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wincore · 2 years

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corduroy | liu yangyang

pairing: yangyang x fem!reader

synopsis: in which all the wrong guys are in love with you, you’re in love with your best friend, and your best friend is in love with stupidity.

genre: bff2l, college au, they’re both cs majors (don’t boo me), tooth-rotting stomachache-inducing fluff.

word(s): 11.2k

warning(s): language, alcohol, so many typos probably.

a/n: this is an old wip so it’s not probably up to date with the jokes. i literally scrapped it and brought it back again. also there is not plot and i was peer pressured into posting this. i’m kind of glad to be back into the schedule of posting though!! ٩(^ᴗ^)۶

i. cotton

The thing is, you can’t ever say for sure that Liu Yangyang was your first love. Not when he was missing a tooth, with hair tossed wild in the wind and a Spiderman bandaid on his scraped knee beneath blue cotton shorts. You can’t say he ever made enough sense to be anyone’s first love at all.

But when he had extended a tiny hand towards you with nervous anticipation, you had taken it because you thought all of that was cute. Your neighbor with the squishy cheeks and round, inquisitive eyes was cute; and your parents had always told you to mind your manners. Of course, manners weren’t what forced you to inevitably like him. And anyway, he had only asked for your help because you were a head taller back then and he couldn’t reach the button on the vending machine for his favorite juice. Now it makes sense as to why he was so red in the face and rambling his head off.

You’ve fallen in love a number of times, and they weren’t with Liu Yangyang. Your first love was more of a crush on the basketball captain four years older and in high school. He was tall and broad shouldered and you thought seventeen year olds were the coolest people on earth. They were, in fact, not. Liu Yangyang at seventeen had gotten rice stuck inside his nostril while trying to make a mustache out of brown sticky rice.

Your second love, in ninth grade, with a boy who had the brightest grin and his kiss tasted purple like your favorite color at the time, which slowly faded to a worn out gray when the time came. He was sweet, and considerate for a teenager, and showed you pictures of his cats but he was an exchange student and it only lasted a semester and a week. Liu Yangyang called the boy a fever dream and told you to forget him because "first relationships are always like that" according to his wiser, older friend in class 10-2.

Your third love was in the first year of college and it was less love and more casual attraction to a particularly happy-go-lucky senior. He always wore a look that made you uncomfortable and it was most likely because he was too hot and way too out of your league. Even more likely because he never stayed for too long. Liu Yangyang called him a jerk and an ape-faced asshole though you could sense some sort of jealousy from him. Maybe Yangyang just doesn't like popular guys.

So here you are now, with your untimely realization in Web Dev 101 that the boy sleeping beside you is the only boy that has stuck with you for the longest. The sun shines over the clean cut of his face and his dyed hair parted over his forehead, and you instinctively move your hand to block out the light over his eyes. It’s disgusting. Liu Yangyang is disgustingly cute.

You’re lucky the laptops cover you or the professor would yell his head off at the two of you for not paying attention. Yangyang’s laptop is vibrant, full of the stickers you got for free at hackathons and yours is neat and clean silver, a clear reflection of how much of a mess he is and a not-mess you are. ("It's decorative! I like them for motivation. Besides they're stuck in orderly fashion." "Dude, a sticker that says ‘uwu’ isn't exactly what you'd stick for motivation.") There's no way you'd fall for your doofus of a best friend, right?

“This is just cruel,” Yangyang mutters, and you quickly move your hand away.

“What is?” You whisper.

“The fact that he’s given us like three assignments and I still can’t panic enough to focus in class.”

You roll your eyes. “Three assignments over three weeks! That’s enough time.”

“I don’t want advice from an overachieving perfectionist.”

“Hey, what’s wrong with being a perfectionist? We’re almost the same. You fuss over shoes and I fuss over grades.”

Yangyang raises his head and narrows his eyes at you. “Touché.”

A nasal voice makes you drop the smile from your face as quick as lightning.

“Do you have anything to contribute to the rest of the lecture, Miss (name) and uh… your friend?”

Yangyang makes a face behind his timed out laptop screen, mouthing a complaint of “He doesn’t even know my name?”

You shake your head, offering a clean “No, Professor.” Yangyang sits straight and scratches the back of his head, mumbling a sheepish apology.

Once the class is over, you stop your usual detour to the professor and follow Yangyang out instead. The sun is slightly less harsher than before but he covers his eyes and yours too, in a gesture that’s meant more to smack you over the forehead.

“You are so annoying,” you huff.

“Like you’re any less annoying.”

“You’re going to make me lose my 4.0 one of these days,” you jab, holding your bag closer to you.

“Oh, boohoo, I’m (name) and I would push my best friend off a cliff if I went from a 4.0 to a 3.9.”

“You know me so well.”

Yangyang makes a face, adjusting his crinkled white T-shirt that you have told so many times to iron. You wonder how he functions at all, much less keeps up with academics and clubs.

"All the college's you could've joined and you had to enroll in the same one as me." You click your tongue.

You're not upset though. In fact, you'd told Yangyang just how dead set you were on getting in and how good the university is just so maybe, only maybe he'd want to join too. You wanted that to be at least one of the reasons behind his decision. But Liu Yangyang thinks for himself as clear as day. There's no way he would follow his best friend wherever, to the end of the world or to paradise. Would he?

You can't figure it out when he looks at you with such bright, twinkling eyes and a wide grin.

“Anyway, I should get going,” he says, holding up his phone.

So, here’s the issue.

Yangyang has a girlfriend, who he’s deeply in love with. You have a boyfriend you’re on the verge of breaking up with.

He smiles softly at Shuhua’s text, a little different from the way he smiles at you—like she’s the moon and you’re the sun. And everyone knows the way mortals have always loved the moon, enough to write pages and pages of literature about and enough to send billion dollar machines to see her closer. The sun might help them live but the moon is what they live for.

You can’t bring yourself to be jealous however. Apart from the fact that she was your closest campus friend in freshman year after Yangyang, she’d helped you get into frat parties and loosen up enough to (unintentionally) expand your social circle. Getting drunk really is the best way to make friends, especially if you’re not supposed to be drinking in the first place. You can’t count the number of times Shuhua helped you when you got a little too tipsy (while being tipsy herself and that’s a rare breed.)

The two of you only drifted apart after she changed her major to PolSci, and the frequency of visiting parties started to wane. Yangyang and Shuhua met through you. You should be happy your best friend finally got a college love life. According to statistics, most people get married to their highschool or college sweethearts. The thought sours your mood a bit.

“Yeah,” you say. “I’ll go meet up with Yunho. We have a cuter date planned than you do.”

Yangyang rolls his eyes. “Senior dudes are bad news. Break up with him.”

You exhale, disbelieving. “Not you thinking you have a say in my relationship.”

“Eh, whatever. Bye-bye!”

