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jisungsdaydreamer · 11 months

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Love Playlist #2: UGH! (Bang Chan)

«GENERAL M.LIST» · «NAVIGATION» · «TALK TO ME»

"Shut the fuck up."

Pairing: Bang Chan x fem!reader Genre: college au, angst, fluff, enemies to lovers, forced proximity Warnings: swearing, mc has autism, misogynistic behavior (not Bang Chan), implications of ableism, bullying, short panic attack description Word Count: 11k

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It’s a truth universally acknowledged that you hate Christopher Bang’s guts. Everything about him, you hate. The utter laziness that he masks as nonchalance? The “happy-go-lucky” attitude that borders on bullheaded recklessness? The way every single time you text him about something important, he never replies? You hate it all. He’s irresponsible, aimless, completely unreliable, and you hate him.

Chris believes that the whole world revolves around him, and unfortunately, he would be correct. With dimples that rival Harry Styles’s and saccharinity biologically embedded in him, his good looks and charismatic personality blind everyone to the truth. Everyone except for you, of course.

Even if all of the supreme powers in the universe held you over an eternal chasm and forced you to find compromise, you still wouldn’t be able to stop hating him. And you hate heights— almost as much as him— so that’s saying something. Your hatred for him will never, ever waver. You hate Chris Bang, period. And you hate him even more now, as he stands next to you and accepts an honor that should solely be yours.

“Congratulations, Chris and Y/N!”

You keep clapping and plaster on a fake smile to save face, trying to ignore the rage bubbling inside of you. In your peripheral vision, you sense Christopher laughing and shooting finger guns towards people in the audience, like some kind of corrupt politician. In a way, he is one, because you should have won this election. But you didn’t.

“In all of our history, never has there been an exact voting tie between two candidates.” The sickeningly cheerful announcer bounds closer to where you are standing on the stage, gesturing towards you both. “Everyone, please give another round of applause for our new Student Co-Presidents!”

Hearing it officially made you feel nauseated. For the three years you’ve been a college student, you have worked tirelessly, day and night, so this moment could come to fruition. All of those days filled with nonsense— schmoozing to all of the seniors in the Undergraduate Student Council, attending the endless number of tedious mixers to make connections, standing in the rain trying to raise funds for the organization— were going to be worth it, because in the end, you had one goal: to be student body president.

But your dreams were dashed to the ground when he strolled in like a supermodel. While you were toiling since you were a freshman, Chris showed up at the final student council meeting at the end of last year, expressing his intentions to run for president in the following academic semester after the summer. Chris’s charm threw off the projectile of the election, compared to how although you carry yourself very well professionally, you still are very socially uncapable. Making engaging small talk about the weather or joking about frat parties on campus are unthinkable tasks for you, while that kind of conversation is exactly Chris’s forte.

You know that you’re lucky that you at least get part of the title, because while on paper you are more qualified than Chris, the game was never in your favor. And seeing it all happen by the cursed will of the one person you’ve despised more than anyone else, since you were a kid, makes it hurt more than anything.

“Great job, partner.”

You’re snapped out of your disturbed musings by the aforementioned person, who beams and stretches out his hand towards you. You’re wary of the gesture, but accept it anyway, making sure to squeeze his hand extra hard.

“Same to you, Christopher,” you retort, adding an unmistakable bite to your words.

The smile doesn’t fade off of his face as he coolly shakes his aching hand off from your death grip. “I go by Chris, you know that.”

You nearly snort, but refrain from it, because people are watching. You do not need any negative publicity right now, especially next to your co-counsel who seems to do no wrong. But that won’t stop you from being discreetly petty. “Okay, Christopher.”

You hate Chris, and he knows it. But his elated expression doesn’t budge as he merely moves away from you to spark conversation with the announcer, who looks at Chris with literal hearts in her eyes. One more thing you hate: no matter how much you try to rile him up like he does to you, he never gives you a reaction. That satisfaction solely belongs to him.

Rolling your eyes, you shove past him as gracefully as you can, eliciting a surprised grunt out of him. As Chris rubs his side behind you, you turn to the students coming closer to congratulate you, the smile on your face very much genuine now.

“He left me on read! AGAIN. Can you believe the audacity?”

The smoky, herbaceous scent of freshly brewed coffee and sugary fragrance of baking breakfast pastries does nothing to soothe your anger. Your unadulterated complaints ricochet off of the walls of Morningstar Coffee House, your go-to place when you need to feign study in order to hang out with your best friend, a devoted employee-in-training at the place.

Soobin groans, dumping out the latest batch of long macchiato into the sink. “I keep messing it up.”

“Are you even listening, Soobin?” You lean against the counter that he’s behind, wiping up the small drops of milk that escaped the carton in his hasty panic to master the art of being a barista.

“Yes, yes, I am, sorry. Please continue.” Soobin sets aside his blender and folds his hands on the granite, looking at you earnestly.

You pick at the chipped dark purple polish on your nails. “I can work with him. I can. Because I’m a professional. But he makes it so hard when I’m trying to communicate with him.”

Soobin shrugs. “Maybe he’s just not using his phone right now.”

With a frustrated sigh, you shake your head. If only everyone could be as sweet and guileless as Soobin. He always sees the best in people, and while you’re not a pessimist, it’s hard for you to find the good in Chris’s character.

“It’s not just the text thing, even though I really do need him to tell me if he’s finished the nominations for the ethics board. It’s like, he doesn’t give a crap about anything, especially when it comes from me.”

Soobin nods slowly, wrinkling his nose in thought. “I know he’s difficult. But just keep rising above. Getting upset hurts you, not him.”

As always, Soobin remains the voice of reason behind your storms, your eternal complement. When you need to cry your emotions out, he welcomes you with open arms. When he’s too shy to ask for the dessert menu at restaurants, you will signal for the waiter. When you make your displeasure apparent, he induces a degree of rationality into your vexed mind. That said, fundamentally, both of you are introverts. At the end of the day, you love nothing more than to curl up on the couch and watch knitting tutorials on Youtube with Soobin. Opposites or not, you fit each other like a glove.

“I love you, cucumber,” you say, affectionately poking fun at your best friend’s towering height.

Soobin’s cheeks turn light pink, and he swats your hands away. “You’re weird.”

You tip your head back and laugh, while Soobin grins and resumes his duties in trying to figure out how to work the cash register. You can feel the worries already lifting in your chest, because who cares about Chris, anyway? Certainly not you.

But as if you had spoken of the devil, you hear the jingle of the shopkeeper’s doorbell, followed by that familiar boisterous guffaw. The sound makes you whirl around, the tension soaring back into your shoulders. And there he is, sauntering into the café with his trusty entourage trailing.

Your narrowed eyes meet Chris’s, and he pauses in the middle of whatever obnoxious joke he must have been sharing. For a brief moment, a telepathic duel sparks between you both, a challenge to see which one of you will be the first to crack. You win, when he breaks eye contact to go and find a seat with his friends in the lounge area. But once more, it doesn’t feel that way, because while he’s resumed his own activities, you’re still thinking about him. So much for rising above. Damn it.

“Soobin, you need to scan your employee ID first or else sales won’t be attributed to you. We already went over this.”

The voice of Seungmin, the son of Morningstar’s owners and your fellow university student, halts your deliberations and thankfully pulls your thoughts away from Chris. Seungmin is inside from his break and stands there besides Soobin, scolding him for making another mistake in his practice transaction before the evening rush.

“Right! Sorry about that.” Soobin shakes his head and exhales, grabbing a towel to wipe his sweaty hands.

“You’ll be fine. Just keep at it.” Seungmin softens, patting Soobin on the back before making his way over to where Chris is sitting. Because of course, Chris is friends with every single person in existence.

Another person enters the building, prompting the telltale ring to go off. Soobin’s perpetual flush morphs into a crimson, and you immediately turn to see which newcomer has got your best friend so hot and bothered. You’re met by the sight of a very pretty girl who you recognize, but whose name escapes you. However, you know the boy she has walked into the coffee house with— her best friend, Han Jisung, who is unsurprisingly another member of Chris’s glorified posse.

“You have got to be kidding me.” You raise your eyebrow at Soobin, who is still watching the girl with a lovelorn look in his eyes.

“What?”

“You can’t like her. She and Jisung have a thing.”

“They’re just friends,” Soobin says, frowning, but you can see the contradicting doubt written across his face. “Maybe I’ll talk to Seungmin and see what’s up.”

You take his hand and resign, because other times, both of you have to learn your lessons on your own. “You’ll make someone’s heart beat as fast as they do your own. Whether it’s her or not.”

Soobin swallows, fully directing his attention back to you. “The same to you as well. ”

You let out a playful snort, thinking of your one short-lived romance from freshman year. You haven’t dated since, deciding to set relationships aside so you can focus better on your studies. You cannot take the chance of losing precious time, time that can only be allotted to your favorite person, work, and nothing else. Besides, you’ve never been very good at flirting— let alone finding friends— anyway.

“But I think Chris raises your pulse rate enough, so maybe you’ve got your plate full for now.”

“Don’t start,” you warn, the annoyance picking up again. Soobin sends you a cheeky smile, before he attends to his peckish customers.

You take the opportunity to make your way back to your table in the front of the cafe, your favorite little spot that overlooks the lush campus lawn, and then past the historic buildings of your university, the faint city skyline. The trees have begun happily shedding their leaves like multicolored tears that dot the outdoor expanse, embracing Autumn like a long-lost lover. Today is gorgeous, a day that should feel like a blessing, and yet, you feel blue.

The reason for your melancholy approaches your carefully curated bubble and pops it, sitting down at the table, uninvited.

“Hey, I didn’t see you at the election after-party the other day.”

Chris’s voice is calm, so you merely clench your jaw and keep from saying anything too unintelligible. “Hey, you read my text and didn’t reply today.”

He doesn’t let the sheepishness cross his features, but has the decency for it to manifest in a light red at the tips of his ears. “I was going to, sorry. I’ve been busy.”

You just can’t help the venom that laces your next words. “You always are.”

Chris shakes his head, leaning back in his chair. “I don’t get why you always have a problem with me.”

You allow yourself a sharp intake of breath before divulging your current frustrations with him. “I really, really need you to answer me when I ask you something. We represent all of the students in our college. We can’t afford to mess this up.”

Chris rolls his eyes at your words, which makes you even more irritated. “I know.”

“Great. Then we have nothing else to discuss.” You slip your laptop back into your carrier and zip up your backpack, grabbing your phone and pushing your chair in. You don’t spare Chris a glance as you walk towards the door.

“Why can’t we just be friends like before?”

You tense at Chris calling out, but don’t look back to face him. “You should know the answer to that.”

