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rrxnjun · 1 year

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TAKE THE STAIRS ✲ n. jaemin

pairing. na jaemin x fem! reader starring. na jaemin, ning yizhuo genre. college au, strangers to lovers. fluff, comedy, suggestive. warnings. alcohol consumption, throwing up, swearing word count. 18k (18.666) a/n. thank you all so much for 1k followers! consider this fic a small gift of celebration

playlist. candy - baekhyun ; honey - l'arc en ciel ; take the stairs - coin ; cutie - coin ; rose-colored boy - paramore ; don't go yet - camila cabello ; hot crush lover - blu detiger ; teenage dream - 5sos (cover)

after having an unexpected guest witness the neverending quarrels with your roommate, na jaemin starts to practically live at your place— or— where yizhuo's flegmatic project partner starts to put a suspicious amout of effort into their assignment.

✲ PART 2 OF THE SIMPLIFY ROMANCE SERIES ✲

Hot droplets of water wash over you like raindrops during a heavy storm, the mirror fogging up at the hot temperature you always choose to shower your body in, fingers trailing through your hair making you finally relax after a long day at college. You spent the day presenting your project and having a test from Physics, so you only deserve a good shower. You would even consider taking a bath, but your small apartment doesn’t have a bathroom big enough to contain a bathtub, so a good, scorching hot shower will have to suffice.

Now, you are a hard worker– however, you also like to wait until the last reasonable time to start working on your project. And while you’re best friends with procrastination, stress also decided to visit you for the time being; since, again, there was not much time for you to finish your project, and so in the whole process of working on it and doing extensive research about a topic you weren’t really that interested in in the first place, you forgot to take care of yourself. You wouldn’t even notice at first– not until one day when Yizhuo glared at you with questions in her eyes from the couch, seeing you go to the convenience store at 10pm with your home slippers still on because of your distracted mind– but when you looked at yourself in the mirror after arriving from school today, the image of your sweaty face and hair so oily you could probably fry a schnitzel on the extraction of the liquid from your follicles, you must admit that you’ve been neglecting your appearance for quite some time now, and so a well deserved annual everything-shower is the only thing on your mind right now.

Reaching over to the side of the shower that has various shelves installed, taking your hair conditioner into your palms and opening up the bottle, you get ready for the familiar smell of citrus that always hits your nose and makes you smile in satisfaction; yet, no matter how hard you try, the pleasant scent doesn’t come– and neither does the actual conditioner.

Huffing, even slapping the bottom of the bottle a few times, squeezing the tube as hard as you can– you tried everything, but to no use. Thinking back to the last few weeks, you try to remember when you bought the conditioner– because you swear it hasn’t been that long. There’s no way you already ran out, you think, as your eyes scan over the various bottles of other products in your shower, opting to use something your roommate has in stash– when you notice that there is no other hair conditioner in the shower, which makes the gears in your brain click in realization.

Sighing, you finish showering as you prepare your mental tangent in your brain. Drying off your body and slipping into your underwear, you put on the largest T-shirt you more often than not sleep in, not even bothering to put your hair up as you roughly scrunch it with your towel to get most of the water out, opting to leave the strands lay on your shoulders instead, in their full wet, naked mole rat glory.

Swinging the door to the bathroom open, you yell out the first sentence that comes to your mind– despite planning your outburst in your head beforehand.

“Ning Yizhuo! You used up all of my fucking hair conditioner again!” you scream into the apartment, knowing damn well that the walls are thin and she can hear you. “You promised you won’t use it after the last time! That shit is fucking expensive, y’know,” you mutter, voice still raised so your roommate can hear you.

“I’ll buy you a new one, chill out,” Yizhuo finally replies, her voice coming out of your living room. Your head snaps that way, feet dangling closer into the doorway.

“Yeah, well, maybe consider buying your own conditioner so you don’t have to replace mine every other week,” you spit, rolling your eyes in annoyance, “or at least buy a new one when it runs out, so I can actually use– oh.”

Stopping mid-sentence, your sudden outburst of anger is cut short as you notice another presence in the living room. There’s a man sitting on your sofa, his head turned towards you, flashing you an amused grin, and when his eyes scan you from head to toe, you’re suddenly painfully aware of your current state– only in your panties, with your hair wet, appearing as a chicken left outside in the rain, the wetness of your locks most likely dampening the thin fabric of your shirt to the point that it’s basically see through, revealing more to the stranger than you’d like. Crossing your arms at your chest, alert, you feel heat rising to your cheeks as your eyes jump from your roommate to the stranger in your living room, textbooks and an opened laptop scattered across the coffee table, making you believe it must be your roommate’s classmate of some sort.

“Okay, I’m sorry,” she sighs and rolls her eyes, looking at you with amusement when she notices your distressed state, “this is Jaemin, by the way. We’re doing a project together.”

Humming, you look at the man again, taking a notice of his casual, yet attractive demeanor. Black bangs falling into his eyes and Adidas joggers hugging his legs, you press your lips into a thin line– somewhat resembling an embarrassed smile, before you slowly walk out of the room for the sake of their privacy and also your dignity. “Nice to meet you,” you mumble on your way out, “I’m Y/N.”

And before you’re out of the door, you turn your head towards your roommate again, biting back an ironic smile. “How nice of you to notify me that we’ll have guests over!”

With that, you’re out.

You guess that embarrassing yourself in front of Na Jaemin is how life is going to go now. Don’t get me wrong– the next time it happened, you were notified of his visit; after screaming at Yizhuo about how she handled it the last time around– and you even put some effort into your appearance, as if to balance the absolute atrocity he had to deal with the first time he laid his eyes on you. Not that you really care about his opinion, or that you want him to think you’re at least a little bit attractive, of course. You’d say this is just the basic human need to look presentable in front of people you don’t even know that well.

While you were notified about the fact that he would come over in the afternoon to work on the project, you still didn’t have it in you to just casually walk over to the living room and hang out with them, though. On top of that, they were doing a project in Neurophysiology together– and no matter how much laughter and noise you heard from the living room, where the two crashed for the time being, you still didn’t think it was okay for you to intrude to say hi to the man, or find enough courage to just hang out in the room with them, enjoying their talks and quarrel. It wasn’t the same as when you were doing a project with Minjeong from your Biology class or when Yizhuo had a few assignments to do with your mutual friend Jimin, the three of you working on your own stuff in your spacious living room, while also talking gossip and laughing about the latest fashion trends on Tiktok together.

But sitting in your room on a Wednesday evening, completely alone; because your roommate was busy working on a project and none of your other friends– not even the online ones– were there to entertain you with their talks, you had nothing to do. The only thing you could come up with while trying to entertain yourself was to watch the latest season of The Great British Bake Off, your legs swiftly moving you towards your table, where your laptop lay untouched, opening it and turning on the show.

Everyone knows that feeling of desiring something they see on the screen of the show they’re currently watching, right? The feeling only intensifies when it comes to food– delicious food, on top of that– and suddenly, you’re no stranger to the cravings in your stomach as you watch the contestants cut slices of cakes and taste the sweet, tasty pastries and doughs. Maybe you could look around your room and find something to eat to satisfy those needs, but something is telling you that the secret stash of M&M’s you had hidden in your room, away from the eyes of Ning Yizhuo– the resident M&M lover– was now long empty, the image of the packaging thrown in the trash can now vivid in your brain.

But the more you keep watching, the more you crave something sweet, and you know that if you don’t stand up from your place at the table and walk over to the snack cupboard in the kitchen, you’ll go insane. And with this knowledge, you take a deep breath in and out, trying to find some courage in you to show your face to your roommate and her new friend; your hand is soon on the door click and you almost watch yourself from the third perspective as your socked feet stumble out of the safety of your own room, bringing you towards the living room where the two of them have been sitting, intending to pass by them and silently take some sweets from the kitchen.

“Hi Y/N!” the man greets you, almost making you jump up and bump into the TV on the right side of the living room. Na Jaemin has a contagious smile on his face, and while you vividly remember greeting him when he arrived, just seconds before closing the door to your room, you still greet him again, trying hard to maintain the same amount of enthusiasm as him.

The conversation doesn’t progress much from that, the two of them too busy reading some article on Yizhuo’s laptop that’s currently sitting on one of each of their thighs, rimmed glasses adoring your roommate’s face, and you allow yourself to complete your mission as you walk over to the kitchen that connects to the room.

Reaching over to the kitchen cabinet that is designated to hold all sorts of various snacks both you and your roommate love to eat and share on movie nights, you search over the stash and try to find something that fits your cravings perfectly. Eyes scanning over Skittles, some chocolate bars and even a bag of chips, you decide to take all of them– because you never know, sometimes you have the strange desire to chase down the sweetness with some salt– and also look over the room for a drink you could take with you, since you’ve gotten a bit thirsty over the course of the last few hours you spent camping in your room.

Holding all of the items in your arms, looking as if you’ve just done a grocery run and forgot to take a bag with you, you almost don’t see the floor below your feet as you walk– no, scratch that– you literally do not see the ground below your feet at all.

We mentioned you embarrassing yourself in front of Na Jaemin again at the very beginning of this scene. You may be wondering where that part comes to play– and let me tell you, the moment is now, and it has correlation with the sheer fact that you can’t see where you’re walking and you’re also rushing to get back to your room quickly, hide yourself away from their eyes and finish the episode of bake-off while munching on the party mix of snacks you’re planning on creating.

In your true fashion, considering all the variables of the situation you found yourself in right now, the ground is suddenly swept from beneath your feet as you trip over the door sill that separates the kitchen from the living room, your body falling to the ground with all the snacks in your hands and the bottle of Diet coke secured under your shoulder.

Desperate to keep the snacks intact, you don’t even drop the bag of chips to the floor before you fall to make some room in your palms to try to soften the fall. No, you fall down like a rag doll, face first to the laminated floor, the sound of your body hitting the ground resonating through both your brain and the whole apartment. A few seconds later, the sound of a bottle rolling across the length of the living room fills your ears and you feel a sharp pain in your side, the humiliation and growing stinginess in your knees fully hitting now, when the shock is gone.

A few seconds pass, with your body lying limp on the ground– not even from the pain, just from the sheer embarrassment of the thought of facing Na Jaemin again after this– and a sound of your roommate trying to bite back her laughter fills your ears when you finally wake up and wiggle a little on the floor, trying to get up. At least the bag of chips stayed intact, you think– all of the effort was worth it in the end… or at least you hope.