You watch him sprint across the hall with his baby blue bag dangling off his shoulder and you shake your head like a despairing mother at her disgraceful son. You wonder who really runs faster between the two of you—him, after the little joys of life or you, after a future that you’ve only brushed fingertips against. You’re graduating next year and it’s a little hopeless to fall in love with your best friend now.

So, of course, you’re going to pretend you’re not, not now, not ever.

ii. denim

You would rather die than go on a double date with your best friend and his girlfriend.

They look sickeningly happy (and you’re happy for them, you tell yourself) while you still, in your twenties now, can’t understand the concept of love.

The worst part is that Yunho isn’t coming. Your boyfriend has about a million other things he’d do than spend time with you. You wonder if you’re even on the priority list. It’s laughable—but only because you’re not any better. You wouldn’t be smiling at your best friend trying to win at the claw machine by the park entrance, tongue poking out in concentration and wondering if this is love.

“Is she coming any time soon?” You ask, checking the time on your watch.

“You know, I still think your boyfriend is shitty.” He looks up with an annoyed frown. “You look nice for once and he’s missing out.”

“For once? I’m not taking that from a gremlin.”

Yangyang rolls his eyes. “Shuhua’s got a project review. I don’t think she can make it.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

“I… just got the text.” He scratches the back of his head before turning back to the machine. “This thing is a scam.”

“You just realized?”

“Shut up.”

There’s a pause, the fresh wind gently caressing the two of you and he takes a step closer.

“Ice cream?” He says.

“Ice cream.” You giggle, the discomfort in your chest dissolving into the cold, melted pool of ice cream that Yangyang steals from you anyway.

“I still have the two tickets to the park…” Yangyang complains when you suggest going home.

“Save it so you can go with Shuhua,” you scold.

“It’s for the today, stupid!” He crosses his arms. “You’re wasting my money by not going.”

“Who asked you to prebook tickets? Idiot.”

“You said that’s the smarter option!”

“You’re supposed to make sure people are coming when you prebook!” You argue, furrowing your eyebrows.

“Let’s just go,” he mutters, slipping his hand into yours and pulling you over the sidewalk.

It’s not any old amusement park. It’s too grand and too jovial and too full of couples. God, you keep forgetting it’s a hotspot for sickly displays of whatever the hell they call love. You don’t care what they say, wearing matching cat ears is not love. Or coordinated couple outfits. Or couple rings. All of that is a stupid capitalistic ploy to thrive off temporary happiness.

You don’t know if it’s your boyfriend standing you up making you bitter, or the fact that you’re probably there with your best friend as a replacement for the love of his life. Why couldn’t you fall in love with Shuhua instead? It seems less painful to be in love with someone perfect. And sweet. And smells nice. (You’d think Yangyang would take some notes and stop using Axe body spray.)

The fact that you adore the ball of imperfections that Yangyang is makes it so much worse than it should be. There are still childish thoughts swirling in your head—you’ve known him longer, shouldn’t you be dating him? Or, you’re as close as two people can be, doesn’t that mean you should be lovers? After twenty-one years of life, you swallowed the pill stuck at the base of your tongue. Love cannot be equated with logic. It’s too impulsive, a ball of fire let loose on a blank, dark night. It’s completely ridiculous.

“Hello? (name), are you there?” Yangyang waves a hand in front of you. “Oh no, my robot’s malfunctioning. I need an engineer to help me. Oh wait, I’m the engineer.”

You smack his hand away. “Just… zoning out.”

“Don’t tell me you’re tired already,” he whines. “We just got here. And I’m getting us some crepes.”

You sigh, following him as he walks backwards and crashes into a bunch of people. Good ol’ second hand embarrassment. You can never be rid of it as long as you’re with Yangyang. But he’s snapped you out of it at least. An amusement park is no place to be lamenting the misery of your love life.

“No,” you say, when you see where Yangyang is tugging you to. “I’m not riding that.”

“Don’t be a spoilsport,” he says. “I’ll let you cling to me when you get scared.”

“Yangyang.” You pinch the bridge of your nose. “I don’t like roller coasters because you grab onto my hand way too tight and oh, not to mention you screaming murder in my ear.”

A light flush burns at the tip of his ears.

“I’ve grown up, (name),” he responds, straightening and placing his hands at his hips.

You hate the touch of his hand when he holds your hand and drags you to the ride anyway. He would start tickle fights in a similar fashion too, when he didn’t get his way. He’s always been a brat. You shouldn’t be beaming at him just because he looks so adorable, all excited (mostly scared) about the crazy drop of the ride.

“Just you wait,” he says, grinning from ear to ear.

You don’t really want to wait anymore. The wait is the agony of it.

The ride leaves your hair just about as you’d expected. Yangyang’s is funnier. His bangs stick out in two different directions and the rest of it looks like a chemistry experiment gone wrong. You can’t help doubling over laughing at it; he looks so distressed just because a girl from your data science lab passed you by.

He takes out his phone, taking a selfie of the two of you and catching you off-guard. You’d tell him to delete it but you know he’s going to stash it away till your birthday, the prime time to post all your embarrassing pictures.

“Oh, man,” he says. “You think I can sell these for some cash? I know some guys who’d pay to see you smile like that.”

You only smile at him like that. Idiot.

You roll your eyes at him instead, now tugging him towards an ice-cream truck. Chocolate for you, cookies and cream for him—as always. But your favorite food is best savored with a lovely view.

“Why do you only like the boring rides?” he asks, drudging forward as you make your way to the Ferris wheel. It’s getting closer to evening, and somehow evening calls for proximity.

“I need some pictures for my Instagram!” You defend. “Besides, it feels pretty good to be above everything.”

“Like, ‘standing over the corpses of my enemies’ kind of above or ‘above my puny, human problems’ kind of above?” He raises an eyebrow.

You chuckle. “The second one.”

He hums, not responding. “My ice-cream’s melting because of you.”

Getting into the cabin, you get a warning from the employee to not drop your food there—but a bright grin from Yangyang makes her let you off easy. God, he is cute. You aren’t going crazy then. (But Shuhua’s decision was a lapse of judgment, you know. Yangyang aimed a bit too high and it landed somehow.)

“Hey, this is for you,” he says all of a sudden, the sky still candy blue behind him.

You blink at the butterfly hairpin, golden and pink (and going nicely with your outfit too, but you didn’t know Yangyang was paying attention.)

“Put it on,” you say, trying to calm the beating of your heart in the silence that follows. It’s just a gift. You’ve given each other gifts before—how are you forgetting your basic human functioning because of a little gesture?

Yangyang gives you his ice-cream to hold, his hands nimbly smoothing out your hair before clipping your hair back near your ear.

“You look pretty,” he mumbles. He’s not even looking at you with how zoned out he is. “Pretty… uh, pretty stupid!”

“Nice save,” you retort. “I was thinking you’d fallen for me, like the piece of shit you are.”

“I wish I did,” he says, immediately regretting it after he says it.

“What?”

“It’s nothing.” He gulps. “I… I just- no, it’s okay.”

“Yangyang,” you call in a warning tone. “At least talk over ice-cream.”

