fine. Whatever. Just get away from me, you little shit,” you said, kicking him lightly in the butt.

You didn’t know if it was a lie or not but if Mark really is seeing someone now, you just didn’t like the idea of seeing them flirt with each other in front of your eyes. Even the thought of it makes you want to pull all your hair out. Is that considered jealousy? If so, why are you feeling it for someone who’s supposed to be just a friend?

Thursday came and you found yourself crying after realizing the shirt you’ve been wearing the whole day was Mark’s. No wonder he looked surprised seeing you in the hallway. He looked away immediately though, acting as if you weren’t there. It didn’t even cross your mind since you use this shirt quite a lot.

After calming yourself down, you put your playlist on shuffle and cried some more after Friends by Ed Sheeran started playing. You didn’t even realize how fitting the song was for your situation until now. Mark probably did.

You remembered him singing that song once. The two of you were just lounging in his apartment. He was playing his guitar while you pretended to study when in reality you were just looking at him. You watched as his fingers plucked and strummed the guitar strings while he softly mumbled lyrics, head bobbing to the tune. He’s good. Unsurprisingly, since he’s good at everything.

When he realized you were staring at him, he turned his head slightly to meet your eyes, one side of his lips curling up into a smirk. “No, my friends won’t love me like you do,” he sang.

You looked away, your cheeks heating up almost immediately. It was hard to focus on your readings when he’s sitting right in front of you looking like that, singing like that. You sighed. He truly was never being subtle about how he felt.

After finishing the song, Mark put his guitar down and laid his head on your lap, not even bothering to ask if it’s okay. That’s how comfortable you were with each other.

“What are you doing?” You remember whining.

“Wake me up after 15 minutes,” he said, already closing his eyes. You took a photo of him that night. He’s cute when he’s asleep. Even cuter when you look at him up close.

Of course, you just had to search your camera roll to find the photo. When you did, it felt as if a storm was raging on your stomach and a gorilla was pounding on your chest. It never dawned to you just how much it hurts that he suddenly left you alone until that moment.

“Goddamn, I miss you so much,” you muttered, looking at his peaceful expression in the photo.

And then you cried some more. You feel lost.

All you wanted to do was curl up in his arms and inhale his scent and listen to how his day went (and maybe accidentally fall asleep together). It sucks because you really had no one else to turn to. The single person who has always been your safe place doesn’t want to talk to you and even if he did, you really wouldn’t know what to say. Perhaps friends really aren’t like that. The thought of everyone being right when they said that maybe you and Mark were never really just friends has never been stronger than it was tonight.

Still, you couldn’t be bothered to sort your feelings out.

He feels like home, you thought. It was the best way to explain the sense of comfort and safety and the feeling of being more than enough that he provides you. It’s the only thing you can think of when your mind drifts to how he is always the constant person that you run to at the end of the day. But friends can feel like home, too, right?

Not to this extent. Not really.

Friday. You found yourself aimlessly roaming around the neighborhood after your classes in the hopes of distracting yourself from your feelings or whatever the hell they’re supposed to be called. You wouldn’t have remembered Jaemin’s party if you didn’t happen to pass by their apartment building.

You stood in front of it for two solid minutes, contemplating whether to go or not.

Mark might be there, you thought. With everything that’s going on in your head and with all the mess happening in your chest, would it really be a good idea to see him? You thought maybe all these things you’re feeling are just a result of missing him. All these sadness and confusion might just be because you miss your best friend.

So you entered the building. You told yourself that you’ll try talking to him again this time, no matter how stubborn he’s going to be. And if it still doesn’t change anything, then you will take it as a sign to let him go. If not forever, then at least for now.

You reached the door to Jaemin and Jeno’s apartment. Even from the outside, the sound of the bass can already be heard. You wondered how long before the neighbors would file a complaint against them, but knowing Jaemin and Jeno, their neighbors are probably inside, partying with them right now.

Before entering, you looked down on your chest just to make sure you were wearing your own shirt and not Mark’s. It didn’t feel right wearing his stuff anymore. God, it really felt like you just broke up. Why is it like this?

You took a deep breath and opened the door. There were already a lot of people inside even if it was just 8 in the evening. Most of them, you know the faces of. You smiled to greet some and muttered a hi to others.

Renjun spotted you as soon as you came into the living room. “Y/N!” He grinned, handing you a cup of god knows what. “Jaemin said he invited you but we were all pretty sure you were gonna ghost us. But you didn’t!”

You laughed hesitantly. “Thanks, I guess?”

“Drink up. It’s a cocktail I made myself,” he said proudly, almost forcing the cup into your mouth.

You took a sip, figuring it won’t do any harm but you spat the liquid back to the cup as soon as it touched your tongue. “What the hell did you put in this?”