“Oh my god, are you okay?” the now familiar voice of Na Jaemin fills your ears, and while he does sound a little concerned, laughter fills his voice when the touch of his hand lands on your elbow, trying to help you stand up from your fatal position.

“I’m perfectly fine, yeah,” you nod as you suppress back a scowl, the amused look that meets your eyes once you turn your head to face your visitor that took it upon himself to help you up making you feel all sorts of emotions– humiliation, however, is winning by a mile.

“Are you hurt?” he giggles out, and the question almost sounds mocking with how his face breaks out into a pained scowl, seemingly trying to hide the clear grin wanting to settle on his handsome face.

“No,” you shake your head vigorously, tears rimming your eyes from the mix of embarrassment and the sharp stinginess in your knees– you’re sure there’s gonna be a big, purple bruise forming on your legs by tomorrow morning. “I’m okay.”

In that very moment, Yizhuo finally breaks out into laughter– as if she was really waiting for you to stand up, in case you fell dead and she would then have to feel guilty for laughing at your falling corpse– and the absurdity of it all makes you join them, the caring man no longer trying to bite back his amusement either as he softly brushes his hand over your arm before he leans down and picks up the bottle of coke that rolled all the way to the corner of the room and the pack of Skittles that managed to fall from your strong grasp.

“Here you go,” he says, shaking his head at you when he sees you still holding the bag of chips to your chest. “Damn, you guarded those chips with your whole life, didn’t you?”

Nodding, you snicker. “I put my whole life on the line for these.”

Accompanied by their amused giggles, alongside with Yizhuo’s pained sigh as she wipes her cheeks from the stray tears you caused with your comedic fall, you take the snacks Jaemin’s offering you, thanking him for the help as you escape the room with a final bow to end your performance.

“I was glad to be your fun little commercial break, but I’ll get going now,” you say, “good luck with the project!”

And with that, you disappear back into your room, setting your mind to never ever show your face in front of Na Jaemin again.

While you thought your resolution of never ever wanting to see Na Jaemin again out of the embarrassment your first and second encounter cost you, it seems to be that it’s easier said than done when you end up in Liu Yangyang’s basement, the whole place smelling of weed and cheap alcohol, standing right opposite of the man that haunts you in your darkest nightmares only a few days after the initial meeting.

There is a reflex in you that makes you want to turn on your heel and hide, maybe even bury yourself alive as you recognise the raven-haired boy, his bright grin making your stomach twist uncontrollably as he comes up to you and Yizhuo, a red single cup in his hand and a leather jacket adorning his shoulders. Something inside of you is telling you to get ready for the worst possible outcome of this situation, and you don’t know why your fight or flight instinct is so alert today, but you presume that Na Jaemin just has that effect on people as your roommate hides behind you and tries to get out of her project partner’s sight.

“Hello, ladies!” the man greets you as soon as he reaches you two– with Yizhuo still tugging herself behind your figure. “Didn’t expect to see you two here!”

Smiling, although a little tight-lipped, you turn around to finally reveal your roommate– the only reason why you’re in this disgustingly-smelling basement in the first place. It’s not like you don’t have friends– you do, it’s just that most of them aren’t actually your friends. They are Yizhuo’s friends, who just happen to be your friends, because your roommate decided that because you two are best friends, she needs to drag you everywhere with her– her love language, it seems– and that’s how you always end up in the same social circles.

Her dragging you around to places also applies to her weird first meetings with guys. And while you agree with the fact that she needs to be careful around new people– men, especially– so she doesn’t get stolen for human trafficking, you’ve been to enough cringey first dates with her to know that you should start saying no to her more often. Maybe tonight was the day you should’ve started, you think– as she asked you if you wanted to go to a party with her, since Jung Sungchan invited her– and while you could argue that a party in Liu Yangyang’s basement isn’t the best place for a first date, or that there��s no use in you being there in the first place, since other people are present, you agreed; because frankly speaking, everything’s better than sitting home alone and watching Netflix. Besides, you promised Yizhuo you wouldn’t watch the new episodes of Blue lock without her, and if you were left unsupervised, you know you’d break that plea– so here you are. Even though at this very moment, you deeply wish you weren’t.

“Yeah, me neither,” you mumble as your roommate, seemingly embarrassed to be caught hanging out with Na Jaemin’s acquaintance, slowly comes up from behind you, scratching the back of her neck in embarrassment. “Yizhuo here has a date with someone, so I was forced to third-wheel,” you muse, earning yourself a slap to your shoulder from the subject of the sentence.

Jaemin’s eyes widen to twice of their original size– a shock very evident in his features– and you wish you didn’t see him so taken aback at the fact that your insanely beautiful roommate was getting invited to dates left and right, because something about it makes your stomach acid boil in a weird way. “A date with who?”

“Whom,” you mumble, nit-picky at the correct grammar.

“Huh?”

“With whom,” you repeat yourself, seeing as Jaemin shakes his head in disbelief and chuckles.

“Okay, literature major,” he rolls his eyes and averts his attention back to your roommate, the comment making you furrow your brows for two things– one, correct grammar has nothing to do with literature and two, how the fuck does he even know your major in the first place, “you have a date with whom? Because I hope it’s not Beomgyu. He lies about his age.”

Hearing a sigh escape your roommate’s lips, you watch the interaction with uttermost interest. “No,” she mumbles, “it’s Sungchan, actually.”

“You’re having a date… at a frat party?”

You chuckle at the comment. At least someone has common sense here.

“Unfortunately, yeah,” Yizhuo notes, seeing as Jaemin empathetically nods at her and smoothes a hand down her back before he nudges her in the direction of the tall boy. Watching her leave, you mentally pray for her to come back and never leave you alone at a party where Na Jaemin is present– because quite frankly, you are very much okay with looking awkward in front of anyone else; be it strangers or the acquaintances slash distant friends you’ve made along the way on these gatherings– but when it’s Na Jaemin, the idea of him seeing you aimlessly walk around and try to invite yourself to conversations with people you distantly know makes you want to crawl out of your own skin and set it on fire.

Sighing purposelessly, looking around to see if you recognise anyone that you could find a safe harbor in at least for a couple of hours before you look for Yizhuo again and drag her home, you notice the boy not leaving your side. Locking your eyes with him, you hear him clear his throat before speaking up again.

“It’s actually so good to see you here, because we were about to play beer pong and you’re just the person I need for my team,” he says, offering you his signature grin.

Finding the last bits of your sanity, you shake your head. “Oh, you don’t want to play beer pong with me.”

“Why?”

“I’m no good,” you admit, scratching the back of your neck, “I’m like, the least athletic person in this room. And I also can’t handle my liquor well.”

Jaemin only rolls his eyes in annoyance at your comments, gently shoving you towards the direction of a large ping-pong table in one of the corners of the spacious basement. The game is already prepared, a pair consisting of a tall, ripped man with an adorable eye-smile and a person that gets introduced to you as his best friend waiting for someone to join them.

“Come on, I bet you can outdrink me,” Jaemin jokes, basically forcing you to the game as he hosts a ping-pong ball into your hold, looking at you with expecting eyes.

This evening is the moment where you learn that Na Jaemin is a man of many talents; the first one you find is his irresistible puppy look that makes you comply with everything he says. You don’t know how people have it in them to say no to him, but when he’s ushering you to take the first shoot towards the cups on the other side of the table, you only nod and sigh in the image of what’s gonna be your hangover in the morning.

Leaning back a little, feeling like a true Lebron James about to take his winning score, you aim for the plastic cups and throw the little white ball into space. You haven’t even taken a drink yet, but the ball goes where it wants and not where you want it to go, the small object hitting the floor instead, making your companion shake his head at you and click his tongue.

“I told you I’m bad,” you defend yourself, throwing your hands into the air in a defensive position.

“All good with me,” Jaemin grins, “I’m like, the least competitive person in this room. So as long as neither of us end up throwing up in Liu Yangyang’s backyard, I’m okay with losing this game.”

Rolling your eyes at his nature, refusing to relax even after his roommate Jeno– the boy on the other side of the table– scores and hits two cups in a row, each one of you drinking one, the bitter taste of beer falling down your throat, you find the second of Na Jaemin’s many talents. It’s playing beer pong– and even though he almost never misses, your opponent’s side is much quicker with their game and you end up drinking most of the cups in an apology for being so shitty at the game.

“Come on! You can do it,” you hear Jaemin cheer for you from beside you, your glossy eyes scanning over his figure. You’ve drunk quite a lot now, your distance-assuming abilities thrown out of the window as you reach back to throw the last shoot, body getting out of balance and threatening to meet the ground in the laws of gravity.

Jaemin’s hands quickly shoot up to steady you, a hesitant hand reaching to your waist as he giggles in your ear, and suddenly, you wonder if it’s been this hot in the room the whole time, when your hand lets go and the ball falls carelessly to the middle of the table.

And when you take at least two shots with Jaemin and his roommate, the game long forgotten as you two lost, you find yourself in Liu Yangyang’s backyard, Na Jaemin’s talent of being an absolute gentleman shining through as he holds your hair back for you when you throw up into the bushes.

“Okay, so… you can’t outdrink me. Noted,” the man hums, a gentle pat to your back sending shivers down your spine.

And with that, you swear you’re never going to show your face in front of Na Jaemin ever again. For the third time, yes.

At least the third time’s the charm…?

The sun greets you in the morning with an aggressive shine to your eyes, reminding you of the actions of yesterday evening slash very late night. There’s only one reason why your blinds aren’t shut in the morning, since you hate waking up to the hot beams of sunlight in your eyes– they always make you sweat and don’t let you continue in your quiet somber– and the reason is that you must’ve been too drunk yesterday to remember to close them.

And sure enough, once you open your eyes with a grunt and tumble in your sheets, the memories of yesterday evening flood into your brain the same way water did to your room when your ex-roommate Yeri forgot to turn off the water in the bathtub in your Freshman year. You decided to not live with the girl since, and you also quite loved the idea of not having a bathtub in your new place with Yizhuo; at least it meant that the chance of your roommate forgetting to turn the faucet off and flooding the apartment was significantly lower– you could say this experience gave you some sort of PTSD.

When the sunlight gets too hot on your back that you can’t handle it anymore, you open the window to let some fresh air in and stumble into the kitchen, ready to drink a glass of water and forget about the last night’s party. You don’t usually drink that much– because god knows you don’t need a lot to get tipsy– but getting caught up in a drinking game was definitely your first, and while you found it quite fun at first, you would’ve never allowed yourself to play if it wasn’t for Na Jaemin, your roommate’s project partner, dragging you into this mess.