He pokes at his ice-cream, taking small bites occasionally. “Shuhua and I… sometimes I doubt us. It’s a complicated feeling. You know when you’re missing something, right? It’s like having a hole underneath a cover. I didn’t even notice.”

His voice wavers at the end.

“Hey,” you say, a rush of empathy flooding you as you place your hand on his shoulder. “I think it’s okay to feel insecure or something—”

“No, it’s not,” he says sharply, taking a breath. “It’s not insecurity. It’s just… I’m not having fun anymore. I wonder if that’s the only reason people fall in love.”

“I… I don’t know either. It’s kind of complicated, right?”

“That makes two of us then,” he says, recovering his grin. “It’s somehow always the two of us.”

The Ferris wheel stops, the two of you finally at the top. In the movies, they kiss now. But the only thing meeting your lips is your melted ice-cream. You almost forget to take the pictures you were in here for.

You wonder if posting Yangyang to your story will give the wrong impression. Immediately, you chide yourself. Why would it? Everyone knows you’re best friends. Nothing’s wrong about this. He looks pretty in the picture, in a black hoodie against shiny glass and a pastel background. He always brings the contrast. Something about that is pleasant to you. Your best friend isn’t a complicated, miserable pile of thoughts like you are. He’s just there. He’s always there.

Something causes you to blurt it out.

“You know, I’m glad it’s the two of us,” you say.

Yangyang blinks, not particularly trying to tear apart your sentence.

“Me too,” he responds.

This isn’t a movie. You already know that. You have to return to the ground at some point.

Maybe you can come to terms with it though. Being in love and not being loved. Liu Yangyang is still your best friend, and nothing can go wrong when it’s the two of you—even with whatever the hell is blooming and rotting inside your ribcage.

You part at the place you met, Yangyang providing one last glare at the claw machine. The sheep soft toy seems to offer a cheeky smile in return. He yells a goodbye, turning back over and over to see if you’re leaving. It’s a stupid thing he does.

“I had fun,” you call and he turns back again, eyes twinkling.

(Maybe you are in love. Maybe it isn’t so complicated. Maybe you should stop playing 4D chess at a checkers competition.)

He grins wide at you, a heart-wavering grin, something of routine and walks on with spry steps over the pavement. The sky is turning pink and the blue is bleeding away. The day will end, like all the rest.

Cotton candy totally doesn’t remind you of the time Yangyang faceplanted onto some during your sixth grade school trip. No, you totally don’t think of Yangyang and his plastic stegosaurus (his favorite) figurines when you see the dinosaur-themed ride. And of course, you don’t think of him over old pop love songs on the radio.

“The world is full of lies,” you’d said once on a park bench near your old high school. The day before summer vacation was always chaos for crowds and a strange moment of peace for the two of you.

You didn’t expect a reply. It was a usual complaint of yours, whenever something didn’t turn out right despite the best of your efforts. The world was and is still unfair. Coming to terms with that hurts even now.

“So let’s find the truth together!” He’d said, imitating the protagonist of a detective cartoon you used to watch as kids. You had laughed with him.

But you did want that. You wanted to find your truths together, sitting on a park bench with ice pops in your mouth. You wonder if he remembers that day.

The realization is as sudden as the click of a vending machine. You just have too many memories interlaced with the touch, scent and laugh of your best friend; it would be hard to let go now. For you, colors don’t fade. For him, a new color replaces the old. It’s hard to fall in love with someone splashed in the very colors you love but cannot have for yourself. Love is difficult and cruel and brutal—and you can curse your heart out at it. But the irony remains the same. You will always crave what you don’t have. Maybe it’ll comfort you to believe you wouldn’t want him if he were yours.

Everything that is easy is complicated. But even so, you know your comfort lies in that little intersection between the two, the spot that Yangyang holds for you.

iii. satin

Some days, you think you’re soaring.

Note: that has nothing to do with getting complimented by your professor on your semester project.

Maybe a little bit.

You don’t know what gives you the confidence (you know exactly what gives you the confidence) but you finally break up with Yunho. You know he’ll be okay. It was a long time coming, and no amount of begging is going to get you to unblock his number or hear out his explanation for basically ogling every other girl in the room whenever you’re together. Relationships require trust. If you can’t build that, it will always be a failure.

You sigh as you make your way back home. It’s not that you didn’t like him. He was so nice at first, and he built up your confidence without realizing. In the same fashion, he broke it down too. You hate to admit it but Yangyang was right. You spent too much time on someone that wasn’t worth it. But you’ll have these negative feelings bubble up on some other day.

This weekend is going to be spent relaxing.

The winds signify rain about to come and you take quicker steps to your apartment. You don’t hate rainy weather but they’re best spent inside.

The moment you enter your apartment, you find a familiar figure cooped up on the couch and the familiar scent of mint choco ice-cream. You frown. He only has that godforsaken flavor when something’s up. He’s got his laptop too, and watching a recap of the NBA games is definitely enough to make you question his mental wellbeing. On a side note, his image could definitely be on the new poster for the campus mental health awareness campaign.

“Yangyang?” you call, taking off your shoes.

He’s dressed in the Hello Kitty pajamas the two of you have a matching set of; he’d left it here at your place so he’d never have to resort to wearing that in the dorm. You don’t get what’s so bad about it. If he expects to wear classy velvet robes in his own place, he’s forgetting his origins—from spending time at Hello Kitty stores to winning a year’s supply of Pompompurin socks.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, leaning in to catch a glimpse of his face under the dim lights.

It looks like something out of a zombie horror flick, in an almost comedic way.

“I… I got demoted to ‘just friends’,” he mutters, looking away in a desperate attempt to pick up his shredded ego.

You take a moment to process it. Just friends…? ‘Just friends’ can be a haunting phrase too. You know that.

Your jaw drops. Pushing the tiny devil that’s laughing off your shoulder, you make your way to him.

“For real?”

“Do people fake break up?”

“Right. Sorry.”

There’s a quiet pause.

“Can I go change before we can have the post-breakup talk?” You ask, noting the slight indifference in his face—at least, for what a post-breakup face should look like.

“Yeah, go ahead,” he says, waving his hand about. “I’ll be here wallowing in my misery. You have fun changing.”

“Yangyang.”

“I can’t believe she broke up with me,” he whines, face pressed against his pillow before he removes it and huffs in annoyance. He eventually takes the bucket of ice cream and stuffs his face with some more. You really shouldn't be so glad about it but Yangyang isn't as down in the dumps as you'd thought either.

“You’re not sad?” you ask.

He shrugs. “Well, I have you.”

His casual demeanor isn’t all there is. You can see the red rim under his eyes and the blotchy cheeks.

You feel warm in the face anyway though you shouldn’t. “I’m not a substitute for a girlfriend, idiot.”

"Oh, but you'd be such a lovely one." He gives you a cheeky grin and he's met with a smack to the back of his head.

"You've got enough girls after you, just pick one."