“I really don’t.”

With a scoff, you leave him hanging, pushing open the door and finding somewhere you can actually study without distraction.

It’s only the second day of fourth grade and you already feel so out of place. You moved here over a month and a half ago, in the middle of summer, so you had a lot of time to get used to the town and explore your new home. You enjoyed biking around the neighborhood cul-de-sac all day and discovered a clearing in the woods behind your house, immediately claiming it as your personal hideout. After your parents hosted some of your neighbors’ families for dinner, you even established friendly relations with Soobin, the impossibly shy son of the couple next door.

But your expeditions in school haven’t been as successful. As soon as you stepped into the classroom, it seemed like everyone already had their own friend groups, less than willing to take on a newbie like you. Because all of the seemingly “cool” kids have claimed all of the seats in the back, you sit up front, the desk next to you empty. And although Soobin also attends the same school, he’s in a different homeroom than you, so your in-school interactions are limited to hallway waves and nothing else. To top it all off, your teacher is already talking about long division. What in the world is that?

“Would you like a pudding?”

You turn around to pinpoint the hushed voice that has interrupted the independent classwork time that your teacher allotted. The owner sits right behind you, this kid with dimples and mischievous eyes. You can’t recall his name from when your teacher took attendance in the morning, but you remember him singing a little rhyme to his friends during lunch yesterday. It was cheesy.

The boy holds out a small cup of what looks like Jell-O snack pudding towards you. You accept it, slightly confused at the random gesture. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” He folds his hands on his desk, math practice discarded to the side. “You looked hungry.”

He’s watching you intently, waiting for you to eat the pudding. With a sigh, you open and try it, because you are kind of hungry. As soon as your lips gingerly close around the tiny spoon, you grin, because it’s chocolate— your favorite.

“I’m Y/N.”

“Chris,” he replies, obviously delighted by your reaction to the pudding. “Are you new?”

You smile, relieved to finally see a friendly face in your class. “Yeah, I am. Thanks for the pudding.”

“I don’t go anywhere without my trusty pudding cups.”

You don’t say anything, just quietly observing him while savoring the pudding. Chris is a little weird, and maybe too friendly. You're usually careful about this kind of socialization, but he doesn’t seem like a bad person. Chris takes your silence as an opportunity to keep chattering away.

“I notice you sit alone at lunch. You should eat with my friends and me today!” Chris exclaims, earning him a look from your teacher, but he doesn’t notice.

You pretend to contemplate his offer, although you’re secretly elated at the invitation. “Maybe if there’s more pudding.”

“Deal.”

“It looks like the faculty advising problem is sorted. Anything else?”

The Dean of the college closes his laptop and pushes the pair of glasses perched on his nose for the hundredth time in the past hour. The lenses are huge, magnifying his eyes and making them look bugged-out, adding a comical element to his otherwise stony face.

“I was thinking—” You start, taking out your notepad, but the Dean cuts you off, looking at Chris.

“Chris, did you have anything you wanted to say?”

Your cheeks as you avert your gaze shamefully, and all of the other students in the conference room awkwardly stare down at the table. The Dean doesn’t seem to notice your discomfort, however, just intently staring at Chris. For the entire board meeting, you actively participated and made your voice heard, while taking into account others’ concerns and viewpoints.

Meanwhile, Chris had done nothing but squint at the papers in front of him and pretend he knew what was happening. But you’ve always been underestimated just because you’re a woman, and the fact that you’re the only female student body president in the entire history of your university doesn’t help. Of course the Dean would value Chris’s thoughts more. Anyone would.

“Actually, Y/N was saying something. We should let her finish,” Chris replies firmly, shocking you. You thought Chris would just take the opportunity to shine for himself, not hand it to you.

The Dean looks taken aback as well, but he nods slowly. “Very well then.”

Everyone’s attention snaps to you, but you quickly recover and recollect yourself, turning on the professionalism you reserved for moments like this. “Yes. Thank you.”

You open your computer and quickly login, plugging it into the projector so everyone can view your screen. You had already pulled up your presentation and graphics, ready to present your idea.

“What is all of this, Miss Y/L/N?”

You take a deep breath. “A prevailing issue that has come to the board’s attention is the food insecurity on campus. To solve this issue, I propose the University Food Pantry, to relieve hunger through the acquisition and distribution of food to those students who most need it. We need to lead our campus community in the fight against hunger.”

The rest of your audience looks intrigued, but the Dean doesn’t seem convinced. “And how does this concern me? I oversee educational affairs at the college, not what’s cooking for dinner.”

“Our university is, above everything else, a community. The difficulty of higher education is further compounded when hunger is a constant presence.” You try your best to keep your suave composure, ignoring the smug condescension in the Dean’s voice. “As a result, the Food Pantry will envision a campus in which every student, regardless of their socioeconomic status, has sufficient access to nutritious food. No one should have to make financial and dietary decisions in pursuit of a good education.”

“It all sounds expensive. Where would you even get the money from?”

You know that the Dean expects you to be thrown off by his question, but you’re ready. You switch through the slides of your presentation, showcasing the several charts and graphs you stayed up all night drawing. “The Dean’s Assistance Fund, through which the Pantry can provide flex allowances to undergrad recipients of Financial Aid.”

The Dean leans back in his chair, brooding silently while you wait for his answer with bated breath. But Chris speaks up instead.

“This is really good, Y/N,” Chris says, astonishing you even further. “The fund could finance other initiatives in collaboration with the pantry as well, like the university Meal Share app that my friend Jisung coded. He’s in the computer science department.”

“Thanks,” you say warily, still in disbelief that you have both his support and enthusiasm. The other students murmur in agreement, but it doesn’t feel real, getting along with Chris.

Immediately, the Dean sits up, directing his gaze to match Chris’s. “A wonderful idea, Chris. We must talk further about this. Perhaps—”

It’s Chris’s turn to cut the Dean off. “It wasn’t my idea, it was Y/N’s, if you were listening to her at all, sir.”

The Dean looks embarrassed after being put into his place by the very student he was chatting up to, but you don’t give him time to say anything else, taking the chance to continue speaking.

“Of course, we can’t be fully financed by the Dean’s fund, so I think the university board should put forth a collective effort to apply for the Park Grant, an international system that funds programs that address student reform.”

“You’ve put so much thought into this, Y/N,” Mina, one of the board members, says with a smile.

You light up, forgetting the Dean’s less-than-enthused demeanor. “Thank you so much!”

The Dean sighs, staring up at the ceiling, but shrugs, inclining his head in reluctant approval. “The Park Grant deadline is in two days. You’ll have to write up the proposal and present it to the panel.”

You nod vigorously, already mentally adding it to your calendar. “Thank you sir, I know. I won’t disappoint you.”

The Dean points his pretentiously expensive fountain pen at Chris, directing your gaze to his. “But you’ll be presenting with Chris. You’ll oversee this endeavor together.”

Your soaring heart crashes, and you sit up in indignation, because of course there’s a catch. After undermining all of your efforts, the Dean would never trust you to do something like this on your own. And out of everyone, it has to be with Chris.

“Sir, I truly believe I can finish this on my own.” You can barely contain the anger quaking in your throat, but you give it one last attempt.

Chris glances at you and dips his head in accord. “I agree, sir. Y/N is perfectly capable. This is her project, after all.”

“Let’s not go near what our capabilities are. I am very well aware of what your abilities are.” The Dean’s words jab you in the chest one by one, making you wonder if he could go any lower. “You both are co-presidents. Do it together or don’t do it all.”

“Sir—”

“Please give me a chance—”

Both you and Chris are cut off by the Dean’s cold sneer. “That will be all.”

With the wave of his gnarled hands, the meeting is over, and the rest of the students exit as fast as they can to escape the tension, while you just sit there, staring at your black computer screen blankly. A moment later, you collect yourself, grab your belongings, cramming them into your arms, and run out of the room, trying not to cry all of your frustrations out, right then and there.

“Y/N, stop!” Chris calls out from behind you, and you groan inwardly. And of course he has to be there. You can’t even fall apart in peace.

“What do you want, Chris?” You sigh exasperatedly, turning to face him, even though all you really want to do is give him the finger and run back to your room.

The tension is palpable, and you see Chris’s concern. You don’t want it, though. You don’t want his concern, his sympathy, or his friendship. You just want to never see him again, but unfortunately, the universe will not let that happen. You should have accepted that when it put you through elementary, middle, and high school, and even college with him.

“I’m sorry. I- I tried,” he says, running his fingers through his hair, combing through it before the soft, blond locks flop back into place on his forehead. He looks more beautiful than ever, the sorrow in his deep brown eyes and painted into the pout on his perfect lips. But God, you hate him.

You swallow, taking a step forward. Chris’s eyes widen in surprise, but he stays still as you proceed in an eerily calm voice. “Outside of work, don’t talk to me. Don’t look at me. Don’t even think about me. I hate you, Chris, and I wish you never existed.”

For the first time, Chris is speechless, but you walk away, feeling anything but triumphant. You don’t want to see the hurt splayed across his face. And you don’t want Chris to see your own pain, the ugly root that digs deep into your heart and surges through your fingertips, the pain that has been there since the moment he took something from you. You hate Chris, and that will never, ever change.

“Come on, Soobin, tell me,” you whine, lightly kicking your legs at Soobin’s, where they hang over the edge of the treehouse you both built with your dads a few summers ago. The June weather is hot and sticky, and on days like this, you both like to climb up here and try to catch the faintest breeze that may come your way, ice creams in your hands and stories to trade on your lips.

Soobin coughs awkwardly. “Absolutely not, Y/N.”

Tomorrow is the last day of middle school, and you’re determined to guess Soobin’s crush. You smirk at him, elbowing him in the side. Today, you suck on a blueberry popsicle, deliberating while trying not to let the dessert drip down your arms.

“It’s the girl in your history class, isn’t it?”

“Nope.” Soobin side eyes you curiously, biting down on his own fudge ice cream cone. “Well, maybe I’ll tell you if you tell me yours.”

You blush, your mind immediately going to Chris, the boy you’ve liked since forever. Although you’re best friends with Soobin, Chris is also one of your good friends at school. And not to mention, the cutest boy in your entire school.

Besides Soobin, Chris is also the only other person you’ve told about your autism. You were always shy and awkward growing up, and Chris pulled you out of that shell.

It’s also why you get so nervous before tests. Since the time you nearly dropped your computer before a science quiz in fifth grade, Chris always brings you pudding before class assessments. You were scared to tell him at first, because you have been bullied in the past about it, but he had been nothing but kind and understanding. He’s never forgotten to bring you a pudding cup, and he specifically brings chocolate-flavored ones only, because you once told him you liked them.