He shrugged. “Honestly, I don’t know. I just mixed in everything I could find. Thanks for trying it out though. I’ve been looking for a volunteer for five minutes already.”

You frowned. There were a lot of things you were unsure of at the moment but there is one thing that’s certain: you have weird friends. You were about to complain to Renjun when he plucked the cup from your grip and went on to find another victim, not even bothering to listen when you said you literally spat on the cup.

Mark didn’t seem to be anywhere. The apartment wasn’t that big so if he was here, it would be easy to spot him. Maybe he decided not to show up after knowing you were coming. And honestly, part of you was relieved. As much as you wanted to talk to him, you still didn’t know what to say.

I’m sorry I broke your heart, but I miss you so much and I did a lot of thinking and maybe we really shouldn’t be labeled as just friends but I don’t know if I love you, is that okay? That’s just stupid. This whole thing is stupid.

You wanted to leave. Parties have never really been your thing. You usually just go because Mark asked you to since he loves interacting with people. But you figured you needed some alcohol in your system, mainly as a distraction, but also to give you a boost of courage just in case. So you made your way to the kitchen, avoiding eye contact with anyone as much as possible.

You stopped in your tracks as you came to the kitchen. The sound of that laugh was all too familiar.

Great, you thought. Mark was there. And Mina was too. But so were Jeno and Jaemin who exchanged looks as soon as their eyes landed on you. They were all laughing about something before you came.

“You’re here!” Jaemin said a little too enthusiastically in a poor attempt to address the sudden increase of tension in the room.

“Hi,” you said, smiling sheepishly, purposefully avoiding Mark’s gaze which you could feel boring into you. “Just gonna get a drink.”

“Help yourself,” Jeno said. Jaemin smirked beside him.

The refrigerator was just beside Mark. Just great, you thought again. You walked towards it, desperately trying to ignore the four pairs of eyes following your every move.

“Excuse me,” you muttered, still not looking at your best friend.

Mark took a step sideways before opening the fridge for you. You muttered a quick thanks before grabbing the first bottle your hands landed on, not even bothering to check what it was. You really just wanted to get out of there. Maybe the talking to Mark plan was flawed from the beginning because you clearly can’t find the courage in you to face him now.

Beside you, Mark clicked his tongue. He was so close that you could smell his perfume mixed with a bit of alcohol. It made your knees weak.

He took the bottle from your hand and put it back before grabbing a different one and handing it to you. “The other one had vodka. Vodkas give you a headache, remember?” he said in a slightly annoyed tone.

“Oh.” Your voice sounded small even to your own ears. Not gonna lie, you wanted to cry at that moment. “Thanks.”

You could hear Jaemin snickering behind you but you couldn’t bring it in yourself to care. You turned to everyone and said a quick goodbye before dashing out of the kitchen.

Your heart was beating hard and rapidly and not because you moved too fast. You didn’t know why but it hurt seeing Mark like that, like he was okay, like nothing changed with the two of you. It hurt knowing that even after everything, he still knows you the best.

You wanted to run. You wanted to disappear. But you couldn’t leave without passing by the kitchen. Somehow, you know someone in there would stop you. If not Mark, then definitely Jaemin. But you really wanted to be alone. So you resorted to the next best thing. You whipped your phone out and sent Jaemin a text.

You: thanks for inviting me to this party. now i feel like shit :D

Jaemin: IM SORRY BUT DONT LEAVE YET TF

You: i need to be alone and i cant leave without passing by the kitchen and seeing mark. so pls let me use your room for a while.

You: i wont do anything i promise. i just need to calm down.

Jaemin: fine but dont lock the door

You: okay thanks

The door to Jaemin’s room was at the other end of the apartment. You made your way through the noisy crowd, slipping from Renjun’s weird gimmicks when he tried to make you a victim once again, before finally reaching the quiet confines of Jaemin’s room.

The thin walls barely blocked the noise but at least there was no one else here. You sat at the edge of the bed and placed the beer bottle on the floor. You forgot you didn’t even manage to open it. So you just stared at your feet, trying to catch your breath even if you didn’t do anything. That heavy feeling on your chest was back again. It was now associated with being in Mark’s presence.

You started counting to ten to calm yourself down before burying your face on your palms, breaking down into sobs as soon as your forehead came in contact with your fingers. “God, why can’t I just…” you cried, “... admit it to myself already?”

You wanted to thrash around in the bed in frustration but you thought Jaemin didn’t deserve such a mess so you settled with getting up and lightly banging your head against the door. It’s a bad habit you do when you feel annoyed or frustrated. Mark has always been reminding you to stop before you hurt yourself.

Mark. Again. You groaned, hitting your head a little harder this time.

Someone knocked on the door making you stop. You took a step back, thinking you just imagined it. But there it was again.