Yangyang's eyes widen, a mocking glint in them. "I do? Why didn't you tell me earlier? Oh my god, all this time I've been hot and popular and no one told me."

"I didn't say hot. You’re just somehow desirable. Plus, I thought you'd be more confident."

"Oh, I am confident there are people in love with me. It's just more validating coming from you, Prom Queen."

You roll your eyes. "You would've been Prom King too if you didn't get diarrhea and had to get hospitalized."

"Can you please never bring that up again? I'm begging you."

"You ate stale fries on your own will, I wonder who's to blame?"

He frowns, clutching his ice-cream bucket tighter. "Guess who's not getting any ice-cream?"

"Hey now. Don't be immature."

The two of you share a short chuckle.

"What about you?" He asks all of a sudden. "You don't pay attention to any of the guys lining up for you either and it's killing me because they think I'm your manager or something. What am I supposed to do about their complaints and requests?"

"Ooh, they don't even stop to think you're my boyfriend. I'm so out of your league."

"No, it's because they know I'm dating- was dating Shuhua. And you have that asshole."

“I broke up with him,” you say casually.

“What?”

“I broke up with him. He wasn’t good for me. You were right.”

Yangyang’s jaw drops. “Girl, I never thought I’d hear those words coming from you.”

You roll your eyes. "Shuhua was way out of your league too, by the way. You should thank me that you dated at all."

"Whose best friend are you again? I just got dumped, to remind you."

He chews at the pink plastic spoon with a pout. He might act like he doesn't care, and to an extent, he probably doesn't, but it certainly hurts his ego. He loses his cool around pretty girls and he's worse with rejections and break ups. His personality does a flip around you and his other friends, so you understand how all these girls find him 'cute' when he's just plain annoying.

You find him cute too and it's not when he's acting shy around strangers or focused on the code in his laptop or even when he's drunk flirting with girls at a party with ridiculously tacky pick-up lines. (Though the last one is a bit funny.) He's cute when he laughs at your jokes, or when he smiles at you and never says 'thank you' after you fix his code for him, or when he always gets two sets of juice boxes from the vending machine and two sets of everything from the convenience store at midnight. You are a set. That's what makes it so comfortable.

But there is the looming thought that you won't always be like this. College will end and you'll get a job and he'll meet someone and suddenly, you'll be the cool, unhinged wine aunt at his Christmas parties. Maybe he’ll even have some annoying kids to take after him. The thought makes you shudder. Yangyang should be legally prohibited from becoming a parent.

He lets out another groan and slides down to the floor in misery, breaking you out of that horrible loop of thoughts. You shake your head and follow, crouching on the floor beside him.

"Hey, don't overthink it. College breakups happen all the time and I've seen worse. Shuhua doesn't hate you or anything, I bet."

He moans again miserably, throwing his head back and resting it on the couch.

"God, why is our couch so uncomfortable?" He mutters irritably.

"Yangyang," you call.

Reaching your hand towards his face, you're taken aback when he grabs it before you can pinch his cheek.

"You're going to pinch my cheek, aren't you?" He complains. "I'm not a baby, you know?"

"You sure act like one," you mutter.

A moment passes and his grip on your wrist loosens to him holding your hand, fingers intertwined. He slowly opens them to compare your hand sizes.

"Wow, I've grown," he declares. Of course he did, you haven't compared hand sizes since sixth grade and you were bored out of your minds while cleaning up the classroom.

His hands are cold from the cup but yours are warm and that's all that matters. You're balanced in a way that no other guy can make you feel and not to mention, the stupid butterflies he's been giving you lately.

“Wanna go get some snacks?” You suggest. “They finally restocked the vending machine.”

Yangyang laughs. “Yeah. Sure.”

“Ooh, and you pick a movie.”

Yangyang nods, reluctantly getting up and pulling you up after him, though with more force than he intended. You end up crashing into his chest, the two of you mumbling apologies. You’re too tired to tease him—or so you tell yourself. The way you’re looking for a way to hide your face suggests a deeper embarrassment to it.

“You know it’s bad habit to have soda at night,” he says, watching you pick something from the vending machine. The glow highlights the sharp jawline and edges of his face, somehow making him look more mature than during daytime.

“You’re a bundle of bad habits, Yangyang, and here I am, with you.”

He pouts. “You’re not going to leave me too, are you?”

“I wish I could.”

“You just do not have any sympathy for me, do you?”

“Cruelty is an art and I am Picasso’s devotee.”

“What the fuck does that even mean- don’t answer me.”

You shake your head, leading the way back to your apartment. It doesn’t matter that you’re in unicorn pajamas. Uni nights could be worse.

After the ramen cups are empty (and the popcorn and the chips and the soda) and the movie is over, your head is still resting against his chest. Your roommate is going to go all suspicious eyes and teasing hums when she finds Yangyang here tomorrow. It’s not like you’re doing something in her absence. You’re not up to all of that.

Your face turns hot. It’s just the two of you in this apartment. Why is it so much worse than all the times it’s been just the two of you? Was he always sitting this close? Your sides are pressed together and the temperature of his skin is just as warm as yours. This is not a good feeling.

“We should sleep,” he whispers, shifting to sit up and you let out a whine. “Unless you want your roommate to get the wrong idea.”

“We’re clothed!” You blurt.

“Eh? I wasn’t talking about that,” he says, a cheshire cat smile growing on his face. “But I like the way you think.”

“Shut up, Yangyang.”

You get up, make a face at him and snatch the blanket.

“Hey—wait! I was joking. Please, I’ll freeze to death without a blanket.”

You giggle, rubbing your eyes sleepily and handing the soft cloth back to him without much of a fight. He looks too cute with sleep in his eyes.

There you go again. Overusing the word ‘cute’ on someone like Yangyang. He rests his shoulder against the doorframe of your bedroom, a zoned out smile on his face.

“Good night,” he whispers, a soft smile as he leans.

For a moment, you get the ridiculous idea that he’s going to kiss you good night. But of course, he straightens, waves goodbye with your spare pillow and exits the room towards the couch. You’re not disappointed. You can’t be disappointed. Yangyang and his stupid honey brown eyes.

Yangyang sighs, plopping down on the couch. One of these days he might as well hand over the knife to you, let you cut bone-deep. When Shuhua told him what she felt—that he’s always looking at someone else when he’s with her—it felt like a far-flung accusation. He didn’t even know who she was talking about.

Yangyang gets it now. It’s you. He wants to be with you all the time, hold your hand for some embarrassing reason and even worse, let his thumb brush your cheek when he kisses you. His heart is beating like crazy at your touches and he wonders if he didn’t notice all this time or if he suppressed it unknowingly. He did say he'd marry you when he was five years old but you’d smacked him with a stick at the playground. He didn’t understand the word then, he doesn’t understand it now—beyond fiscal advantages, that is. He doesn’t understand love. If he wasn’t in love with Shuhua—and he believes he wasn’t now that he sees clearly—is it you? Everything seems to be made for you anyway. It wouldn’t be so bad if he was too.