“You can’t tell anyone,” you swallow the last chunk of your popsicle, crunching down on the sugary ice.

“I promise.” Soobin sits forward eagerly, his melting ice cream cone forgotten.

“It’s Chris,” you say dreamily, a lovesick smile playing upon your lips.

Soobin burst out laughing, elbowing you in the side teasingly. “I knew it!”

You and Soobin start arguing about who was more obvious about their respective crushes, but the thought of Chris stays lingering in your mind and clouding your thoughts. His devilishly handsome looks but angelic personality. The way he brings you those damn chocolate puddings, unaware of how you got sick of the flavor a long time ago but keep eating them anyway, just to see the beaming smile on his face.

“Tomorrow,” you exclaim randomly, right after Soobin finishes telling you about all of the teachers he will miss over the summer, the perfect student he is.

“What’s tomorrow?”

“I’m going to tell Chris that I like him. Tomorrow,” you declare, trying to keep your voice strong and purposeful.

Soobin just stares at you with his jaw hanging open, because while you aren’t as soft-spoken as him, neither of you are particularly forward. Especially not in regard to your romantic lives. You both are the duo that watches your lost loves from afar, not confronting them up close. You’re surprised at your uncharacteristic behavior too, because you pledged to never give a teenage boy the satisfaction of knowing the power they have over you, especially not someone popular like Chris. But then again, Chris is different. You know it.

“Are you actually serious right now?” Soobin asks, still in shock. “Like, are you joking?”

“I’m serious, Soobin. I really like him.” You toy with your stained popsicle stick. “If he doesn’t feel the same, then I can just move on.”

“Wow.”

“I know.”

He reaches over and gently pats you on the back, as if to comfort your nerves. “He’d be really dumb to not like you.”

You groan and flop onto your back, looking up at the dusty ceiling of the treehouse. Both of you just stay quiet for a moment, as you observe the soft cobwebs in the corners and the sunlight pouring through the cracks in the wooden rafters. You’re really going to do this.

“I’m still hungry.”

Soobin holds out his half-finished cone, little droplets of ice cream dripping onto the wood. “You can have the rest of this.”

“Thanks, Soob.” You accept his ice cream and both of you continue to reminisce about the school year and plan out everything you probably will never do during the summer, because both of you are master procrastinators.

But one thing you can’t put off is your revelation to Chris, and it’s going to happen. Which is why you find yourself trying to ignore the impending feeling of dread as you walk through the school hallways. Classes are over for both the day and the entire academic year itself, and there’s no better time to confess to your crush on the last day of school. That way, if something goes wrong, you can take the summer to recuperate and wallow in your humiliation.

You weave through the students excited to trade their homework assignments for sunny days at the beach, with only one thought in your mind. Chris, Chris, Chris. You saw him in math class in the morning, and he looked so cute in his new Hawaiian-print shorts while he signed your yearbook for you. Now, you try to find him in the crowd, before he leaves and you’ll be unable to see him for another three months.

As you search, you’re momentarily snapped out of your Chris-induced daze when you bump into Jessi Ho in the congested hall. Knowing your luck, of course you would crash into the loser who constantly picks on Soobin for being shy.

“Watch it, dumbass.” Jessi crosses her arms and flips her hair over her shoulder. Jay, her wannabe sidekick, gets up in your face, threateningly flashing the tattoos he got without his parents knowing. Although they look like a classic pair of bullies straight out of Mean Girls, you’re more irritated than intimidated right now.

“I don’t have time for this.” You try to move past the terrible twosome, but Jay grasps your forearm roughly and pulls you back. You wrench your arm free and look at him in both disgust and confusion. “What the hell?”

“I’ll get to the point.” Jessi smirks, bringing her finger up to her head and pointing to her temple. “We know you’re impaired. Up here.”

Your blood freezes over like a river of ice, when Jessie emphasizes that specific word. Even though you’re not impaired, because autism isn’t an intellectual disability, you know what she means. She says it like an insult, like you’re the most useless of garbage, not worth a human being’s basic dignity. Jay bursts out laughing when he sees the horror on your face, slapping his distressed denim thigh like it’s the funniest joke he’s heard in the fifteen miserable years of his life. You just stumble back, shock and panic rising like a tidal wave in your chest.

“W-what?”

Jessi cackles, clinging onto Jay like he’s her own walking cane. “How cute. She looks so lost.”

You shake your head, the tears building and your throat seizing in alarm. “How…?”

“A little birdie told me.” Jessi steps closer to you, and while every other time you are able to stand up to her, you can barely look her in the eye right now. “It all makes so much sense. Why do you barely talk to anyone but your pathetic bestie? You’re too scared. Why can you never sit still in class? You're just stupid.”

“That- that’s not how it works.”

You’re grasping at straws, at a loss for words. Any other time, you’d have a snappy comeback ready. You know you struggle with social interactions, but you never thought of yourself as someone disruptive, or weird. You’re one of the highest achievers in your entire school, because sometimes, books make more sense than people. But now? You do feel stupid, exactly like Jessi said. And not because you’re autistic, but because you weren’t careful enough. You’ve been underestimated your entire life because you’re a girl, but now, you know you’ll also be an autistic girl to everyone else. Not who you are. And that’s why you tried your best to keep it on the down low, not because you felt embarrassed, but because this was a part of yourself that was entitled to you. Not anyone else.

“Sure, okay.” Jessi looks bored already, her eyes unfocused roaming the hallway, looking for her next target. “Whatever, stupid.”

Jessi slinks off without a second glance, and Jay follows suit, but not before doing a disgustingly inaccurate impression of autists, speaking gibberish slowly and exaggeratedly. You actually speak faster than other people, because you always say whatever is on your mind. But you don’t give a crap about them right now. Bullies like them will always have the worst to talk about others, and you would rather die than have them be the cause of your tears, ever. What’s really bothering you is who told them about your autism, and how that mystery person found out.

Swallowing roughly, you run over to the bathrooms, forgetting anything else. The only thing on your mind is not losing it in front of everyone. You will not give any of these people the satisfaction. Trying to keep your breathing even, you’re about to enter the bathrooms and relieve your emotions when you hear someone say your name. It doesn’t sound deliberate however, like you weren’t supposed to hear it.

You turn slowly, searching through the swaths of people walking, when your gaze lands on a small group of people gathered at the end of the hallway, a few lockers away from where you’re standing. And his back facing you, but you immediately recognize the person speaking. After the previous year of sitting behind him in Geometry class, you would recognize his curly locks perpetually dyed a soft blond and preppy polo shirt anywhere. Your ears perk up in interest, and while you feel horrible, you know one of Chris’s dimpled smiles would immediately brighten your stormy day, as they always did.

“Tell us the truth Chris!” You hear someone screech like an eager toddler, and you stop in your tracks like a deer in a traffic jam. It can’t be.

“Fine, Y/N is autistic...”

Everyone around Chris bursts into uproarious laughter, and while you can’t see his expression, Chris begins saying something else that’s drowned out by all of the noise. It was Chris. He told everyone about your autism. Chris, the sweetheart who brings you pudding. Chris, the pretty boy who you have a hopeless crush on. Chris, your friend.

You stumble back and are pushed back into the after-school hallway rush, losing sight of Chris. But you already saw everything you needed to. It would have hurt less if it was anyone but Chris. But it wasn’t. You liked him. You trusted him. And he took that trust and stomped on it, shattering it forever. He took something from you.

Your heart hardens as you blink away your tears. You mindlessly make your way outside, just in time to catch your bus home. Looking out of the window, with your time and your spirit petrified, you resolve to never, ever make the same mistake again. You will never again put your faith in someone who does not deserve it.

“You look hungry.”

You momentarily glance away from your laptop screen to shoot Chris a withering look that could scare a bear. Things are back to normal since your emotional confrontation after the Dean’s meeting. Your rude remarks and his annoyingly cooperative advances are both back for good.

“Shut the fuck up.”

The blistering ice in your voice doesn’t stop Chris from unzipping his backpack and pulling out one of his damn puddings. With a scoff, you turn back to your spreadsheet, taking care to shoot disgusting looks at Chris periodically. Chris just takes his time savoring his pudding, innocently watching your reactions like you’re a goddamn television set.

The hours pass by quickly; you get a good amount of work done, while Chris tries to be helpful by asking useless questions and doing nothing else. Typical. After finishing up a final follow-up email to the Dean’s much more tolerable secretary, you stretch out your arms with a yawn. The library will be closing in a few minutes.

“Where are you going?” Chris’s voice is interrogative as you stand up, like you owe him an answer, which makes you see red. If anything, he is the one who should be giving you an explanation, perhaps why he has to be such a two-faced monstrosity who wants to pretend everything is fine and in the past.

Screw civility.

“Oh, I’m sorry, your royal dopiness. I didn’t know I needed your permission to go home.” Your words are filled with a sickening sarcasm, and fortunately, it’s enough to shut Chris up.

You grab your belongings and stalk out of the personal meeting room that you reserved, barely noticing that everyone else sitting at the previously crowded study spaces has already left. Once in the security of the library bathrooms, you exhale all of the tension you’ve held inside of you and splash cool water onto your heated face.

You stare into the mirror, seeing the same girl you’ve been trying to leave behind all of this time. You feel like that lost little girl trying to clutch the thought of someone who should be forgotten. You hate that you still have hope in you, that you’ve had it all of these years, that things can be fixed. You’ve tried, you really have. You’ve tried to leave the past behind you, to look forward and do exactly what needs to be done for your success. Here’s the truth: you act like a bitch towards Chris because he sucks and you hate him. Here’s another truth: you act like a bitch towards Chris because… you’re hurt.

Especially because of your autism, you’ve had a more difficult run at making meaningful relationships. Your friendship with Chris meant that there was hope for you, and you truly believed that. But then he betrayed you, making you doubt yourself and your abilities. And following the incident, it felt like the world was working against you, and it still does. Maybe you could have healed with time, but the universe had other plans, taking care to put you through high school and college with Chris. And with your rotten luck, he’ll probably end up going to the same law school as you.

But you don’t have the time to worry about that right now. Your future depends on the present, and you’ll do your best to remember that. Your productivity mantra will keep you going, and nothing can stop you, from Christopher Bang to misogynistic old deans to… a locked bathroom door?

“What the hell?” You tug on the handle, but the door won’t budge.

Fuck.

You were so occupied with Chris that you forgot that after hours, all of the doors automatically lock to preserve campus security. Screw modern technology. You’re about to pull out your phone to try and call someone, but when your fingers meet an empty pocket, you realize you left it in your apartment. With an exasperated groan, you bang against the door as hard as you can and shout for help, even though you know it’s impossible for anyone to hear you and open the door from outside, the only way to free you. After a few minutes, you give up and slide down onto the floor, knowing you’ll have to spend the rest of this godforsaken night in this stuffy bathroom. Even if you somehow eventually gain the strength to bust this stupid door down, there was no getting past the padlocked main library doors. But seriously, which genius had the idea to lock the freaking bathroom doors?