At least Yizhuo is a good drinker, for the most part. She gets drunk, but stays responsible. You don’t know how you’d get home safe if it wasn’t for the responsible girl by your side.

The sight that meets your eye in the kitchen is one you would not want to see after a night out. The sink is full of dirty dishes– because your small apartment doesn’t have a dishwasher– and when you open the cupboard for an empty glass to fill with water, you find it empty, all of them used and unwashed in the silver basin.

Heaving out a sigh, you shake your head in disappointment and get mentally prepared to do the dishes. Reminded by the fact that it was you who cooked dinner last night before heading out to the party, it was Yizhuo’s turn to wash up– you two agreed on this arrangement to make sure everyone puts a hand in when it comes to household chores. If one of you is cooking a shared meal, the other one cleans up. It was a good deal, you got used to it fairly quickly, but still, your roommate has her flaws, and sticking to the rules you two made up together is surely one of them.

“Yizhuo! It was your turn to wash the dishes last night!” you yell out, not really caring that she’s most likely still asleep, as you turn on the faucet and get to work. While it was your roommate’s turn to clean up, you’re also not willing to wait for her until she gets up from bed and decides it’s a good time to complete the task, because truth be told, you really need some coffee right now and you only have two mugs in the whole apartment– both of them sitting at the bottom of the sink, dirty with last night’s tea.

“I know we were in a rush to get to the party, but for god’s sake, if you had the audacity to be all up in my ear about how I’m taking too long to get ready, you could’ve used up that time to wash the fucking dishes, man!” you continue your small tangent, your slight anger issues getting the best out of you as you scrub the oily pan. “Now the food’s stuck on the plates and it won’t come off! I’ll quit cooking for you if you don’t clean up, I swear to god!”

Sighing a little, you turn the water on and finally get to washing off the dish soap, shaking your head a little in both disbelief and unpleasant emotions filling your insides. This is not how you imagined your day to go, and soon enough, your stomach is growling with the need of food– you two have slept in until lunchtime– and you still don’t have either the energy to cook something again, or the appliances to do so. Hearing footsteps fill the small room, not bothering to even look at the source of them, you decide to continue your little rant with the premise of your roommate finally listening to it now that she’s present in the room.

“Fancy seeing you here, dear Yizhuo,” you mutter under your nose, irony filling your voice, “good to finally see you in the kitchen, now that I’m done with the dishes,” you grunt, turning the water off and wiping your hands on the kitchen towel that’s been hanging off the counter.

“Man, living with you must really suck, Ning,” you hear a male voice joke, the familiarity of it making you jump in your place as you look at the source of it, a little bit panicked.

His face looks fresh and lively– not a sign of last night’s drinking in his features– and his hands are full with two bags of takeout that he swiftly sits on the table, his figure now awkwardly standing in the corner of the room. Yizhuo is leaning on one of the chairs, eyes a little empty and tired, as if she has just woken up from deep sleep, her hair a mess on the top of her head and her pajamas still on. God knows neither of you look ready for a visitor– a male one, on top of that– and yet, there is still one standing in your kitchen right now, voice sing-songy and body dressed in athleisure, as if he’s just came out of his morning gym session.

Which he probably has. He seems like the type.

“What are you doing here?” Yizhuo beats you to the question, your eyes jumping from her figure to your morning– well, lunch time– visitor.

“What do you mean, what am I doing here? We’re working on our project today, Yizhuo, that’s what I’m doing here,” the man complains with an offended pout, almost a scolding tone to his voice that makes you look at your roommate with shock in her eyes. She knew she’d be hungover today and still chose to work on the project? Is she truly out of her mind?

“I swear we didn’t have it scheduled for today, Jaemin-” she sighs as she straightens her back and looks at the male with irritation and a hint of exhaustion before he jumps in and shakes his head in disapproval.

“We did, I swear to god! You just forgot,” he shakes his head, satisfied when the girl is left speechless in the kitchen, his eyes drifting to you before he smiles and moves closer to the kitchen table, opening up the boxes of takeout and offering you a proud nod. “I knew you two would be tired today, so I brought some chinese with me! We can have lunch and then get right to working!”

The enthusiasm spreading off his features is almost contagious– you swear it would be, if it wasn’t for the fact that your head was severely aching and you still haven't had a single sip of water since you’ve woken up. Jaemin scrambles through your kitchen, totally uninvited, but also unstopped, until he finds some chopsticks and cutlery in one of the drawers and then puts them all in the middle of the dining table, acting as if he was at his own house, and not in a place he’s been to three times, including this one.

“Well? What are you waiting for? It’s gonna get cold,” he chirps as he sits at the table and dives in one of the boxes, humming in satisfaction as the food hits his tongue.

Staring at the male, still not quite believing your eyes, but no longer feeling as humiliated in front of him when you realize that you embarrassing yourself in front of him is your habit by now, you only opt to a sigh as you sit at the table and taste the chinese, the noodles falling down your throat finally providing some comfort to your upset stomach. Jaemin smiles at you– the kind of smile where his eyes crinkle up into small moon crescents– with his full cheeks on display when you meet his eye, seemingly satisfied with his mission.

“Fucking hell,” you hear your roommate mutter as she escapes the room, seemingly to put some more presentable clothes on. Jaemin pays it no attention as he brightens up a little, pointing one of his chopsticks your way after he swallows and speaks up again.

“And hey! Thanks to me, you don’t even have to do the dishes now!” he exclaims, his proud face on full display making you stop in your tracks when you go to tell him that’s not true, since you still have to wash the reusable chopsticks you’re both holding in your hands, afraid of bursting his bubble as you only fakely smile at the male, nodding.

“That’s… great, Jaemin. Really nice.”

Walking across the school building, you find your stomach growling once again, the relief only spreading more on your insides when you realize that the last class of the day just ended and you are headed to the cafeteria to grab some lunch. Noting that it’s Tuesday and your schedules match with your best-friend-and-roommate-in-one’s today, you swiftly walk towards the crowded space and get the lunch with your school ID card, the cafeteria lady looking at you with a wobbly side-smile you only recognise to be her customer service demeanor washing off after the long day. Thanking her and scanning the room with your eyes, you quickly find your roommate waving at you from the corner of the room, calling you over with the motion of her hand. You’re actually excited to see her, until you notice another figure sitting right next to her– the figure being none other than the intruder of your home peace for the last few weeks.

You’re seeing Na Jaemin quite a lot lately, you realize, and it’s not even your project partner to begin with. Not that you mind, of course; he’s a nice guy, a good-looking one as well, to say the least, but there’s just something about his constant close proximity to your roommate that makes your stomach drop whenever you see him in her presence. This feeling has been there for a while now, and if you recognised it in you, you never paid it much attention, but with him sticking to her like glue even outside of the premises of your apartment, it almost makes you turn on your heel and walk out of the cafeteria to eat your lunch alone– daring to even say it’s the better choice, for you think you could throw up any second at the image of their enthusiastic smiles. You can’t really put your finger on the feeling– you’re not really sure how to name it, or what to think of it. You just know that the strange annoyance bubbling inside of you whenever it comes is one of the most frustrating things you’ve ever dealt with your whole, entire life.

But it’s too late to walk out of the cafeteria now, and so you choose to put up a smile and walk over to the two, sitting at the vacant spot opposite of them and get to eating.

“Hello,” Jaemin greets you, voice cheerful– does he ever feel down? –when you sit down with your tray and smile at the two.

“Hi,” you nod, “what’s up?”

“We were just talking about this thing on Friday,” he jumps in, looking at you from above his finished plate, Yizhuo nodding along to his conversation. She keeps chewing on her lunch as the man continues his speech. “My friend Taeyong’s in a band and they have a gig at the Neo bar, you know, the one in the center of the city…”

You find yourself humming in interest, nodding along to the new information. You don’t think you’ve heard about Taeyong or his band before, but you only imagine it could be fun. “Are you going?” you ask, eyes jumping from your roommate to your new acquaintance slash friend, anticipating his response.

“Yeah,” he nods, averting his gaze from you for a moment, looking to his feet for a second as he clears his throat, “you should come too,” he adds when his eyes meet yours again, a hopeful glint in his eyes.

Halting a little in your movement, you look at your roommate again. See, Yizhuo is just the perfect girl you’d invite to see your friend’s band. She’s outgoing, loud, the life of the party, and also has an amazing alcohol tolerance– perfect to match the boy in front of you. There’s no reason for Na Jaemin to be inviting you as well, and you presume it’s the way his personality naturally is– considerate and warm– that it doesn’t let him just leave you out of the conversation and let you stay home. He’d probably feel too bad if he didn’t invite you, that’s all.

But the more you stare at the two, noticing the familiar way Jaemin’s body leans into your roommate’s for support, the two of them growing quite close in the process of working on the project– she even trailed into his apartment a few times to work there instead, because you had exams to study for and she wanted to leave the apartment silent for you to focus better– and the more you feel the familiar feeling deep within your chest, bugging you with thoughts resonating through your brain that tell you that you’ll just be a burden if you go and that the two of them will have much more fun together if they’re alone anyways, since Jaemin is clearly interested in your roommate. The voice in your head doesn’t leave, and you get so caught up in listening to it that you zone out, only to be woken up from your state of autopilot with a soft nudge to your shin under the table.

“So? What do you say?” he asks again, raising his eyebrows at you in question, eyes wide with anticipation.

“Oh,” you let out, hesitant as you poke your fork into the slice of meat on your plate, “I’m good, thanks. I wouldn’t wanna… you know… intrude? Or something?” you say, nodding to yourself as you’re afraid to meet his eye, opting to stare into your meal instead.

“What are you talking about? Of course you won’t intrude, I’m the one who invited you,” he mutters under his nose, tone of voice close to a mother’s scolding, insistent on his words. “Come on, it will be fun!”

“Really, I-” you open your mouth to decline again, when the male sulks in his seat and turns to your roommate for help.

“Yizhuo, help me, would you?” he grunts. “Tell your roommate this is the best idea you’ve ever heard, maybe she’ll listen to you, since she clearly doesn’t trust me.”