Yangyang holds his head and groans. The timing is too awkward. He can’t make sense of feelings. You would physically assault him if he suggested dating. There’s too many errors in his plan. He’d just rather pretend to sleep now, and hope the scent of you doesn’t keep him up too long.

iv. fleece

“Hey, (name),” Yangyang calls, his laptop open in front of him.

“What is it, dickface?”

“Uncalled for, but okay.” He shifts, closing the laptop. “I had a question.”

“Spill. Why are you even prefacing your question? This isn’t our lab report.”

“You like me, don’t you?”

You freeze, looking up at him. He looks blank, with next to no emotion in his eyes. You wonder what gave it away. Having a crush feels like keeping a secret. You wonder why it’s always been that way for you, why you couldn’t be someone as open as Yukhei or Yuqi or Yerim. You want to push your heart to your sleeve but it always bounces back straight to your cheek.

Only Yangyang knows how to pull that cheek of yours. Even if you didn’t tell him, he’d know.

He looks… disappointed now. Your heart clenches. Of course. He’s still in love with someone else and you were stupid to regard a breakup as anything important.

“I can’t like you like that,” he says quietly, voice cold. “I’m sorry.”

Your ears are ringing. It’s not that bad but doesn’t this rejection feel a bit out of nowhere? You didn’t even get to confess first for god’s sake! Where is this even coming from. The ringing, shame, embarrassment and most importantly, a certain fear is getting louder. You don’t want him to look at you like that.

You wake up to the sound of your alarm. God, that didn’t feel right. It can’t be.

You sit up straight, cursing your roommate for turning off the air conditioner. Picking up your phone from your bedside table, you notice twenty-seven particular messages among the swarm of notifications.

[brat]

I left early

Dejun’s about to beat my ass for taking both the keys

Oh, btw

Left some cheetos for you

Only the empty packet tho i was hungry

ok before you get mad at me, i’ll buy you one after the morning lab

You check the time. It’s six in the morning. Nowhere near the time you’re used to waking up at.

Also check out this cute cat i found outside your apart

[3 image files attached]

too bad you missed it loser

Wait shit i didn’t mean to send that picture of you sleeping

You smile. No way. No way can he be cold. Your best friend is as warm as a summer’s day still. If he’s with you, it’s always a sunny day—even if there’s rain and snow. You tap away at a response, knowing he’ll react dramatically at you sending a text in the ass crack of dawn for no seeming reason. At least there’ll be a response. At least he won’t look at you with ice cold eyes.

[you]

creep

It’s two packets of cheetos

and your debit card number

[brat]

wtf are you awake for

Back to bed princess snoreface

You shake your head. That’s enough. The bed is warmer now and he’s not even here. It’s ridiculous how you’ve fallen. But maybe he’s your soft place to fall for a reason after all.

v. leather

There it comes, like a domineering, crashing wave after a gentle lap of water at your feet.

It’s a bad day. It’s just a bad day.

You’re trying to keep your head straight but it’s clearly not working. Pre-finals week is almost worse than finals week.

And all of the pressure just makes you overthink. You’re at your worst and you’re alone. What could be better for the anxious turmoil of a brain you have? You wonder how people love each other through distress, through the worst. It’s terrible work. Why would anyone do it?

The weekend before finals is always the worst. You’re almost always alone and you hate it. Not that you have someone in mind even now. Not at all.

You groan and plant your cheek against the hard wooden desk. You’re not even studying now. You wish Yangyang would send a dumb meme to you already. Opening your phone to a flurry of Instagram notifications is not and has never been a good idea.

You notice the comment first.

‘Homewrecker in the making’ it reads under the post of you and Yangyang from the amusement park. It feels like months ago even if it was barely three weeks. The user is an empty profile, of course. But you never considered private lives to be summed up in one comment.

You close your phone. The idea still makes you uneasy. Were you at fault? Is it self-centered to think you’re the reason or is it responsible to pin the blame on yourself?

You take a shaky breath.

It’s not even the worst thing to happen to you that night.

Your ex-boyfriend decided to be an ass about the breakup and shade you on his social media, your gpa did drop from a 4.0 to a 3.9, which means you aren’t special anymore and Yangyang is nowhere to be found. To top it off, you missed an assignment arguing with your ex and now it’s past midnight.

It’s frustrating. Somehow, life decides to dump all the garbage on you at the same time. It’s like you’re getting reminded once more to stop pretending to be so fucking level-headed al the time. Is it because you like all your friends going to you for advice? So you can feel just about grounded enough and not like your feet are sinking into the floor below? Every time you run away, it catches up.

You respond to the text from Karina without thinking. All that’s left is alcohol now. Maybe that’s what your future resume will say. (Name), Alcoholic, Almost-homewrecker.

Girls’ night out couldn’t have come at a better time. Well, girls and Jaemin and Jeno, who are probably there as designated drivers. They shoot you polite smiles when they see you. For now, it’s these two, Karina, Ningning and Shuhua. Yeji, Minjung and Jisu said they’ll come over later. That’s enough of a crowd, you suppose.

You glance at Shuhua, wondering if the lines of her face were always this perfect. It’s not exactly jealousy, but something more wistful, more delicate than the hot brew of the former feeling. You don’t wish to be her. You wish to be like her.

“There’s no problem dick can’t solve, (name)!” Ningning says enthusiastically, making you raise an eyebrow.

“Ningning, I say this with only love in my heart, but who have you been hanging out with?”

She scratches the back of her head, offering a sheepish smile. “The sorority.”

“Oh, you got in!” You smile. “Congratulations.”

“If only you would join us,” Karina says, giving you a pointed look.

“I cannot afford that unreasonable house fee, Karina,” you reason.

“The frat is better than the sorority though, so just know you always have free entry to our parties from me,” Jaemin chimes in, grinning.

“You’re just doing that to get on Karina’s nerves,” Shuhua says, shaking her head. “If there were more of the girls, you’d be dead in a ditch somewhere.”

You giggle at the banter. This group is about as ridiculous as it gets.

And yet still, something is missing. You remember Yangyang’s words. That there’s a hole and you’re only covering it. The street lights are alive and twinkling as ever, the mechanical sound of cars passing by adding a rhythm to your senses. Something is missing. You think you know what—who it is. But you didn’t come here to think. No, you’re going to shove all of your thoughts aside for the moment.

One shot of vodka does not get anyone in your friend group drunk. Two shots of vodka gets Karina horribly drunk. Three shots of vodka makes you tipsy when you’re on an empty stomach.

The club is too dark, but also too bright and you find a place to sit down after Jaemin gets socked in the face by a very drunk Karina and has to sit down with you.

You laugh at Jaemin massaging his cheek.

“This is not funny!” He yells over the music. “Do you know how hard that girl punches?”

“She started boxing,” you respond, shrugging.

He makes a shocked expression, hand hovering over his chest and scandalized gesture.

“Do you wanna order some food?” He asks.

Ah, Jaemin, ever so observant.