“Someone’s here,” you said, trying to hide the sound of your voice breaking.

“I know. Can I come in?” It was Mark. There was no question.

Your heart started pounding on your chest once again. You wanted to tell him to go away but you couldn’t find it in yourself to do so.

He took your silence as a yes. He swung the door slightly and poked his head through the small opening. Your hands immediately flew to your face to hide the fact that you’ve been crying.

“You know, I came in here because I didn’t wanna see you when I pass by the kitchen if I leave then you come here making me look like a clown,” you said, your voice muffled by your hands.

Mark chuckled softly. “Why didn’t you wanna see me?”

You didn’t reply. Your face felt hot, not just because of the tears that just won’t stop falling but also because all the blood has come rushing to your cheeks.

Mark grabbed both your wrists and gently lowered your hands down, trying to see your face, but your head bent down as soon as it wasn’t covered. “Y/N, look at me,” he said, hands still on your wrists.

“No.”

“Are you crying?” The idiot crouched down to have a glimpse of your face making you whine and cover your face again. “Last I checked, I should be the one looking brokenhearted around here.”

“God I hate you,” you mumbled. “You ignored me for nearly four weeks and you come in here just to make fun of me.”

He let out an empty laugh. “Well, you did break my heart so…”

At that, you removed your hands from your face to look at him. You were going to say sorry but Mark had that smug look on his face that made you want to punch him. It was almost convincing if you weren’t so good at reading the real emotions in his eyes. His expression softened upon finally seeing you properly.

He looked away, not being able to hold your gaze either. That just confirmed how hard he was trying to keep up with the exterior he was showing everyone.

“I’m sorry,” you said, voice breaking.

He sighed. “I told you. It’s okay.”

“But it’s not,” you cried. “I’m sorry I hurt you. I didn’t realize how easy it was to misread what we had because let’s face it, we don’t act like ‘just friends.’ I’m sorry because I was too blind to see how you felt even when you weren’t really trying to hide it. I’m sorry because even though I rejected you, I was so selfish that I still wanted to keep you for myself without realizing that you probably needed to be away from me to move on. I’m sorry because…” you swallowed.

Mark was just looking at you, eyebrows slightly raised in anticipation of what you were going to say next. You missed him. You missed that cute face of his. You missed being in his presence. You missed his voice and his laugh and how he loves teasing you even if he probably feels like shit inside. You missed everything. Four weeks have been too long without each other. Four weeks is too long without your best friend. Four weeks is too long without your home. And that’s when you realized…

“... I can’t let you go. And I might be too late, but I’m sorry that I only just realized why.”

“Why?” he asked.

It was a simple question. Why? Yet it managed to carve out every single feeling you’ve ever felt for this boy. Every little moment he made you laugh. Every small heartbreak you get when he fails to keep his tiny promises. Every single night you ‘accidentally’ fell asleep next to each other. Every ounce of fulfillment you get when you finally convince him to sleep after a long day. Every goodnight. Every good morning. Everything.

“I love you,” you said. It sounded almost like an exhale.

For a moment, Mark didn’t reply. Your head immediately started swarming with unwelcomed thoughts. Maybe you were too late. You almost forgot about Mina who he seems to be having an excellent time with. Maybe he managed to move on within those four weeks. It’s possible, right? You had your chance and you missed it.

Finally, Mark let out a laugh, his head falling down to look at the floor. “I told you you didn’t have to say it back,” he said, voice soft.

You shook your head. “I’m not saying it because you said it first,” you said. “I realize this might be the worst timing but I just thought you should know you weren’t the only one being stupid enough to fall for their best friend. I was just too dumb to realize that that’s what it was.”

“Why would it be the worst timing?” He frowned.

You felt like crying again. You really wish you had some alcohol in your system right now. Why is this whole confession thing taking so long? “‘Cause you’re dating Mina? Or trying to. I don’t know. I tried not keeping tabs on you because our friends are assholes who wouldn’t stop teasing me. She’s pretty, by the way. You two look good together.”

Mark laughed again. It was raw and real this time, and god, the way your chest tightened in endearment at the sound was so pure. “You thought me and Mina are dating?”

“Aren’t you? I’ve seen you guys together a lot.” Well, once. But you tend to overestimate things.

“No!” He snorted. “Jaemin and I are trying to get her and Jeno together. If anything, she made me realize that we definitely aren’t just friends.”

“Really?” Now you just feel stupid. But what else is new? It’s all you’ve been feeling lately. Come to think of it, Mark and Mina didn’t even come close to how you two act with each other.

“Really,” he said. “Friends don’t stay at each other’s place and cuddle with each other just to fall asleep, Y/N. Besides, I said I love you, didn’t I? Did you really think that’s just gonna go away that quickly?”