Snickering at his offended pout, you roll your eyes in mock annoyance when your best friend finally speaks up for the first time since you sat at the table, now finished with her lunch and free to talk to you both. “I think it would be nice, Y/N,” she says casually, nodding, “besides, I bet the band guys will be hot. Maybe Jaem can hook us up with one of them, what do you say?” she says, looking at him with a teasing glint in her eye, dismissed by the male with a scoff and a wave of his hand.

“You wouldn’t want that,” he mumbles, “not saying they’re not hot, but they’re insufferable. And a little bit stupid.”

“You say that about your friends?” you grin, seeing as the male shrugs to himself.

“Yeah,” he agrees, “hanging out with them makes me feel better about myself.”

Giggling at the remark, you finish your food and stare at him with dumbfoundance in your eyes. “You’re unbelievable, Na Jaemin.”

“Mhm, whatever,” he hums, grinning, before he looks at the screen of his phone and his face scrunches up in horror. His figure stands up in hurry, slinging his backpack over his shoulder before he looks at the both of you, eyes drifting from your roommate to you in a sharp 0.2 second interval, pointing a finger at your sitting body. “I take it as I’ll see you there. I have a class in literally 5-” he says as he looks at his phone again, “no, 4 minutes, so I better get going. I’ll text the address to Yizhuo in case you two can’t find it, and don’t even think of not showing up, okay?”

Sighing in fake annoyance, you shake your head in disbelief as the man strides off, black hair flowing in the breeze as his figure jogs out of the crowded cafeteria.

You’re starting to think that Na Jaemin is actually the insufferable one. But as he made it clear that he might get mad at you if you don’t go, even though it might make the annoying voice in your head only scream at you louder if you see him and your roommate sway in the cigarette smoke, dancing together in the local bar, you take a mental note to check your journal and see if you have any plans on Friday, and if you do, to quickly cancel them.

The mental image you had of the concert in your head was mostly right. When you arrive at the local bar at 9 in the evening, the whole place is filled with cigarette smoke and the loud noise of guitars is making your ears ring a little when you try to listen to the lyrics. It’s not really your cup of tea, but the lead singer looks nice– you heard some girls in the front screaming his name; Yuta, if you weren’t wrong– and you find yourself dancing along to the beat of songs you’ve never even heard before.

Everything’s just like you imagined– smiley, flushed faces in the crowd, sweaty bodies pressed against each other in the small space that the bar provides, everything just perfect to scare a person with claustrophobic tendencies. Everything except from the small voice in your head telling you that you’ll be the third wheel tonight was right, and you find yourself thanking whatever inner motives that lead you to agree with Na Jaemin’s invitation, because when the small break the band had ends and you down the beer he bought for you and Yizhuo, the male is, to your surprise, tugging you to the dance floor. This is not really second female lead of you, you think as you sway under the neon lights of the bar; and you can’t say you hate it.

“Please tell your roommate to not get on with the boy she’s currently dancing with when you two get home,” Jaemin mutters into your ear through the music, and suddenly, the illusion’s over. Of course his eyes would be on your breathtaking, wonderful roommate– there was no way you’d have his full attention while he dances with you, no matter how much effort you put into your appearance tonight. You don’t know what it is that makes you finally admit to yourself that you’re endlessly yearning for male attention and validation– especially Na Jaemin’s, the casual heartthrob’s– but you’re willing to say it’s the effect of alcohol as you furrow your brows at him and lean closer to his face to hear him better as you two talk over the loud set.

“Why?”

“He’s insanely stupid,” he says, snickering, “and I also think he’d love to move into your apartment the first chance he gets. I’m pretty sure his roommate kicked him out last month because he wasn’t paying rent.”

“Well, aren’t you at our apartment all the time as well?” you squint at him, seeing as the male rolls his eyes at you in mock annoyance, the teasing getting to him.

“That’s because I have to,” he insists, grinning under the blue light shading his features, the hue making him look like he was cut out of a teenage movie.

Shaking your head in disbelief at the gossip, you find yourself yelling over the music again. “How do you even know all of that?” you ask, desperate to know the source of all information there is about the men on your campus.

“His roommate told me himself,” Jaemin says, “I used to play soccer with him in high school.”

“You have too many contacts,” you mutter, seeing as the male shrugs at you, taking your hand in his as he twirls you in your place, the music blending into a slower rhythm, the melody more solemn and relaxed.

“What can I say,” he grins, “I’m irresistible. Everyone wants to be my friend.”

Not even having a chance to reply a snarky comment back to him, the male suddenly brings you closer to him, taking all air out of your lungs. His strong arms are now pressed around your middle, causing you to almost automatically sneak your arms around his neck– you truly don’t know what brought you to these actions, you think it’s you working on auto-pilot after doing competitive dancing for 5 years when you were little that makes you get into position almost immediately in fear of your instructor screaming at you– and the neon lights now start slowly flashing through various colors, reminding you of disco balls you have at middle school formals. The lead singer sings a romantic song, his raspy, yet unique voice cutting through the speakers right into your poor, fragile heart, and Jaemin steps with you into a loose dance, just two bodies swinging to the music, catching their breath after jumping around to the rhythmic beats for so long.

In a moment full of embarrassing self-indulgence, you look at the boy with long eyelashes staring down at you, and you wonder if he finds joy in your company. He is that type of guy you’d naturally gravitate towards– charming and nonchalant, extremely charismatic– but you, you are the exact opposite of those qualities. Socially awkward and embarrassing with your antics, thinking too much of words to say before you speak to someone, tense shoulders giving you in as you look nervous with every new person you meet. You’re not the type of person Na Jaemin would voluntarily want to hang out with– your roommate is the one he should be dancing with right now, swaying to the slow beat.

And maybe he would be, if that other guy wasn’t faster than him at earning her attention.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” he asks, leaning in closer to your ear, because even though the song is slower, it’s still as loud as the previous ones. Shivers run down your spine when his breath fans your heated skin, and you find yourself nodding in response.

“It’s fun,” you mumble, seeing him grin.

“See? Told you,” he sighs, “and you didn’t want to go!”

“I didn’t know what I was getting myself into, that’s all,” you say, smiling at his warm eyes. The thing about Na Jaemin is that he looks at everyone with eyes reminding you of pools of warm honey– with such a welcoming gaze it makes your knees buckle from the sweetness. He looks at everyone with such care it makes them think they perhaps mean the whole entire world to him, and that’s why you can’t bring yourself to think something more of the situation when his eyes meet yours and your eye contact is a battle of symphony. Because he looks at everyone like that. He looks at Yizhuo like that, that’s for sure.

The man gently leads you into another turn, an amused giggle escaping his lips when you clumsily get back to his arms. You open your mouth to talk back to him, but before you manage to find words worthy of a good jab, the tempo of the song gets faster again and the drums once again ring loudly in your ears, the last tune of the set bringing an enthusiastic, energetic atmosphere into the small bar.

The rest of the evening comes by like a blur– you remember Jaemin ordering you a few more beers and introducing you to the band, the lead singer flashing you a grin you can’t quite decipher in your drunken haze. Your roommate hangs from the shoulder of the man Na Jaemin warned you about, and you find yourself despising the male even though you’ve never spoken to him– something inside of you trusts Jaemin’s judgment of men, it seems (he is one of them, after all. He knows what he’s talking about).

You almost get mad at yourself for letting yourself drink too much again. It’s like once you start, you don’t know when to stop, and after all, who are you to say no when you’re not even the one paying for all the shots of alcohol? That wouldn’t be very smart of you, as a broke college student. You have to take everything that’s free, no matter how harmful to your health it might be.

Well, except from drugs. You wouldn’t take free crack cocaine even if you were offered.

But when you drink, you find Jaemin’s attention more on you– his caring eyes watching your steps when you walk, making sure you don’t trip over your feet and fall. His arms put his jacket around your shoulders when you stand outside of the club with the band, the raven haired lead singer offering you a cigarette your companion denies for you before you even have a chance to open your mouth, and his smiley face beams at you when he holds your face in his palms and asks you if you want to go home. And you can’t lie, you’re enjoying all the attention– even though it might be coming solely from the fact that he has to look after you like you’re a baby, because you pretty much turn into one when you’ve had something to drink, but still, you can’t find it in yourself to compose yourself and tune down the drinks.

You’ll worry about the guilt when you wake up in the morning. Now is not the time.

You nod to his question, though, because you must admit that you’re getting a little sleepy in your night adventures. Following him like a lost puppy, you watch him as he gathers your roommate from the bar, the three of you now walking down the street towards your block, Jaemin taking the side of the sidewalk that’s closer to the road, his careful eyes watching over your every step making you even more surprised by the fact that he doesn’t have an older sister in his family that would shape him into such a gentleman.

“Everyone, did you have fun tonight?” he asks like a kindergarten teacher somewhere towards the end of the seemingly never ending walk home.

“Yes!” you chant along with Yizhuo, giggles erupting along the neighborhood.

“And what did we learn tonight?” he asks again, making your roommate frown at the question.

“That soccer guys suck!”

“That I can’t handle my alcohol!”

You both chime at the same time, making your companion nod, satisfied by both of your answers. Something about his sweet, scolding, yet patient tone makes your cheeks hurt from smiling when you two open up the front door to your apartment, your brain focused on listening to his small pep talk. “I hope you two take this as a learning experience and never make the same mistakes again! Alcohol is bad for your liver and broke soccer guys are bad for your wallet, but don’t you worry, I’m always here to remind you of such things when you forget.”

“Yes, Mr Na– oh no the lift’s broken again!” Yizhuo whines when she walks up to the elevator, scowling at the button that doesn’t light up when she presses it, the platform stuck somewhere between the second and the third floor. Normally, you wouldn’t mind such inconvenience– you don’t go to the gym often and every time you carry your groceries upstairs, you think of it as a little workout, trying to train your brain into thinking how good your ass would look only if you took the stairs every day, but failing as you go for the lift every time it works– but tonight, drunk, dizzy and a little tired, you’re glad you don’t break into loud cries at the newly found information.

“No!” you yell out, almost falling to your knees when your roommate presses a hand over your mouth to keep you quiet– although tipsy, Yizhuo still shows much care about your neighbors, it seems. Crouching in front of the unresponding device, you shake your head in disapproval at the whole situation, suddenly feeling like the whole world is against you just because you’re drunk and have to walk up to the seventh floor.

“Come on, ladies,” Jaemin says, patiently waiting at the first step of many.

“Oh, I’m not going,” you shake your head, a pout sitting on your lips as you rest your head on the wall, “I’m sleeping here tonight.”