“I’m good,” you tell him, though you can feel your stomach rumbling.

“I heard the frittatas here are really good!” He beams at you.

You laugh softly. “I’m fine, really.”

“Well, if you need anything, just let me know. I’ll be over there, avoiding the dragon lady throwing punches at people.”

You laugh and watch him leave for the bar. Jeno greets him and you’re not very good at reading mouths but from the flushed face and messy hair, you think Jeno’s been having fun. The poor boy’s going to face relentless teasing tomorrow morning. You have at least one thing to look forward to. The fog in your brain is starting to make you dizzy though, and the artificial lights are of no help.

“Are you okay?” Giselle pops up.

“Woah! You scared me there,” you say, placing a hand over your heart.

“You should drink to your heart’s content. Heard you finally broke up with your asshole boyfriend.”

You furrow your brows. “Who told you about my asshole boyfriend?”

“Yangyang,” she answers, smiling mischievously. “We’re rap buddies. He talks about you more than your asshole boyfriend though, don’t worry.”

You shake your head. “He talks too much.”

“No, I love storing all the gossip.” She grins. “And from what I’ve heard, let me tell you. Go for it!”

You blink, and even that feels sluggish. “Go… for what?”

“Ugh, I don’t wanna spell it out for you—that ruins the fun. You know what, you have the whole night to figure that out. Go have some fun now!”

You get pulled up by Giselle, her hands wrapped around your wrists.

“Let me get to the bathroom first,” you say.

“Alright, I’ll come with,” she responds.

Kali Uchis’ telepatía plays faintly through the bathroom doors. You’re just trying to fix your makeup before you take your fourth shot of vodka—and the girls take notice and get concerned about your love life. Though, you have a sneaking suspicion they might already have.

“Ooh, this is my favorite song at the moment!” Giselle exclaims before frowning at you. “Oof, you got mascara on your nose.”

You groan. “I spent twenty minutes perfecting that nose contour.”

“Maybe life is sometimes about the mascara ruining the nose contour.”

“You animation students say the weirdest shit.”

She laughs, raising her arms in defense. “You go a little crazy when you have four hour labs with the nerdiest professors ever. Also, I’m pretty sure one of them has committed a crime.”

You laugh. “I’m surprised you’re still sober.”

“I want to drink away my sorrows just as much as the other person but I have three assignments due tomorrow.”

You grit your teeth, making a face at the idea of assignments.

“Right?” She responds.

Just then, the bathroom door opens with a loud clang, making the two of you jump.

“Wooh! Why didn’t you guys tell me you were having a party here?” Shuhua yells. Karina follows her, still vibing to the music while Ningning just flashes you a peace sign, all red in the face.

Yeji brings in the gossip with a feline smile.

“Ningning has a new crush so we’re here to go FBI on him.”

Giselle and you cheer. Truly, your friends are the best thing to come out of college.

“The second news is that Jeno made out with a girl—not in our university, by the way—so we have to figure that out too.”

The whole group laughs.

“And lastly, I heard Shuhua dumped Yangyang, so we should bitch about him for a bit—as sisters. (name), you’re not allowed to protest.”

“(name) and I already bitched about him while I was dating him,” Shuhua saves.

“If anything, I should have more reasons to complain,” you add.

It doesn’t have to be summer for hot girl summer. You’ve known that since freshman year. You’re glad you went out because you laugh and you listen and you talk—without worrying about anything else. There’s no fear holding the strings to your actions, and anxiety is a long forgotten nemesis. You wonder if this is how Yangyang feels—to be devoid of burden, to just will through. Maybe that’s what makes you so relaxed around him. (It’s sure as hell not the Axe body spray.)

The alcohol starts burning through well past midnight. You finally take leave soon after. Jaemin and Jeno being the sweethearts they are and dropping everyone off. Once the cold night air hits you, so do the worries you left outside the warm, jovial club. You want to spend a little bit longer feeling less lonely. You want to fill up the part that’s never full—but maybe a few more shots would’ve filled it. The void of intimacy in your life is starting to take a toll on you.

All of the girls now, with the exception of Shuhua, went home and now the two of you are left in tired silence. Jaemin offered a ride but you refused, seeing that three drunk girls is already more than what he can handle. Shuhua breathes slowly beside you, in a state of concord with the city around you. From what she’s said, she didn’t exactly ace all her assignments either. Your shoulders touch but you’re too preoccupied by your own thoughts.

You sit quietly on the ledge of the sidewalk, the urge to cry asserting itself over your senses once again. There is so much to do and you have done nothing.

“You should go to him,” Shuhua whispers.

You scoff. “Did the alcohol affect your head? You want me to go to my ex—”

“Not him,” she clarifies, massaging her forehead. “Yangyang. He’s always waiting for you, you know?”

You turn to her, eyes stinging. “What do you mean?”

“I knew it when he told me not to come that day. To the amusement park. He said you looked like you needed some cheering up.”

You blink. “He… did what?”

Shuhua sighs. “Every time, he’s just looking at you and waiting for you to turn to him. Even when he said things to me, they felt like words he’s spoken before. That kind of thing. I think what you have is lovelier.”

“Shuhua—”

“Don’t look at me like that, ew. I’m not jealous. Over a boy? Nasty.”

“That’s not what I was doing—I thought you could read the look in my eyes.” You laugh.

“Ew. Save that for your future boyfriend, who is hopefully your best friend.”

“I was going to say, I’m beating the shit out of him for treating you less than what you deserve. I didn’t know he was a terrible boyfriend. Actually, I’m kind of pissed.”

“Slow down, that’s the alcohol.” She laughs. “Anyway, I’ve thrown my share of stuff at him over these few months. Now, go, you’re killing my hot single vibe. I’m having Yuqi come pick me up.”

You nod, smiling.

“Do you want me to come walk you to the dorms? I feel like an audience would lessen the romantic effect though.”

You sigh. “I can’t- I don’t know what to tell him.”

“You were planning to go to him anyway. Weren’t you?”

Your eyes widen. “How would you… that obvious, huh?”

“As clear as day.”

Your eyes water and you rub at them, feeling the gnawing of hopelessness at your chest. Isn’t it too late? If you run to him at your lowest, will he still let you in? You can’t be using him like that.

“It’s good to have someone to rely on,” Shuhua whispers. “And remember, if life’s going to be a bitch, so will you.”

“Thanks,” you mumble, touched for no apparent reason. It takes your whole system to not cry right then and there.

The two of you part when Yuqi arrives and you get up reluctantly, holding your head. It’s only a five minute walk from where you were sitting but it feels longer than usual. Doubts bubble up, fears and insecurities and you can’t shove them aside like you could when you were younger. You don’t want to lose him. You don’t want him to work somewhere miles away from you with sparse FaceTime calls as the only string holding your fading friendship.

You don’t want to lose him, but there’s a stronger feeling. You want to love and to be loved the way you want. There’s no one who knows how to better than Yangyang.