“Mark, I can’t even sort my feelings out. How am I supposed to figure out how yours work?” You sighed.

“Fine. Just to be clear, I still love you. Even if you don’t, I love you,” he said, taking both your hands and placing it on his shoulder before putting his on your waist.

“But I do.”

“Say it then.”

“I love you. Even if you’re the dorkiest person I know, I love you.” Your fingers tangled themselves in his hair. You’ve run your hands through his hair so many times before. You wondered why it never crossed your mind that you liked doing it not because his hair is soft but because you were sucker for the domestic feeling of it.

Mark couldn’t stop himself from smiling that he had to bury his face at the crook of your neck. “I’m not used to this, sorry.”

“Me neither,” you laughed.

When he finally composed himself, he pulled away just enough to look at you. All those times you’ve stood this close before does not even compare to how it’s like right now. This is the perfect mix of feeling new but familiar.

“You have no idea how many mornings I fought the urge to kiss you whenever we wake up next to each other,” he said in a soft voice.

“Well, nothing’s stopping you know, is there?” you muttered, eyes fluttering to his lips.

You pulled Mark down by the neck as he pulled you closer to him, your lips finally connecting. The idea of kissing him isn’t new to you. There were so many times before that you’ve found yourself inches away from his face and slamming your lips together wouldn’t have been such a bad idea. But this is the first you actually kissed him yet he felt so familiar that you were almost sure you’ve done this a million times before. His lips were soft against yours that it made you weak in the knees. If he weren’t holding onto you like he was, you probably would’ve crumpled already.

The two of you pulled away, breathless.

“Wow,” he breathed. “That didn’t even come close to how I imagined it would feel like.”

You laughed. “This whole night didn’t come close to how I imagined it would be like. I thought you were gonna keep on ignoring me. And honestly, I wouldn’t know how to cope anymore because I really, really miss you already. So thanks for saving me.”

“Stop making me blush. I don’t know how I can possibly love you more than this.”

You rolled your eyes but you couldn’t stop yourself from smiling. This was only one of the very few times that the reality went better than your expectations. But then again, maybe you and Mark have always been meant to happen. It was happening even before you realized it was. And now that you finally managed to sort how you both felt, there was no more wasting chances.

“Do I still have to ask you to be my girlfriend?” he asked.

“We’ve literally slept in the same bed so many times. I’d be more surprised if we’re not dating already,” you joked.

Mark grinned. “You’re literally the only one who didn’t realize that until today, but it’s okay, I still love you.”

You laughed. “Wanna go outside and pretend we didn’t make up? I’m 100% sure Jaemin betted on us.”

“I worry how your mind works sometimes, Y/N,” Mark said with a frown before kissing you on the forehead. “But let’s do it.”

You smiled. You’ve said it a lot but you really missed this proximity. You missed being able to hug him whenever you want, and now you can kiss him whenever you want too. You wanted to say you could get used to this, but the thing is… you already are.

#y/n is a clown here read at your own risk #BUT PLS ENJOY CAUSE I DID #dhjdkjfhdfk i should stop writing about mark #nct au #nct imagines #mark lee imagines #mark lee #nct mark au #nct prompts #nct blurbs #soft nct hours #sad nct hours #nct fluff au #nct angst au #nct dream au #nct 127 au

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dothewrite · 7 years

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sooo i read all of ur scenarios literally under 30 minutes and i loved one of the first ones u did where their s/o thought the guys were gonna hit her? (is that worrying that i liked that) i mean i liked it in a sense that the guys reassured her etc and i was thinking if you could either do reactions or a scenario to when kuroo, oikawa, iwai, kyoutani and suga hit their s/o in the heat of the moment during a fight? like it doesnt have to be a heavy hit or just a harsh shove or something

I’m sorry for taking literal months to do this, and thank you for your patience! I took a more boys-oriented perspective this time, so I’m not quite sure this turned out how my original post was, but I hope you enjoy it anyway.

He knows he playsrough sometimes. Kuroo’s not a naturally harsh person and to him, you’rethe one person besides his family that he holds closest to his heart because ofhow well you two fit together. The only way he knows how to go about that is tokeep you as close to him as possible and do his best to make your days a littlebrighter, a little happier.

Any dreams about himbeing your saving grace vanishes the moment he sees your expression when youfold into yourself at an angle, winded from the heavy hit of his arm againstyour collar. It’s not a punch, he knows, it’s not a slap either, but it’s contactthat’s hard enough to bruise and his image is beginning to blur from the sheenof tears that well up against your will.

“Shit-” hestarts forwards, his arm reaching out to you but it freezes in its place whenyou level it with an icy glare. Kuroo lets it drop to his side, limp anduseless, much like his mind, and his mouth opens and closes, mute and withapologies that struggle to surface all at once. He picks one, but it’sinadequate no matter how he turns it over over on his tongue.