You close your eyes and place your hand over your heart, trying to calm yourself down. You’re perfectly safe. Alone in a big, empty library. Soon, the bathroom lights will shut down, probably. You wouldn’t know for sure, though. You’ve never been locked in the damn library bathroom before. Perhaps you’ll make friends with the old campus ghosts rumored to haunt this building. And maybe—

The click and turn of the door handle startles you, and you immediately jump out of the way, so your designated savior can let you out. And you’re not even surprised when your eyes meet Chris’s own confused ones. Because of course it’s Chris.

“Why are you still here?” You ask him in a slightly accusing tone, even though he literally has just helped you. You don’t even know why you feel the need to be so pointed, but you are nevertheless.

“I was waiting for you to come back and didn’t realize the library was closed.” Chris lets out a sigh, rubbing his forehead as if it aches. You hope it does. “I have a question about the proposal.”

“Did you try calling someone? I forgot my phone.”

“Well, my phone doesn’t have any service.”

“Awesome.”

You don’t say anything further as you both exit the cramped corridor outside of the bathroom. In your hurry, you hadn’t even noticed how the librarians had turned off the lights, shrouding the building in darkness. Shivering, you subconsciously move closer to Chris, before you realize yourself and make sure to maintain a six-feet distance between your body and his.

“You can come closer if you’re scared,” Chris teases, noticing your discomfort. “We’re both stuck in this library together.”

You roll your eyes. “Oh, please. You’re the one who’s scared of the dark.”

Both of you fall silent as the remembrance sinks in. The day you confided in Chris about your autism, he had shared a secret about himself in return, albeit a less serious one. He had an irrational fear of the dark since he was a small child, and you knew any other fourth grader would have made fun of him for it. You had felt happy, then, that he could confide in you.

The inadvertent memory feels unwelcome, uncomfortable. Chris clears his throat and looks away. “Not anymore.”

You and Chris decide to make camp in the library common room, since although the main building lights wouldn’t work, there were a few soft table lamps you could turn on for some clarity. You set your backpack down on the carpeted ground and snuggle into the large armchair by one of the bigger lamps. You glance at the decorative grandfather clock in the corner of the room, and it’s just past midnight. At that moment, you really just want to go home, put on your favorite pajamas, and fall asleep while watching your list of comfort anime films. Definitely not being locked in the damn library with Chris Bang, of all people. Since when was your life an episode of Arthur?

“So, you wanted to ask me something?”

Chris fiddles with his hands for a minute, before looking away. “Never mind.”

You don’t even have it in you to be annoyed at this point. You’re just exhausted. You fall back against the tough cushion of the chair. It feels like you’re sitting on a clothed bag of sawdust. But it’s better than being out there, in the dark. And you hate to admit it, but you’re glad that you have someone to share the company of an empty library with, even if it’s Chris.

“God, I’m hungry.” You touch your stomach, feeling the gnawing emptiness there.

“Would you like a—”

“No, I would not like a pudding, Chris.”

The minutes eventually tick by, and you feel yourself nodding off. You had told yourself earlier that you would stay alert, but the drowsiness drapes over you like a blanket, lulling you into reluctant sleep.

The menacing roll of thunder snaps you out of your uneasy slumber like the sound of a car crash. Immediately, you double over and tuck your head into your arms, trying to breathe. Your hands, warmed from being pressed under your thighs, go clammy with a cold sweat, and you can feel the tears well, barely keeping them at bay. When your go-to breathing technique doesn’t work, you gasp for air, jerking in your seat at every new crack of thunder invading your perception.

Immediately, Chris crosses the space between your chairs and wraps his arms around you, pulling you into a tight hold. Sometimes, thunderstorms cause you to have a sensory overload, and you can’t cope. Chris knows this about you, after you got severely spooked after one particularly bad storm in the middle of class in sixth grade. Chris continues to rock your body slowly with his, whispering calming nothings into your ear. Your breathing slows and returns to a normal pace, but Chris just keeps rubbing slow, comforting circles on your back.

Soon, the sound of the thunder dissipates, but you’re not entirely sure if it’s actually because the storm ended or if it’s because the overwhelming scent of Chris’s fresh, minty cologne has taken over your senses.

You look up at Chris, the boy you hate more than anything, and whisper the very last thing that you ever thought you would say to him. “Thank you.”

Chris just nods his head slowly while you untangle yourself from his hold. He gets the hint and lets you scoot away from him, but it’s not far enough. Mere inches separate you from Chris, Chris who helped you without second thought because you were having a panic attack. Forget every ounce of hostility you have shown him, he hugged you like he was your lifeline, which he nearly could have been.

He looks at you intently, his eyes glistening with emotion. “Why do you hate me so much?”

He’s asked this question multiple times before. The first time was back on the very first day of high school, when you both had English class together, and you staunchly ignored him. He continued to ask you the same thing over and over again, until your lack of acknowledgement made him finally stop and accept your new attitude towards him. But even though you’ve heard this question before, this time feels different. There is a certain vulnerability to his words, like he’s given up and is pleading for one last chance.

A part of you still wants to try and maintain the animosity you use as a protective barrier, so people can’t tell what you’re really feeling. But you’re just tired of it all, and the question tugs at you too. Maybe you need to reply out loud for both of you to hear, not just him. Maybe you need to affirm your hatred for the dumb boy who waited for you to come back from the bathroom and then held you during a thunderstorm. Or maybe you need to affirm the fact that you may not hate him as much as you think, but you still do. You don’t know. You hate him the most because you don’t know. So, for the first time, you answer him.

“You broke my trust, Chris.”

“When?” Chris looks genuinely perplexed, like he has no idea what you’re talking about.

With a scoff, you glare up at the ceiling, unable to look him in the eye. “You told everyone about my autism. When I specifically said that I wanted to keep it a secret.”

He shakes his head in a vigorous panic. “I didn’t tell anyone. I promise I didn’t. I promise it wasn’t me.”

Then who was it?

As if he hears your thoughts, Chris sighs and indulges them. “Jessi. She saw your aide and followed him to his office. She was telling everyone about it, I swear.”

And it makes sense. His explanation checks out, and this all could have been a grand misunderstanding on your part, because of course Jessi would have snooped into your business. You couldn’t save your privacy for long with someone like Jessi hovering. And the thing is, you’re not even surprised. You knew in your heart the entire time that you could have been mistaken, that it was strange that Chris would have violated you like that, but it was just easier to blame him for your pain instead of confronting it. Or so you thought.

“And when everyone found out, I tried defending you. I never, ever would want to hurt you. Please believe me.”

Chris’s eyes are shining with earnesty, and you know he’s telling the truth. But that doesn’t erase all of the years you were hurting. “Why didn’t you just tell me that?”

“It didn’t even occur to me that it was the reason you stopped talking to me. I’m sorry I didn’t try harder.”

You close your eyes and lean back. “Chris, you don’t have anything to be sorry about. This is on me.”

You feel your hatred towards Chris fade, and all there is left in you is a deflated pocket of sorrow. Your whole goal was to stay focused, but in reality, you’ve put so much time and energy into despising Chris. And that wasn’t the only way you hurt yourself. You also deprived yourself of what could have been a wonderful friendship.

“I do,” Chris insists, interrupting your thoughts. “I was stupid. I gave up so quickly. It hurt me too, not just you.”

You raise your head and tiredly gaze at him. Even in the dark, he looks beautiful. And it’s not merely his looks, but truly his character that shines through. You spent hours picking apart his personality, trying to find flaws and reasons to demonize him, not knowing that in the process, you were the monster yourself. You constantly complained about his lack of initiative and response, when in reality, you never let him actually do anything. You can’t even fathom why he’s being so understanding, or all of his attempts to work with you, even after your cold treatment of him.

“What do you mean, Chris?”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this.” Chris groans. “I used to like you. There.”

You perk up. Well, now you’re shocked. “Wait, really? I used to like you, too!”

There’s disbelief written all over Chris’s face. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope.”

Both of you burst into laughter, like you weren’t having a heart-to-heart five minutes ago about hating the other. It feels good to laugh, and for a second, you’re transported back into fourth grade, when you first met Chris.

When you were a kid, you barely laughed, which worried the crap out of your parents. The doctors said it was common among individuals with autism, but it didn’t seem that way when you walked around, unsmiling and unfeeling. You weren’t completely socially inept, or exactly shy, but you preferred to keep to yourself. And then Chris had offered you a pudding. You felt like friendship was worth something, then. You felt seen. And maybe that scared you a little bit, being on the edge with someone who made you feel so deliciously raw. Maybe that’s why you didn’t fight back for Chris, because you would rather leave than be left.

Chris rakes his fingers through his hair, the ghost of a smile playing upon his lips. “You know, I still like you.”

“Very funny.”

“I do.”

“You’re crazy. Stop that.”

“Maybe.” Chris throws his hands up and then lets them fall back down. “I like you and don’t want to stop.”

“After how I treated you for the past eight years?” You nearly laugh with how ridiculous he’s being. Hell, if you were in his place, you’d hate yourself.

“But you were hurt. A lot.” Chris shrugs. “You’ve become this amazing woman. You’re… incredible. Hardworking, talented, smart. Keeping in mind how you truly believed I was the cause for your pain, you excelled in spite of the fact that the universe kept pulling us together.”

You shake your head. “I… I don’t know what to say.”

“That’s okay. I’ll say it for you.” Chris looks down at his palms. “I like you, and that’s why I became co-president and faked having no service on my phone so we would be stuck in a library together.”

“Chris—”

“Please. Don’t say no. Not after eight years of me pining for you, knowing you’d never look at me again. Knowing I was falling deeper every time you cursed at me. Please, Y/N. I want to know you again, and you to know me. Please.” Chris’s expression is begging, and it pains you even more.

You still hurt, but it’s a different kind of torture. It’s the kind of hurt that’s the result of yearning, the kind of yearning that stems from hatred, subjugated love, and uncertain acceptance. It’s the kind of hurt that tells you that you don’t deserve him. He deserves someone who isn’t a complete and utter coward. Someone who hasn’t been completely and utterly in love with him all this time, but too stubborn and too pained to admit it. Someone who isn’t completely and utterly awed by the magnificent man he is, but too bitter to say it.