Crying all the way wasn’t part of the plan but the alcohol has loosened up your system. As if it couldn't get any worse, the little droplets sting your skin as you walk along the sidewalk, along the familiar path to the boys’ dormitory.

Yangyang arrives running with an umbrella and clutching his phone. His hair is wet from a shower, not the rain, and you remember how much he hates the rain. Shuhua must have texted him. It would be nice to have someone know where you are and when you need them, but this will do. Yangyang is more than enough.

Your voice chokes up before you even begin. "I’m sorry, it’s late."

Yangyang’s eyes soften and he rushes to you, his umbrella now over both of your heads and you cling to his shirt with shaking hands.

“I’m being dramatic, aren’t I?” you say, chuckling dryly.

“It’s okay,” he whispers. “You always shoulder too much and then stress yourself out.”

The love you feel is so overwhelming, it makes you want to shut your eyes and curl into yourself. You are and have been in love with him for so long, but it’s a little late now. You can only cling onto him at your worst.

His hands are gentle when they sneak you into his room, like he’s done so many times before, and the fabric of his shirt is soft and reminiscent of your cotton days back in school. You’ve come a long way without realizing you have.

vi. corduroy

The inside of his room is warm. Much more calmed down now, you offer Yangyang a spark of a smile and he bites down his, as if trying to make it less obvious. Your feet dangle off the counter, the air cold against bare skin. His hoodie is warm though and it fits your frame perfectly.

"Unfortunately, all I have is vanilla ice cream."

He scours the fridge some more.

"That'll do," you answer, sniffing.

"Are you sure? I could ask Dejun for his secret snack stash. He's got some flaming hot Cheetos if you need a better reason to cry."

You shake your head, a smile poking at your lips. Yangyang takes out the ice cream complying and hands you the entire bucket.

"I know it's an emergency so you can have the whole thing. But don't eat too much at once or you'll get a bellyache."

"Thanks, Yangyang," you say hoarsely. "You're too good to me."

He shakes his head, dark eyebrows furrowed. "You're more than deserving."

A faint glow over his cheeks comes into your view under the dim kitchen lights. It takes you back to Yunho again, and his stupidly bright grin that made you doubt your own worth. You could give him the world and he'd pack it in a box and keep it aside to be forgotten and collect dust. He was always above you, older and wiser and smarter. You followed him like a lost puppy.

You tear up again, alarming Yangyang who takes a reflexive step towards you, thumbs wiping the tears from under your eyes.

"Oh god, I look so stupid. I'm crying over nothing."

"You do look stupid. But it's okay. It’s not nothing."

Yangyang's face is so close to yours, you want to hold it like he holds yours. You want to reciprocate that gentle touch of his even from clumsy, calloused fingers. If it were Yangyang, you might not have been crying. If it were him, it would've been a thousand times worse. You wouldn't be thinking of another man at all. You'd never be able to listen to the songs he’d introduced you to, or look at notes scribbled on paper napkins and old paper bills, or even beagle puppies at your local pet store.

“This isn’t even the worst of it,” you mutter.

“Oh?”

“We graduate next year, Yang. It’s not a good feeling.”

“Don’t you have like three FAANG internships under the belt already? You’ll be fine.”

“And you?”

“You have no faith in me, do you?”

You giggle. “You’re good at things, Yangyang. So many things.”

“Oh, yeah, definitely winning in the best friend department too. Wait, technically you’re winning since you have me.”

You laugh, shaking your head at his lax demeanor.

“We’ll go our separate ways next year,” you say, twiddling with your thumbs. It feels somewhat embarrassing to voice it out loud. “I… I don’t want to be alone.”

“You’ll always have the city,” he says, “wherever you go.”

You frown. That’s not the answer you wanted to hear.

“But… I hope I’ll be there too.”

He smiles awkwardly, exhaling too fast and looking away.

“Now, if I hog the kitchen, Taro will glare at me the whole morning,” he says quickly. “It’s not a comfortable feeling, let me tell you. He looks all harmless but when he’s mad he’s so passive-aggressive.”

You smile. “Alright. I hope your room isn’t as much of a mess as your hair is.”

Yangyang reaches to fix his hair, confused. “What’s wrong with my hair? I just dyed it, you know?”

“I can see that.”

Yangyang’s room is, in fact, more of a mess than he is. There’s clothes on the floor, his notebooks aren’t organized on his desk and you’re sure he doesn’t even have a working pen. His laptop is on the bed, along with an indistinct collection of chargers. The only thing that’s organized is his shoe rack, and somehow the inside of his closet, whose door is wide open.

“Sorry,” he says. “I was reorganizing.”

“Ah. This kind of suits you though.”

“You’re so mean. Here I am trying to get better but you just want to drag me back into the depths of despair.”

“Misery likes company.”

“Oh, right. Miss Prom Queen has a mental breakdown every other week. I think I’m better off actually.”

You punch his shoulder, laughing with him.

You sit cross-legged on his bed, the only corner that hasn’t been touched by whatever you’d call the opposite of the Midas touch. His blanket is soft and surprisingly doesn’t smell. You pull it closer to you.

“You wanna talk about it?” He asks, clearing the rest of the stuff on his bed.

“You know, the usual. Exam stress, assignments due, my ex is an asshole, social media sucks.”

And you. I want you near me all the time. I think of you when I’m happy, when I’m sad. I’m in love with you.

“Ah, sucks,” he says, hands busy with the quick cleaning. “You know you’re above all of that, right? But like, I can help you destroy your ex’s self-esteem if you want. I’ve been practicing my rap.”

You smack your forehead. “You are not doing rap battles with my ex, Yangyang.”

“Why not?” He crosses his arms, so offended.

You shake your head. “But you’re right. I am above them.”

“Hell yeah, pop off, queen.”

“It sounds weird when you say it out loud.”

“Okay, sorry.”

Your eyes wander, settling on the back of his door. There’s a wall hanger on the wooden door, and on it is a familiar piece of clothing. It's a corduroy jacket, the one you bought him in freshman year. You didn't realize so much would change in three years.

“Hey, (name),” Yangyang calls, sitting beside you on the bed with a little too much gusto. He hits the back of his head against the wall and yelps, your hand automatically reaching out to soothe the part.

“Anyway,” he says, “let’s ignore that.”

“Yeah, you’ve hit your head too many times for me to remember each time anyway..”

He rolls his eyes. “You were the one that used to fall off the swings and start bawling. And that was every day.”

You laugh at the memory. Nothing in the past ever seems painful. Maybe you’ll view all your college breakdowns with less anguish in the far future too. The thought cheers you up.

“I wish I was a kid again,” you say, smiling fondly at the little memories that pass you by. Somehow, Yangyang plucks each of them and puts himself in them.

“I don’t,” he says, chuckling. “You were so violent. Remember when you hit me because I rejected your marriage proposal? That hurt like a bitch.”

“You said you’d marry me first.”

“Gee, looks like you’ve always had a troubled love life, (name). Twice divorced by the same man.”