“I’m sorry, I didn’tmean to,” he attempts, insistent and desperate, “fuck, how bad did Ihurt you?”

There’s all bone andlittle meat on you, and the imprint of his knuckles grows a little pink on theedge of purple against the bare part of your chest. It looks like you gotmauled, even if nothing on your face will give away the pain, he imagines thaton himself and winces. Kuroo’s too afraid to spook you further so he staysstock still, but he aches inside when you take a protective step back from him.

“I’m okay.” You say,and his heart cracks from how readily you tell him. “I’ve had worse.”

“That…” he’s lost.He sees you shutting down in front of him, retreating back to some time whenthis was a regular occurrence- exactly what he wanted to save you from. “I’m sorry,I’m really sorry.”

You glance down atthe purple blossoming across your skin, and almost casually, you run a fingerover it. “It’s going to bruise,” you comment. Kuroo winces again at howcareless you sound, like it was nothing- like he was nothing, just arandom stranger who passed by and rammed their bag against you by accident.

It’s too obviousthat it’s not nothing, not when he shifts forwards, and you shift backwards.Almost in tandem; a dance where he’ll never be able to catch you back from whereveryou’re falling into again. He remembers the bruises you used to have that youcouldn’t explain, and he’s just given you another one, and although it’sunreasonable and he’s always reasonable, he feels the blame for allthose bruises that have ever come to pass fall onto his shoulders. It’s heavy,and he strains underneath it.

“I think we shouldtake a break,” you say as if this was a debate, rather than the discussion thatwould make or break everything, “I’m going to find some ointment, or something.”

You want to leave,he can see it in your eyes and the brusque way your mouth twists and yourforehead furrows- he doesn’t blame you, but he can’t. Kuroo already feels as ifhe’s suffocating, and something screams at him that if he lets you go throughthose doors, some part of the two of you will never come back.

“Wait-” he urges- hedoesn’t care about the way you flinch when his hand wraps around yours, nor theway you look avoid his eyes and stare at the part where the two of you touchlike it’s an infection- he presses tighter, until he can feel your pulseunderneath his fingers, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m really sorry.”

You say nothing, andhe comes closer.

“Will you,” healmost mumbles, and Kuroo never mumbles, “sit; I’ll get you something forthat.”

He doesn’t take hiseyes off you even when you sink onto the sofa, and he comes back with some ofhis muscle injury cream cradled in his hands. It’s cold when he dips hisfingers in and traces the ointment along the edges of your bruise and youshiver. It’s a small thing, just a tremble, but it’s strong enough to shake himtoo, and he’s hugging you before either of you feel the warmth.

“I’m sorry,” herepeats, and his chest thuds the same pattern of words against yours, “pleasebelieve me.”

He takes in thefirst breath in hours when he feels your own arms slowly, wrap around his backin return.

You don’t feel thepain until his grip relaxes- his broad hand wrapped around a frail lookingwrist of yours, pale from the sudden lack of circulation and your gaze follows Iwaizumi’sto your hand. He lets go as if he’s electrocuted, and your arm dropsunceremoniously back to your side as if it had never risen at all, save for theugly red mark around it in the shape of a handprint. A deliberatehandprint, and all that’s on his face is horror.

No, not at the thingthat’s marring your skin- he doesn’t believe that anything could ever mar you-but at his calloused, careless hand that put it there in the first place.

Brute,the voice in his head offers with a smugness that he wants to tear apart, allyou can do is spike, now look what you’ve done.

“Hajime?”

He doesn’t hear,because he refuses to be the one comforted right now- it just isn’t right.Iwaizumi has yet to look into your face to find out what kind of expression youhave on, but he has an inkling of what his looks like. Possibly as ugly as hefeels in this moment.

“I’m sorry,” hecroaks, voice low and harsh and it sounds more like an accusation than anapology, “I didn’t realize I was hurting you.”

“It’s alright-” youbegin, but whatever you’re saying isn’t registering, “I mean, it hurts but Iknow-”

“-I’m going to go,”he interrupts, and you find yourself at a loss for words because this is thefirst time you’ve seen Iwaizumi, the certain, always strong and steadyIwaizumi, look like the spirit of regret painted on a human face. You nod,because that’s the only thing you can do, and he feels grateful that at leasthe can bow out with a modicum of composure. The door closes behind him with amuted click, and he disappears down the staircase.

Perhaps it’s notwhat you deserve, nor is it the best conflict resolution, but he avoids you forthe next few days. It’s a challenge, because you’re acting like nothing’shappened, like it was a mistake and you even smile at him in the hallways, buthe can’t bring himself to return them. Nobody asks about why the two of youaren’t spending time around each other much, and Iwaizumi doesn’t notice thelooks either- he walks with his head hung low, his hands in his pockets, andfeeling entirely too downcast to return your smile.