Chris reaches out his hand and places it on the side of your face, imploring you with his hesitant palm. You melt into his touch, when a mere few hours ago, you would have slapped it off of you. His skin is warm against yours, and the softness radiating from him pulls at you. You want to say yes. You want to open a blank page in the book. You want to start fresh with this beautiful boy in front of you.

“I’m sorry.” And you’re not just apologizing for pushing him away before, but now too. You don’t get to have him.

“Just… why?”

“I can’t. I’m so sorry.” The repeated dialogue from you has a note of finality that even Chris’s insolence can’t break through.

And just like that, all of the bridges you both repaired come crumbling down, but this time, it’s on purpose. You’ve always been quick to make decisions, never mulling over a choice for too long. You loved Chris. You hated Chris. You still love Chris. But you reject Chris. It’s easy to do, like one computer command after the other. But then Chris retracts his touch and wordlessly gets up from the armchair, curling up into his original position in the other chair. He’s facing away from you, you feel like you’ve struck an error message. The hours pass, and the softly snoring form of Chris reminds you of a blaring bad request, a pile of code that just won’t compile. Eventually, your computer shuts down too, and you share a temporary commonality with Chris when you fall asleep.

“Wake up dear.”

Your eyes fly open, and you sit up. Natural light pours in through the big windows, and you can feel your skin drinking in the sunshine. The librarian’s kind eyes are watching you with worry, but all you can think of is the night before. Perhaps it was all a dream. You were angry at Chris and then fell asleep after coming back from the bathroom. End of story. But then you feel that familiar ache in your heart, and you know you weren’t hallucinating everything that transpired between you both.

You turn to look at the librarian, who still seems immensely concerned, especially with your disoriented morning look. “I’m sorry, where is Chris?”

“He just left a few minutes ago, sweetheart. I was opening up for the day, when I saw him waiting to be let out at the front entrance. Nearly scared the life out of me.” The librarian places her hand on your shoulder. “He told me you were here.”

The librarian rushes off to her personal office to make you some tea, and you’re left alone in the common room. And no one else is here either, because today is Saturday and your university is supposed to be hosting a football game against a rival school. You look down at your body and notice a jacket wrapped around your body, one that definitely isn’t yours. You don’t have an expensive leather jacket that smells like Tom Ford cologne. It was freezing last night because the library doesn’t have heating, and Chris must have woken up in the middle of the night and draped it on you. You feel another pang in your heart as you think of Chris leaving without speaking to you. You deserve it, though.

As you sadly walk out of the library, you decide to skip the game even though as student body president, you should be there, representing the school. You reach your off-campus apartment, the one that you were so excited to finally lease a few months ago, and sprawl onto your couch, already feeling weary of the day. Nevertheless, you fish your phone out of the jumble of couch pillows and call Soobin, because he must be worried sick. You always text him goodnight before you sleep, and yesterday must have been the first time you didn’t.

“How could you?” He’s angry, a new color on him.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry. The library—” You start, but Soobin doesn’t let you finish.

“Forget the library! I’m talking about Chris. He’s stepping down from the president role because of you, Y/N!” Soobin screeches into the phone, making you shoot up in alarm.

“What?!”

“I overheard him tell everything to Jisung. Y/N, this is wrong.” Soobin sounds calmer, but nonetheless distressed. “I know you love him. You shouldn’t let this happen.”

Your face heats up in surprise. “How—”

You hear Soobin tsk, and you just know he’s shaking his head, disappointed. “I didn’t even have to hear him talk to know that. There’s a fine line between love and hate. You can never stop talking about him!”

There’s no denying it now. You shouldn’t have underestimated Soobin; no matter how silly he can be, he is your best friend in the whole world after all. And maybe all the time, the only one you were lying to was yourself.

You grab a pillow and cradle it, just wanting to cry it all out. You always have more intense feelings than others, but right now, your heart hurts so much that you doubt you can blame being emotional on your autism.

“Soobin, what do I do? I don’t want to hurt him, but…” You sniffle. “I didn’t even give him a chance to explain himself. For eight years, I made my whole personality hate Chris. And now, he forgives me and I accept it? I’m so stupid, God.”

“I agree you’re stupid.”

“You’re not making me feel better!”

“Sorry.” Soobin sighs. “But you need to get over yourself and your drama. Stop making this harder for both of you, and just be grateful that you haven’t lost him. Yet.”

And with that, he cuts the call in a way very unlike Soobin, making you groan out loud in frustration. Now you want to punch your pillow, because your best friend is absolutely right.

It doesn’t take long for you to find Chris in the packed stadium. Through the throngs of students eager to trade their homework for a good home game, you see him standing with one of his friends in an upper corner of the stands. When you were younger, you were obsessed with Greek mythology and thought that Chris looked like Apollo, the god of the sun, with his golden curls and sunny disposition. Today, his light seems to have dimmed, as he watches the ongoing game with his hands shoved into his pockets and a forlorn look marking his gaze.

“Chris!” You shout to try and get his attention, but it’s to no avail. The cheering crowd is ear-splitting, and you have no other choice but to climb up to the top.

Grunting, you hoist yourself up the steep stairs and try not to look behind you. If you do, you’ll fall off the stands with dizziness, which would be slightly undesirable compared to what you have to do next. Slightly. With the final step, you haul into Chris’s row, catching your breath and a first glimpse at how high up you really are. The players on the field look like tiny ants, and you feel your stomach drop. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea.

But it’s too late to turn back now, because Chris has already spotted you and hurries over. You tense and lose your footing, stumbling over someone as they kick their legs in anticipation. Great.

“What are you doing here?” Chan places a toned arm around your shoulders and pulls you up, leading you to his seat. You clumsily collapse into the solid, curved plastic of the chair, and Chris follows next to you.

You then notice Chris’s friend, a heartbreakingly handsome man who you vaguely remember as Minho from your sophomore year literature class. He’s wistfully gazing at a very pretty girl who is chatting with Terry, Soobin’s old roommate, a few rows down. Minho then becomes aware of your presence and hurriedly excuses himself, rushing out of the aisle and disappearing into the crowd. You turn to Chris.

“Is he okay?”

Chris exhales, running his fingers through his hair, combing through it before the soft locks flop back into place on his forehead. “I… Minho’s just going through some stuff right now.”

“Seems like he’s not the only one.” You toy with your ring, twisting it around your finger. “I heard you’re resigning.”

“Who told you that?”

“Soobin. He was eavesdropping on you and Jisung today in Morningstar,” you respond. “Why are you leaving the role?”

Chris looks away from you and out at the field. Your university’s football team still hasn’t scored. “I’d just be in your way. This is for the best, Y/N.”

“I’m sorry I made you feel that way. Please don’t. I need you.”

“You’ll be fine.”

This is what you thought you wanted all along, a world without Chris in it. Besides Student Council, neither of you share any classes or activities this year. If he left, you wouldn’t have to cross paths with him again. You could run the council well on your own, you know that. But you don't want to. You don’t ever want to imagine a world without Chris. He’s been by your side for so long now, and now when he’s about to step away do you truly realize how much you need him.

“Maybe. But I won’t be happy.” Against your better judgment, you reach over and grasp his hand, making Chris start in surprise.

Chris shakes his head, still skeptical. “All I’ve ever done is make you unhappy, Y/N. You don’t want me to be around.”

You sigh, knowing he’s not going to come around, not without the right kind of persuasion. “I was dreading having to do this.”

“Do what?”

You reach into the small purse hanging off of your shoulder and pull what you had scoured the entire city for in the past few hours. “Would you like a pudding?”

Chris looks bemused, staring down at the small cup of chocolatey goodness in the delicate palm of your hand.

“Or do you want a kiss?” You stare at Chris intently, trying to ignore the whammering beat of your heart. “What will it take for you to stay in your position?”

“W-what?”

“Or I could be your girlfriend. Because I really want to see where this goes.” You take a deep breath. “A bunny once told me that I just need to get out of the past. I’ve left it behind, and I’m looking forward, Chris.”

“Fine.” Chris swallows roughly and bites back the slow smile spreading on his features. “Can I have all three?”

“You never make it easy, do you, Chris?”

Before he can quip back at you, you grasp the collar of his t-shirt and tug him to you, your lips meeting just as the home team finally scores a touchdown and the crowd erupts in applause. You couldn’t care less though, because although the preteen you is jumping up and down like the rest of the cheering fans, the adult you is smiling into the lips of the man you definitely do not hate. Actually, you love him.

Chris slings his arms around your waist and pulls your body closer to his, sweetly laughing into your ear when you both come up for air. “Am I a good kisser, or what?”

“Shut up.”

And you’re kissing him again. Warmth blossoms in your chest, sparks igniting as you lean into each other after years of loving, hating, and longing. Your arms roving over each other coax all and any remaining hesitation left in you both, and it feels so right. You treasure the soft sighs of pleasure and elation spilling from Chris’s lips, his sounds more deafening than any overzealous football fan’s rally cry.

“So, do I not get the pudding, or…?” Dimples cut across Chris’s cheeks as he pulls away from your lips once more just to shoot you a cheeky grin.

You roll your eyes playfully and reach into your lap, tearing open the foil wrapper on top of the pudding cup before handing it to him. “You and your pudding.”

“You know you love it.”

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jisungsdaydreamer · 11 months

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Love Playlist #1: HOME (Han)

«GENERAL M.LIST» · «NAVIGATION» · «TALK TO ME»

"For a really smart person, Jisung can be so dumb sometimes."

Pairing: Han x Fem!reader Genre: college au, friends to lovers, roommates to lovers, fluff, mutual pining Warnings: mild swearing Word Count: 7k

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You have three strict rules that you must follow. One, no going out after eleven. Two, never leave the house without your cell phone. And three, never, ever, fall in love with Han Jisung.

Unfortunately, you’ve broken that third rule already. In fact, you’re still breaking it, charring it to a crisp, and throwing it out like the trash you both begrudgingly take turns with. But how can you not? Because when it comes to your doe-eyed best friend who is serenely sitting in front of you, the whole rulebook is torn up.

Jisung quietly flips through his growing stack of manga, blissfully unaware of the way your heart accelerates whenever he reads a particularly entertaining segment and his eyes light up in amusement.You should remind him to stay on track, but you can’t bear to stop him because of how cute he looks, his legs unconsciously swinging under the table and his fifth banana lollipop of the day shoved into his mouth.

You’re both sitting together in the library at your special table beside the big window, the place that is always secluded no matter what, as if some higher power knows to keep it aside for you and Jisung for whenever you desire. Both of you are supposed to be studying for your finals, the objectively worst part of the entire year. You’re both seniors, so the slew of exams coming up should be a piece of cake for you, except both of you have grad school next year— you’ll be starting on your PhD, while Jisung, a computer engineering major, will be working towards a master’s degree— so you still have to worry about all of your final grades.