“I would never marry a wimp. You cried at the playground every day—and not even because you fell off the swing. And then you were a nerd in middle school. You were a slightly less awkward nerd in high school.”

He straightens, patting his biceps. “I’m buff now.”

You pat his shoulders with pity. “You will never be Dejun.”

He pouts. “And you’ll always have boy problems.”

You throw your head back, groaning. “I’m not getting into another roasting session with you. Let’s just call it a tie.”

“Speaking of which…”

You look at him and get a nervous feeling in the pit of your stomach. He has a feline smile yet there is some distance within his eyes, as though he’s thinking far ahead—the way he looks when he codes and solves particularly tough challenges. You like it. It’s like glancing through a telescope at stars.

"How about I choose your next guy for you?"

You curl your lips. “Hell, no. Ugh, you have straight boy taste in men.”

“That was the most offensive thing you could respond with, thanks.”

You miss his bed. Not this particular one. But the one you used to hang out on back in your city. You’ve made countless (terribly-shaped) tents on it, with the soft toys neatly arranged inside by Yangyang. You still get embarrassed when you think you actually played house with him. He’d started crying when you said you’d marry him, and you punched him for that.

You look at the corduroy jacket again. You got him several patches for it too, so now it’s as decorated as his laptop. From a Hello Kitty patch to a NASA one, it’s a mess of all the lovely things that remind you of Yangyang. (Though, you think you should've gotten him perfume instead. You’re glad he smells like fresh laundry now.) More than a jacket, the thing is a scrapbook. Jaemin said Yangyang scribbled some notes about you on the inside—but you’re not allowed to see. Now’s not the time to think about it though. There’s another memory hatching in your mind.

“Yangyang,” you call. “Are you still ticklish near your stomach?”

“What? No. What kind of a loser is ticklish ne—ahahaha! What the fuck, (name)?”

He wheezes, trying to get your hands away from him but you press on in quicker attacks. Finally getting a grip on your wrists, he pushes you down on the bed so you can’t move. It might look like a move with many flaws but he’s pretty adept at restricting your movement. It’s also the worst possible position to get caught in someone’s bedroom. Your ear tips feel singed.

"Get off, asshole."

"Make me, sweetheart."

You struggle but he’s using his whole body weight to pin you down. You knew you should’ve done some resistance training at the gym your roommate goes to.

“I could kick you where the sun doesn’t shine, you know?”

Yangyang opens his mouth, paling a bit. “You wouldn’t do that.”

“Annoy me enough and I will.”

“But you were gonna be someone precious to my children.”

“Ew. I’m doing the world a favor by making sure there’s no mini-yous running around and wreaking havoc.”

“If anything, you’re the one with the wreaking havoc gene.”

There’s a pause, his eyes scouring your face. You get the vague smell of washed laundry again. The clothes he’s changed into seem a bit old and worn out, the blue of his T-shirt gone from a bright ocean blue to something of a sorry paint job in the questionable part of town. But you remember when he got it, in high school during the sports festival. He didn’t even win it—they were giving it out for free. The days felt so carefree back then. You wonder if you’d said anything about these late-blooming feelings of yours if you’d realized in middle school or even high school. You wonder if he’d take you seriously.

"If we weren't best friends, would you fall in love with me?" He says all of a sudden, voice quiet.

You fell in love with him regardless.

“What?” You gulp back your surprise. “Is- Is that your way of annoying me?”

“No. Genuine question.”

Really, fuck Yangyang and his honey brown eyes.

“I don’t know. Maybe?”

Yangyang hums. “Well, you sure you don’t want me to get you a new guy? I’ve got the perfect candidate.”

“Yangyang, don’t be an idiot..”

"Oh come on, now. He's cute and handsome and perfect actually. He's also funny and smart. Okay, not that smart but mostly smart—"

"Yangyang, I swear to god if you don't drop this stupid new expedition of yours."

"I am one hundred percent sure you'd like him."

You roll your eyes. "Oh? Who is this seemingly perfect guy I've been missing my whole life?"

"Me."

You blink, eyes widening at the seriousness of his tone. His lips part slightly and his eyes are relaxed with soft strands falling over them, almost as if he knows, knows how much you like him.

"You're- you're- don't mess around, Yangyang. We're a little too old—"

"Too old for what? I'm in love with you."

“Yangyang,” you whisper, eyes widening.

“I want to kiss you against the wall so bad right now.”

Before you know it, you’ve pulled him by the collar into a searing kiss. Your fingers run through his hair, soft and long, while his hands balance his frame over you. Soon, he is kissing you against the wall, fingers interlocked and hands beside your head. You think you’re dreaming at first—a nasty, embarrassing, way too pleasurable dream.

But then he pulls apart and looks at you with the gentlest of smiles.

“I love you,” you blurt before you can think it through. You don’t think either of you have ever said that as best friends. It’s funny that you’ll say it for the first time as lovers.

He wiggles his eyebrows at you.

“Ew,” you exclaim.

“You’re not allowed to say that, you like—no, love me.”

You feel a rush of heat to your face. Though, from Yangyang’s cherry red cheeks, you assume you’re not the only one.

“You’re just somehow desirable to me.” You roll your eyes.

He grins at you. “Maybe another kiss will make you forget your stupid big words.”

“You think desirable is a big word? I am so—mm.”

Yangyang cuts off your declaration of disappointment with another kiss, and you melt right in much to your dismay. Whatever restraint you had left has been frayed throughout.

vii. lace

“Hey, Yang?”

“What did you write inside the jacket?”

“Oh, the stupid jacket?”

“It’s not stupid!”

Yangyang chuckles. His arms are around your waist and he’s barely awake but he never takes his eyes away from you.

“Wait, is that a grocery list?”

“Uhh.”

You glare at him.

“Only on the sleeves because I kept forgetting! The rest is all the stuff you keep mentioning, makeup and squishmallows and notebooks. You know, when I’m the next Zuck—not as creepy and robotic though—I can buy you everything you like.”

Your heart skips a beat before it can beat steady. You laugh, trying to ignore the warmth blooming under your skin. “You need a job first, Yang.”

“Oh, right, I applied and got into all the companies you got in.”

You stare at him. “You never tell me anything!”

“Surprise!” He says, a boyish half smile following.

You press your lips together. Even if he were to go somewhere far, you believe that it wouldn’t change much. With Yangyang, you’re up for new things and new experiences and new love. Your best friend may not be the brightest when it comes to some things (choosing perfume, choosing male bachelors, cooking just about anything other than rice), but he’s the Polaris to you. You’re sure now that you will be looking back at all of this without ever remembering the worries and pain in the distant future. (Maybe, just maybe Yangyang will do the same.)

#yangyang x reader #nct x reader #wayv x reader #yangyang scenario #nct scenarios #wayv scenarios #yangyang fluff #wayv fluff #nct fluff #nct #wayv #liu yangyang #yangyang fanfic #wayv fanfic #nct fanfic #ok i forgot how to tag this should be enough #if u cringe dm me for compensation

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