What he does,however, is leave small things (ointment, snacks, post-it notes, sports drinks,bandages) where he knows you’ll find them throughout the day. He simply isn’tthe type to wallow in self-pity for long, but there’s something that alwaysholds him back, like he’s proven himself unworthy, from talking to you again,and he can’t help but be bitter about his lack of apology the day it happened.There’s no good way he can go about it, and even when he writes the post-itnotes, the emotions are kept bursting at the edge of the pen, and all hemanages to leave are instructions.

It hits day fourwhen he returns to his apartment to see you sitting cross-legged on asecond-hand bar stool, sipping a glass of his orange gatorade. There’s abandage on your wrist- the brand that he’d left by your desk a few days priorin silence- but he allows himself to pull away from that and meet your eyes.They’re a lot softer than he had anticipated, and his heart clenches at thetraces of forgiveness already given.

“Hey,” you offer awarm smile, “welcome home. I missed you.”

This was all what hewas supposed to say, yet they’ve found their way to him from your lips, andthere’s no battling against the tired laugh that pulls itself from his mouth.It’s half-hearted, exhausted, but it leaves a hint of a smile on both yourfaces because it’s better than nothing- better than radio silence for fourdays.

“Hello,” the wordfeels awfully unfamiliar in his ears, and he wishes he could say it a few timesagain for practice before you heard it. Still, he can’t deny the way he relaxeswhen he sees you, even if he’s unmoving as he watches you stand up and walkover to wrap him in a tight hug. “How’s your wrist?” He asks slowly, not quitesure if it’s him who needs the extra seconds, or you.

He can feel yoursmile against his shoulder. “It’s a bit bruised,” you answer, “but it’ll befine, with your ointment and your bandages.”

“Good,” he breathes,and lets it travel its course as you pull back to glance up into his somberface.

“It was anaccident,” you tell him again, “I’m alright, Hajime. I know you didn’t meanit.”

He takes your wristin his hands after a long moment, and turns it over with light fingers. Whenyou don’t pull away, and he doesn’t tense, he finally sighs, and nods with atentative smile.

Oikawa knowshe isn’t famous for his patience, but it’s hitting a record low when you’rewaving that piece of paper around in the air like it’s the fucking revolutionand why won’t you agree with him? It’s a close battle between angrytears and icy looks between the two of you, and he could be chanting somethingfrom a demon summoning and you wouldn’t be able to hear because your furiousvoice is ringing in his ears and he wants you to shut up.

He can’t force yourchin up so the sounds stop blaring, so he does the second closest thing. It’seasy as kicking a child because that’s what his biceps are built for, hittingthings, so he aims, reaches and with a satisfying slap, he smacks the piece ofpaper out of your hands.

He feels mutinous atthe way it flutters to the floor. He thinks it should sink, sink like thestupid weight that it is, but when he glances up at you with smug satisfactionthat there’s no more goddamn paper-whipping anymore, you’re several shadespaler than when he had looked down.

Oikawa frowns, andlooks down against for good measure. “It’s just a piece of paper,” he says. Hewants to snap, because frankly this whole fight over chores is ridiculous, buthe can’t quite bring himself to sound cruel when you’re looking like he hadjust hit you.

He pales too. Well, fuck.

“Okay,” you reply,voice brittle and Oikawa can’t even remember what you’re replying to in thefirst place. “I got your message.”

He presses his lipstogether and marvels reluctantly over how composed and chilly you sound,because all he can see are wide eyes are tears and trembling lips. There’s onlytwo feet of air between him and smoothing all those creases away with hisfingers, but he doesn’t. It’s two feet he can’t find it in himself to cross.

“I wasn’t going tohit you, if that’s what you thought,” Oikawa tells you sharply, and your facecrumples further until all he can see is the ghost of the features that oncesmiled at him so brightly.

“You might as wellhave,” your voice tiptoes on the edge between sorrow and bitterness, and if theapartment wasn’t empty besides the two of you, he would have barely caught thewords, breathed out and never to be retrieved.

He watches wordlesslyas you turn away from him to pick up the abandoned paper and you smooth it invain against the length of your jeans. The sheet of paper feels infinitelyheavier now than when you had pulled it off the fridge, and you carry it backto your room and you turn the corner, out of sight, without another word said.

Oikawa finds himselftongue-tied and helpless, unable to come up with a single word about theredness of your hand. This is ridiculous, he repeats to himself, astupid argument over stupid things, and for a moment he pulls his backupright and he believes that you’re both better people than this. The firststep back towards the kitchen feels like shifting against Jupiter’s gravity,and his knees tremble when he sees the pile of dishes in the sink. You chosethose dishes together, preferring a whole set instead of odd additions in yournew apartment. Shared apartment.