“I hate this.” Jisung looks up from the book in his hands, closing it shut. “I wish I didn’t have to do this.”

“It’s almost over. Then we’ll finally graduate and get to enjoy our summer,” you reply. “And then our lives begin.”

And the elation building in your chest is real, because although you have a tough couple of days ahead of you, the end of this year will be a testament to everything you have accomplished. You have your summer mapped out already; you’re going to be completing groundbreaking cancer research at an esteemed biologist’s lab, days filled with productivity along with exciting nights exploring adulthood and freedom with your friends. Even though you’ll still have school, you’ll only have to be doing what you’re passionate about, leaving behind the mandatory literature and calculus courses that brought you so many tears over the duration of college.

“Not for me.” Jisung sighs, leaning back in his chair and staring aimlessly at the ceiling. “It’ll never end.”

Lately, Jisung has become increasingly stressed about graduation. He doesn’t come from a wealthy background, with his mother being a grocery store cashier and his father out of the picture. You’re aware he’s under immense pressure to do well in school and then get a good job that will take care of both him and his mother, when she’s unable to provide for herself. Worst of all, Jisung had to ditch his dream of becoming a musician and instead focus on something more practical, which ended up being a profession in computers. Of course, like anything else he puts his effort into, Jisung excels in computer engineering, and he’s come to terms with giving up his passion, but you know it doesn’t hurt any less.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You ask softly, reaching for his hand. He accepts it, but he turns his head to gaze at the street beyond the window.

“It’s okay.”

You don’t press any further, because you know that it will just break him down, and neither of you can afford that right now at such a crucial time. Instead, you resolve to brighten his mood, like he does with you anytime you’re down. “Let’s just hope we don’t get food poisoning tomorrow.”

Your attempt works, because Jisung meets your eyes, a smile permeating his solemn expression and before widening into a full grin, at the memory of the time you both first met. Remembrance comes like the summer breeze you look so forward to, washing over you both like a tidal wave. And just like that, it’s freshman year and you’re standing at the bus stop near your old dormitory building.

You anxiously devoured the notebook pages in your hands, alternating between cramming the tiny text and scanning the road for the bus that was supposed to be here ten minutes ago. Your stomach ached from the food poisoning you contracted earlier that morning, an unwelcome byproduct of the dubious cauliflower and tuna tacos served at the dining hall the night before.

This was horrible timing too, especially because you had your first test of the academic year that day. When you should have been bent over your statistics notes, you were cooped up in the bathroom for the previous few hours, clutching the toilet bowl as you watched the clock above you tick menacingly.

You bounced on your toes anxiously, before a strange, squeaking sound met your ears. You whirled around to see a boy approaching you while struggling to pull a large, bulging suitcase along with him. He finally succeeded, collapsing onto the bus stop bench while coughing and wheezing up a storm that rivaled the ominous clouds in the sky. You reached into the side pocket of your backpack, pulling out your unopened plastic water bottle and handing it over to him.

He looked at your offering hand in surprise, before gratefully accepting. He tipped his head back and closed his eyes while he gulped down the cool water. You watched him finish the entire bottle with a dizzying speed and then recycle it in the bin next to the bus stop. The boy was lanky, sporting an oversized Pokémon t-shirt and battered sneakers, and overdue for a haircut, the locks flopping over his sweaty forehead.

“Thank you so much.” He said.

“Of course. What’s in the suitcase?”

The boy fondly ran a hand over the worn-out seams of the object of your curiosity. “I promised my roommate that I would give him all of my old books for his class project. I have no idea why he wants them, but then again, art students are weird.”

He looked up at you not even a second later, alarm in his eyes. “Unless you’re an art student! In that case, I didn’t mean what I said.”

You giggled, shaking your head. “No, I’m a biology major. And yes, I agree.”

He beamed. “I’m Han Jisung. First year, computer engineering. Anime and cheesecake lover. Spicy food hater.”

“Y/N. I’m a freshman, too, and I also love anime and cheesecake. Chocolate cheesecake, to be specific. And I can’t stand spicy food.”

“Chocolate supremacy!” Jisung gasped, clamping a palm over his mouth. “This is meant to be.”

You let out a hearty laugh at his theatrics. “Exactly.”

At that moment, the bus finally arrived, rolling to a stop next to you both. You helped Jisung push his suitcase full of storybooks up the steps of the bus and into the aisle. You sat on one of the seats in the back, and Jisung followed suit, plopping down right next to you. As he did, you noticed him wince, clutching his stomach. Concern bloomed in you for this precious stranger that you just met.

“Are you okay?”

He clutches his stomach once more, smiling embarrassedly. “I got food poisoning. I should have known better than to trust the dining hall food.”

You pause, as the ironic delight of the situation sets in, allowing the pain to fade away and leaving you to wonder about the odds of meeting Jisung. “No way! Me too!”

Jisung’s eyes widen in surprise. “That’s destiny. Mutual food poisoning. Now we definitely have to be friends.”

Later, after you had exchanged numbers and plenty of laughs, parting ways at your respective bus stops, you would meet again at the university hospital. Both of you had contracted a salmonella infection.

Unbeknownst to you and Jisung, that delayed bus and salmonella would determine the trajectory of the rest of your lives. Over time, you both emerged from the shackles of a hesitant acquaintance to the kind of bond that never breaks, even with time, distance, or the grievances of being young. You witnessed each other grow up, fall in love and out of love, and get drunk on piña coladas at the bar next to the college gym you both pretended to go to regularly.

Somewhere along the way, after Loser Boyfriend Number Three, as Jisung tried to cheer you up with his horrible jokes and the burned brownies that he nuked in the residence hall kitchen microwave, you realized that you were wasting your time on people who weren’t worth it. Because the only person who was worth it was the one who had been by your side all the time. Jisung.

Betrayed by your treacherous heart, you began to see Jisung— your person, your study buddy, your fake fiancé when you both were trying to score free dessert with a restaurant proposal— as more than just a friend. In fear of your feelings potentially ruining your friendship, something more dear to you than any form of romance, as you so believed they would, you swore to never speak to Jisung of it. But you couldn’t lie to yourself anymore about the worst. You fell in love with your best friend.

“What did the farmer say after he lost his tractor?”

“I have no idea, Jisung.”

“‘Hey, where’s my tractor?’ Get it?” Jisung bursts out laughing, slapping his thigh. He doubles over, his whole body shaking with laughter at the unimpressed look on your face, which makes everything funnier for him.

“That doesn’t even make sense!” You exclaim, trying to push him. Jisung just keeps giggling, dodging you masterfully.

You both have given up on your library study session, resolving to take a break at your favorite coffee shop and meet up with the rest of your friends in your circle. The setting sun has streaked the blue sky with its golden rays and puffy pink clouds, enveloping the entire campus in a hazy glow. It’s a pleasant May evening, with the scent of your college’s famed peonies along with the excitement of Spring lingering in the air. The street lights that line the sidewalk are already turned on, but not many people are outside enjoying the weather, except for a few students playing a game of Frisbee on the athletic field. Everyone else is locked away in their rooms or the library, grinding for their upcoming exams.

“Well, I have a better one anyway.” Jisung states, clearing his throat dramatically.

You roll your eyes as you near your destination, an unassuming red-brick building tucked away in a larger complex of stores. Purple morningstar blossoms border the door of the small shop in clumps of dainty vines, no doubt the namesake of Morningstar Coffee House. Fairy lights are strung around the glass block windows, which offer a glimpse of the inviting warmth inside.

“Let’s hear it.”

Jisung jogs ahead of you and opens the door for you, gallantly gesturing for you to go first. “What did Y/N say to Jisung when they went to the coffee shop together?”

The comforting smell of pastries and dark roast coffee engulfs you as you step into Morningstar. The strung lanterns and groovy jazz music playing in the background welcome you like a hug from a long-distance friend. You can’t believe it’s been so long since you’ve gone anywhere other than the library, the lecture halls, or the tiny apartment you and Jisung share.

“I don’t know.” You humor Jisung, still playing along and waiting for his ridiculous punchline.

He smirks at you. “I love you a latte!”

You feign disgust, but secretly, you are elated because of how genuinely touching his words are to you. Jisung hugs you like a baby panda, trying to get you to applaud him for his clever joke, as Jisung is naturally a very physically affectionate person, always wanting to snuggle up to the people around him. But your heart can’t help but jump a little every time you feel his arms snug around you.

“Well, I love you a latte more, Hannie,” you respond nonchalantly, but you mean it. You do love Jisung for everything that he is, even the cringeworthy SoundCloud rapper phase that dominated his sophomore year.

“You guys are weird,” your friend Seungmin says from behind the counter, where he’s busy working as the barista, while his co-worker, Soobin, a timid Psychology student, clumsily handles orders at the cash register. Seungmin’s parents own Morningstar, and he plans to take over it next year.

Jisung sticks his tongue out at Seungmin in defiance, before linking arms with you and dragging you to the back, where the rest of your friends are seated. There is Chan, or more famously known as Chris among his many admirers across his campus, clad in his signature black jacket. Besides him, the turquoise-haired baby of your group, Jeongin, and then Hyunjin, who as usual, is lost in his sketchbook.

“Hey guys. What are you up to?” You slide in next to Hyunjin, trying to peek at what he’s drawing. You catch a glimpse of a very pretty girl you vaguely recognize from around campus, before he protectively snaps his journal closed, narrowing his eyes at you.

“Eyes on your coffee, Y/N,” Hyunjin says, handing you the mug that they ordered for you ahead of time. Magically, it’s still hot.

You accept the coffee and drink it, letting the rich liquid warm your insides as you swallow it gratefully. “Alright, alright.”

Jisung tries to steal a bite of Jeongin’s apple danish, earning him a swat on his wandering palms. Chan looks over at you with a grin. “We’re just listening to Jeongin rant about his crush.”

Jeongin groans before continuing. “And I keep asking her out, but every time, she rejects me, bro! What am I supposed to do? Give up?"

“Yes,” Hyunjin says in his signature straightforward manner, prompting everyone but Jeongin to snicker.

“Whatever. I'll figure out a way.” Jeongin sits back in his seat, resorting to aggressively typing on his keyboard to deal with his frustration.

You look around your little corner in the shop, which is filled with textbooks and miscellaneous notebook sheets. “Where are the others?”

“Minho is studying with his girlfriend, and Changbin and Felix are apparently also working, but they’re probably gaming instead.”

Hyunjin bites down on the edge of his straw, glancing between you and Jisung thoughtfully. “Speaking of girlfriend, when are you both going to get together?”