“Y/N, stop being ridiculous,” the man sighs, walking closer to you, but seeing as you don’t budge, he only crouches down to your level and pokes your cheek with his pointer finger, seemingly regretting inviting you to the bar tonight, “want to get on my back, then? I’ll carry you upstairs,” he asks, gentle parenting you in the process of getting you home.

And see, if you were sober and completely in tune with your emotions and thought process, you’d say no and just walk up the stairs by yourself. But that’s not your situation right now, when you’re drunk and kind of falling for your roommate’s project partner, and so you only nod at him with bright eyes and securely jump to his back, nuzzling your face into the crook of his shoulder as he walks up the stairs to the sixth floor with both of you, patient with your drunken stubbornness.

“See, girls, sometimes things don’t go as you plan. But in those situations, you have to make a new solution and try to come up with something that is going to work. Life’s a bitch and there will be many things in your way, but you always gotta find a way around your obstacles,” he mumbles somewhere between the third and the fourth floor, “the bus is late? You run to the class. You get a stain on your shirt? You tell everyone it’s supposed to be there and that it’s a fashion statement. Your friend doesn’t wanna go out with you? You bribe her with sexy band guys.”

“And sometimes,” he says again, his tone of voice slowly lulling you to sleep, “the route you have to take might be harder than the one that failed. But that’s okay, because the end goal will be worth the trouble. The lift broke? Take the stairs, because at the end, there is a warm bed waiting for you in your apartment.”

You’re not sure where all of this wisdom is coming from, or how the hell his words are still coherent after so much physical exercise and also the amount of beers he had with his friends at the bar. You’re also not sure why he’s waffling so much– you bet it’s to pass time until he walks up to the seventh floor with your body on his back,

but you bet there’s a life lesson hidden somewhere in there.

The ringing of a doorbell is an unusual sound to your ears. You never have anyone use it, because frankly, you don’t even have that many friends in the first place, and the ones that do exist and come to hang out with you in your apartment always text you that they’re in front of the door instead, like everyone in the 21st century does nowadays. You don’t recognise this as the more practical method, but it’s the one that they all use, so you’ve gotten used to the fact over the time. The only people that use the doorbell are your landlord– because he loves to come check up on your apartment from time to time and then passively aggressively mention how there's a mess in your living room– and then Yizhuo’s friend Mark Lee that she met at the bistro she works at. They started hanging out and he’s the only one that actually picks her up at the door– as opposed to all of her other guy friends and dates that wait for her in the car. You think it’s sweet; the boy always wears a shy blush on his cheeks and nervously scratches his neck when you open the front door instead of your roommate and scream at Yizhuo that her date is here– to which she tells you that they’re not dating every single time, but you actually think you’re rooting for the adorable canadian, because after the men she chose to date before, you think she’s finally getting some sense into her head.

And so when the doorbell rings again, you get mentally prepared for either of those two outcomes. You don’t think it’s gonna be Mark Lee, because he always texts Yizhuo before hanging out with her and your temperamental roommate isn’t home yet– so the only reasonable option is your landlord Jinyoung, which makes shivers run down your spine as you pick up the mess scattered all around the floor in the entry hall and throw the stuff into the big closet at the right side of the wall, making sure it’s out of his sight.

Taking a deep breath in to collect yourself before the terror starts, you open the front door and put on your best fake smile, ready to face the wrinkled face of a middle aged man in a weird tracksuit– but to your surprise, there is one more person that can still use the ringbell on the door, and it’s none other than Na Jaemin.

“Hi!” he smiles, a wide grin sitting at his face. He’s once again in his usual attire that consists of Adidas sweatpants and a mint green hoodie, the clothing acting like his default skin in the game of life, and you can’t help but let out a satisfied sigh at the fact that it’s not your landlord that you have to talk to today; although speaking to Na Jaemin after the last time you met him isn’t much easier than sparking up a conversation about the state of your rented place.

“Hello,” you drag out, humming to yourself as you press your lips into a thin line, “Yizhuo’s not here yet,” you say, trying your hardest to not meet his warm eyes.

“Oh, I know! She texted me she’ll be late, but I was already on my way, so I figured I’ll just wait for her here,” he explains, naturally walking into your apartment as if he owned the place. And you don’t stop him– because frankly enough, you don’t have it in you to do anything else. And what would you even do? Let him stand outside?

And so, even though you weren’t prepared for a visitor today– because Yizhuo still hasn’t learned how to tell you that she’ll have people over– you walk along with him to the living room and see him invite himself to sit on the couch, body sprawled out all across the soft cushions. He seems like he lives here and not you– with how awkwardly you situate yourself on the other side of the sofa (he took your side– the one you picked the first day you moved in. Neither you nor Yizhuo ever sat on the other side ever since, it was an unwritten rule) and watch as he turns on the TV and scrolls through the channels. If this was anyone else, you’d find it inappropriate, rude even, but come on… it’s Na Jaemin we’re talking about. If he walks inside of your apartment and acts like he owns the place, who are you to tell him he doesn’t?

“You must really enjoy working on the project, if you’re around so often,” you mumble out, burdened by the fact that the silence between the two of you is slowly suffocating you out of the awkwardness of it all. One would say you wouldn’t know what awkwardness and shame is after embarrassing yourself in front of the man so much, but it’s quite the opposite, actually– as if the weight of it all was just packing on to each other, creating a big, heavy mess sitting on your shoulders, not letting you breathe.

“Oh, not really,” he says, turning his whole body and attention to you, eyes perking up at the sound of your voice, “I actually find it quite boring, if I’m being honest.”

Humming in response, you suddenly start to find the whole thing a little weird. Because if Jaemin doesn’t enjoy the project– and Yizhuo absolutely despises it too, or at least she told you she did– who in them has that much enthusiasm to meet up after school so often to work on it? If you were in their place, you’d just do it all in the span of a week. Projects you don’t like get lost somewhere in the back of your brain and you only remember them a few days before the due date, quickly scattering something and putting it on paper just so you don’t fail. Jaemin and Yizhuo, however, have worked on the project multiple times a week for the last two months, which is contradicting to the nature of your roommate in particular, because you know just how much she enjoys the art of procrastination as well.

“You must be really responsible, then,” you say, thinking this is the only possible solution– Na Jaemin doesn’t like the project, but he also doesn’t want to get a bad grade in it. That’s why he’s over at your flat multiple times a month, giggling with your roommate in the living room and working on the Neurophysiology essay that requires thorough research. That’s it– it must be.

“Well, I dunno about that,” Jaemin snickers, “this is my second time taking the class, actually. I failed it last year,” he grins, leaving you to stare at him with an opened mouth out of shock, the thoughts in your brain sprinting around like an itch you can’t really get to, making you shake your head in disbelief. This doesn’t sound like the words of someone who strives to get good grades in a subject– because if you had to retake a class, you’d be glad to just pass. Getting a good grade and putting in a lot of effort would be the last of your interests, especially after failing once– you’d have so much resentment for the subject you’d actually do the bare minimum, just to spite no one in particular but yourself.

You hum at that, at a loss for words.

“Do you not like having me around?” Jaemin asks, suddenly, catching you off guard. Looking up at him, sharply turning your head, your wide eyes must have betrayed you, since your companion lets out an amused laugh.

“That’s not it,” you try to save your skin, sighing, “I’m just wondering, that’s all.”

“So you don’t like having me around.”

“That’s not what I said!” you mourn out, suddenly scared of somehow offending the boy sitting in your living room. Being completely alone with him has been an emotional tsunami so far, having you praying and manifesting for your roommate to come back soon so you don’t have to deal with the pressure anymore. One moment, he has you all curious and guessing, the other one, he has you aimlessly trying to maintain an image you already lost the first second he saw you only dressed in a thin shirt with your wet hair staining the fabric, walking out the shower the first day he met you.

“Okay, so you’re saying you do like having me around?” he grins, the teasing glint in his smile driving you crazy, the weird turmoil on your insides almost making you stand up from your place on the sofa and running up against the wall. You bet that would bring you less pain and discomfort than having a conversation with him.

“Na Jaemin, you make me want to kill myself,” you mourn, draging your hands across your face in despair. Who would’ve thought that speaking to him all alone in your apartment could’ve been so much trouble? This is not at all how it went the night of the concert, but you’re willing to say that it was the effect of alcohol that made you get through the night. You can’t drink right now, in broad daylight, though– because that would legally make you an alcoholic.

“It’s okay, don’t worry. I wouldn’t be hanging around at your apartment so much if I didn’t like being around a certain someone that lives here either,” he says, matter-of-factly, as if the information didn’t just take all breath out of your lungs at the suggestion of something you pray your brain isn’t just misinterpreting in this very moment. Opening your mouth and closing it in a second, looking like a fish that’s been thrown out of the ocean and flapping around in the sand, you gape at the boy and furrow your brows, creating an ugly crease on your forehead that Yizhuo screamed at you about (she told you to stop making that face so often, because ‘it’s gonna ruin your skin and you’re gonna look old’. Like you can help it…).

“What do you even mean by tha–” you start, desperate for more explanation, when the door opens with a loud bang and your dear roommate finally marches up to the apartment with bangs sticking to her oily forehead and a frustrated frown on her face– choosing just the right moment to finally arrive, as if you haven’t been praying for this very moment for the last few minutes.

“I’m never going back to that fucking bistro ever again. Can you believe it? Lee Jeno decided to take a day off and tell everyone twenty minutes before the end of my shift, so I had to work for two more hours before somebody could come to cover him. Who even does that? Is everything okay in his brain?” she screams, throwing her bag to the floor as she walks up into the living room, finding you two there. “Why am I even asking? Fuck, of course he’s not mentally okay. And then a rush hour began and I had to serve the rudest customer I’ve ever encountered, and don’t even let me started on that fucking grandpa that complained about the fries being cold when I just got them out of the frier!”

Watching her little tantrum, you can’t help but giggle at your roommate. It’s an usual sight to you ever since she started working at the bistro, but Jaemin seems to be surprised at her temperamental outburst as he laughs at her like a maniac, watching her with mouth wide open and eyes twice their usual size, almost bursting out of their sockets.

“Don’t even try to start something today, Na Jaemin, or I’ll literally take a kitchen knife and slice your throat in half. Let’s get to this shit so I can shower,” Yizhuo says as she falls to the sofa with a loud thud, not even greeting neither of you before she kicks her hoodie off her body with an annoyed squeak.