Oikawa spares thedoor to your room a second glance. It’s not shut, and the weight of its silencewelcome sears into his back long after he’s turned back around.

Maybe he should washthem. The paper says it’s his turn, but he’s so tired from the long day afterpractice and class and he feels the familiar burn of indignation bubbling inhis chest, but it’s dies down when he sees the empty spot where the timetableshould be. Now it’s in your hands, in your room where you’re alone, and ifOikawa stops ranting to himself for a second, there’s the sound of muted cryingin the form of great, heaving breaths.

He picks up the lastclean mug on the rack, and fills it with the last of the coffee. Even if hisbare feet make no noise against the soft carpeted floor, if he can feel thevibrations, you can too. The laborious breathing slows when he approaches thedoorway, and Oikawa can feel your eyes on him long before he summons enoughcourage to meet them with his. A few more steps, just a few more, and you payno attention to the steaming mug set beside your lamp and Oikawa picks up yourhand in both of his and rubs over the soft ridges of your bones with carefulthumbs.

“Does it hurt?” Hemumbles guiltily. Your chilly silence doesn’t pause for air, and Oikawa acceptsthe answer for what it is. After all, he never was the brave one. That was allyou.

So he does the onlything he knows how without losing his nerve; he throws his arms around youbefore you can spot the angry tears running down his face too, and cries hisapologies into the dip of your sweater that you had stolen from his wardrobe.He can feel your muscles freeze from each brush he presses against you, but heholds on, like his Peleus to your Thetis, until his misery moves you toforgiveness.

The apology goesunsaid, having seeped thoroughly into dampness in your clothes, and you holdhim back.

His fist connectswith a solid crunch, and the familiar feeling of catharsis and righteousfury settles itself deep in his bones and Kyoutani sinks backwards onhis heels, readying himself for retaliation.

It’s not that hedoesn’t understand- he does, he’s been told about this countless times by hisfriends, his family, his teachers- but it doesn’t register in his mind until hedoesn’t get the punch he’s expecting from you, but you’re sitting, unmoving, onthe cool wooden floor and a shaking hand cupped to your cheek like a brokenbird. You’re crying, and his clenched fingers relax against his palm. Heconsiders offering a hand, but that’s too out of character, to strange for thiswhole argument that had been going exactly the way he had expected it to, untilnow.

“You’re crying,” hesays out loud, for your benefit, he thinks, but the only response is a brokensob and Kyoutani finds he can’t discern if it’s from pain or if it’s fromsadness. Thinking about the latter makes his chest hurt, and he’s lost; thishas never happened before. It isn’t supposed to be like this- it’s not hisfirst punch, for fuck’s sake, so what the hell was happening?

“Fuck you,” he hearsyou spit, and his fist tightens once again but his chest doesn’t stop hurting.In fact, it hurts more, but you’re rising to your feet with hatred scorchingthe edges of your gaze and you’ve stormed away before he can reach out to you.Reach out to ask you: why does it still ache?

Kyoutani makes nomove to follow you. He chooses to sink into the empty sofa instead, blinking atthe frame of your television and letting his mind rummage through his memoriesto find a reason why this was all going south. He’d asked his seniors before,and they had all told him that arguments were part of a relationship. Okay, hegot that part. So this was nothing out of the ordinary. Yet, minutes turn intohours, and he blinks again to realize that it’s past sunset and it’s too darkfor him to count the number of books on your shelf for the fifteenth time. Atleast he knows that most of his anger is gone, and his confusion paving way formore concise thought and he makes his way to the kitchen, flicking on a lightwhen he passes it.

This too, is afamiliar process as his he feels his fingers numb as he drops the ice cubesinto a plastic bag lying around and he ties a knot around it with the type ofease that only comes with practice. It’s possible there’d be bruising by now,and although ice wouldn’t make it any easier to look at, at least it would dullthe pain. Unlike his own.

He carries it to thebalcony where you sit, solemn underneath a set of dim lights from the apartmentnext door and holds out in offering without a word.

You take it, alsowithout a word. It’s late to soothe much, but the throbbing subsides and althoughyour fingers feel so cold they’re about to freeze off, you steadfastly keep thebag pressed against your cheek. You haven’t bothered to look into a mirror yetand no matter what you find, you know that it’ll pale in comparison to what’salready been done.

Kyoutani’s no closerto an answer outside than he was inside, but he keeps his feet still where heis and sways as the clock ticks the seconds passing. There’s nothing exchanged,but he feels like he’s on a stand, being judged by one who has his fate tied tothe noose. It strikes him that perhaps, this isn’t something he can fight hisway out of.