You freeze up in your seat, tensing like you always do whenever someone jokes about your relationship with Jisung, but he’s unfazed, shooting Hyunjin a mischievous smile. “When you tell us about that girl you’re obsessed with.”

Hyunjin immediately forgets about teasing you, glaring at Jisung contempfully. “Shut up, Han. You don’t know anything.”

“Guys, let’s calm down,” you say while patting Hyunjin’s back, happy for the distraction but still cautious about him and Jisung. While those two love each other very much now, they used to fight like crazy when they roomed together in freshman year, and no one needs a repeat of bad history right now.

Jisung catches your eye, and although he doesn’t smile at you, you can see the appreciation in his eyes. You nod slightly at him, before getting out your own computer. Words do not have to be exchanged between you two for you to understand each other.

You all settle into a comfortable silence as you finish your coffee and resume studying, only looking up occasionally to ask each other questions about the material or an assignment. Soon, the evening begins to fade away, and you start packing up your belongings before closing time.

“Hey, Y/N! Can you come over here for a second?” Seungmin calls out, capturing your attention.

You put down your backpack and walk over to the counter, where he’s washing his blender. “Yes?”

“So what’s going on with you and Jisung?” Before you can interrupt him and deny anything, Seungmin wipes his hands and gives you a meaningful look. “I know you have feelings for him.”

You feel your face heat up, and you avoid his piercing eyes. “How would you know?”

“Look, it doesn’t take a genius to figure it out. From the way you look at him, it’s a marvel how he hasn’t figured it out yet. For a really smart person, Jisung can be so dumb sometimes.”

You exhale, seeing no point in lying anymore. Besides, it feels good to get it off of your chest. “Well, why are you bringing this up anyway?”

Seungmin sets down his utensil caddy and rests his elbows on the edge of the sink. “Soobin likes you and asked me if you’re single. But, you know, I wasn’t sure if you are available. Emotionally, I mean.”

You glance over at Soobin, observing him counting all of the day’s revenue. The blonde cashier catches your eye, flashing you a shy smile before quickly looking away, turning a shade of tomato red. He’s handsome, good-hearted, and not to mention, very tall. Just your type. But he’s no Jisung.

“It’s been a while since I’ve dated anyone.” And this is true— over a year, to be precise. “I guess, I’m still hung up over Jisung.”

“Do you plan on making a move?”

“No way. I’m just going to wait for the feelings to dissipate. I would never risk our friendship like that,” you mumble.

“You could get to know Soobin, maybe he’ll help you move on,” Seungmin suggests, crossing his arms.

You consider your options before piping up. Jisung had gotten pretty serious with his last girlfriend by the end of your junior year, but he broke up with her a month later, telling you that she just wasn’t the one for him. He hasn’t dated anyone since, claiming that it’s not the right time. But for you, it is, and you realize that you can’t keep waiting for him.

“Maybe I will,” you say, toying with your jacket zipper.

Seungmin tips his head towards Soobin, but before you move, he leans in closer to you. “But personally, I think you should just tell Jisung. If he’s really your best friend, your friendship will stay the same no matter what.”

You nod. “Yeah, okay.”

You know Seungmin is right, but the truth is, it’s not just about losing your friendship with Jisung. Regardless of whether he reciprocates your feelings or not, you know that he would never walk away from you. It’s truly you who you are concerned about. You’re uncertain if you could bear to go back being your normal self around Jisung if you confess and get rejected. You don’t know if your heart could handle it.

You touch Seungmin’s hand in a quiet gratitude and approach Soobin, who immediately notices your presence and accidentally slams the cash register drawer closed, nearly shutting it on his finger. “H-hi Y/N.”

Watching Soobin get endearingly flustered, you can’t help but smile. “Hey Soobin. How are you?”

“I’m good, thank you.” Soobin bites down on his lip, wrapping his arms around himself. He looks so cute in his brown bib apron and converse shoes. “You look really pretty in that dress.”

Your cheeks warm, but you look him directly in his eyes. “That’s so kind of you to say. Actually, I was hoping you'd want to go out on a date sometime? Maybe after finals?”

Although you’re very reserved about your feelings for Jisung, in every other case, you can be quite forward with romance. Soobin’s eyes widen. “Wait, really?”

You laugh, getting out your phone. “Yes, really. What do you say?”

“Yes! I would love to. Could I please get your number?” Soobin stretches out his phone, which is covered in teddy bear stickers.

You think of Jisung’s phone, which has a clear case and a polaroid of you two at the beach inside. You shake the thought of him away. You type your number into Soobin’s phone, before wishing him good luck on his finals and then rejoining your friend group in the darkening outdoors, which has moved outside the shop while you were talking to Seungmin. As soon as he spies you walking out of the door, Hyunjin forgets his conversation with Jeongin and immediately launches into interrogating you.

“What were you talking to Soobin about?”

You shrug, trying to play it off, but can’t help the rosy blush that creeps up your neck. “Nothing, really.”

Now the others look interested as well, and Jeongin smirks knowingly at you. “You asked him out, didn’t you?”

Out of the corner of your eye, you think you see Jisung’s smile falter, but you chalk it up to your own imagination and affirm Jeongin’s prediction. “Yes, but it’s pretty casual. So not a big deal.”

Chan and Jeongin both high-five you like seventh grade boys, while Hyunjin just cackles at your sudden agitation. Jisung, however, looks annoyed, a very new color on him.

“I didn’t know you were interested in Soobin,” he says, shutting Hyunjin up. “Why didn’t you tell me? You always tell me when you like someone.”

You know the answer to his question. But you can’t tell Jisung that the only reason why you asked Soobin on a date out of the blue is because you are in love with him and trying to move on. “Seungmin just told me that he had a crush on me. So I went for it.”

“Yeah, everyone knows Soobin likes you. But you could have told me first before making a move.” Jisung’s tone is slightly harsh, suspicious. You recoil in surprise, because he has never spoken to you like this, unlike the boy you know and love.

“Why are you getting so mad?” You ask him, hurt.

“It’s just that we tell each other everything, and this is pretty big.” Jisung crosses his arms stubbornly. “Unless you didn’t want me to know.”

Your skin prickles with a strange feeling, because while you two have bickered over stupid things in the past, it wasn’t anything serious like the look on Jisung’s face now. “What’s your problem, Jisung? What did I do to you?”

Your voice is raised, and boys instantly sense the tension in the air, stepping in to mediate. Chan, the eldest in the group, places a hand on Jisung’s shoulder, mutely imploring him to stay calm. Hyunjin, however, gets defensive on your behalf.

“Why should she have to tell you? Calm down,” Hyunjin says, frowning at Jisung.

“It’s okay, Hyunjin. We should get going.” Without waiting for an answer from the others, you grasp Jisung’s hand and pull him with you, while he comes along without saying anything at all.

The walk back to your apartment, which is seven minutes long from campus, is filled with an uneasy silence, a dreadful change from the playfulness earlier in the day. The air is charged, full of everything you both want to say to each other, but nevertheless, you keep your mouth closed. More than anything, you’re confused.

It’s been a long time since either of you were with anyone romantically, so maybe it is surprising to Jisung that you randomly asked Soobin out. However, you don’t understand his anger, especially because Jisung has always supported you in your dating life, even setting you up sometimes with people he knew. But you don’t think the problem is the fact that it is Soobin either, because Soobin is one of the most beloved people on campus due to his sweet personality. You don’t know what’s wrong, and that’s what bothers you the most.

Neither of you speak even when you reach your neighborhood, a suburban oasis in a big city. When there’s good weather, you and Jisung love to come outside and either take long walks around the block or pack picnics to share on the perpetually green lawn in front of your apartment building. Today, you head straight up to your flat, an indifferent pair of strangers standing in the elevator.

After unlocking the door to your apartment, you finally decide to break the silence, turning to look at Jisung, who trails a few feet behind you. “I’ll be in my room, studying.”

You want him to say something, anything, but he just nods, keeping his eyes trained on the grey hardwood flooring. Sighing, you pad across the apartment and enter your room, shutting the door you always keep open.

You and Jisung had signed a lease on your place last year, partially because you couldn’t afford off-campus housing on your own, but also because you couldn’t imagine a better roommate than him. People made plenty of comments about how you both— two people of the opposite gender— renting an apartment together would be a recipe for disaster.

While Jisung had assured you that everything would be alright, the weeks leading up to move-in day were filled with apprehension for you. But unlike what he believed, it wasn’t because of what others said. The thought of you and Jisung living together made you worry if proximity could potentially make it easier for him to realize your feelings for him.

However, when the big day rolled in, you couldn’t remember any of your fears as you and Jisung sat in your new apartment, leaned against a pile of half-opened luggage. Exhausted from dealing with delayed furniture shipments and sorting through the endless boxes of belongings, both of you had given up. Resolving to lay on the barren floor and play Go-Fish, you both laughed for hours about the annoyed look on the grumpy mover’s face when Jisung kept asking him questions. Before Jisung subsequently fell asleep on your lap, he promised you that you both would make a lot of good memories here. And you did.

Last Christmas, you both spent it together, huddled on the couch while gossiping and drinking hot chocolate, because both of your flights got canceled due to snow. Then there was the time Jisung forced you to stay awake with him all night because he was scared after watching some bad slasher film, but you told him Disney bedtime stories that eventually made his fear go away.

You can’t help but feel a small pang thinking of whenever he brings you strawberry shortcake from the bakery you like, or all of the times he spam calls you when you’re out late and haven’t informed him. You’ve never fought with Jisung like this, not without him immediately coming after you and begging you to forgive him, even if he wasn’t in the wrong. Being distant with Jisung is a new feeling, and you don’t get how you could ever accomplish that with your best friend in the whole world.

Shaking off your incessant thoughts about Jisung, you turn on your computer, hunching over on your desk in the artificial glow of the screen. You still have a few chapters of reading to get through, and then you have to solve ten long practice problem sets for Chemistry. For now, you’ll have to put off the deliberations that pull at you.

“Y/N.”

You feel someone shaking you awake, gentle hands coaxing you out of an uneasy nap. You lift your head from where it rests on your arms, blearily looking up from where you are slumped over your desk. Your laptop has fallen asleep, the dim glow of your lamp lighting up the room instead. And the blaring, unwelcome red of your digital clock signals an unfortunate time well past twelve. Rubbing your eyes, you finally notice Jisung hovering beside you hesitantly.

“I thought you’d want me to wake you up,” Jisung says, his hands shoved into the pockets of his pajama pants. “I’m sorry.”

He’s wearing a black sweatshirt with the hood pulled up snugly over his head, a few soft pieces of hair messily sticking out from underneath. He looks so cute you want to hug him, but then you remember the events that transpired before you accidentally fell asleep.