You take this as your cue to leave– because if there is anyone else in the apartment that could be the person she can take it out on, you’re not willingly going to sit there and take her attention from them, sparing yourself for tonight.

Jaemin’s words resonate in your brain as you stumble into your room. There’s a certain someone he enjoys being around in this apartment, and when you look over your shoulder and see him with Yizhuo’s sweaty hoodie hanging off his head– you don’t dare to ask how it got there or why it was there in the first place, hearing his hearty laugh– you feel a ping close to your heart.

You don’t think you need an answer to the question anymore. How foolish of you to think it could be you.

When you went to college, you didn’t think you’d become the epitome of an average college student you see in movies and read about in Choi Minho fanfiction. Somewhere along the way, while keeping your assignments to the last possible day, living with a roommate that both gets on your nerves and makes you think you wouldn’t be able to survive without her by your side and going to more parties in a single semester than your whole entire life, you find yourself fitting all the criteria as you hang around your bedroom and get ready for what seems to be the biggest party you’ve ever set your foot in.

Your roommate is long gone now, and while you’d be frustrated by the fact that you were supposed to get to the party on your own, you don’t find yourself filled with rage when you remind yourself of the fact that this party is hosted by her cousin, Zhong Chenle, who took it upon himself to host the biggest birthday party of the century for his childhood best friend Park Jisung. Yizhuo was dragged to the big mansion to help with all the preparations, and while you sat around in class the whole morning, she spent the time with spamming you pictures of the place, coming from half-decorated to a fully, over-the-top, red solo cup crammed and loud music bearing building. The party starts at 8 and you’re set to leave in a bit, but there’s one issue that’s keeping you from hopping into the uber you’ve called for yourself– your dear roommate still hasn’t texted you the address, and with how fast the time is going and how she hasn’t replied to any of your messages since 6:25, you don’t think you’re getting a response any time soon.

And speaking honestly, you’ve made a list of rules for yourself. And you also set yourself to making sure you don’t break any of them.

Rule number one was to not get home later than 2 in the morning. Every time you do, you hate yourself for it the next morning. Rule number two closely ties with the first one, stating that you’re not allowed to get hammered. With the amount of partying you’ve been getting yourself into, you think it’s better to save your liver before it’s too late. And rule number three– however embarrassing it must sound– is that you’re not allowed to embarrass yourself in front of Na Jaemin again. Not after he had to see you half naked, collect your broken body from the ground and carry you upstairs on his back.

With how your evening’s going and you’re not not getting replies from the main organizator of the party herself, you don’t think you need the rule list at all, since it seems that you won’t even get to the party itself in the first place.

After many minutes of aimlessly scrolling through social media, dressed in the outfit you picked out yesterday, you are brought out of your dissociative episode with a ring on the doorbell. Cursing under your breath at the unwanted visitor, you open the door without much thought, the adrenaline in your veins caused by the fact that you might miss the party of the century making you not contemplate on the motion too much before you’re standing in front of Na Jaemin, unprepared and shocked to your core.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” you ask, the words rolling off your tongue without much thought.

“Good to see you too!” he chants, words dipped in irony, furrowing his brows in confusion before smiling in hesitance. “Yizhuo sent me to get you to the party.”

Blinking at him a few times, the situation downing on you, a shake of your head is performed to clear your mind. “She did what?”

“Yeah, it got a bit hectic over there and she didn’t have time to text you the address, so she told me to just come pick you up. Don’t worry, I haven’t drunk yet,” he says, the explanation making you huff out at the irresponsible nature of your roommate– because truly, how much time can a simple text take– before you put on your shoes and take the bag prepared on the ground close to the door, following the man out of the building and into his car.

Sliding into the silver Toyota Auris, only a few minutes pass before you’re strangled with the reality of being alone with Na Jaemin again, and even though this is not the first time, it still gives you just the slightest kick of adrenaline. Keeping up with conversation is harder for you than you would’ve imagined, and suddenly you’re regretting the fact that you don’t have at least a tiny bit of alcohol in you to kick some courage into your skull, but as the low melody of the radio hits your ears and your driver starts to singing along with the lyrics, using a silly voice that makes you crack up, you realize that maybe, after embarrassing yourself in front of him so much, you don’t even have to feel tense anymore. Because realistically, it can’t get much worse than this.

“You look really nice, by the way,” Jaemin smiles, making your heart run miles around your ribcage. Admittedly, you did spend a few hours picking out the perfect outfit in hopes of being recognized by someone– maybe even Jaemin himself, okay, you’ll admit that as well– but the accomplishment of actually hearing him compliment you still surprises you with great measures.

“Thanks,” you clear your throat, “you- you do too.”

“Oh, thank god,” he mumbles, sighing dramatically, “I actually had to buy some new clothes, because Jeno said I can’t attend this super fancy party in a tracksuit, but you know how it goes, shit’s expensive nowadays, and this was the only thing on sale, so I grabbed it,” he explains, going on a tangent, this mannerism of his making you break into a smile, “and I can’t lie, I think I kinda rock the style and I was hoping for a compliment of two from the ladies tonight, so I’m glad to hear this from yours truly first.”

Chuckling at his rambling, you shake your head in disbelief. “I think you’d look good in anything, Na Jaemin,” you tsk, “you have that kind of face that everyone likes.”

“Oh really?” he asks, the tone of his voice teasing. “So that means you like my face?”

“I’m not everyone, you know,” you bite back despite feeling heat rising to your cheeks, wanting to take back all the words that have come out of your mouth in the span of the last few seconds.

“Now that’s hurting my feelings.”

“You care about my opinion that much?”

“Of course,” he grunts, looking at you for a split second before he parks the car in front of a big house, already popping with people to its seams, loud music overbearing the beat of the music playing in the car. The ride wasn’t even that long– you live 15 minutes away from the wealthy neighborhood, it seems– but it's still good that you got a ride, because you don’t know how long you’re gonna last in those heels you’re wearing. “I can’t trust Yizhuo when it comes to these things. I’m convinced she hates me a little.”

“Why would she hate you?” you ask, amused.

“She always looks annoyed whenever I open my mouth,” he snickers.

“She’s like that with everyone,” you mutter, even though you remember your roommate complaining about the amount of words that Jaemin can spit in a minute just about yesterday, “it’s just her resting bitch face.”

The engine turns off and you turn around in the passenger seat to gather your bag from the back seat, where you carelessly threw it in the rush of getting to the party as soon as possible. Quickly looking through its contains– because your anxiety tells you to, just in case you somehow magically decided to leave your wallet and your keys back home, despite checking and making sure they’re there at least 8 times already– you turn back towards the front, ready to get out of the vehicle when you’re met with the sight of Na Jaemin opening the door for you like a gentleman, waiting for you to walk down the imaginary red carpet, completely ignoring the nature of the party going on just a few meters away from you.

Bashfully escaping his car and thanking him on your way, you watch him lock the car and catch up with you on the sidewalk, leading the both of you to the expensive-looking building.

The song accompanying your arrival is now Boom, Boom, Boom, Boom!! by Vengaboys, and although you can’t deny the lyrics may be a little bit relatable to your current state right now, you can’t say the whole scene doesn’t look like a circus in your eyes. It’s Park Jisung’s birthday party, though, so you can’t say it doesn’t have to be a bit comedic, at least– the boy is quite known around these parts of the town. The whole place is filled with people you hardly know, and with the amount of teenagers and college students roaming around, you’re reminded a little of the fair– the only thing missing is a bouncy castle, in which you could clearly imagine Zhong Chenle with his best friend, hollering like the kids they still are, no matter how hard they’re trying to deny it.

Upon walking through the front door, you are met with the realization that Na Jaemin was abducted by a tall man with a puppy-like smile and another one, a little shorter one with brown, longer hair and a leather jacket adorning his figure. His face is screaming in despair, and although you find the expression funny, you let him be with his roommate and who seems to be his friend (you swear you saw the other guy in Yangyang’s basement, rolling a blunt with the boy somewhere in the middle of the night), deciding on finding your dear roommate so you can scream at her for being so irresponsible with your arrival to the party of the century. It takes you no longer than 15 minutes before you’re met with her strawberry blonde locks tied up in her signature bun, low-waisted jeans and a white crop-top adorning her figure that’s currently turned to you with her back, and before you can stop yourself, you approach her from behind, intending to scare her out of spite and also humor.

Shaking her by her shoulders, the girl turns to you with a sudden yelp before she bursts into laughter at seeing your face. “I thought you were that fucker Johnny! I almost threw this drink into your face, you know?”

“Oh, you’d regret that very soon if you did that,” you threaten, pointing a warning finger towards her face.

“Trust me, I know,” she giggles, shaking her head, “anyways, you got here!”

“Yeah, Jaemin picked me up,” you say, showing her a tight-lipped smile.

“He… he did?” the girl asks, furrowing her eyebrows at you, confusion very clearly written on her face.

“You told him to…?”

“No, I didn’t,” she shakes her head, snickering to herself. “I just told him to text you the address, because I was busy pouring all the drinks in the kitchen and making the speakers in the living room work…” she explains, the more words come out of her mouth, the more she breaks into a sly grin, the expression making you sigh in terror, knowing the amount of teasing that will come next.

“Why are you grinning like that? Stop it.”

“Na Jaemin likes youuuu,” she sing-songs, pointing a finger towards your forehead and digging into your skin with the sharp edge of her stiletto nail. Wincing away from her touch, you shake your head at her with a huff of frustration, wondering if she’s had enough to drink for it to cause all of this.

“He doesn’t, and we both know it.”

“Yeah, that’s why he picked you up,” she nods, before she takes a deep breath in, preparing herself for the long sentence that’s about to come out of her mouth, “and that’s why he insists on hanging out strictly over at our apartment, why he carried you up the stairs on his motherfucking back, why he bribed me just to get you to go to the concert with him, and why he won’t shut up about you literally every second the two of us are alone–”

“You know the same thing could suggest that he likes you?” you huff, roaming your hand through your hair in an attempt to soothe the weird bundle of nerves growing in your stomach. “He hangs out with you all the time, not me, you know…”

“That’s ‘cause you keep hiding in your room like a raccoon, you know.”

“That’s not true at all–”

“Okay, whatever you say. He’s coming towards us right now– so don’t look around or you’ll be too obvious– and I bet 100 pounds that he’s gonna drag you away from me and suggest you two play beer pong again, or whatever.”