“I’m sorry.” It’srash and sounds more like a threat than anything, but he knows he’s on theright track when the pressure eases from his ribs. “I- It probably wasn’t agood idea. To punch you.”

“You think?”

Kyoutani shrinks,and his head ducks low. “This feels like admitting defeat,” he confesses.

“It’s not a fuckingbattle,” you snarl, your roles reversed, and Kyoutani takes a step back.

“Y-yeah,” hebreathes, and the ache rushes back anew, only now it isn’t from confusion, butrealization. If he thought that talking was difficult before, it’s a hundredtimes more unwilling now. “I’m sorry,” he offers again, this time genuine,enlightened, and he backs out of the small space to give you back yours.

Suga’svoice of reason tells him that it wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t what he intended,he didn’t want to hurt you, but the thrumming in his blood overwhelmsthe small voice that pleads from somewhere he’d hidden behind bars for the timebeing. You were his voice of reason, you were what allowed him to be the dotingone, the silly one, the one who made you laugh at the worst times, but rightnow he can’t even bear to look at you.

He can only imaginehow much that hurt you- another thing he didn’t intend, but it’s happeninganyway and Suga’s screwing everything up so badly that he wants to beat himselfup and never see the light of day again. He can hear his mother knock on thedoor, asking if he’d like some food, but he can only muster enough energy togive her a weak dismissal. Her footsteps fade away slowly, like she’s turningback to stare worriedly at his door every two steps.

The stupid thing is,it’s been two days, and he still hasn’t been able to bring himself to show upanywhere near you yet. Each time any of his friends mention your name, all hecan remember is the way he had slammed you into the wall, a weak grunt and thedeafening silence that followed because it had been an accident, like he hadsaid, but there was such condemnation in both of your faces in that splitsecond that Suga thinks he’ll never, ever be able to forget.

So much forprotecting his girlfriend, for whatever he had promised when he had asked todate you.

He pushes back his coversfor a small pocket of air to finds its way into his cave of misery, and severalbuzzes comes from his abandoned phone by his desk. It’s with cold, clammy handshe reaches out and swipes to read them from the corner of his vision.

You need to see her,Suga, comes Daichi’s logical voice, you owe her atleast that.

She hasn’t said morethan two sentences to me, Noya’s message is seeped withfrenzy, are you guys still okay???

Suga, come on.Asahi’s message is the most damning of all of them, and Suga drowns in shame ofhis own making.

I’m sorry, hebegins to type, but deletes it quickly. I hope you’re alright, heamends, are you at home right now? He presses send, and waiting for yourreply feels like waiting for a jury’s judgement.

I’m at home,his phone buzzes and his gut sinks to his knees, are you coming over? I’lltidy up for you.

His hair’s more of amess than your place could ever be, but he makes the effort and after a jogthat strains at his calves more from the anxiety than the run, his knuckles rapon your door in jerky movements that feel like a stranger’s.

“Hi,” it’s watery,but it’s you on the other side of the thin space between the two of you andSuga can’t quite believe that you’re the one with the stammer and the nervousshaking in your hand. It takes more than he has, but he reaches out, and holdsit between his own just to stop the trembling.

You still, for amoment, but with your tenuous grip on each other, he’s guided with undeservinggentleness onto the empty sofa.

“Sorry-“ you begin,and he’s startled that it’s coming from you and not him. “I didn’t make it easyfor you to talk to me,” you smile after that, and Suga feels your breakingalign with his own, “will you sit?”

There’s nothing thatcould keep him from obeying you. He perches on the edge of the seat he didn’trealize he missed, and Suga grimaces when he bids the words come to his lips,and finds the call ignored. He takes another deep breath, and although he’ssure that they’ll be lacking, he drums up his own to give you instead.

“I shouldn’t haveavoided you,” his eyes drop to the slump your shoulders slide into, and herealizes that it must still hurt, “did I make you bruise?”

“Just a little,” youadmit, “but it was an accident, Koushi. I told you, remember? Before you shutdown and vanished.”

“Yeah, but-“

“You said sorry,”you press on with a firm tone; Suga knows when he’s outmatched, “that was thefirst thing you said, so it’s okay, apology accepted, alright?”

He doubts that he’llever feel alright about being physically angry ever again, but in the face ofsuch acceptance, there’s nothing he can do but capitulate, and clutches ontoyour hand as if it’s you who needs saving.

You only smile atthe strength in his hold, and turn his hand over in yours to lace your fingersback together.

#kuroo tetsurou #oikawa tooru #iwaizumi hajime #kyoutani kentarou #sugawara koushi #female original character #angst #sfw #previous abuse #haikyuu scenarios #hai #haikyuu!!#haikyuu imagines #i writes the haikyuu

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