“It’s okay. I need to finish working, thanks,” you say dully, both tired from studying and being stuck in this bad day with Jisung.

He shakes his head. “No, I mean, I’m sorry for earlier. At the coffee shop.”

You bite your lip, melting at the regret and sadness in his eyes. Your best friend misses you too. “Can we talk?”

Jisung stays quiet before speaking, and you swear he can probably hear your anticipating heartbeat filling the room. “Are you hungry? We didn’t have dinner.”

He doesn’t answer your question, but you still fold at the thought of how he didn’t eat without you. “Yeah, I am hungry.”

“I’ll make us something.” He turns and heads into the kitchen, and after a second thought, you hurry after him.

Jisung takes off his hood and brings out a metal pot out of one of the cupboards. You watch as he rummages hastily through the fridge, before he shuts it with empty hands. He turns to you with a sheepish look on his face. “So we don’t actually have any food.”

Realization passes between the both of you: in the past few weeks, you both were so immersed in your preparation for your exams that you had completely neglected buying groceries, opting instead for easy pre-cooked meals or food deliveries. Your stomach rumbles loudly, and you rub it, embarrassed, but at least it breaks the tension, as Jisung snorts, an amused look on his face.

“We could go to the store and get something,” he suggests, from where he stands behind the kitchen island.

He fidgets nervously, a reminder of how any other time, you would have jumped at the opportunity to ditch your books and buy cheap junk food with Jisung. But now? You don’t want to go out. You want to stay here, you want to talk to your best friend, you want things to go back to how they were before your fight with Jisung. And yet, you nod your head in agreement, grabbing your apartment keys and wallet from the counter before following Jisung out of the apartment.

The hallways of the building are tainted a vivid yellow from the incandescent lighting, a sharp contrast to the gloomy night outside. The moon is high up in the sky, shrouding the sleepy apartment complex in a silvery glow. There’s no one outside except for a homeless man dozing on one of the benches lining the walkways. But the distant city lights tell you that not everyone slumbers, that outside of your bubble, people have their own lives and stories. The only story that matters to you, however, is the one with the beautiful boy who walks beside you, his step heavy and eyes downcast.

In a matter of wordless minutes, you and Jisung have arrived at your go-to place for midnight runs, a sketchy little convenience store peeking out from behind a cluster of drab office buildings. The neon lighting of the store glows in the dark and reflects in the pools of water left by a mild rain that had graced the land while you were sleeping.

Jisung quickly walks ahead of you and opens the door for you, a blast of air conditioning granting you solace from the humidity. The familiar sight of the plentiful arrays of colorful aisles and the broken fan hopelessly creaking by the entrance pulls you in. You scour the shelves of mouthwatering foodstuffs, before settling in front of one of the sections.

“I don’t know if it’s a noodles or sandwich kind of night,” you wonder out loud, picking up a pack of ramen. You don’t notice Jisung standing behind you, as you assume he’s already zeroed in on the ice cream freezer like he always does.

“Definitely ramen.”

You jump, hugging the packet to your chest as if it would protect you from the perpetrator. Jisung innocently watches you, a small smile playing upon his lips. He holds two wrapped popsicles in his hands, one melon-flavored and one mango-flavored, and stretches the latter out to you. You accept it, returning his smile, and it feels like things are normal again. You know you should bring up what lies unspoken between you two, but you want to preserve this moment for now.

Jisung selects ramen for himself as well, and you both go to the front counter to check-out, failing to exchange any more words as you both just continue to enjoy the calm. After, you both quickly exit the shop and start jogging in synchronization, remembering that a pile of work still awaits you. When you board the bridge that connects the rest of the city to the way back to your apartment, Jisung doubles over, panting.

You decide to take a break, walking over to the edge and drinking in the view. The blurred lights of the magnificent skyscrapers illuminate the midnight sky like lightning, and the river in front of you is littered with cargo ships peacefully gliding along on their separate journeys. You lean against the railing, closing your eyes and letting the wind ruffle your hair. Jisung comes up behind you once more, but when he speaks this time, it’s less of a surprise and more of a comfort.

“Everything is changing,” he says, resting his hands on the railing as well. “I’m scared.”

You open your eyes, turning to face Jisung. His eyes are filled with tears, and your heart reaches out for him. You tightly grasp his hand, trying to convey everything you can’t say to him.

“Talk to me. Please.”

“I’m not ready for all of this. Graduation’s getting closer, and I know you’re excited but… I don’t know, I still feel kind of stuck.” Jisung’s gaze fixates on one of the boats below. “Every time I type out a line of code, I want to smash my keyboard into bits. Every goddamn time.”

His words are strong, but his voice is rough with emotion.

“Jisung, don’t do this if it’s not what you want.”

“We’re literally graduating in a month, Y/N.” Jisung lets out a disbelieving sound. “But that’s not even a concern, because my grad school actually offers a joint program on computers and audio design for engineering students who want to go into music production. But I couldn’t do that, because you barely get paid unless you make it big.”

You frown, setting down the plastic cover of your food. “Well, why not? If anyone could break out, it’s you.”

Jisung shrugs, shaking his head. “I can’t take that risk. Just plain old computer science is the way to go.”

You stay quiet for a second, keenly observing his despairing expression. “Your mom would want you to be happy, Hannie.”

“I could be happy, maybe, one day. But not right now.” Jisung runs a hand through his hair, not meeting your eyes. “You’re moving away next year for your PhD, and I’ll still be stuck here, in a place where you aren’t there.”

“I’m only two hours away. You can get away from campus and visit all the time. We’ll be like the Kardashians taking on a new city!” You crack a watery smile.

Jisung sniffles sadly, and your heart sinks, because you failed to make him happy. Again. But then he looks up at you, a glimmer of humor in his eyes. “Only if I get to be Kourtney.”

You laugh, shoving him in the arm. “Fine.”

And then you both say nothing again, just gazing out at the world beyond this bridge and instant.

“What happened today?” You break the silence— questioning, not accusing.

Jisung groans. “It’s… look, I know we’ve both dated before, but none of them were it. And maybe you never felt that way, but I know for a fact that none of the guys you dated were right for you.”

“Jisung—” you start, but he interrupts you.

“And we’re graduating soon. So I thought you’d realize it by now.” Jisung taps his foot like he always does when he’s nervous, and your pulse quickens at his halting words.

“Realize what?” You ask him softly, trying not to come to any conclusions but betrayed by the treacherous beat of your heart.

The tips of Jisung’s ears turn red. “I- I need you to not say anything. Because I need to say something. And if you don’t like what I say, then I’ll walk away and we can forget everything that transpired here. Okay?”

You maintain your serious expression, although you want to swoon at his adorably flustered state. “Okay.”

Jisung is about to finally reveal what has gotten him so worked up, but then he sighs in frustration, shaking his head. “No. I can’t do this with you looking at me. Can you please turn around? Please?”

Hiding a smile, you oblige him and face the other way. “Okay. I can’t see you now.”

You hear Jisung take a deep breath.

“I’m never going to get this right. Y/N, I like you. And I mean like-like you. Like, romantically. Everything about you, I like. Even your disgusting food combinations, I like. Your smile? Oh god. Don’t go on a date with Soobin. Go with me. I like you.”

Even though the past few minutes manifested Jisung’s declaration, you still whirl around, shocked. “Say what?”

Jisung rolls his eyes. “Seriously? I pour myself out to you and you need me to repeat it? You’re really something, Y/N.”

You smirk, stepping closer and looping your arms around Jisung’s neck. You take in how Jisung’s eyes have widened and how his lips are parted at such an intimate gesture from you, wondering if this is how it feels in the movies, when the heroine finally gets the boy she’s been loving from a distance for so long.

You look up at Jisung, and your heart has never felt so happy. “I guess this is my time to be vulnerable too. I don’t just like-like you, Jisung. I love you.”

It’s Jisung’s turn to be surprised. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah. For a very long time.”

He smiles bashfully, his elation at your own confession evident. “I love you too.”

Jisung tilts his head to his right, as you do the same, almost about to close the miniscule space between you both. And then he pulls away.

You watch Jisung, confused, as he covers his face with his palms, shyly giggling. “I’m sorry, it’s just that I dreamed of this for so long. Can you give me a second?”

Never able to get enough of his antics, you watch as he pulls a stick of chapstick out of his pocket and swipes it on. He dabs his lips carefully before turning back to you.

“Now where were we?”

Before you can even say anything, he’s closed that gap. His lips are soft and sweet, the taste of cherry and vanilla chapstick lingering. You close your eyes and melt into the kiss as Jisung brings up his hands to cradle your face. The sweet scent of him clouds your senses and washes away your inhibitions, and there’s nothing besides you both in this moment. He kisses you like there’s no tomorrow, no exams, no school or anyone else. He kisses you not like a friend, but a lover that he’s yearned for, which certainly wouldn’t be a lie.

You can’t believe that you’ve been pining after Jisung for the mere duration of your college years. It feels like you’ve waited your whole life for this. The murky puddles of water around you and the pungent stench of a nearby dumpster are nowhere near romantic, but with the way you’re kissing Jisung, you might as well be in heaven.

If you dare to predict the future, you’ll have the rest of your life to look forward to moments like this, miss him even when he’s laying in your arms, love him when you both slow dance in the refrigerator light at midnight. And because you’re two broke peas in a pod, you both will definitely conduct more fake proposals with each other when you go out to eat. Hopefully before the real deal. You’ll just have to see who pops the question first.

“Wow,” Jisung breathes against your lips. “My dreams have not done this moment any justice.”

You chuckle, leaning in for another kiss. “Mine too.”

But Jisung dodges your lips, making you scoff as he raises his eyebrows at you. “And what are you going to be doing about Soobin?”

“You should be nicer. Poor Soobin. I wouldn’t have to let him down now if you’d just told me all of this earlier,” you scold Jisung lightly, cupping his chin.

He pouts, swatting at your arms with the oversize sleeves of his hoodie. “Never mind. Let’s stop talking about him.”

You roll your eyes playfully and wrap your arms around his waist, pulling him closer. You’re sure that the lovesick look on Jisung’s face mirrors your own. He may not be perfect, but he’s perfect for you. Your best friend in the whole world. And whatever the future holds, that will never change.

“I love you, Hannie. Love you so much,” you whisper, pressing another soft kiss to his lips. You’ll never, ever get tired of kissing him.

Jisung smiles down at you lovingly, slipping off his hoodie to put it on you, noticing the way you shiver. But you’re not really that cold; it's the way he’s looking at you right now. Not that you’d tell him that. “Let’s go.”

“Where?” You ask, still in a dreamy daze. This day has turned out to be better than any other you’ve ever had. Everything was worth it.

“Home.”

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