“Yizhuo, I need you to shut the fuck–”

But before you’re able to finish your sentence, you feel a hand land on your shoulder, your whole figure spinning towards the source of the contact, finding a grinning Na Jaemin in your rear point of view– how unexpected, really– his body seemingly full of adrenaline as he jumps in his place, looking like a squirrel high on caffeine, his next sentence making your brain short-circuit as you hear Yizhuo snicker in your right ear, a bump on your shoulder and a shove into the male’s figure encouraging you in your movements out the room.

“Normally, I’d drag you to play beer pong with me again, but if I come back to the events that occurred the last time you got drunk, I have a suggestion that’s more considerate to your liver– wanna sing karaoke with me? You’re not allowed to say no, by the way,” and before you’re able to register what’s going on in this very moment, the conversation you two had with Yizhuo keeps repeating over and over in your brain the whole time you’re by Jaemin’s side.

Curse Ning Yizhuo for making you think he could like you at least a little– because even though he sang a corny love song with you at the karaoke machine and introduced you to his friends, along with taking you off your feet in an enthusiastic hug when you two won against his roommate and his best friend at a make-shift karaoke battle (you two got a 98 point score, just saying…), there’s a simple man called insecurity sitting soundly in the corner of your brain not letting you contemplate the fact and take it seriously, no matter how hard you try.

jaem [10:21]: hi how are you feeling!!! jaem [10:21]: was wondering if u wanted to get lunch :p jaem [10:21]:not that im assuming u have a hangover bc u hardly drank yesterday but yknow would be nice idk jaem [10:22]: theres this new pancake place in town :OO

“You don’t look as bad as I expected!” Jaemin greets you as you two walk inside of the new bistro that opened not a long time ago– you only knew about it because Yizhuo hoped and prayed that the fact that there’s a new place in town will mean that less customers were going to show up at the one she’s working at, and you can’t say you don’t hate that logic. After hearing her stories about rude customers, you believe your roommate deserves a break. Working with people is hard– and as she said, you only realize just how stupid some of them can be when you truly start working in customer service.

“Ouch!” you utter out, your ego suddenly falling at the backhanded compliment.

“Not that you look bad, like, ever, I just– you usually look way worse after a party, you know,” he explains while opening the door for you and leading you towards one of the booths, the red sofas making the whole place look like a retro motorest you’d find somewhere on your way through the middle of nowhere. The polka dot walls only beg you to order a milkshake with your pancakes, and you do exactly that, feeling unapologetic in your actions. It’s not your fault– and you guess that you deserve to treat yourself to a nice chocolate swirl once in a while.

“I didn’t drink as much last night, you know,” you snicker, remembering the fact that you actually pretty much managed to stick to your rules the whole time you were enjoying yourself at Park Jisung’s birthday party.

“Should’ve dragged you to one more game of beer pong, then.”

“So you do want me to suffer, huh?” you roll your eyes at him, resting your back at the flashy red booth to get a better look at his shifting expressions.

“It’s fun to see you embarrassed when you recollect your memory, that’s all,” he admits, kicking your leg under the table in a teasing manner.

Snickering at his comment, you hide your face in your hands at the growing embarrassment. Taking a deep breath in to hide your hesitance, you look outside your window for a short moment before you turn back to him, continuing on with the conversation before the moment gets too awkward for you to bear. “Yizhuo’s still asleep, by the way. She drank too much because Chenle got a bet with her and she was sure she could outdrink him and then the Mark guy had to carry her limp body to our house last night,” you explain, “she’s the one with a massive hangover right now, that’s why she’s not joining.”

“I see you two like princess treatment,” Jaemin teases, referring to the time he had to collect you and bring you home on his back, “besides, I invited you, not her. If she was here, she wouldn’t stop complaining about her headache, and I really don’t need that energy in my life right now.”

Laughing, you move your hands away from the table as a server brings you two your plates, filled to the brim with pancakes smothered in syrup and chocolate topping. A shiny cherry is adorning the serving, and you can already feel yourself salivating at the sight, the sweet smell filling your senses as you dig in, feeling hypnotized by the food in front of you. You are a sweets lover, and while you don’t know how Jaemin managed to do that, he hit the right spot with making you join him for a sweet lunch– making you adore the man even more, if that was even possible.

“Does it taste good?” Jaemin asks, watching as you nod to him with your mouth filled– as if the sight wasn’t enough of a confirmation to him– a hum of satisfaction slipping out of your vocal cords.

“It’s so good,” you mumble when you swallow, wiping your mouth with the napkin you found at the corner of the table. “Just what I needed right now.”

Jaemin finally digs into his own plate, a bright smile sitting at his face, and as you eat, you find yourself glancing his way from time to time. After all this time, you’re finally starting to realize just how relaxed you’re truly feeling right in this moment, despite having oily hair that’s tugged out of your way with a headband and only wearing your casual clothes, being too lazy to change your sweatpants for jeans and your hoodie for a fancier top. Jaemin just has something about him that once kept you on your toes, nerves tingling all in your insides, the same thing now making you calm and appreciative of his presence. Who would’ve thought that it would only take you two hanging out together the whole time of Park Jisung’s birthday party to finally feel relaxed and natural around each other?

Watching him as he takes a sip of his milkshake, you get surprised at his disgusted face. “What’s up?”

“I forgot I hate strawberries,” he notes, scratching the back of his neck as he battles the face of discomfort spreading over his features.

“And you ordered a strawberry milkshake… because you hate strawberries?” you snicker, laughing at his face.

“Well, I ordered it for the aesthetic, I suppose, but the fact that it’s actually gonna taste like strawberries kind of… escaped my brain for a sec,” he explains, making you shake your head in disbelief at him, offering the boy your own milkshake that you have yet to take a sip of.

“Want mine? It’s a banana one. I don’t mind strawberries,” you say, smiling at him encouragingly when he hesitantly eyes the tall glass.

“Are you sure?”

“Of course,” you say, nudging the milkshake towards him, seeing as he exchanges the straws and sets the pink drink in front of you with a grin full of gratitude. The man takes a sip out of your drink, his eyes instantly growing wide at the taste, nodding his head and closing his eyes in pure bliss.

“Now, this is perfect.”

Giggling at his expression, you finish your plate and sit in a comfortable silence as the boy in front of you does the same. Seeing as he’s done with his serving as well, both of your stomachs full of the delicious meal, you watch him as he clears his throat before speaking up again. “So, what are your plans for the rest of the day?”

“You know, the usual,” you shrug, “check up on my roommate to see if she hasn’t died in her sleep, maybe try to wake her up in a way that doesn’t get me killed… Do the chores she was supposed to do because now she won’t stop complaining about her headache, and then watch the Spiderman movies, because I saw Tom Holland on my TikTok for you page the other day and suddenly got obsessed,” you explain, chuckling to yourself.

“No way!”

“What?”

“I wanted to watch those too!” Jaemin exclaims, expression full of surprise and excitement, his face lighting up something inside of you that makes you speak before you even get a chance to contemplate your decision.

“Let’s watch it together, then!”

His face falls into disappointment, pursing his lips as he shakes his head, full of disappointment. “I can’t today, I promised Jeno to drive him to his grandma’s in the afternoon.”

“That’s okay, let’s just watch it some other day. I’ll wait with it for you,” you say, finishing the last of your milkshake, seeing as the boy’s eyes light up at your suggestion.

“But what about your plans?”

“I can watch something else today,” you say, “maybe I’ll watch something with Yizhuo, so she forgets about her grumpy mood, you know.”

And with that, the plans are arranged. It all happens so quickly and spontaneously you can’t even let yourself process your actions, your brain only waking up when Jaemin pays for you at the counter despite your protests, deep voice full of teasing telling you that it’s okay and that it’s for all the snacks he’s eaten and will further eat while he’s over at your place.

“What do you mean it’s not on Netflix?” you hush, scrolling through the app popped up on the TV, clearly not showing any signs of the Spiderman movies. You could’ve sworn you’ve seen the movies on there when you were randomly scrolling through the service one day, not really interested in seeing them, but when it’s the time for you to actually watch the series, it’s nowhere to be seen, vanished from the face of the earth. It happens quite a lot with Netflix, actually– and while google may say the movie is available, when you open up the app yourself, it’s like you’re banned from seeing everything that’s there for the rest of the world to see.

“Well, we can just watch something else, then–”

“I am not watching anything else, Jaemin, we came here to watch Spiderman, so that’s what we’re doing,” you announce, rolling your eyes in annoyance. It’s not his fault– of course it isn’t– but the way he’s willing to give up on the movie so easily is making your blood boil. You’re no quitter when it comes to movies– either you get it on Netflix, or you do some digging (doesn’t matter if it takes you more time than the actual running time of the movie itself) and pirate it online. A few ads about hot singles in your area could never stop you when you’re about to watch something your soul has been searching for the last few weeks.

“We don’t have Disney plus, though,” the man squints, seemingly at the end with his solutions.

“We don’t need those paid streaming services,” you roll your eyes, shutting the TV off and getting your laptop from the bottom shelf of your coffee table, “let’s just find it online.”

Typing in your password and opening up the browser, a few searches of Spiderman online for free later, you’re able to find at least five sites with your desired movie in it. The only thing left for you to do is to check if it has subtitles– because when you watch a movie, all your listening comprehension abilities fly out of the window, no matter how fluent in the language you are– and see which one has the best quality. Settling on an ugly looking site with three ads covering the video window and another five around the corners, you smile to yourself, noticing as your companion only stares at you in awe. The look makes you feel like you just hacked the FBI site, and judging from his eyes, he’s admiring you as if you really did just show him the doings of Anonymous, but you only roll your eyes at him and snicker as you point towards your screen.

“Now we just click through 25 ads and pop-up windows and we’re there,” you nod, motioning towards the laptop, before a sound of the front door opening makes you jump up in surprise and halt in your movements.

Seeing as your roommate gets into the hall, seemingly out of breath and red in her face, carrying her tote bag scrunched up in the palm of her hand like a sack full of dog shit instead of the fashion statement it is, Yizhuo looks at you with furrowed eyebrows and a lost look on her face. “What’s Jaemin doing here?”

The boy next to you huffs in offense, opening his mouth and chiming in his defense. “And what are you doing here? Did the three meters from the elevator to the front door tire you this much?”

“I live here!” she exclaims, throwing her arms up in the air. “And the lift is broken again, so I had to take the stairs. I don’t think we had a hangout scheduled today?” she asks, pointing towards her project partner with a lost look, seemingly annoyed at herself just in case she forgot about the study session and made other plans instead.

“No,” Jaemin gets out, shaking his head, “we didn’t.”

“Oh,” Yizhuo says, eyes drifting from him back to you and then from you back to him, before realization settles onto her face as she nods. “Oh,” she repeats, more exaggerated now, “I see how it is. Inviting Na Jaemin over when I’m not around…”

Heat rising to your cheeks, you speak up for the first time, completely ready to shield yourself from her slandering words. “Yeah, speaking of that, weren’t you supposed to be on your date with Mark?”

The girl smiles at you in irony, noting the choice of words, before she runs into her room and comes out with a purse instead, dropping her things into the new bag. Before she’s out of the flat again, she pops a head back into the living room, waving at you with one last goodbye. “I just had to take a different bag, since this kept falling off my shoulder. I’ll see you guys in the evening, and please, out of all places, don’t shag at the kitchen counter, at least–”

“Your date is waiting.”

“At least I admit that it’s a date, sweetie, so in your place, I’d shut my mouth,” she recites, tone laced with bitterness, “okay, bye, kiss kiss!” she says before the sound of the door loudly shutting pierces through your ears, leaving the two of you in complete silence.

Clearing your throat, deciding to not go back to the things that have come out of your roommate's mouth, you shift your focus back onto the laptop, awkwardly scratching your neck before speaking up. “Now that’s out of the way…” you mumble, “can you please try to get the movie playing? There will be about 75 ads popping up, you just need to patiently close each and every one of them and not play the porn games, okay?”

“Why would I–”

“I’m gonna make some popcorn in the meantime, since I imagine it’s gonna take a while. Oh and also, you can’t pause the movie, because that makes the whole process repeat and we’ll have to close all of the ads again, so when it’s done, just call me and I’ll be quick,” you finish explaining before disappearing into the kitchen area.

Rummaging through the cupboards, you finally acquire the popcorn you’ve been searching for. Plopping it into the microwave and setting the timer to approximately 3 minutes, you go on a search for more snacks– sweet ones this time, since chasing down the saltiness with a chocolate bar is your favorite activity to do after eating popcorn– and getting out some bowls to put everything into, preparing the things onto the kitchen counter.

Too absorbed in the noise of the corn popping in the microwave, you don’t notice footsteps approaching you in the small room, the voice of Na Jaemin scaring you to death.

“I love these!” he exclaims, motioning to the M&M’s you just opened and poured into a bowl. His voice makes you turn back to him in surprise, adrenaline in your veins only heightening when your face almost meets his chest, his body so close to your figure you can almost feel the heat radiating off his figure. Gasping at the close proximity, you react automatically and try to take a step back from him, but your back only meets the counter that somehow does nothing to support your frame as you back up to it, making you lose your balance and almost crash into the hard surface.

Jaemin’s arms shoot up quickly to steady you, one hand landing on your hip and another one gently catching the back of your head into his palm so you don’t meet with the upper drawers of the kitchen counter in a painful thud, the soft gesture making pools of honey gather in your stomach at the action. “Careful,” he snickers at your taken-aback posture, your hands aimlessly clutching the edge of the countertop.

“Well, maybe if you didn’t appear out of nowhere, I wouldn’t almost smash my head open out of surprise,” you mumble, eyes shifting from his face towards his chest instead, the so well-known feeling of curiosity and nerves you thought was long gone whenever you are around Jaemin approaching you again in great measures, keeping you up on your toes.

He only shrugs at your expression, not really offering you any more words, a chuckle escaping past his lips almost driving you to insanity.

One of his arms– the one cradling the crown of your head– comes down around you and reaches into the sweets bowl, taking a few into his hold and dropping them onto his tongue. Chewing, with an overly-exaggerated hum of satisfaction, the man offers you the sweets and feeds you off his palm, the sugar melting on your tongue somehow reminding you of the man standing in front of you, the tension growing big in your stomach.

“You’re standing very close,” you mutter under your nose when you notice his and your thighs touching, hearing as he hums at your remark.

“Do you not like it?”

“I–” you stutter, cheeks only further heatening at the question, “that’s not what I said.”

“See,” he snickers, “I’m standing in perfect proximity, then.”

Eyes hesitantly jumping to his face, seeing him looking down at you with warm eyes and a teasing glint in his smile, your heartbeat quickens even more, slowly starting to match the rhythm of the corn popping in the microwave. His hand still on your hip, the contact of it with your clothed skin burning, you’re suddenly finding it really hard to keep your nerves down, swallowing harshly before you open your mouth to speak up or else you’re going to go crazy.

“Jaemin–”

“Can you admit that to yourself?” he cuts you off, suddenly, face curious and a little more hesitant than before. Looking at him with confusion in your eyes, he repeats the question. “That this is a date. Can you… can you admit that to yourself, Y/N?”

Blinking a few times at the strange inquiry, you stutter again, your thoughts running back and forth in your brain too fastly for you to catch up with them. “I– well, I–”

Shaking his head in disbelief, Jaemin snickers again. “I was told that you’re a bit oblivious, and that I should probably be more direct with my actions, because of… obvious reasons…” he chuckles, “so if you needed confirmation, I’d think of this as a date. And the lunch we had together before as well, if that wasn’t clear enough… I originally wanted to play it more subtly, but I realized that I should maybe change my ways for you to get me, so… if you don’t want this to be a date, just tell me. I just thought I should tell you.”

Gasping at his words, you shake your head in clear disapproval, suddenly too worried about him getting the wrong message. “It’s– I was hoping… this was a date? I– I mean–”

The man in front of you visibly relaxes, giggling at your reaction. His heartfelt laughter makes the mood lighter again– the knot in your stomach loosening a little only for a bit, before the man catches you off guard with another question, his face inching dangerously close to you.

“Do you do kisses on first dates, then?”

Breath shaking, eyes shifting from his deep eyes to the plush skin of his lips, you mumble out a reply. “I mean… by what you just said, this is not really a first date, so…”

“Does that mean I can kiss you?”

Gaping into his face, you nod– barely visible, but it’s there and it’s enough of a confirmation– before your eyes are shut in expectation and his soft lips land on yours, the sweetness of candy mixing in with the saccharine nature of his personality, gentle presses to your parted mouth making your knees week with bliss. Your hands hesitantly find their place on his neck, bringing him closer when he tries to pull away, earning yourself a smile from the male that you can feel in the kiss, the knot in your stomach fully disappearing and morphing into lightness and gentle fluttering.

Feeling the man sucking on your bottom lip and gently pinching the skin of your hip that he’s still kneading in between his fingers, you squeal into the contact as he gently hosts you up onto the kitchen counter, lips attacking yours only breaking apart when the microwave goes off and you try to catch your breath in between hungry kisses.

“Jaemin–”

“Hm?” he hums as his lips occupy themselves with your jaw instead, seeing as you’re meaning to talk right now and he’s a gentleman– he doesn’t want to break your words.

“The popcorn’s done,” you sigh, his lips only reaching further down your neck, not really paying attention to anything you’re saying, only responding with a content hum of acknowledgment. Seeing as he doesn’t really care– and neither do you, honestly, with his lips so magically attached to your skin– you let yourself indulge in the action again, tugging him back towards your face by his chin and connecting your lips once again, firm kisses exchanged between the two of you as his hands stay secure on the curve of your hips.

Fingers threading into the hair on his nape, you chuckle into the kiss when he talks in between, annoying you and amusing you at the same time– since you can’t get enough of his mouth, but still find his words kind of funny. “Oh look, it only took this long for you to realize I have a crush on you…”

Tired of his teasing, you shake your head in disbelief as you decide to move your lips away from his mouth, but rather pressing them along his jaw, just the way he did only a few seconds ago, shyly, yet determinately attaching yourself to his neck, pressing soft kisses steadily in between more hungrier ones, admiring the redness of his skin when you part away from him and see the wet spots you just attacked. “Can’t say it wasn’t worth it, though,” he hums as you seemingly find his soft spot, his whole body reacting as he squirms under you and moves you so you’re back against his lips, the contact more heated and rushed.

His hand slowly teases the edge of your shirt, cold fingertips drumming across your belly, and the further up he moves, the more goosebumps appear all over your back, pressing yourself closer to him on the uncomfortable kitchen counter.

“I know Yizhuo said no shagging on the kitchen counter, but I mean…” he hums as his hand reaches the hem of your bra, “what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her, am I right?”

Giggling at his comment, you momentarily contemplate to giving in to the temptation, but a loud noise coming from the living room is enough to wake you up back to your senses, the sound of the movie acting as a wake up call, causing your whole body to jump and shrug Jaemin’s hands off you; his swollen lips and flushed cheeks on your full display when you gape at him.

“The movie’s playing?” you ask.

“Yeah,” he nods, “forgot to tell you.”

“Why didn’t you tell me! I explained that you can’t pause it, now we have to load it again because rewinding it does the same,” you mourn, pushing him a little further away from you so you can jump off the counter and chime into the living room, his footsteps following you.

“I mean, I thought this was much more entertaining than the movie, but okay,” he says, causing you to playfully swat him on the shoulder before you close the tab and reopen it again, shoving him towards the kitchen instead.

“Go and get the popcorn out. I’ll load it back up, since you’re totally useless at the art of pirating,” you chime, rolling his eyes at him, battling back the grin that’s threatening to settle onto your features all while you’re trying to calm down the erratic beating of your heart.

And when the movie finally plays and you let yourself settle against Jaemin’s figure on the sofa, content with his arms around your middle and the occasional comments he lets out at the scenes rolling on the screen, you find yourself wondering how after all of this, this is the way you end up with him– spontaneously and totally unprepared.

A scene of Peter Parker appears on your laptop, the man in the red spider suit shooting webs to the top of the building to get MJ into safety, making a bubbly laugh heave out of Jaemin’s throat. “I wish I had those when I had to carry you drunk to the top floor,” he teases.

“Oh shut up, you did that to yourself,” you roll your eyes, reminding yourself of the day with much despair in your memory.

“And what was I supposed to do, leave you there?” he chuckles. “Besides, I quite liked the journey. Didn’t even mind that it took so long… it made the top floor feel like a big reward, you know,” he says, and when he looks at you from the corner of his eye, his orbs warming up like hot chocolate,

you swear there’s a metaphor– hell, a life lesson– somewhere in there.

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